[A sound that would've been a low hum attempts to form in his throat. From the heady sense of anticipation, his quick pulse, the movement of his finger, the very nature of his position- all of it was thoroughly pleasurable, an arousal warm and dizzying both. And just as important were the prick of claws, those hard points of pressure and interest, along with the sound of sighs from a robot who had no requirement for breath. Emet-Selch didn't need to look behind him to imagine the stiffness of his erection, and that everything set before him would do nothing but further inspire that arousal.
And that Mettaton would want in on the action comes as no surprise- how could he not, with himself spread out like this for his sake, fingering himself to evident pleasure, with most of that being due to the imagining of being taken by something better than his hand? That Mettaton would even seek to be involved somehow, in a way other than observation- that too doesn't surprise him, as the only reason to hold back would be for deliberate effect, to draw out a specific sort of anticipation. Mettaton letting go of his ass entirely does surprise him, though, as he surely didn't require both hands to apply lubrication to his own cock, and why would he not take an opportunity to touch him if he could?
But then he feels Mettaton shifting on the bed, the peculiar sort of pressure of being leaned over. And he still sucks in a breath at the telling nudge of the tip of Mettaton's cock against his entrance, crowding the intruding slide of a finger. More than a nudge, it spoke of a readiness that was difficult to not take advantage of. As though Emet-Selch needed any more help imagining what would soon enough take the place of his hand- or for that matter, another temptation to slip his finger free right then, to allow his lover to fill him up properly.
There was truly no comparison, no matter how many fingers he applied. The thrust against him seems to indicate Mettaton's agreement, his cock feeling so slick against him, the Ascian nearly stopping in his motion entirely for a few seconds, just to temper back that impulse to pull free for him. He had lubrication, surely- surely it would be fine, what did it matter if he needed to shove a bit harder? He wanted him so much, his body would have to adapt. Satisfying Mettaton was the same as satisfying himself in the end; and there was only so much his hand could do for either of them like this.]
You can't... even wait your turn, can you?
[It's accompanied by a low huff, an attempt at exasperation, as though there were some problem with Mettaton telling him to prepare himself, and then making it difficult to do so properly. Not only by getting his cock in the way (as though it could ever be in the way), but by tempting him to remove his finger prematurely. But Emet-Selch bites his lip (a point of pain to sharpen his willpower) even as he swallows back a moan at the feeling of that thickness rubbing insufficiently against his hand, his entrance. Crowding them both.
But if anything, Emet-Selch deliberately slows down, as he gradually works a second finger into himself, letting out a breath and tension both. This was still nothing compared to the cock he actually wanted, but it was still better, and he allows himself to groan quietly as he strokes the interior of his body with those digits.
Steadily, if not quite easygoing, he moves them. His body even tries to rock back against his hand, as though to drive them deeper, to add to the sense of being thrust into.
But he can't ignore the steady presence of his lover's cock so close, and nor does he even try to. But it does add to his imaginings- that he'd be stretched further by him, Mettaton's girth already slick, and the both of them made hotter by the interior of his body, a friction to lose himself to. It wasn't as though Emet-Selch went around thinking about how empty he was, but in times like this, he couldn't consider anything else- and his fingers didn't even begin to give him what he wanted.
--But he'll still draw it out while he can, rocking his hips back against himself (and incidentally, against his lover's waiting cock), as though to further underline what he could be having of him. And though soft, he makes no effort now to hold back the pleased noises he was making, as though what he was doing to himself was somehow sufficient.]
no subject
And that Mettaton would want in on the action comes as no surprise- how could he not, with himself spread out like this for his sake, fingering himself to evident pleasure, with most of that being due to the imagining of being taken by something better than his hand? That Mettaton would even seek to be involved somehow, in a way other than observation- that too doesn't surprise him, as the only reason to hold back would be for deliberate effect, to draw out a specific sort of anticipation. Mettaton letting go of his ass entirely does surprise him, though, as he surely didn't require both hands to apply lubrication to his own cock, and why would he not take an opportunity to touch him if he could?
But then he feels Mettaton shifting on the bed, the peculiar sort of pressure of being leaned over. And he still sucks in a breath at the telling nudge of the tip of Mettaton's cock against his entrance, crowding the intruding slide of a finger. More than a nudge, it spoke of a readiness that was difficult to not take advantage of. As though Emet-Selch needed any more help imagining what would soon enough take the place of his hand- or for that matter, another temptation to slip his finger free right then, to allow his lover to fill him up properly.
There was truly no comparison, no matter how many fingers he applied. The thrust against him seems to indicate Mettaton's agreement, his cock feeling so slick against him, the Ascian nearly stopping in his motion entirely for a few seconds, just to temper back that impulse to pull free for him. He had lubrication, surely- surely it would be fine, what did it matter if he needed to shove a bit harder? He wanted him so much, his body would have to adapt. Satisfying Mettaton was the same as satisfying himself in the end; and there was only so much his hand could do for either of them like this.]
You can't... even wait your turn, can you?
[It's accompanied by a low huff, an attempt at exasperation, as though there were some problem with Mettaton telling him to prepare himself, and then making it difficult to do so properly. Not only by getting his cock in the way (as though it could ever be in the way), but by tempting him to remove his finger prematurely. But Emet-Selch bites his lip (a point of pain to sharpen his willpower) even as he swallows back a moan at the feeling of that thickness rubbing insufficiently against his hand, his entrance. Crowding them both.
But if anything, Emet-Selch deliberately slows down, as he gradually works a second finger into himself, letting out a breath and tension both. This was still nothing compared to the cock he actually wanted, but it was still better, and he allows himself to groan quietly as he strokes the interior of his body with those digits.
Steadily, if not quite easygoing, he moves them. His body even tries to rock back against his hand, as though to drive them deeper, to add to the sense of being thrust into.
But he can't ignore the steady presence of his lover's cock so close, and nor does he even try to. But it does add to his imaginings- that he'd be stretched further by him, Mettaton's girth already slick, and the both of them made hotter by the interior of his body, a friction to lose himself to. It wasn't as though Emet-Selch went around thinking about how empty he was, but in times like this, he couldn't consider anything else- and his fingers didn't even begin to give him what he wanted.
--But he'll still draw it out while he can, rocking his hips back against himself (and incidentally, against his lover's waiting cock), as though to further underline what he could be having of him. And though soft, he makes no effort now to hold back the pleased noises he was making, as though what he was doing to himself was somehow sufficient.]