Emet-Selech is similiarly a wreck when he body finally crashes through the white-hot noise of pleasure and simply has to stop and regain itself. Still transmitting mad signals through tendril touch until finally they too too start to die down, Emet lays in a pile of tingling nerves and little else for a time.

Once the aching, finally fading, gives away to the ability to think again, he's quick to cast away the shape and regain himself -- push pleasure to a pleasant memory and reach out to start to put Hyth back together with something like worry.

"I forgot myself," he says, even as he starts to weave flesh into the semblence of an ancient instead of ... whatever that was. "Hythlodaeus, are you alright?"