Butter. Or cooking oil. Or! Oooh, icing. [Mettaton brightens up at the thought of icing, even though it really doesn't make a difference to a robot who cannot taste.] That sounds good...
[Licking his lips as though he could taste the icing, or that he favored it for being icing alone, Mettaton's smile is cheeky and playful, in good humor. His hand drops from his ear and gives the mage's shoulder a rub and a squeeze.
Mettaton does not see anything wrong with this.
In his mind, it doesn't require justification. It's a slippery substance; it wouldn't cause a rash or anything, surely. People ingest it. It's food-safe, and therefore surely skin-safe. Mettaton Knows Product. But instead of justifying this absolute madman idea, Mettaton snuggles into place, curled around the dragon egg and sidling ever closer to his husband, fingers groping their way down his bicep.]
Unless you can come up with a substance preferable, that would offer optimal glide. Butter seems the easiest!
[So, 'yes, I've thought about putting butter on your cock.' Premeditated.]
no subject
[Licking his lips as though he could taste the icing, or that he favored it for being icing alone, Mettaton's smile is cheeky and playful, in good humor. His hand drops from his ear and gives the mage's shoulder a rub and a squeeze.
Mettaton does not see anything wrong with this.
In his mind, it doesn't require justification. It's a slippery substance; it wouldn't cause a rash or anything, surely. People ingest it. It's food-safe, and therefore surely skin-safe. Mettaton Knows Product. But instead of justifying this absolute madman idea, Mettaton snuggles into place, curled around the dragon egg and sidling ever closer to his husband, fingers groping their way down his bicep.]
Unless you can come up with a substance preferable, that would offer optimal glide. Butter seems the easiest!
[So, 'yes, I've thought about putting butter on your cock.' Premeditated.]