[Even if sensation at all was a boon, something to be grateful for, Mettaton's bodies tangible and able to be held, noticed, this was a step far advanced of that. And he'd missed it, sorely and terribly, even when he'd burrowed against him in search of what company he could claim. A burrowing, a clinging that felt wholly different from what he was doing now, as though he'd finally reached him, even if it had taken magic to do it.
And immense as it was, could there be more? What else he'd wished for... Emet-Selch could feel that his husband had caught on quickly enough to his meaning; that tighter grip was answer enough. Their desires weren't exactly hidden from each other, their history of gratuitous sexual contact something difficult to forget, even when it hurt. And where they could do so much with this greater sensitivity, he was certain- there was no reason to not see whether they could go even further than that. (No reason beyond the risk of disappointment.)
He feels a rush of something like expectation, hope- though he also attempts to temper it somewhat, even at the lure of a hand running down his chest, side, and the accompanying heady awareness that Mettaton could feel what he was doing. The muffling of fabric would be a tease rather than dullness on top of dullness; like this, there was the promise of more (though the sharpness of the pang of want that he felt at the idea- it was greater than he would've expected, exasperatingly so).]
I didn't specify how it should manifest. [He adds, as another admittance; he couldn't suggest for what Mettaton should be looking for. It was perhaps too trusting, to leave it up to whatever force was granting these wishes- but from what he'd heard and seen of other wishes being granted, they weren't delivered in a twisted way. It would be something acceptable, or nothing. (Not that he could rule out some cruel disappointment. He never could.)] If there's anything more out of place... a new ability, or....
[Knowing, trusting that Mettaton wouldn't be moving far, his own hold relents slightly to permit the robot the space to lean back. Nor does he question his lover's apparent intent to feel out for something new while in his current rectangular configuration. It was true that they'd never indulged in it together, but not for lack of ability.
...Not that either of them seemed inclined to move far from each other. Space was difficult to claim, and when he finds himself clutched tight to the front of Mettaton again, there was nothing he could do but return that grasp. If the robot had possessed a lap, he would have crawled into it by now. Kissing ardently to metal, it was true that he had no lips to meet, no mouth to claim- but he was enticed all the same by the idea that his lover could properly feel what he was doing, from the warmth of his face to the grip of his hands.]
no subject
And immense as it was, could there be more? What else he'd wished for... Emet-Selch could feel that his husband had caught on quickly enough to his meaning; that tighter grip was answer enough. Their desires weren't exactly hidden from each other, their history of gratuitous sexual contact something difficult to forget, even when it hurt. And where they could do so much with this greater sensitivity, he was certain- there was no reason to not see whether they could go even further than that. (No reason beyond the risk of disappointment.)
He feels a rush of something like expectation, hope- though he also attempts to temper it somewhat, even at the lure of a hand running down his chest, side, and the accompanying heady awareness that Mettaton could feel what he was doing. The muffling of fabric would be a tease rather than dullness on top of dullness; like this, there was the promise of more (though the sharpness of the pang of want that he felt at the idea- it was greater than he would've expected, exasperatingly so).]
I didn't specify how it should manifest. [He adds, as another admittance; he couldn't suggest for what Mettaton should be looking for. It was perhaps too trusting, to leave it up to whatever force was granting these wishes- but from what he'd heard and seen of other wishes being granted, they weren't delivered in a twisted way. It would be something acceptable, or nothing. (Not that he could rule out some cruel disappointment. He never could.)] If there's anything more out of place... a new ability, or....
[Knowing, trusting that Mettaton wouldn't be moving far, his own hold relents slightly to permit the robot the space to lean back. Nor does he question his lover's apparent intent to feel out for something new while in his current rectangular configuration. It was true that they'd never indulged in it together, but not for lack of ability.
...Not that either of them seemed inclined to move far from each other. Space was difficult to claim, and when he finds himself clutched tight to the front of Mettaton again, there was nothing he could do but return that grasp. If the robot had possessed a lap, he would have crawled into it by now. Kissing ardently to metal, it was true that he had no lips to meet, no mouth to claim- but he was enticed all the same by the idea that his lover could properly feel what he was doing, from the warmth of his face to the grip of his hands.]