Dusting himself off, Metatron thought on his next words. "Oh but you know I like cute things, Lord Michael."
Just for a moment, Michael flinched before holding onto his anger and Metatron knew he had caught him, even if the angry mask was now firmly back in place. These angels were really something. So old, yet so innocent.
"Who are you calling cute," He muttered, deflating slightly, then looking away. "Get out of my sight. And send one of the servants around to take care of this."
No. That was what Metatron wanted to say, because right now Michael's profile was very elegant. Confusion warring with… what was it? Pleasure? Annoyance? Discomfort? All those mixed feelings that Metatron had long since abandoned in his human youth were there. Yes it was very tempting to press onwards. But discretion won out for once.
"Very well Lord Michael. The matter I wanted to discuss can wait. I will instead take pleasure in knowing that you do seem far more rested."
Sniffing, Michael brushed a stray lock of hair over his shoulder. "Nothing is relaxing about you."
"That makes me very glad to hear," Metatron smiled, earning a disconcerted look from Michael. "Later!" He said brightly as he then turned and marched out. He had indeed achieved exactly what he set out for that morning and would hold that look in his mind for a while. And hopefully Michael would hold whatever it was he was feeling in his own heart. And remember that a son of Adam had affected him that way for centuries to come.