[The hassle, he gathers, is the mess. Mettaton knows Emet-Selch knows better than to believe that he'd ever require the lure of sugar to taste him, and that wasn't only because he couldn't taste it. He doesn't argue about how the goal would be to wash him of it entirely, because that would be the goal. To lick him clean, and to continue demanding more in its wake...
This mess was different from semen, sure. Mettaton would accept that, too. It wasn't a product of their ardor, but a precursor, part of a show that Emet-Selch was repulsed by to start. Thoughtfully, Mettaton taps Emet-Selch's side, tilting his head.
Kitchen sex could still work, he thought. Even without food... But the tease of licking cream of his finger- surely, surely Emet-Selch would see the appeal if it were happening right before his eyes. The thought of it didn't seem to inspire much, even though they both found the notion of him wearing an apron at least acceptable. And that was important. Mettaton nods shortly.]
The same fantasy works, even without the icing. [To that, he concedes with an easy smile.] Licking you up, and making sure you know that I want something from you. Even still... right now, as I am, I still require something slippery to work on you.
[To that, Mettaton makes clear by backing up slightly and pressing a hand to his own chest in emphasis. His gaze is clear and even: this is a vulnerable part of him that is the original source of the conversation, of the idea. And if they were ever going to make good on their desire for intimacy, it would require closing distances between their bodies.]
no subject
[The hassle, he gathers, is the mess. Mettaton knows Emet-Selch knows better than to believe that he'd ever require the lure of sugar to taste him, and that wasn't only because he couldn't taste it. He doesn't argue about how the goal would be to wash him of it entirely, because that would be the goal. To lick him clean, and to continue demanding more in its wake...
This mess was different from semen, sure. Mettaton would accept that, too. It wasn't a product of their ardor, but a precursor, part of a show that Emet-Selch was repulsed by to start. Thoughtfully, Mettaton taps Emet-Selch's side, tilting his head.
Kitchen sex could still work, he thought. Even without food... But the tease of licking cream of his finger- surely, surely Emet-Selch would see the appeal if it were happening right before his eyes. The thought of it didn't seem to inspire much, even though they both found the notion of him wearing an apron at least acceptable. And that was important. Mettaton nods shortly.]
The same fantasy works, even without the icing. [To that, he concedes with an easy smile.] Licking you up, and making sure you know that I want something from you. Even still... right now, as I am, I still require something slippery to work on you.
[To that, Mettaton makes clear by backing up slightly and pressing a hand to his own chest in emphasis. His gaze is clear and even: this is a vulnerable part of him that is the original source of the conversation, of the idea. And if they were ever going to make good on their desire for intimacy, it would require closing distances between their bodies.]