glitzandglamour: (💣132)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-05 08:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[Preferring to focus the permission he didn't require, for an opportunity he's greatly appreciative of, Mettaton smile turns self-satisfied as his hand gets to work baring his lover's chest for his thorough examination. But he knows it's both that, and his face he needs the most of all. The proximity of his Witch's magic could only help, too.

It's hardly seeking permission, and more of a warning for his intent. The study and focus his body will be treated to, the kind Mettaton imagines he will be thoroughly distracted from even as he attempts to stare dead-on at his Bonded's form. Therefore, it's the the perfect kind of distraction. A distraction of lust rather than anything... unsuitable, unsavory, disturbing. The kind jarring enough to twist the outcome into something seared into his memory.

All he has now is a distorted memory of his end result. Even the thought has his thoughts deadening.

The robot soothes his own nerves, nerves nothing like the sort for stage fright or the like. It's been a gradual wearing of them, strung out and tested for their breaking point over the span of just weeks. His conviction bounces unsteadily between apprehension and total assurance in his abilities. His fingers work Emet-Selch's clothes, an easy initial response tumbling from his lips to buy time before describing the problem at hand.]


Thank you, darling. I always know I can rely on you to invest yourself in something that matters to me... [A smile, heartfelt even as his eyelids remain heavy.] I can't say for sure that I know exactly what it should feel like. Being human. But that's why it takes me this extra step. I studied it about a month ago, and then... Well. Having your body as my muse, I couldn't possibly get it wrong, at this point.

[Mettaton brings his other hand forward to assist him in making quicker work of Emet-Selch's clothes. He's sure, it can only improve. It was going so well. He was understanding better the nuance of a body, how to achieve a more convincing, lifelike form. Some of his initial attempts were good, but lacked proper elements to be better lifelike: a pulse, breathing, the proper bend to joints. He didn't see anything wrong with it... until he compared his mental notes of himself to people around him. Interesting how experience in itself enhances his own perception of others. A cycle of feedback.

Slipping his hands into Emet-Selch's clothes, one hand settles upon the Ascian's waist while the other moves to slip his clothes over his shoulder, beholding as much as proximity will allow with a once-over and a steady smile. Then, he meets his eyes again.]


There was something... I saw. Something in somebody's memories. It disrupts my thoughts sometimes, when I try to imitate a human form. When I messed up the first time, seeing my form like that... It's all I can think of, now. ... I need to get it right. That's all.
glitzandglamour: (💣053)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-05 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[Emet-Selch is on the same wavelength as Mettaton. If he has his body before him, if Emet-Selch commands his attention entirely, how could he err? For all that his last attempts haunt him with their uncanny terrors manifested on his very own body, that's a thing of history if he has a proper example right before him. A reminder of what he wants, in the flesh.

And to be pulled into such a rough kiss... Mettaton starts, but he quickly takes the mood of his Bonded and runs with it, like adding gasoline to fire. He presses into him, shuttering his eye with a soft sigh of pleasure while a hand roams his chest. He feels for skin, the press of tissue and muscle, and not a single exposed rib. Naturally: everything here is properly formed. He doesn't even let himself think of those mistakes, instead slipping comfortably into desire for the other man. His pressure, his taste, and his touch... And soon, his warmth.

Because the Ascian's demand and dare is communicated crystal clear, and it settles into him as a hybrid mix of jealousy and daring for himself. He wants what he feels, both to steal his form, and to consume his body. Even to witness him edging toward breathless when he ends their kiss, Mettaton admires such a reaction and fixates on it. It's easy to do, considering how often he wants to render him in that way.

Mettaton responds well to the pressure of confidence. It feels like his only option is what's at his fingertips. He continues to prod flesh, to run his palm along skin, a smooth plane of distraction. Even as he caresses his thumb along scars, the whole of him only serves to tantalize the robot to his own pursuits.

He emits a short, breathy laugh. This was going to be easy. Why ever did he find it would be so difficult before? He pushes forward even in Emet-Selch's grip to recapture his lips in a firm kiss, swiping his tongue along his lower lip.

The idol's smile is cocky when he pulls back, keeping Emet-Selch's face in view.]


Yes... Yes. With a sight like you set before me, right now... For me to touch and experience. I'll finally achieve my best attempt yet. Now.

