[They both avoid thoughts of what Mettaton couldn't do. A delicate balance to strike; an errant thought could set either of them on a downward spiral, resenting what was lost or aching for it. Most likely, both. And should it happen—as it's not ruled out as something that could strike—Mettaton would be hurt by it, the raw vulnerability he showed to Emet-Selch making the discomfort a sharp pang of upset.
He felt pleased that Emet-Selch was so pliant. So willing, so obviously heated, senses he could drink in with his eyes and the press of his fingertips. He could see the Ascian's warmth in the flush of his features, from his cheeks to his fingertips to the swell of his cock. He looked so warm... Mettaton wanted to grope him head to toe, to feel soft flesh give under his touch and to hear the sound of Emet-Selch's breath hitching, his groans and cries and sighs as he brought pressure into his groin. He licks his lips, hovering so close to the glans that he could flick out his tongue and lap at the slit if he pleased.
He grins, unable to help himself. He gingerly laps at the tip, a brush of silicone over the swell of soft skin.]
I imagine I'm a breathtaker. But you, too, Hades... If we're going to talk abut generosity, you've so much to offer me in visuals alone!
[The sight of him, everything he could consume as he is. He's always loved seeing him, loved drinking in the sights of him reflected back in mirrors; loved seeing the state of his arousal and the flush of well-bitten lips, the stickiness of him having come. He dreams of all the things he could see, and in the moment, he forgets about the senses he has that are dulled in favor of his pleasure in sight.
He manages to make it easy, laying back so spread. The shamelessness in showing off the full of his arousal has Mettaton unable to resist dipping low, sucking a small kiss to Emet-Selch's inner thigh.
Raw suction, rather than the damp environment created by the aid of saliva, yields a quicker result more than anything: without involving teeth, the robot's kiss is warm and soft and full, as he hums into the vulnerability of skin he can't help but palpate. Pressing into him with touches markedly more firm than he might normally, Mettaton is attracted to the way his body gives, and whatever he could feel is comparatively just as much as he can manage.
As ever, he wants more. As ever, he would endlessly crave more and more and more. After one kiss, Mettaton groans, stooping in for another, firm pressure applied briefly and without the relief of slippery saliva. Drawing back, two bright, deep marks are quick to form, making this more effective at bruising him.
With a sigh, Mettaton thumbs the marks, glancing up toward Emet-Selch. He knew his kisses should feel different, and he checks in with his lover—despite feeling fully confident that a kiss from him should make it worthwhile, no matter how different.]
Such deep marks... You really are wide open to me. [A press of his clawed thumb, Mettaton rubs a circle into his upper thigh, glancing down at his cock.] How does it feel, darling?
no subject
He felt pleased that Emet-Selch was so pliant. So willing, so obviously heated, senses he could drink in with his eyes and the press of his fingertips. He could see the Ascian's warmth in the flush of his features, from his cheeks to his fingertips to the swell of his cock. He looked so warm... Mettaton wanted to grope him head to toe, to feel soft flesh give under his touch and to hear the sound of Emet-Selch's breath hitching, his groans and cries and sighs as he brought pressure into his groin. He licks his lips, hovering so close to the glans that he could flick out his tongue and lap at the slit if he pleased.
He grins, unable to help himself. He gingerly laps at the tip, a brush of silicone over the swell of soft skin.]
I imagine I'm a breathtaker. But you, too, Hades... If we're going to talk abut generosity, you've so much to offer me in visuals alone!
[The sight of him, everything he could consume as he is. He's always loved seeing him, loved drinking in the sights of him reflected back in mirrors; loved seeing the state of his arousal and the flush of well-bitten lips, the stickiness of him having come. He dreams of all the things he could see, and in the moment, he forgets about the senses he has that are dulled in favor of his pleasure in sight.
He manages to make it easy, laying back so spread. The shamelessness in showing off the full of his arousal has Mettaton unable to resist dipping low, sucking a small kiss to Emet-Selch's inner thigh.
Raw suction, rather than the damp environment created by the aid of saliva, yields a quicker result more than anything: without involving teeth, the robot's kiss is warm and soft and full, as he hums into the vulnerability of skin he can't help but palpate. Pressing into him with touches markedly more firm than he might normally, Mettaton is attracted to the way his body gives, and whatever he could feel is comparatively just as much as he can manage.
As ever, he wants more. As ever, he would endlessly crave more and more and more. After one kiss, Mettaton groans, stooping in for another, firm pressure applied briefly and without the relief of slippery saliva. Drawing back, two bright, deep marks are quick to form, making this more effective at bruising him.
With a sigh, Mettaton thumbs the marks, glancing up toward Emet-Selch. He knew his kisses should feel different, and he checks in with his lover—despite feeling fully confident that a kiss from him should make it worthwhile, no matter how different.]
Such deep marks... You really are wide open to me. [A press of his clawed thumb, Mettaton rubs a circle into his upper thigh, glancing down at his cock.] How does it feel, darling?