continued from x with @puzlprof
Tenna knows he's selfish. He likes to think it's a fact he's made peace with; something he even embraces at times. His emotions rule above all else, there is hedonism built into his very core, and he sneaks in those small moments whenever he can get them. One such pleasure comes in the form of rare moments of physical contact with his academic companion. Tenna adores the tactility of a good embrace, the way his body's plates start to warm under another person's touch, the gentle haptic feedback across so much of his form; not to mention the emotional and social reasons behind doing so. But they're few and far between when it comes to one Hershel Layton.
Tenna had almost certainly been the one to start this mess as a response to that; of course he's going to capitalize on as long as he can get from Layton, and he'd be hard-pressed to regret it. He refuses to be ashamed to make Layton be the one to pull away first, especially when he does linger so long in Tenna's arms given the opportunity.
He's preparing for another pull away when Layton raises his head, only for his antennae to swivel lightly when he doesn't. The light pressure of fingertips through a couple layers of fabric catches his attention, followed by the softest hiss of tiny hydraulic movements when Layton settles his palm fully against his chest. Tenna wishes he could look down, just to confirm the warm handprint resting just above where his battery is located.
New, certainly; definitely also confusing. But not... unwelcome, by any means.
At this range the stuttered breath doesn't escape his microphones, though Layton is somewhat successful at distracting Tenna with the words that follow. It's only at those that he makes more of an effort to tilt his big, boxy head down, so that he might better try and get an understanding of what's on the man's mind... Except Hershel isn't looking at him.
Which, of course, doesn't help him figure out that problem in the slightest. Tenna wonders idly if Hershel's aware of how often he speaks in riddles, if he does it on purpose. Tenna's not nearly as good with them as Layton is (not that he minds, really), but he does know one thing at the moment: Layton's words are directly in conflict with what he's still doing.
Namely, the hand still resting on his chest, and the fact that he hasn't pulled away from Tenna's loosened grasp.
Like he often does when unsure of how to handle something, Tenna decides to approach the matter with some light humor. "Sorry? For what? I hope it's not admiring me, unless you're worried I'll get a big head... Really, I'd hate it if you stopped! It's part of a healthy diet for robotic television monsters, I'll have you know."
His left hand creeps up from its position at Layton's back to settle over his hand; a gentle pinning in place with spread claws, nothing that Layton couldn't wiggle free from if he tried. "...Something on your mind, Hershel? I can't imagine anything that preoccupies you would be foolish!"