[Mettaton reaches up to readjust one of Emet-Selch's hands. The one on the right side of his face is made to remain, though he tosses his head to ensure that his lover's fingers remain pressed directly against the half of his face that's incomplete under that fringe of his bangs. A calculated move: a reminder that not... missing part of his face? (Even if it's incomplete. That doesn't translate well to being human, it turns out.) His other hand is free to do as he pleases. Mettaton's fingers return to busy with his chest.]

Do your worst, and I'll do mine.
glitzandglamour: (💣049)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-06 12:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[So he focuses on this. Emet-Selch's kiss occupies much of his attention with all other stimuli an accompaniment. Mettaton falls into the kiss, slackening somewhat as he relies upon locked knees to keep himself upright.

There's something enchanting about having his body touched by somebody who exhibits signs of transparent love for him. Mettaton feels he's completely worthy of the attention, but when turning into a human hangs in the balance, it charms him all the more that Emet-Selch would always fascinate himself over his long-awaited body. It's evident in his fingers and his deliberation. His attention follows the path of his fingers, too, even as his own travel down Emet-Selch's sternum and move to handle his chest with both hands, pressing into him with both fingertips and palms. Their kiss is a delectable focus: mutually, he tastes for his Bonded and knows that, given their history, this is a taste that'll soon be lost to his own mouth in due time. He hums around his lover's tongue, fingers and claws subconsciously curling into his skin as if attempting to grip onto him. He slides his tongue against the other man's, the entirety of his action enough to give Mettaton a good shiver.

The feeling of his thumb taking such a gentle path around the remnant shape of his eye is unique, something he feels just about as often as Emet-Selch regards it at all, which is rare. But it's reassuring: Mettaton's tactile in affection. It soothes him, all while serving to remind him of tangibility. It's always a problem with that, in the end: what's present, and what's disturbingly not.

And he's very present, in all senses of the word. Drinking in the way Emet-Selch asserts himself, the way his fingers trace over his chest, takes further claim upon his mouth (something Mettaton's sure they'll be doing plenty of to come, he can feel it and it sparks like electricity to consider), and to take his cue for touch. Mettaton's fingers trace over his skin, one hand pressing firmly into his torso while the other flicks one of his nipples before rubbing, and it's another point toward just wanting, all of it.

He wants to experience this. The idol doesn't see why he can't have his way. He wants Emet-Selch in every way possible, and this is one of those absurd possibilities afforded to him, after all. He opens his eye. Focuses on Emet-Selch's face, even from this close proximity. He wants to impress him, but he also wants to have him in every way. And, he wants Emet-Selch to have him in return.

So he shifts. It's all of him, all at once, a drastic change in texture and tenderness. Emet-Selch's fingers trace over skin now, a body built and lean and decently toned. Skin warm, perhaps warmer than a human's should be, it's a forgivable mistake coming from his own perceptions of temperature. Mettaton's claws are gone, replaced by proper fingers (though he still envisions the wrong number of them); and though his eyes are closed, they're dark as his hair, the perfect image of what Mettaton would have been if he were made human instead of machine.

Importantly, there aren't any nightmarish mistakes. No missing pieces or exposed insides, no disfigurement or dripping blood. Only benign hiccups, like too-hot temperatures and too-few fingers.

And he knows it's worked: he has an actual pulse, and he feels it jump in his throat. Real functional lungs he could be rendered breathless with. And he emits a noise of pleasure at the way the air chills against his naked body — it's not as though he was wearing anything to act as a buffer against it. He jolts in place before he wraps his arms around his Bonded's back, hungrily drawing him close to his body: for contact, for love, and for warmth, even though he feels feverishly hot already. Hot, and already aroused.

The contact of pulling Emet-Selch to his body shocks him. He gasps at the feeling, and he's forced to break the kiss in his excitement. He takes a gulp of air, delirious.]


Ah— Hades...! I...

[There's a lot for the idol to focus on. His success, first of all. But the sudden sensation of the Ascian's body pulled flush to his own, his arousal shoved against his figure... Mettaton's eye's wide, lips parted, hips automatically grinding into his lover as muscle tenses.]
glitzandglamour: (💣125)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-06 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[Mettaton smiles silly with the eye contact of his Bonded, mind buzzing on a high while his attention is bright and lively, beside himself at this crash course to being made more human while in the presence of another person. The mere attention and unreality of it all astounds him. Mettaton can only agree: there was no chance for failure with both of their plans in motion. All notion of his previous mistakes are discarded, pushed far away from his immediate memory to make room for whatever he sees in this body and its successful conceptualization.

