[Escapism is Mettaton's forte. He knew it was a difficult order, given that the escape would be from recalling that he is a robot who natively possessed no sexual organs with which to penetrate Emet-Selch with, but he would show him how much he wanted him without. How much of him he'd take, at that, greedily consuming Emet-Selch and his body, a gateway to his heart.
The mage responds to the monster readily, practiced and primed. Memories and dreams strike them both, as the former-puca recalls the way that Emet-Selch could be made to fill out for him, even before he'd shapeshifted anything concrete to busy himself with. Mettaton sighs, pressing his hand firmly and fully to trap his cock against his body, stuck between clothes and hand and with pressure applied. There was so much they loved to do with a point of pleasure like this—and Mettaton focuses on all he could do to Emet-Selch, to deprive and overwhelm, to restrain or demand.
Needy, Emet-Selch's hips jerk, and Mettaton hums an ascending note of interest at his show. He can't help but chuckle lowly at the accusation that he hears and knows isn't deeply felt, insofar as its delivery. Past fabric, he continues to appreciate his firm and filling arousal, working from pinching the tip to groping him down toward his root with a possessive, commanding confidence. Mettaton viewed Emet-Selch's body as his own, and this was his cock to touch and treat, to deny and to please.]
But I like that. To inspire dreams beyond the constraints of sense... [His voice, a soft purr, is pressed to the side of Emet-Selch's neck, where he brushes soft, silicone lips.] And to captivate you, and draw you into my own dreams. I'd argue it, Hades... that you're a bit of an inspiration yourself, love.
[An inspiration to Mettaton specifically, whether it was the solid basis of his shapeshifts, or the desire to reach for more and more. He sighs, working his way down, down, fingers pinching the shape of his cock beneath fabric, until he bites at his lower lip and fully grips him. His fingers slide between thighs, the motion to grab both his balls and cock in a gesture of ownership, all before sighing warmly against skin.
He remembers the way he'd felt back then, when he was first exploring Emet-Selch's body. And somehow... somehow, it even paled to this kind of intensity, Mettaton realizes with a start. The ache he feels is somehow acute, even without muscles, without veins. He gasps, fingers squeezing and handling his balls as his palm is nudged firmly against his root, and Mettaton lets him go only so that his hand can quickly chart a path straight to his waistband. It was a sort of psychological ache, something that set his body to heating, electricity to course fast in his body—and even behind Emet-Selch, the robot shifts with pent-up need to move.
That gasp is released in a sigh that is utter heat. Not burning nor scalding, but hot air, void of damp. He could feel Emet-Selch keep from thrusting, and as Mettaton takes to the fastening of his trousers with a deft hand, he gives Emet-Selch a brief nip to the side of his neck.]
Mm. Stay still for me, now. I want to appraise what I've done to you... since you think it too much.
[And even here, even though he was sorely lacking a crucial part to their passion play... Mettaton is too focused on their collective arousal to dwell on it right now.]
no subject
The mage responds to the monster readily, practiced and primed. Memories and dreams strike them both, as the former-puca recalls the way that Emet-Selch could be made to fill out for him, even before he'd shapeshifted anything concrete to busy himself with. Mettaton sighs, pressing his hand firmly and fully to trap his cock against his body, stuck between clothes and hand and with pressure applied. There was so much they loved to do with a point of pleasure like this—and Mettaton focuses on all he could do to Emet-Selch, to deprive and overwhelm, to restrain or demand.
Needy, Emet-Selch's hips jerk, and Mettaton hums an ascending note of interest at his show. He can't help but chuckle lowly at the accusation that he hears and knows isn't deeply felt, insofar as its delivery. Past fabric, he continues to appreciate his firm and filling arousal, working from pinching the tip to groping him down toward his root with a possessive, commanding confidence. Mettaton viewed Emet-Selch's body as his own, and this was his cock to touch and treat, to deny and to please.]
But I like that. To inspire dreams beyond the constraints of sense... [His voice, a soft purr, is pressed to the side of Emet-Selch's neck, where he brushes soft, silicone lips.] And to captivate you, and draw you into my own dreams. I'd argue it, Hades... that you're a bit of an inspiration yourself, love.
[An inspiration to Mettaton specifically, whether it was the solid basis of his shapeshifts, or the desire to reach for more and more. He sighs, working his way down, down, fingers pinching the shape of his cock beneath fabric, until he bites at his lower lip and fully grips him. His fingers slide between thighs, the motion to grab both his balls and cock in a gesture of ownership, all before sighing warmly against skin.
He remembers the way he'd felt back then, when he was first exploring Emet-Selch's body. And somehow... somehow, it even paled to this kind of intensity, Mettaton realizes with a start. The ache he feels is somehow acute, even without muscles, without veins. He gasps, fingers squeezing and handling his balls as his palm is nudged firmly against his root, and Mettaton lets him go only so that his hand can quickly chart a path straight to his waistband. It was a sort of psychological ache, something that set his body to heating, electricity to course fast in his body—and even behind Emet-Selch, the robot shifts with pent-up need to move.
That gasp is released in a sigh that is utter heat. Not burning nor scalding, but hot air, void of damp. He could feel Emet-Selch keep from thrusting, and as Mettaton takes to the fastening of his trousers with a deft hand, he gives Emet-Selch a brief nip to the side of his neck.]
Mm. Stay still for me, now. I want to appraise what I've done to you... since you think it too much.
[And even here, even though he was sorely lacking a crucial part to their passion play... Mettaton is too focused on their collective arousal to dwell on it right now.]