[It had ceased to be strange to see something as rigid and unforgiving as a robot melt, but in his company, Mettaton seemed to do so, sometimes. An expressiveness that he would have a hard time ever matching, but which touched him to see.]
You're warm. [He admits, voice quiet. A heat that beat out his erection, though that was nothing unusual. Mettaton was a hot robot, and that surely went unchanged. Wherever he touched him, he was warm, and invitingly so, whether that was fingers along his shaft, fondling his balls, or lips and tongue melding to an erection firm.
It had never been off-putting or even that strange, to feel his cock rubbed up against metal paneling, of what comprised that part of his lover's cheek. And that remained true even when he was more conscious overall of Mettaton's composition, and where it was less than accommodating when it came to most varieties of sex.
A tease alone. Foreplay without advancement. Emet-Selch wondered if neither of them would end up coming, when it came down to it... with Mettaton left to ache, and himself to become oversensitive and annoyed. But he holds back a genuine sigh in favor of a show of one.]
I would think that a dream of me both covered and unbruised would be the more remarkable one, Mettaton. Your unconscious state isn't terribly creative.
[But he could see how much this dream seemed to have meant to his husband, which touched him as well. To be dreamt of so fondly (so erotically), if idealistically... it was flattering. If also not, and he was almost in the mind to complain about what perfect circumstance Mettaton had fantasized about, as though the real him weren't sufficient.
But his breath unwillingly catches at the sensation of a touch slipping lower yet- though he knew well enough that Mettaton couldn't finger him either, even if he dispelled his claws. Lubrication was a necessity there, and while in the scheme of things that didn't matter, in the circumstance it felt like one more disappointment, that Mettaton couldn't be inside him even like this.
Nor did he feel particularly possessed despite the grip on his balls; it was an enjoyable sensation, but his manner remained one of permittance rather than submission. It's almost an afterthought, remembering to answer him.]
Mm... if that's what it takes for you to not argue with my habit of dressing myself, then so be it.
no subject
You're warm. [He admits, voice quiet. A heat that beat out his erection, though that was nothing unusual. Mettaton was a hot robot, and that surely went unchanged. Wherever he touched him, he was warm, and invitingly so, whether that was fingers along his shaft, fondling his balls, or lips and tongue melding to an erection firm.
It had never been off-putting or even that strange, to feel his cock rubbed up against metal paneling, of what comprised that part of his lover's cheek. And that remained true even when he was more conscious overall of Mettaton's composition, and where it was less than accommodating when it came to most varieties of sex.
A tease alone. Foreplay without advancement. Emet-Selch wondered if neither of them would end up coming, when it came down to it... with Mettaton left to ache, and himself to become oversensitive and annoyed. But he holds back a genuine sigh in favor of a show of one.]
I would think that a dream of me both covered and unbruised would be the more remarkable one, Mettaton. Your unconscious state isn't terribly creative.
[But he could see how much this dream seemed to have meant to his husband, which touched him as well. To be dreamt of so fondly (so erotically), if idealistically... it was flattering. If also not, and he was almost in the mind to complain about what perfect circumstance Mettaton had fantasized about, as though the real him weren't sufficient.
But his breath unwillingly catches at the sensation of a touch slipping lower yet- though he knew well enough that Mettaton couldn't finger him either, even if he dispelled his claws. Lubrication was a necessity there, and while in the scheme of things that didn't matter, in the circumstance it felt like one more disappointment, that Mettaton couldn't be inside him even like this.
Nor did he feel particularly possessed despite the grip on his balls; it was an enjoyable sensation, but his manner remained one of permittance rather than submission. It's almost an afterthought, remembering to answer him.]
Mm... if that's what it takes for you to not argue with my habit of dressing myself, then so be it.