The way Emet-Selch shifts his hips so he can feel that hard line beneath clothes has Mettaton's grip tightening, breath catching on an exhale, making short work of a moan as he pushes forward his hips again, wanting greater contact with the Ascian's body. His body, shirtless, which is still something warm and pleasant even against his own: he grips onto him, just as delighted by that sensation as he imagined he'd be. Though built curvy in his own right with a narrow waist, it's nowhere near the dramatic angles and curves of his robotic figure, and Emet-Selch fits against him perfectly with the mutual give of their bodies. Even something that minute doesn't escape Mettaton's notice, and he hums, tugging him close.

His kiss is met with an electricity, even as he shudders. Mettaton stops focusing on his body for a moment to instead focus on Emet-Selch, his words filling him to the brim with adoration as his fleeting kiss is yet another way to fill him up. His hips roll into Emet-Selch, a movement almost brazen if it weren't that he was already completely revealed and completely hard to compare. It couldn't get more brazen than that.]


I take it you're... You like what you feel... Oh—!

[Emet-Selch moves to his throat and Mettaton predicts what he's going to do seconds before he does it, taking a preparatory gasp as he swallows hard. He can't even brace himself for the sensation, which is different than how it feels on his regular body: his moan has an edge of pain to it, but it softens into one of pleasure as soon as he acknowledges that this is how it feels. Mettaton bares his neck, granting access to his Bonded with a perverse excitement for the impending marks to be left behind, more things he's coveted desperately finally given to him.

His arms further entwine around the Ascian, shifting to his upper back as he pulls him in, demanding his complete attentions upon his body. His pulse thrums under Emet-Selch's attentions, and as Mettaton can feel the beat of it under the pressure of his lips. He shudders and clings, shoving his hips into him further, unashamed to show the full of his want. A rub against the form of his lover's arousal, the feeling of it and knowledge of it pleasurable in its own right. Mettaton closes his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of Emet-Selch at his neck.]


Yesss, Hades... I want to see... What you do me...

[It's terrible that he still wants to mark him up in return, with just as much fervor as he did in their dream. The lingering memory of blood entices him too much for him to leave it at brusies. But Mettaton is filled with every manner of want: a dizzying amount, and he exhales shakily at it all.]
glitzandglamour: (💣112)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-07 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
[And Mettaton would agree that the fact that they both know of their mutual claim is what matters. Every mark he's ever made on Emet-Selch had been there, and the same is true for himself, even when marks cannot be made.

This isn't the first time Mettaton's attempted shapeshifting into a human, but it's the first time it's felt so correct. It's always felt right, but every part of this form responds to Emet-Selch's touches as it should, every nerve firing off just right, every prod and lick a different texture and sensation beyond even what he's been granted in his EX body.

He can feel all of the same by touch now, but who knew that the ability to feel temperature would change so much? Emet-Selch's mouth is so warm, he knew that. But to feel it on his neck, his tongue and teeth and lips, only to feel him drift elsewhere for his work to be left to chill... It leaves Mettaton shaking, clutching onto Emet-Selch with yet another shuddering breath. Wetness in itself feels entirely different, and the pressure of sucking on his skin and the subsequent bruising has him gasping some more, soft noises of pleasure accompanying each new kiss and mark. It's a needling sort of pain that blooms purple, at first mere pain before being converted immediately into raw pleasure. Signs of Emet-Selch's ardor, reciprocated by Mettaton entirely.

Being bitten down upon, harder this time, has Mettaton crying out. He squirms, pulls more tightly on the Ascian's body before hiccuping over his own breath, an interruption spared for the way his erection presses so firmly against his lover's.

Fixating so hard on how different everything feels has Mettaton's embrace tightening as his knees wobble, though his thighs remain taut as he continues to rub his cock against the impression of Emet-Selchs through fabric, unable to control his craving for more now that he's been given a taste. He exhales a particularly hard breath to accompany a tremble, sucking in air as he bites his lip at the sensation of both his lover at his neck and the way his hands travel down his back.

From chills of a psychological nature to the impression of air against saliva, to a lack of clothes and the suggestion of his lover's arousal and what it means for their immediate future, he has every reason in the book to shiver.

