[Mettaton was certainly worth his arousal. He knew the other man could inspire it without even touching him, that the right look might suffice. Conversation, certainly, as both voice and specific content were an effective tease. And though he knew he was biased, Mettaton was an attractive man besides. Moreover, he loved him.
And still, a part of that arousal was the knowledge and memory of how touch would follow, that the robot took his own pleasure from seeing him hard as well. If he was wanting, it was difficult to imagine Mettaton turning him away.
All of that was true. And with the way Mettaton pressed to him now, with the way he spoke, Emet-Selch knew he was still desired too. Nudging his head against the other man's as best he could, it was a wordless request for closeness. The splay of his legs was a welcoming gesture too, even though they were still clothed.
...Even so. Even so, Emet-Selch knew he wasn't as drawn in as he should be, when Mettaton handled his body. There were limits now that he couldn't escape thinking about. The robot could get him off with ease, but... that was it.
But his breath takes on a shuddered note all the same, a whisper of Mettaton's name, as his body certainly knew what to do when he was being touched by him. Not as directly as it might like, but with the sort of tease that could be made good on. Fabric could be parted, removed entirely, and the strength of his reaction made explicitly visible. A shameless display he'd ever enjoyed pressing to Mettaton's body in an appeal for attention or appreciation- or just friction.
(And so often too did he go relatively neglected- brought to pleasure and relief both through some application of Mettaton's own erection. Through Mettaton's climax, he was lured to his own- when permitted. And even when he was allowed to come first, it was often to enhance the robot's own release, which of course enhanced his own....
Tantalizing imagery. Memories. If ones he tries to not dwell on too closely, in favor of the expert, familiar way he could watch Mettaton handle him now, along a length that filled for him.)]
You never fail to inspire. Too much so, at times...
[It's not a real grumble, but the show of one. From their first (technically second) kiss, and the interest that came with it, they'd both been aroused that afternoon, and so suddenly. But they maintained decency (beyond whatever they lost from making out behind a kissing booth), even as the prospect of taking to each other right then had been... attractive.
Just as he was attracted now to what they were doing- and with far more experience together behind them. Knowledgeably touched, rather than curiously, though they'd never known hesitation once they'd begun. His own fingers grip at the side of the bed, and his thighs tense with the desire to press up, to roll his hips into Mettaton's hand. But he didn't want to move away from his body either.]
no subject
And still, a part of that arousal was the knowledge and memory of how touch would follow, that the robot took his own pleasure from seeing him hard as well. If he was wanting, it was difficult to imagine Mettaton turning him away.
All of that was true. And with the way Mettaton pressed to him now, with the way he spoke, Emet-Selch knew he was still desired too. Nudging his head against the other man's as best he could, it was a wordless request for closeness. The splay of his legs was a welcoming gesture too, even though they were still clothed.
...Even so. Even so, Emet-Selch knew he wasn't as drawn in as he should be, when Mettaton handled his body. There were limits now that he couldn't escape thinking about. The robot could get him off with ease, but... that was it.
But his breath takes on a shuddered note all the same, a whisper of Mettaton's name, as his body certainly knew what to do when he was being touched by him. Not as directly as it might like, but with the sort of tease that could be made good on. Fabric could be parted, removed entirely, and the strength of his reaction made explicitly visible. A shameless display he'd ever enjoyed pressing to Mettaton's body in an appeal for attention or appreciation- or just friction.
(And so often too did he go relatively neglected- brought to pleasure and relief both through some application of Mettaton's own erection. Through Mettaton's climax, he was lured to his own- when permitted. And even when he was allowed to come first, it was often to enhance the robot's own release, which of course enhanced his own....
Tantalizing imagery. Memories. If ones he tries to not dwell on too closely, in favor of the expert, familiar way he could watch Mettaton handle him now, along a length that filled for him.)]
You never fail to inspire. Too much so, at times...
[It's not a real grumble, but the show of one. From their first (technically second) kiss, and the interest that came with it, they'd both been aroused that afternoon, and so suddenly. But they maintained decency (beyond whatever they lost from making out behind a kissing booth), even as the prospect of taking to each other right then had been... attractive.
Just as he was attracted now to what they were doing- and with far more experience together behind them. Knowledgeably touched, rather than curiously, though they'd never known hesitation once they'd begun. His own fingers grip at the side of the bed, and his thighs tense with the desire to press up, to roll his hips into Mettaton's hand. But he didn't want to move away from his body either.]