[Tone warm, the Puca brushes his lips against Emet-Selch's as he pays mind to the sensation of his hands along his side, warm and soft and pleasant against his skin. There's much to pay attention to, and much to do, more than he could pack into a single night, even. But this, right now, is "just about acceptable." That means...]
Wonderful. Then I'll work at... At winning your complete approval.
[And Mettaton knows he'll do it. There's no question: he's too confident and too decisive.
He kisses Emet-Selch once more and tries not to get too caught up in that, knowing he could kiss him to death once he was properly positioned. And looking forward to it, too. In this, his kiss, too, is a tease: firm, but fleeting, like a promise more than an actual fulfillment. He could kiss him and bite him and enjoy him more and more as the minutes passed, though the way his cock brushes against Emet-Selch's at all is enough to drive him mad, enough to nearly distract him for keeps when he almost reaches for their lengths. But he bites his tongue: he's reaching for lube, and has other work to do. An exhale.
Bracing his body upon his elbows and tensed muscle to remain above Emet-Selch's body, Mettaton gets to work. In his haste and with lube freshly on fingers, he decides to start with his own cock first — a mistake on a body too unaccustomed to temperature for him to grab his length with cold slickness when he's otherwise so hot. He jolts, and even yelps at the contact.]
Oh—! Ah... [Unpleasant. Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eyes, wide-eyed and clearly shocked.] It's just— cold, I wasn't expecting that.
[A laugh: mildly embarrassed, but not terribly. And then, a flash of a smile. Because if he could endure that coldness, if he could keep working on himself... By the time he gets to preparing Emet-Selch, he'll have only warmed fingers and lube to spare for his Bonded. His smile becomes heated, and he comes up with another brilliant idea.
With Emet-Selch's legs still locked around his hips, he rears up enough for his body to be visible to the man lying before him. His body, from hips to shoulders, is bared for Emet-Selch to see entirely, and lube drips down the shaft of his arousal where he'd made contact but flinched away. Mettaton grips onto his own cock, eyes locked with Emet-Selch's as he decides to allow his Bonded to watch him work: a graphic sort of show to put on in preparation for his lover. His fingers drag along the length of his arousal, leaving behind a slick sheen in his ministrations. Mettaton sighs, dazed and hungry in the way he regards the other man while he prepares his length. As his fingers warm against skin and the temperature of the lube begins to warm with the friction, he can only exhale shakily as he gives himself a few more pulls of his hand, biting his lower lip to stay with it and keep focused even while gasps turn to breathy, soft moans and his gaze veers drunk on feeling. Fingers crest over the head and coat the tip liberally, thumb and forefinger meeting to run a circle over the tip.
His fingers travel down the underside of his length and disappear lower, past his own body, smile mischievous as his warmed fingers suddenly press against Emet-Selch's entrance, completely slick as he rubs a digit into him to start with. He hums, taking stock of his Bonded's response to this surprise switch.]
no subject
[Tone warm, the Puca brushes his lips against Emet-Selch's as he pays mind to the sensation of his hands along his side, warm and soft and pleasant against his skin. There's much to pay attention to, and much to do, more than he could pack into a single night, even. But this, right now, is "just about acceptable." That means...]
Wonderful. Then I'll work at... At winning your complete approval.
[And Mettaton knows he'll do it. There's no question: he's too confident and too decisive.
He kisses Emet-Selch once more and tries not to get too caught up in that, knowing he could kiss him to death once he was properly positioned. And looking forward to it, too. In this, his kiss, too, is a tease: firm, but fleeting, like a promise more than an actual fulfillment. He could kiss him and bite him and enjoy him more and more as the minutes passed, though the way his cock brushes against Emet-Selch's at all is enough to drive him mad, enough to nearly distract him for keeps when he almost reaches for their lengths. But he bites his tongue: he's reaching for lube, and has other work to do. An exhale.
Bracing his body upon his elbows and tensed muscle to remain above Emet-Selch's body, Mettaton gets to work. In his haste and with lube freshly on fingers, he decides to start with his own cock first — a mistake on a body too unaccustomed to temperature for him to grab his length with cold slickness when he's otherwise so hot. He jolts, and even yelps at the contact.]
Oh—! Ah... [Unpleasant. Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eyes, wide-eyed and clearly shocked.] It's just— cold, I wasn't expecting that.
[A laugh: mildly embarrassed, but not terribly. And then, a flash of a smile. Because if he could endure that coldness, if he could keep working on himself... By the time he gets to preparing Emet-Selch, he'll have only warmed fingers and lube to spare for his Bonded. His smile becomes heated, and he comes up with another brilliant idea.
With Emet-Selch's legs still locked around his hips, he rears up enough for his body to be visible to the man lying before him. His body, from hips to shoulders, is bared for Emet-Selch to see entirely, and lube drips down the shaft of his arousal where he'd made contact but flinched away. Mettaton grips onto his own cock, eyes locked with Emet-Selch's as he decides to allow his Bonded to watch him work: a graphic sort of show to put on in preparation for his lover. His fingers drag along the length of his arousal, leaving behind a slick sheen in his ministrations. Mettaton sighs, dazed and hungry in the way he regards the other man while he prepares his length. As his fingers warm against skin and the temperature of the lube begins to warm with the friction, he can only exhale shakily as he gives himself a few more pulls of his hand, biting his lower lip to stay with it and keep focused even while gasps turn to breathy, soft moans and his gaze veers drunk on feeling. Fingers crest over the head and coat the tip liberally, thumb and forefinger meeting to run a circle over the tip.
His fingers travel down the underside of his length and disappear lower, past his own body, smile mischievous as his warmed fingers suddenly press against Emet-Selch's entrance, completely slick as he rubs a digit into him to start with. He hums, taking stock of his Bonded's response to this surprise switch.]