Mettaton's hands pet along Emet-Selch's back encouragingly. It's so nice to feel the press of skin against skin, the embrace in itself bringing a unique satisfaction in its warmth and softness. A softness bodies like these have that still expresses the passion he harbors. Mettaton can hardly stand it: it's surreal, holding his Bonded like this, and it feels like every time before is just as surreal and wonderful. He smiles. While Emet-Selch busies himself with his shoulders and his neck, Mettaton takes a chance to rub his cheek against the Ascian's head with a particular longing, full of love, aching and overfull at his attention and care and the want he feels from him.

The result of their entire relationship is that Mettaton loves him after all, for as much as he taunted him with it many months ago. Aside from the pain that comes of love, he could never hurt him. No matter what, he doubts he could. He doesn't have it in him, completely prone. He sighs, nuzzling him harder.]


Hades... Bed. Y... You're doing a number on me.

[That is, if both of them keep feeling weak-kneed, something ridiculous is bound to happen. It should be obvious that Mettaton's already made some of his weight Emet-Selch's responsibility. Taking his own weight back somewhat, one of his hands ventures down automatically to tease at the band of Emet-Selch's pants, pulling at the front with a finger before letting go. Flirting with the desire to strip him down, once he gets the chance.]
glitzandglamour: (💣099)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-07 10:52 am (UTC)(link)
[This pattern of their intensity swinging from sensual and lusting to vulnerable and emotional is all the more reason to find themselves somewhere they could fall into each other rather than away, and Mettaton, not wanting to separate from the Ascian in the slightest bit, starts to follow him... until he feels his eyes on him, attention locked on Emet-Selch in turn. A chill courses through him that serves only to heat him up, overcome as his Bonded steals him in yet another kiss along their way to the bed. Such a distraction, they both are to one another...

His kiss feels undeniable, an expression of his depths that Mettaton can only respond to with his own heights, arms once more encircling his body, fingers and palms pressing into his back. To appreciate his body, to memorize his dimensions, and to brand him with his touch, all in one.

Any manner of intensity is one that Mettaton will step up to and match in his own right. This is no different: it draws from an emotional reserve that grows deeper and deeper by the day for Emet-Selch, impossibly. He feels so alive in this moment between himself and his lover that the potency of his feeling leaves him forgetting to breathe or to even try, kiss gentle but likewise intense. He feels the heat of his own body warming the space between them. It's space he wants to close, Mettaton decides. Obscene, in the way that he wants so much. He could nearly succumb to his primal desire and pull him to the floor as he is, ravish him and take him there, and he shudders at the thought. His cock aches; his craving for the Ascian's body burns hot enough to sear him.

Just before he loses himself in the kiss, Mettaton breaks it with the same tenderness that it's built upon, exhaling whatever breath he has left as his body forgets how to respond at all. Such gentleness paid toward him, an obvious desire amidst an obvious care. His awareness is static, nothing more. He couldn't remove his arms from Emet-Selch if he tried.

But they still have a destination, and Mettaton remembers what it means to take a shallow breath, at least. He does, and immediately expels it in a short, dizzy laugh, lovestruck and heartsick both. Ultimately drunk, and wanting to slip further into intoxication. His voice is mildly teasing, incredibly flirtatious, and low with his desire. He leans his forehead into Emet-Selch's for some added stability. His entire world is within this room, right now.]


Oh, my. Aren't you distracting. You can have it all, darling. Every bit of me... You know patience.

[Mettaton takes initiative on unsteady feet, urging his Bonded along: if he's going to be so distracted by Mettaton, which he should be, he can finish guiding him to where he can indulge fully in this distraction he loves to provide. The idol lures him forward by stepping backwards toward the bed, and once he feels its edge against the backs of his legs, he slides onto it, pulling Emet-Selch down with him.

It's just as soon as they make it there, as soon as Emet-Selch edges onto the bed after Mettaton's body that Mettaton takes his turn to lunge for him, pulling Emet-Selch into a deep kiss with as much intensity as before, but with a touch of his unrestrained fever. A gentleness with a passion. The taste of his Bondmate has Mettaton moaning into their kiss, and he nips at his lower lip as his hands drop to the fastenings of his trousers, the ache he feels in his entire body suggestive to him of both adoration and carnal desire. He makes a soft noise into his kiss, a contented sigh to finally be somewhere he could fall. Somewhere they could both fall.]
glitzandglamour: i just thought you should know. (💣109)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-07 06:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[And that jerk of his hips has Mettaton's eyes widening by degrees, an edge of excitement he already had compounded upon. It's a sharp intake of breath through his nose even into their kiss before the other man breaks it, all of which is expelled all at once when he moves to speak.

