[Mettaton's protest, whether serious or not, has Emet-Selch respond with a dubious look- one that he maintains even past a small, tight sound when the whole head of his cock is carefully sucked on. A carefulness he could feel, as the pressure exerted could've easily become painful, but it doesn't. His exhale is still mostly one of relief when Mettaton lets up, even if his heart was pounding.
And his frown continues even as his whole body is encroached on again, Mettaton rising from his place and crawling upwards, while ensuring that the Ascian's legs remained spread. And his nipples teased, his chest given its own fresh bruising. And of course, no saliva left to cool in its wake.
Pushed properly back, he huffs into his face after listening to Mettaton's fantasies.]
Is it creative when it's all along the same theme?
[A very horny theme.]
And how do you expect to engineer me into any of these outfits? [He tries to sideeye him, which is difficult when Mettaton's face was that close.] Both their creation and especially my willingness to don them for you.
[Ignoring that he'd already confessed to Mettaton being persuasive. This was contrary territory; he would be convinced of nothing now.
Even if, at another time, he knew he might not only be convinced, but interested. Clothing meant to appeal, that offered some pretense of being covered, while permitting more than a hint of his availability. To sight, to touch- and with the way Mettaton's arm snaked around to find his ass, that was clearly one area that would be readily on display.
And the more he thought about it, the more he ached, without even knowing what all went in to the designs that Mettaton imagined him in. But it was an ache that frustrated, unable to forget that even if they somehow realized the aesthetics for his lover's dream, what good would they be able to make of it beyond more teasing? It wouldn't improve Mettaton's sensation any.
He's squeezed between thighs that are as furry as he remembers them once being, with a shape that was also as he recalled. He knew it was different, but he closes his eyes, wraps his arms around the robot's body. If he tried, could he pretend it was a different time?]
Was it... truly so appealing.
[He tries to rock his hips up against his body; tries to dwell on the sound of Mettaton's moan, and all the times he'd heard similar sounds from him, and what they all meant when they came to his pleasure.]
no subject
And his frown continues even as his whole body is encroached on again, Mettaton rising from his place and crawling upwards, while ensuring that the Ascian's legs remained spread. And his nipples teased, his chest given its own fresh bruising. And of course, no saliva left to cool in its wake.
Pushed properly back, he huffs into his face after listening to Mettaton's fantasies.]
Is it creative when it's all along the same theme?
[A very horny theme.]
And how do you expect to engineer me into any of these outfits? [He tries to sideeye him, which is difficult when Mettaton's face was that close.] Both their creation and especially my willingness to don them for you.
[Ignoring that he'd already confessed to Mettaton being persuasive. This was contrary territory; he would be convinced of nothing now.
Even if, at another time, he knew he might not only be convinced, but interested. Clothing meant to appeal, that offered some pretense of being covered, while permitting more than a hint of his availability. To sight, to touch- and with the way Mettaton's arm snaked around to find his ass, that was clearly one area that would be readily on display.
And the more he thought about it, the more he ached, without even knowing what all went in to the designs that Mettaton imagined him in. But it was an ache that frustrated, unable to forget that even if they somehow realized the aesthetics for his lover's dream, what good would they be able to make of it beyond more teasing? It wouldn't improve Mettaton's sensation any.
He's squeezed between thighs that are as furry as he remembers them once being, with a shape that was also as he recalled. He knew it was different, but he closes his eyes, wraps his arms around the robot's body. If he tried, could he pretend it was a different time?]
Was it... truly so appealing.
[He tries to rock his hips up against his body; tries to dwell on the sound of Mettaton's moan, and all the times he'd heard similar sounds from him, and what they all meant when they came to his pleasure.]