[Provocative for them both. And Emet-Selch felt reasonably rewarded when his words got him a fleeting, if sure touch, a firm pump along a cock that invited touching. The sight too was a reward for them both, of a four-fingered hand applied to him, a rigidity that was there because of the robot's work. Even so, his eyes half-slip shut for a moment, letting the rush of arousal flood him for that handful of seconds. But there was no chance of looking away entirely.
And he doesn't protest again when Mettaton has to let go of him for the opportunity to situate himself. Though it wasn't a touch that could tide him over... it helped, and gave reason to shuffle himself into a better position.]
And you've been so generous with me, in the past....
[Decorated with his come, with bruises and bites, with jewelry and ropes. Marked suggestively, aesthetically, possessively (with not all of that available, possible now; he swallows back a sigh even as he settles into place on the bed), Mettaton always knew how to apply himself to his body.
And it was an application he ached for, his skin showing the beginning of a flush as he lay as an offering against covers and blankets, even as he wondered what Mettaton could feel in turn. Was there internal pressure as there had been as a puca, somehow? Was there any sense of heat? But Mettaton's expressions, the way he exhaled in some sort of need- he tried to take some reassurance there, that his husband was assuredly aroused with him, in some form.
Was it possible to look casual with legs more explicitly spread? The mage makes as good an attempt at it as might be possible, nearly languid despite being so hard, as though it were nothing to expose himself so vulnerably. But his pulse surely moves quicker to see Mettaton between them, to feel hands on his thighs, encouraging their parting.
He allows a low, pleased hum to escape from his own lips, at the feeling of Mettaton's kiss placed to his tip, and to the look of him there, soft silicone against swollen, sensitive flesh. Though he doesn't moan, it would be an easy thing to provoke out of him, and one of his thighs trembles in expectant pleasure.]
Now there's an even better sight.
[...He tries not to think on how Mettaton couldn't feel how warm he was, against his lips. Could he even feel him as clearly as he usually seemed to?]
--And more than an accessory. Yes, you might just manage it.
no subject
And he doesn't protest again when Mettaton has to let go of him for the opportunity to situate himself. Though it wasn't a touch that could tide him over... it helped, and gave reason to shuffle himself into a better position.]
And you've been so generous with me, in the past....
[Decorated with his come, with bruises and bites, with jewelry and ropes. Marked suggestively, aesthetically, possessively (with not all of that available, possible now; he swallows back a sigh even as he settles into place on the bed), Mettaton always knew how to apply himself to his body.
And it was an application he ached for, his skin showing the beginning of a flush as he lay as an offering against covers and blankets, even as he wondered what Mettaton could feel in turn. Was there internal pressure as there had been as a puca, somehow? Was there any sense of heat? But Mettaton's expressions, the way he exhaled in some sort of need- he tried to take some reassurance there, that his husband was assuredly aroused with him, in some form.
Was it possible to look casual with legs more explicitly spread? The mage makes as good an attempt at it as might be possible, nearly languid despite being so hard, as though it were nothing to expose himself so vulnerably. But his pulse surely moves quicker to see Mettaton between them, to feel hands on his thighs, encouraging their parting.
He allows a low, pleased hum to escape from his own lips, at the feeling of Mettaton's kiss placed to his tip, and to the look of him there, soft silicone against swollen, sensitive flesh. Though he doesn't moan, it would be an easy thing to provoke out of him, and one of his thighs trembles in expectant pleasure.]
Now there's an even better sight.
[...He tries not to think on how Mettaton couldn't feel how warm he was, against his lips. Could he even feel him as clearly as he usually seemed to?]
--And more than an accessory. Yes, you might just manage it.