Instead of hearing him at first, Mettaton's attention is dragged down to the front of his pants, pleased that there's light enough for him to see it all — and for him to be seen in return. He loves being watched. He spares a glance to Emet-Selch's face again, noting his half-lidded gaze, before he brazenly fixates upon the work of his hands with an impatience for clothes and a hunger he wouldn't bother to disguise. His own hips shift impotently, sympathetic for his Bonded's desires and his captivity, even though he's never felt what it's like to be aroused beneath fabric. No, his sympathy comes from the feeling of being aroused and having nothing to show for it.

He practically tears Emet-Selch's fly open and yanks his pants down, increasingly feverish as his breaths become shorter and harder. His eye nearly glazes over just as he reveals his lover's cock, watching bounce to upright attention as he pulls it from its confines. And then, Mettaton moans in sympathy: there's no contact, nothing at all, just the sight and all of his craving, the way that being watch feels as if it intensifies even his own experiences. He exhales breath he almost has none of, finding it hard to take in anything more in the heights and heat of his appetite. He has no room in his body for air. He wants to fill himself with Emet-Selch instead.

The idol opens his mouth to speak as his hands reflexively grab onto Emet-Selch's hips. Something about patience, he thinks. It is overrated, and when he thinks about his Bonded's experience with it... This man has scarcely known reward from patience. It brings Mettaton to smile at him when he thinks about how he can be rewarded for a lack of it through indulgence, and he finally pries his attention from the coveted sight of Emet-Selch's cock to meet his lover's eyes, squirming against the bed as he resumes breathing, short and shallow as though to keep enough room in his body for everything else.]


I know it. [Patience. He... says he knows patience, all while unable to stay still and wait for anything at all. His hands are on Emet-Selch's hips, attempting to pull the other man onto his wanting, trembling body.] And... we don't need it. I-

[Dazed. Lusting. He can't think, gazing upon Emet-Selch's body in such a position slightly above his own after having crawled almost atop him on their way to bed. Mettaton realizes he has too much spit in his mouth, and he swallows thickly.]

I need-

[Greedy. He needs all of him at once. Not one position will do. Not one method of claim will do. The idol's eyes narrow, and a mark of frustration etches itself onto his features, a merge of libidinous irritation at the fact that he can't just... fuck him, be fucked, suck him off, be kissed from tip to toe, hold him close, force his lover to watch him pleasure himself... All of it at once.

This indecent list is endless, and it's enough to get Mettaton to lunge for Emet-Selch's neck in his impatience for it all. He sinks his perfect teeth into his neck without reserve: his blood is for him to take, and he immediately breaks out into a heavy moan at the taste. It's better tasting than he remembers, his blood...

Mettaton knows patience, but if he doesn't have to be, he doesn't see the point.]
glitzandglamour: (💣102)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-07 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[To be received so readily has Mettaton sighing into his claim, tonguing and tasting him to his pleasure. The robot's hands move from Emet-Selch's hips to his waist as he pulls him down, atop him, but it's not for long. He releases his neck, switching to a starved tonguing of his body.

His grip on the Ascian firms. The muscles in his body all tense at once, and his hands slide to wrap around both his back and his waist before he rolls their figures over so that Emet-Selch is the one on his back. Mettaton's lips remain at his neck, ready to continue his work as he pulls his arms out from underneath the other man. Loathe to pull his body away from his, he remains pressed full-bodily to Emet-Selch, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat at the mere sensation of his figure sinking into the body beneath him. Sinking and pressing, hips locked together, chests flush, and the hardness of their erections nestled up against each other firmly.

His hips shudder at the realization of contact, and Mettaton takes another deep bite of Emet-Selch's neck as he rocks his hips. Pleasure escapes from his throat at the friction, at the fizzy taste of metallic blood that coats his lips and tongue. It's a viciousness not born of jealousy against abstract constructs this time, but a viciousness born of the gravity of his want and the craving for all of him, in every form.

And both situations remain laden heavy with love.

Even as his teeth sink deep, his tongue runs along his skin from the confines of his mouth. He withdraws, kisses enough to tint his lips, and licks, tongue broad and firm as he tries to clean all evidence of wound from his shoulder. His sigh is shuddering as his arms, flanking either side of Emet-Selch's, tremble against the mattress.

