[That warmth doesn't go unknown to the robot, who regards it pleasantly and with a widening of his smile. His eyelid drops a margin and though he can't read Emet-Selch's thoughts, it's a warmth that he ascribes to them and their combining; either a comfort found in each other's arms, or one found in the heat of their actions. It was natural: he felt similarly, but "warmth" would be an inadequate way to describe Mettaton's heat of arousal.
Arousal that's only fed with the appropriate recognition of his beauty. His smile widens for that purpose too: that Emet-Selch would suggest that the diamonds are nothing if not upon his shoulders is accurate. They're beautiful, he was enchanted by them... but on his shoulders, they shine brilliant and wonderful. His bright eyes are made softer, but no less luminous, affected only by the heat of mood and the growth of his smile. A sharpness not blunted, but given somewhere to cut into.
Mettaton rolls his hips, nestling his cock inside of Emet-Selch's body as a reward for his admiration of him, showing off how interested he is in finding Emet-Selch so accommodating, so compliant. He's the one toppled on his back, hips elevated to better receive Mettaton even while he remains on his knees. The robot's legs are spread somewhat to better access Emet-Selch, but he remains in a perfect position to freely thrust, to perfectly arch and curve into his lover's body as much as he wished. He envisions the sight of them together: the way his own erection must look pushing into Emet-Selch, the head of him penetrating with enough clearance for even the girth of his shaft to follow. Emet-Selch's body is a tight fit, and he imagines what that looks like, too, relying on vivid imagery from a time where he even had a double, from times with use of a mirror to visualize how malleable his lover's body is in comparison to his own. He knows he fills his lover well, and he knows Emet-Selch would worship him until he found himself well-fucked.
A tight fit that tightens around him, pulling a moan from him: soft and so unrestrained. He knows his Bonded would use his body to please him, and he can hardly wait for all of those sensations to push him to greater and greater heights of abandon. Indeed, squeezing at him to stroke his cock would only serve to nab his attention.
So Mettaton smiles not just about himself, but upon Emet-Selch, pleased with him. Mollified by him. In love with him. Appropriately venerated by him. A complex web of emotions, even if all of them are along the key of love and adoration.]
Thank you, darling. You're right... It could only find itself upon my shoulders for that reason. You said so earlier. It could drown out others, but I only elevate it.
[Emet-Selch is once more rewarded with a kiss, one still soft and passionate, lingering and warm as he sucks his lower lip. A delectation of a kiss, one intended to please them both. He treats even his lover's lips as his own, something for him to take and kiss and press against just as much as the rest of his body is for him to have and enjoy.
Vividly he imagines the sight of his lover's thighs as they surely appear, even as he presses his hips into them. Come-marked and kissed, bruised and well-loved, they would be a sight to arouse Mettaton under any circumstance. Should Emet-Selch spread them for his sights, an attempt to lure and tease, he'd find himself aroused so fast that he might find himself rendered into a stupor, weak-kneed and covetous. Even here, his lips betray that same heat of incomprehensible lust at the thought.
With thoughts like these, Mettaton needs no physical stimulation to find himself rapidly erect. When he so much as jostles his length with the readjusting of his hips, he makes a slight grunt/gasp at the sensation of dragging, his length rigid and filling his lover rather than being pressed in his body. Mettaton's the one forcing Emet-Selch to accommodate his length once more, and that thought has him sighing a sound of contentment.
He grins at Emet-Selch. He's not sorry at all.]
Sorry, sweetheart. It's so easy to let my mind wander... And combined with the work of your body... Well.
[Still not sorry. Not with the way he slowly rolls his hips in search of that angle to push and knead the glans, egging Emet-Selch on to squeeze him again. For the moment, his pushes are gentle: Mettaton doesn't try to overwhelm his lover nor himself, save for the occasional firmer push. A motion as though to remind them both of how full Emet-Selch is, even though he started off his erection with the root of his cock held by the squeeze of Emet-Selch's entrance. Hips flush to Emet-Selch's ass, Mettaton looms over him, rolling his hips and demanding that Emet-Selch feel the whole of his crotch, that he experience the fullness of his engorged cock — and how much more rigid it would become as he closes in on orgasm.]
