[Even as the robot loses himself to thrusting, stroking his cock with intention in each position to keep the rub focused and heavy enough to have Mettaton biting his lip, one of his hands takes an adventure toward Emet-Selch's waist.
It's a slow caress, digits savoring the planes and contours of his lover's figure — a figure far more delicate than his own, each curve something he had to pay mind to rather than something so noticeable, as is true on his own body. Mettaton is all dramatic angles and curves, protrusions and dips: a broad chest, a slight waist, and now with rounder hips, it was all something he'd become extremely familiar with before he did with Emet-Selch's body. And even though Emet-Selch follows a natural human pattern of body, Mettaton found that it was gentle, understated in variation. Even as he pulls and pushes his arousal, strokes both himself and his lover with the thick, defined head, his entire erection swollen and rigid compared to the giving softness of his partner's body, Mettaton's fingers rove his body, drinking in the slight dips of muscle, of ribs; of his waist, slipping over his abdomen and to his hip, where it palpates bone (and previous claw-based injury), moving lower, swinging to Emet-Selch's backside between their bodies to give his ass a squeeze. Mettaton hums close to his neck, pleased at all he feels.
For now, his hand settles against his ass, closer to his hip and sometimes groping him again, sometimes getting a chance to slip between their bodies to spread Emet-Selch's ass, to make more defined how vulnerable his lover feels to their sex.
He sighs close to his neck, not at all a sigh intended to catch breath but to express an emotion: dreamy, in love. This close, it becomes clear that the sound doesn't carry as much air as a sigh ought to from a human: it's purely a vocalization on the robot's part.]
Even diminished, your voice is lovely... I thrive on hearing you react. [There's not a point where Mettaton forgets that this voice has always been something Emet-Selch had as his own. He gives him a short squeeze with his remaining arm, though he's sure to supplement it with a squeeze to his ass.] Your reactions tell me you love this. You can't get enough of it... Being pushed down into the bed and so taken by me. [Another dreamy sigh.] We are well-matched...
[An implication that Mettaton can't get enough of performing the action, that he thrills on the feeling of filling Emet-Selch with a hard cock and feeling him wrap and squeeze around him, just as he does right now. Emet-Selch couldn't see his expressions right now, but there's nothing about Mettaton that suggests he's at all as composed as his voice suggests, stabilized only by virtue of being a robot without the sway of organic components that would see fit to be heaving, pounding, or overheating. Mettaton overheats, but he does it without notice, his body feeling otherwise well in order aside from a bit of trembling and tensing in his now-hybrid legs.
Mettaton would overheat before any notice came that he was giving in at all, in summary. But that wasn't likely to occur, not with all of his repairs and the extra assistance of cooling ears to expend some of that heat.
Heat does build, however. How could it not, when Mettaton's so fierce and into it that his thrusts are always so full-bodied, deliberate and firm, using the whole roll of his hips? Never is he halfhearted about it. The robot pushes Emet-Selch forward on the bed using the whole of his body - hips, arms, hands, cock - and slides on after him, kneeling behind him with his feet off the edge as he bears down on Emet-Selch, curling into him some more. Like this, his thrusts hasten: faster, firmer, fuller, Mettaton strokes the body that holds him and massages his own cock on the tensing, reactive muscle of his lover's body, moaning into his shoulder before following with a sigh, a kiss that flirts with dragging his teeth along skin.]
God, Hades... You're even a perfect fit for me. You're... So tight, so eager to stroke me and take all of me... Don't think I don't feel the way you work those hips.
[To emphasize, Mettaton's hand circles around to his hip again and pulls it back into his own hips, giving Emet-Selch a more pronounced, firm thrust of hips to ass, slamming his cock more deeply within his body. He notes how exhausted Emet-Selch is besides, so used and worn, but he still puts forth the effort to pleasure his lover, puts forth the desire to be fucked...
Mettaton wonders, then, about his lover's cock. He'd been aware that his lover hadn't gotten aroused before, and assumed that he'd outmatched his ability to become physically aroused (which didn't at all daunt the idol: he knew what it was like to be mentally aroused, and assumed Emet-Selch was still getting something out of this). The hand on his hip slips down to cup his Bonded's cock, something that gets an eager, full palming out of him and a delighted gasp.]
Oh...! My. [Voice dropping even lower, Mettaton mouths Emet-Selch's neck, finishing it off with a firm bite.] All along, you've been pleasuring yourself on me, too... I'm flattered.
[Only skimming his fingers along Emet-Selch's length, he gives the head of his erection a squeeze, stroking his fingers along the broadest part of its tip before giving the tip of him a few taps. The thrusting of his hips slow, but they grow no softer, only firmer, thicker plunges of his cock, steady and with more intent to give Emet-Selch the fullness of their combining as his hand moves down to cup Emet-Selch's balls, thumb rubbing along the shaft of him.]
Though I know... I don't have to do a thing. You could get off by being made to sit flush to my hips, and nothing else... you like being filled with me that much.