He sighs again. Breathes in his scent that mingles with blood and the scent of himself, the way he's claimed his lover so often that he can catch the hints of himself on his Bonded even after a time away. A thorough job at possession, but not yet enough. Primal claim takes him, and he grips down onto Emet-Selch, rolling his hips into the other man. His arousal is so firm against his own, and as his vision darkens, he wonders if he's remembering to breathe...?

So he takes a sharp inhale. That's better.

The Puca trails kisses along his jaw, lips still decorated in blood. He raises his body enough to look Emet-Selch in the eye, a grin pulling on his features as he consumes not just his skin and his blood, but his the way he looks beneath him. His voice is low and breathless, interrupted by gasps for air. Breathing has to happen, but in his indulgence, he scarcely remembers to do it save for on reflex to... live, basically.]


I've decided... Yes. Since. You're here. I may as well make you... You belong to me. Everything.

[Mettaton's finger traces his neck. He has so much more yet to do. So much more skin available to mark. His thighs, his shoulders, his hips... Everywhere for everyone to see. Everywhere hidden is entirely for Emet-Selch, a private reminder of what's Mettaton's. His visage darkens hungrily at the notion of claim. Mettaton decides then and there that he's going to fill his lover with his cock: a claim by filling, by sinking into him with more than just teeth.]
glitzandglamour: (💣124)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
[All along, Mettaton had been finding himself wanting. Coveting the Ascian's form, but coveting his body, too. Wanting him down to his soul and his every memory, from the parts he enjoys to the parts that unsettle him. It's so easy to want to take and keep somebody else...

But for the most fleeting of moments, the weight of his Bonded's demand interrupts Mettaton's spiraling fever, a madness provoked by blood and pleasure both. For it to jar him from that, at least, means he's being forced to examine its weight. His pulse spikes.]


All...

[His voice is carried on a breath between them, his body instinctively, habitually pressing into Emet-Selch. And when he takes stock of that, of everything his Bonded means to him... What a thing to consider. But he'd been thinking it all night and for longer than that, hadn't he? The only difference is the weight of the suggestion. The desire to be seen and known and that invitation on the idols part For Emet-Selch to keep him and use him and distract him and consume him.

Yes, it's easy to want the whole of Emet-Selch, to have and to fill with himself, to know every bit of him and have his soul. But having that desire returned in such concrete terms, that hunger and demand evident on his Bonded's expression...

Mettaton takes a sharp breath. He drinks in the sight of him beneath him, that threat balanced perfectly with the love of it, and he wonders if this manner of panic is anything like the way Emet-Selch felt when Mettaton told him he loved him. There's a fleeting notion to bounce and flee... As though the notion of keeping him is some kind of confinement. But why would he flee? Where would he go? Right back to Emet-Selch, because against sense, he loves him.

Panic is swallowed up by the heat of that desire and love, incinerated completely. He knows Emet-Selch, and he knows Mettaton. And they love each other. It's reassuring. His smile blooms.

Time resumes, and Mettaton's body reacts even before his mind can catch up, knowing best of all what he wants. Mettaton leans for his Bonded with his smile renewed, still sensual but loving. His intuition has already decided for him: Emet-Selch has the whole of him. Not even a minute or two ago, he guaranteed every bit of himself to this man, didn't he? He says this all the time, and Mettaton speaks his heart, even when he doesn't realize it. He has no reason to doubt himself. He knows himself and knows that there isn't a person out there who could match this intensity, and this is something worth breaking his heart over. Something worth losing himself to. If Mettaton wants to mark Emet-Selch as raw and deep as he desires, it would only take the whole of his very soul to do it. It would take submitting to this solidity that Emet-Selch presents before him.

His exhale this time is shaky as he teases his lips against Emet-Selch's, half-lidded and finding himself intoxicated this time on... possession. Refocusing on their Bond, he feels that expectation and demand that mingles with his despair. This close to his lover, their Bond is so open that he can feel the pressure of his soul bound to his own.

Mettaton's voice is as heavy but soft, just for Emet-Selch to hear.]


All of me... for all of you.

