[It's a rush, feeling Emet-Selch respond to his noise by closing in on him, and he knows better than not to predict that more's coming his way. He feels warmer, anticipatory; even if Mettaton had the chance to brace himself, the escalation from the gentle scraping of teeth to a firm bite doesn't occur to him.
So this level of contact and the sheer amount he feels from it causes his body to jerk and his legs to squirm. He cries out, and it fails to sound much like he's entirely in pain so much as in pleasure. He sees stars, the feeling of his neck being sucked on as a follow-up equally delightful, so much so that he fails to notice the moan that slips from his throat in response. The robot's neck slackens and his fingers press into Emet-Selch's side some more, while he pets the back of his head — all automatically, encouraging.
It'll take a moment for Mettaton to catch up with any talk after this as well, and he won't do it as effectively. Be patient, Emet-Selch: it's all he can do, and as if to demonstrate how it takes him, he hums gently in response to the sound of his Bonded's voice.
He gets the picture: his body's a Garlean, and it seems like there are so many kinds of creatures where he comes from. He wonders distantly if even Lalafell are from the same world, based on Tataru's manner of speaking... But he doesn't spare much thought for this, his attention distracted by the mere quality of Emet-Selch's voice, how even that's enough to give him a heady warmth of pleasure.
What he does come away with is that he had an original form, as he wondered. One with entirely white hair. He has to prioritize information after that, try to regain his composure meanwhile.]
White hair... I'd say I see it. But this— this isn't what you used to... appear as...
[And he has a feeling Emet-Selch prefers his original form, not this one. Feeling Emet-Selch shifting closer yet, as they always do to each other, has him shuddering.]
no subject
So this level of contact and the sheer amount he feels from it causes his body to jerk and his legs to squirm. He cries out, and it fails to sound much like he's entirely in pain so much as in pleasure. He sees stars, the feeling of his neck being sucked on as a follow-up equally delightful, so much so that he fails to notice the moan that slips from his throat in response. The robot's neck slackens and his fingers press into Emet-Selch's side some more, while he pets the back of his head — all automatically, encouraging.
It'll take a moment for Mettaton to catch up with any talk after this as well, and he won't do it as effectively. Be patient, Emet-Selch: it's all he can do, and as if to demonstrate how it takes him, he hums gently in response to the sound of his Bonded's voice.
He gets the picture: his body's a Garlean, and it seems like there are so many kinds of creatures where he comes from. He wonders distantly if even Lalafell are from the same world, based on Tataru's manner of speaking... But he doesn't spare much thought for this, his attention distracted by the mere quality of Emet-Selch's voice, how even that's enough to give him a heady warmth of pleasure.
What he does come away with is that he had an original form, as he wondered. One with entirely white hair. He has to prioritize information after that, try to regain his composure meanwhile.]
White hair... I'd say I see it. But this— this isn't what you used to... appear as...
[And he has a feeling Emet-Selch prefers his original form, not this one. Feeling Emet-Selch shifting closer yet, as they always do to each other, has him shuddering.]