[His breath catches, hips twitching against the bed at the first sensation of fingers reaching his cock, in touching him directly. Emet-Selch could tell Mettaton was no less taken by this contact, an appeal they were drawn to together. If there was any filling left to be done, watching and feeling his lover fondle him underneath fabric was enough to do it. And then he was free, exposed to the air, and to sight, an appropriately rigid vision for them both. The brief relief of no longer being trapped gave way almost immediately to a sharper pang of want, as they admired his fullness together.
Even though it was for the sake of observation, which in itself he enjoyed, he can't quite stifle the small protesting sound when Mettaton unhands his erection, for even a moment.]
If we're to talk of presentation, I've always found your hand to be an appropriate accessory.
[A hint, delivered. Though it was more than his hand that appealed, as the sight of his cock pressed to any part of Mettaton's body was an attractive one. Framed between his thighs, taken into his mouth, pressed firm and thick against Mettaton's own cock, where they could stroke each other off into a sticky mess- they were only a few of the ways he loved to see himself.
But he's provided a tease of a touch, his cock made to wobble in the open air, and given another simple task.]
--Once more, you appeal to my expertise.
[It was often enough that he ended upon his back, in bed... but he wasn't inclined to argue over this request either, aligned to his own desires and nature as it was. A tug deeper onto their modest bed is accepted, though there's a bit of wriggling involved to make sure that his pants didn't come with him. With all fabric slid off to gather unceremoniously on the floor, Emet-Selch shifts the small distance into the center of the bed, and lays down, head aligned with their pillows.
Shivering a little from being so uncovered, the air feeling far cooler than the heat of his body, the warmth of arousal, he glances down at himself, his erection even more of a sight this way, swollen and gently curved. Though his body had a few bruises left, healing sores and scrapes, they were all a result of wolfhood rather than loving ardor.
Exhaling a shaking breath, his gaze soon returned to Mettaton. Unlike the robot, he wasn't so naturally inclined towards posing, or conscious display, but the mage was comfortable, at ease with his casual sprawl, legs slightly parted. A languid wave towards himself completes the appeal(?).]
no subject
Even though it was for the sake of observation, which in itself he enjoyed, he can't quite stifle the small protesting sound when Mettaton unhands his erection, for even a moment.]
If we're to talk of presentation, I've always found your hand to be an appropriate accessory.
[A hint, delivered. Though it was more than his hand that appealed, as the sight of his cock pressed to any part of Mettaton's body was an attractive one. Framed between his thighs, taken into his mouth, pressed firm and thick against Mettaton's own cock, where they could stroke each other off into a sticky mess- they were only a few of the ways he loved to see himself.
But he's provided a tease of a touch, his cock made to wobble in the open air, and given another simple task.]
--Once more, you appeal to my expertise.
[It was often enough that he ended upon his back, in bed... but he wasn't inclined to argue over this request either, aligned to his own desires and nature as it was. A tug deeper onto their modest bed is accepted, though there's a bit of wriggling involved to make sure that his pants didn't come with him. With all fabric slid off to gather unceremoniously on the floor, Emet-Selch shifts the small distance into the center of the bed, and lays down, head aligned with their pillows.
Shivering a little from being so uncovered, the air feeling far cooler than the heat of his body, the warmth of arousal, he glances down at himself, his erection even more of a sight this way, swollen and gently curved. Though his body had a few bruises left, healing sores and scrapes, they were all a result of wolfhood rather than loving ardor.
Exhaling a shaking breath, his gaze soon returned to Mettaton. Unlike the robot, he wasn't so naturally inclined towards posing, or conscious display, but the mage was comfortable, at ease with his casual sprawl, legs slightly parted. A languid wave towards himself completes the appeal(?).]
How spread is full enough for you?