[His own intensity flares to life to match this depth he hears in Emet-Selch's voice. A depth to his heights. He's made to pay special attention to the press of their bodies, the way he can feel his own heartbeat thudding in his throat, his breathing hard from their mounting passion, and a mirror of it from his Bonded's body. Though he hovers close to Emet-Selch's lips, he waits for his move after running this tongue along his lower lip, fingers digging into skin, a note of pleasure slipping from his throat as his hips shift again. To press his weight into him for reassertion of that claim upon his body and soul. To claim Emet-Selch now is to give himself over, after all.]
glitzandglamour: (💣125)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 12:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[All of the impending intensity he knew lurked beneath the surface of that demand crashes upon his own heart, just as he expected it would. He wasn't sure what manner of depth he was feeding, but it feels as if he's chanced upon a deepness unknown and unprecedented. But it's as he says: it's the whole of him. The whole of him exposed, a step further in meeting in the center, where even their Bond couldn't communicate anything further for them. It's the whole of him, his entire essence, and Mettaton easily gives himself over to that. His soul belongs to him, with every emotion and inclination.

And there's an eagerness to the star's manner, even in regard to these terrifying new depths of his Bonded's vulnerability. Mettaton closes his eyes and indulges in that kiss, a firm yet fragile thing, gladly letting Emet-Selch keep his head close to his lips. Mettaton kisses in patterns, finding his own breathing is too shallow for him to kiss him until he suffocates.

The way he presses his lips to Emet-Selch's, however, is with a manner of reassurance. He feels it all: a pain, but a comfort found. His Bonded usually feels in such duality, and he wants nothing more but to maximize that feeling of comfort. He reciprocates that nuzzle with an ascending hum, warm and filling ever more with love and affection as he probes the new dimension of their feelings for one another — feelings already there, but laid out more openly. He sighs, smitten and dreamy.

He feels like he's on fire with how hot his body burns. He shifts, squirms, restless and wanting, even as he sighs into soft, fleeting kisses that begin to drift to other parts of Emet-Selch's face in his love for him. He moves enough for his arm to frame the side of the Ascian's head, sliding fingers through locks of hair as he kisses along Emet-Selch's temple and drifts to his hairline. More attempts to reassure and comfort when he feels hurt through their connection, and an attempt to take his lover's soul with his own. Stability and a brimming presence are what Mettaton offers in this moment, his fingers tangling firm in his hair.

Drifting back to his lips, Mettaton plants a kiss there with a smile.]


I love... you.

[His voice is syrupy, slurred and hot. Without meaning to, his hips rock gently as he covets more and more, even as he focuses on his Bonded's well-being over all else. It causes him to take a shaky breath, a soft, slight moan escaping from his lips at his slipping control.]
glitzandglamour: (💣011)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[Hearing him say as much, even despite the turbulence of his emotions, brings a brighter smile to Mettaton's expression. This is why he likes to talk and ask and pry even if he can feel his Bonded's feelings, because he can take these torrential emotions and fine-tune them into some words that Emet-Selch would spare for them. A better understanding of his own processes, and immensely helpful in understanding him. And while Mettaton acknowledges the guilt and the ever-present hurt, those things were a part of Emet-Selch. If Emet-Selch's sentiment here was to love him back, even if (or especially if) it was such a struggle to put it to words, it puts all else into perspective. It's what Mettaton decides every other sensation is a backdrop to.

Humming a laugh, his own mood brightens. It's okay that they're on such different wavelengths: it's not an act intended to be offensive, that Mettaton himself swings toward pleased and energetic while Emet-Selch lingers with his usual hurt, but just his own state. And really, he loves him. And each sound Emet-Selch makes even beyond his voice feeds Mettaton, an upsurge in his desire desire for the Ascian when it was already difficult to ignore the pulse of his arousal.

The delectable blend of lust and love he feels at the quality of his voice and the feeling of his fingertips upon his face against all else... Who could he attain these peaks of intensity with? No, more than that: who would he want this with more than him?

Passion ignited further than good sense should allow, Mettaton's body aches for him to pay attention to more than just emotional satisfaction, though that drives his method and deliberation. He takes his Bonded in another kiss, one firm and betraying his feeling in overflow as he takes his lower lip and gives it a suck, then a swipe of his tongue. He shifts his leg, forcibly breaking from the kiss with a hiss from the ache he feels for him, and though he's trying to reach for a bedside table, the monster gets distracted by... Emet-Selch's neck again.

His blood's been set to dry, but he leans down to lick his shoulder up to his neck anyway, taking what he can. Even the suggestion of taste makes his head spin, and he hungers for it... but it's a good thing that he can only access this much, at least to keep his head clear.