[Mettaton even unhands his cock then, once more gripping onto his hip as though to further steady his body for firm, deep thrusts. He smiles against Emet-Selch's neck, sinking more of his upper body against him to impress upon him that feeling of being mounted and fucked, no doubt affected by the knowledge of Emet-Selch's arousal: his thrusts take on a harder, deeper, more fervent push, made eager by the knowledge that Emet-Selch was aroused and getting off on their combining.]
no subject
It's a slow caress, digits savoring the planes and contours of his lover's figure — a figure far more delicate than his own, each curve something he had to pay mind to rather than something so noticeable, as is true on his own body. Mettaton is all dramatic angles and curves, protrusions and dips: a broad chest, a slight waist, and now with rounder hips, it was all something he'd become extremely familiar with before he did with Emet-Selch's body. And even though Emet-Selch follows a natural human pattern of body, Mettaton found that it was gentle, understated in variation. Even as he pulls and pushes his arousal, strokes both himself and his lover with the thick, defined head, his entire erection swollen and rigid compared to the giving softness of his partner's body, Mettaton's fingers rove his body, drinking in the slight dips of muscle, of ribs; of his waist, slipping over his abdomen and to his hip, where it palpates bone (and previous claw-based injury), moving lower, swinging to Emet-Selch's backside between their bodies to give his ass a squeeze. Mettaton hums close to his neck, pleased at all he feels.
For now, his hand settles against his ass, closer to his hip and sometimes groping him again, sometimes getting a chance to slip between their bodies to spread Emet-Selch's ass, to make more defined how vulnerable his lover feels to their sex.
He sighs close to his neck, not at all a sigh intended to catch breath but to express an emotion: dreamy, in love. This close, it becomes clear that the sound doesn't carry as much air as a sigh ought to from a human: it's purely a vocalization on the robot's part.]
Even diminished, your voice is lovely... I thrive on hearing you react. [There's not a point where Mettaton forgets that this voice has always been something Emet-Selch had as his own. He gives him a short squeeze with his remaining arm, though he's sure to supplement it with a squeeze to his ass.] Your reactions tell me you love this. You can't get enough of it... Being pushed down into the bed and so taken by me. [Another dreamy sigh.] We are well-matched...
[An implication that Mettaton can't get enough of performing the action, that he thrills on the feeling of filling Emet-Selch with a hard cock and feeling him wrap and squeeze around him, just as he does right now. Emet-Selch couldn't see his expressions right now, but there's nothing about Mettaton that suggests he's at all as composed as his voice suggests, stabilized only by virtue of being a robot without the sway of organic components that would see fit to be heaving, pounding, or overheating. Mettaton overheats, but he does it without notice, his body feeling otherwise well in order aside from a bit of trembling and tensing in his now-hybrid legs.
Mettaton would overheat before any notice came that he was giving in at all, in summary. But that wasn't likely to occur, not with all of his repairs and the extra assistance of cooling ears to expend some of that heat.
Heat does build, however. How could it not, when Mettaton's so fierce and into it that his thrusts are always so full-bodied, deliberate and firm, using the whole roll of his hips? Never is he halfhearted about it. The robot pushes Emet-Selch forward on the bed using the whole of his body - hips, arms, hands, cock - and slides on after him, kneeling behind him with his feet off the edge as he bears down on Emet-Selch, curling into him some more. Like this, his thrusts hasten: faster, firmer, fuller, Mettaton strokes the body that holds him and massages his own cock on the tensing, reactive muscle of his lover's body, moaning into his shoulder before following with a sigh, a kiss that flirts with dragging his teeth along skin.]
God, Hades... You're even a perfect fit for me. You're... So tight, so eager to stroke me and take all of me... Don't think I don't feel the way you work those hips.
[To emphasize, Mettaton's hand circles around to his hip again and pulls it back into his own hips, giving Emet-Selch a more pronounced, firm thrust of hips to ass, slamming his cock more deeply within his body. He notes how exhausted Emet-Selch is besides, so used and worn, but he still puts forth the effort to pleasure his lover, puts forth the desire to be fucked...
Mettaton wonders, then, about his lover's cock. He'd been aware that his lover hadn't gotten aroused before, and assumed that he'd outmatched his ability to become physically aroused (which didn't at all daunt the idol: he knew what it was like to be mentally aroused, and assumed Emet-Selch was still getting something out of this). The hand on his hip slips down to cup his Bonded's cock, something that gets an eager, full palming out of him and a delighted gasp.]
Oh...! My. [Voice dropping even lower, Mettaton mouths Emet-Selch's neck, finishing it off with a firm bite.] All along, you've been pleasuring yourself on me, too... I'm flattered.
[Only skimming his fingers along Emet-Selch's length, he gives the head of his erection a squeeze, stroking his fingers along the broadest part of its tip before giving the tip of him a few taps. The thrusting of his hips slow, but they grow no softer, only firmer, thicker plunges of his cock, steady and with more intent to give Emet-Selch the fullness of their combining as his hand moves down to cup Emet-Selch's balls, thumb rubbing along the shaft of him.]
Though I know... I don't have to do a thing. You could get off by being made to sit flush to my hips, and nothing else... you like being filled with me that much.
[Mettaton even unhands his cock then, once more gripping onto his hip as though to further steady his body for firm, deep thrusts. He smiles against Emet-Selch's neck, sinking more of his upper body against him to impress upon him that feeling of being mounted and fucked, no doubt affected by the knowledge of Emet-Selch's arousal: his thrusts take on a harder, deeper, more fervent push, made eager by the knowledge that Emet-Selch was aroused and getting off on their combining.]