[There it is, in plain air between them. Mettaton knew it was something that would become addressed at some point, either nor, or at the peaks of desire as Mettaton squirmed and ached and pleaded for something he'd actually had, a mirroring experience to the time that he'd wished for it before ever having had a cock. Some way to demonstrate his arousal in a way like Emet-Selch...
He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.
no subject
He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.