Mettaton gropes for lube without looking, attention entirely on Emet-Selch. He's prepared this time, as suggested. His tone remains sweet but low, always carried on a voice impossibly smooth.]


And since you're mine... I'll see to it. That you're taken care of.

[Regrettably, Mettaton has to shift from his spot pressed flush to Emet-Selch's body. He realizes that he didn't entirely succeed in getting his pants all the way off, which is seconds worth of frustration spent pulling them the rest of the way off. Not a big loss, in any sense, especially for the result. With that matter settled, Mettaton hums, smiling down upon Emet-Selch as he hikes up one of his legs to encourage him to wrap it around his hip.

The other could follow once Emet-Selch gets the hint.

Before he gets to any kind of work on preparing them (a sorely needed step, he recalls), he teases his intent by showing Emet-Selch how he envisions their bodies by shifting up to give him another kiss. His erection slides against skin, and Mettaton maneuvers himself to press directly against his lover's cock. Whenever he gets both of his legs wrapped around his hips, access would be easy, and the idol knows it.]


What do you think? Is this... hah... [Well, what Mettaton thinks of this position is evident. His hips jerk impatiently.] A... Agreeable, darling?
glitzandglamour: (💣099)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
Hmmm.

[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.]
glitzandglamour: (💣121)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 11:17 am (UTC)(link)
[All Mettaton could ask for is someone reactive to him, with full authenticity in response. As much as he delights in being watched and craved, witnessing Emet-Selch's reactions to him fulfills him deeply, smile growing as a deep-seated warmth takes root in his heart. Just as he was both pleasuring and preparing, Mettaton's both interested and priming, learning about his beloved's body so intimately. The Monster leans his body closer in such a manner that has muscles tense, ready to move onto the next step while soaking in this moment for all it's worth.

His eyelid drops a mark and he hums, wanting to kiss him stupid again... But, business first. Untangled as they are, his own gaze follows Emet-Selch's body prostrate before him with a critical eye, yet entirely approving of what he sees: a slight tilt of his head backwards and an edge to his smile that suggests pride, of all things.

Relentlessly, however, his finger works at him. It's only one to begin with, but he pushes in and draws back, only to repeat, slow drags and application of lubricant where he can. Coupled with curl a finger, ever so slight. And he pulls back, barely pulling his fingertip out from him when he presses a second fingertip in next, a gradual shifting and massaging of his body to coax him to allow another slick digit: this one with a focus on coating his entrance.

His free hand reaches for Emet-Selch's cock, teasing his length with a brush of fingertips along its length. Following him from root, to tip: and there, at the glans, he gently pinches him between forefinger and thumb. It's all in the name of his teasing: he doesn't do much more beyond this save for apply increasing pressure to the head of his lover's arousal, a tender sort of rub that grows more firm as the seconds pass. None of it nearly enough to get off on or lose himself to, but all of it a suggestion, a priming for more.]


You... are exactly how I want to see you, Hades-darling. Deciding how I want you most of all. That's the h... hard part, in this.

[There are a couple of hard parts. But that's in a more literal sense.

Releasing Emet-Selch's arousal from under Mettaton's thumb, his fingers skim along his Bonded's inner thigh. Mettaton's other hand continue to work at Emet-Selch, trying to get him to take to the intrusion of his fingers. It's only when he begins to feel him relax at all that he withdraws, suddenly and without warning. A low, scarcely restrained growl leaks from Mettaton's throat as he grips down on the girth of his own arousal and leans forward, free hand coaxing Emet-Selch's leg to return to wrapping securely around his hip.

The Puca guides the slick head of his cock to the Ascian's entrance this time, pushing with urgency against his lover — almost enough to sink in.

It's clear this is because he can hardly take waiting any longer. His breathing is hard, and Mettaton towers over Emet-Selch, hands upon his hips — and gripping down, anchoring him in place, the suggestion of a thrust clear in the tensing of every muscle in his body. A thrust intended to penetrate. And with his hands where they are, he could only force him down upon him with more power, if he wanted. His gaze is possessive and desirous, unrestrained as he swallows around all that he wants.

But he spares these moments to measure his Bonded's response, his absolute craving for everything about him clear as day in their Bond. His body, his essence, his blood, his lips, his attention, his magic, his soul, and his love, all wanted and demanded by the robot.]

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