But I don't think you mind this, either. I'll only fill you some more. That's not an outcome you'd protest...
no subject
Arousal that's only fed with the appropriate recognition of his beauty. His smile widens for that purpose too: that Emet-Selch would suggest that the diamonds are nothing if not upon his shoulders is accurate. They're beautiful, he was enchanted by them... but on his shoulders, they shine brilliant and wonderful. His bright eyes are made softer, but no less luminous, affected only by the heat of mood and the growth of his smile. A sharpness not blunted, but given somewhere to cut into.
Mettaton rolls his hips, nestling his cock inside of Emet-Selch's body as a reward for his admiration of him, showing off how interested he is in finding Emet-Selch so accommodating, so compliant. He's the one toppled on his back, hips elevated to better receive Mettaton even while he remains on his knees. The robot's legs are spread somewhat to better access Emet-Selch, but he remains in a perfect position to freely thrust, to perfectly arch and curve into his lover's body as much as he wished. He envisions the sight of them together: the way his own erection must look pushing into Emet-Selch, the head of him penetrating with enough clearance for even the girth of his shaft to follow. Emet-Selch's body is a tight fit, and he imagines what that looks like, too, relying on vivid imagery from a time where he even had a double, from times with use of a mirror to visualize how malleable his lover's body is in comparison to his own. He knows he fills his lover well, and he knows Emet-Selch would worship him until he found himself well-fucked.
A tight fit that tightens around him, pulling a moan from him: soft and so unrestrained. He knows his Bonded would use his body to please him, and he can hardly wait for all of those sensations to push him to greater and greater heights of abandon. Indeed, squeezing at him to stroke his cock would only serve to nab his attention.
So Mettaton smiles not just about himself, but upon Emet-Selch, pleased with him. Mollified by him. In love with him. Appropriately venerated by him. A complex web of emotions, even if all of them are along the key of love and adoration.]
Thank you, darling. You're right... It could only find itself upon my shoulders for that reason. You said so earlier. It could drown out others, but I only elevate it.
[Emet-Selch is once more rewarded with a kiss, one still soft and passionate, lingering and warm as he sucks his lower lip. A delectation of a kiss, one intended to please them both. He treats even his lover's lips as his own, something for him to take and kiss and press against just as much as the rest of his body is for him to have and enjoy.
Vividly he imagines the sight of his lover's thighs as they surely appear, even as he presses his hips into them. Come-marked and kissed, bruised and well-loved, they would be a sight to arouse Mettaton under any circumstance. Should Emet-Selch spread them for his sights, an attempt to lure and tease, he'd find himself aroused so fast that he might find himself rendered into a stupor, weak-kneed and covetous. Even here, his lips betray that same heat of incomprehensible lust at the thought.
With thoughts like these, Mettaton needs no physical stimulation to find himself rapidly erect. When he so much as jostles his length with the readjusting of his hips, he makes a slight grunt/gasp at the sensation of dragging, his length rigid and filling his lover rather than being pressed in his body. Mettaton's the one forcing Emet-Selch to accommodate his length once more, and that thought has him sighing a sound of contentment.
He grins at Emet-Selch. He's not sorry at all.]
Sorry, sweetheart. It's so easy to let my mind wander... And combined with the work of your body... Well.
[Still not sorry. Not with the way he slowly rolls his hips in search of that angle to push and knead the glans, egging Emet-Selch on to squeeze him again. For the moment, his pushes are gentle: Mettaton doesn't try to overwhelm his lover nor himself, save for the occasional firmer push. A motion as though to remind them both of how full Emet-Selch is, even though he started off his erection with the root of his cock held by the squeeze of Emet-Selch's entrance. Hips flush to Emet-Selch's ass, Mettaton looms over him, rolling his hips and demanding that Emet-Selch feel the whole of his crotch, that he experience the fullness of his engorged cock — and how much more rigid it would become as he closes in on orgasm.]
But I don't think you mind this, either. I'll only fill you some more. That's not an outcome you'd protest...