[(A brief, intrusive thought: where was his cock when Mettaton had been in his rectangular configuration? How had it not come out when he'd shifted between them?)
Even though he could see it happening, those pants were an impressive work of containment, in managing to hide all of his husband's sex beneath them without splitting, and without even showing more than what had been explicitly revealed. Of course, when they were together like this, Emet-Selch knew that they would have both appreciated the sight of a visible outline of his length, a look more than suggestive but one that begged to be touched, teased into getting harder yet. Just watching Mettaton slide latex down his girth caused his breath to catch with a small noise, something sympathetic; though he was also dressed, he wasn't bound anywhere near so tightly. And if Mettaton found it difficult to resist stroking himself, freeing his cock completely and wrapping his hand around it, Emet-Selch found it similarly challenging to not do the same.
(Mettaton had boasted more of a wardrobe than himself, on other worlds (and if that wasn't true yet here, it soon would be- especially with Emet-Selch's own proclivity towards identical robes and identical robes only). If they wanted to play with his public capacity for decency, it would be easy for the robot to switch one set of pants for another whose ability to cover ran mundane.
But for all the times when Mettaton went 'unclothed'... what lay beyond would be their secret.)
Those future thoughts were there, if only in some hazy way that would take time to be defined. No, it was mostly there as an impression of what they now could do together, could have together, clothed and bare, inside the bedroom or wherever they happened to be.
But the bedroom seemed like the right destination this time, a bed the most practical place for what they wanted, and when Mettaton moans, shifts in place with a squeeze of thighs that he wanted to be between, he was ever more certain of it. Both in terms of comfort, in materials more forgiving than the weave of the couch, and in terms of space for them both, which the couch also lacked. (The couch's durability too, for that matter... even if it would probably hold, why risk it?
Emet-Selch still remembered the lesson of the Chair (the lesson was to not try to fuck in chairs that were not built for that). Not that something like that would be likely to stop him now, should some other bit of furniture give way (though he would gripe nonetheless)).
He'd hoped for sensation. He'd wished for a proper cock to go with it, to make use of and provide relief for the need sensation would create. But for temperature to come with it, more than Mettaton had ever had before as a robot- went beyond what he would have thought to ask for, and for the first time he was grateful. And now that it was there, it would be difficult to understate how much he wanted that aspect, for his lover to feel his heat all along his body.]
You'll have it. All the warmth I can give you.
[Rising up, drawn easily away from the couch, it took concerted effort to not continue that movement all the way into melding tight to the robot's body, to press a half-covered erection against his fully concealed one. ...But they had a bedroom to get to, and the desire to strip down, and to see Mettaton fully- he wanted both of those things as quickly as possible. Giving in and grinding against him here would be counterproductive (if enjoyable).
Impossible to resist was the need for a kiss- though he keeps it relatively brief, nearly chaste, as his hands reach up to drag Mettaton down into it. It had been several minutes since the robot had transformed into this shape, one with lips that could be met and kissed, and it felt a travesty that he'd gone without. An understandable one, though, as Mettaton's leap from the couch and fondling of himself, groping at an erection neither of them could see- well, it was a distraction.
But he'd take that kiss now, lips soft and warm against firm silicone, and another shiver of want courses through him at the idea that Mettaton could feel, could well and truly feel this. It felt regrettable to have to draw back, and his eyes linger on him all the same, as he swallows again. The fabric of his robes moves, brushes against the other man's body, but he otherwise manages to maintain a slight distance when he lets go with a brief stroke of the taller man's face.]
--Can you walk like....
[With one heel off, (with Mettaton's boots off, he wondered absently whether they would be around the same height), it would be an awkward way of getting anywhere. Nor could Emet-Selch teleport them even the shortest distance, or do anything to make things magically easier.
It's not about to stop him from grasping for one of Mettaton's hands (the one with their wedding ring; gods, there was still so much to recover, and he was touched all over again at the thought of this one piece being dear enough to his husband to wish over in his absence), squeezing it tight, and practically dragging him towards the bedroom. It's at least not a far journey; their cottage's diminutive size having the lone advantage of never being far from a bed.]
no subject
Even though he could see it happening, those pants were an impressive work of containment, in managing to hide all of his husband's sex beneath them without splitting, and without even showing more than what had been explicitly revealed. Of course, when they were together like this, Emet-Selch knew that they would have both appreciated the sight of a visible outline of his length, a look more than suggestive but one that begged to be touched, teased into getting harder yet. Just watching Mettaton slide latex down his girth caused his breath to catch with a small noise, something sympathetic; though he was also dressed, he wasn't bound anywhere near so tightly. And if Mettaton found it difficult to resist stroking himself, freeing his cock completely and wrapping his hand around it, Emet-Selch found it similarly challenging to not do the same.
(Mettaton had boasted more of a wardrobe than himself, on other worlds (and if that wasn't true yet here, it soon would be- especially with Emet-Selch's own proclivity towards identical robes and identical robes only). If they wanted to play with his public capacity for decency, it would be easy for the robot to switch one set of pants for another whose ability to cover ran mundane.
But for all the times when Mettaton went 'unclothed'... what lay beyond would be their secret.)
Those future thoughts were there, if only in some hazy way that would take time to be defined. No, it was mostly there as an impression of what they now could do together, could have together, clothed and bare, inside the bedroom or wherever they happened to be.
But the bedroom seemed like the right destination this time, a bed the most practical place for what they wanted, and when Mettaton moans, shifts in place with a squeeze of thighs that he wanted to be between, he was ever more certain of it. Both in terms of comfort, in materials more forgiving than the weave of the couch, and in terms of space for them both, which the couch also lacked. (The couch's durability too, for that matter... even if it would probably hold, why risk it?
Emet-Selch still remembered the lesson of the Chair (the lesson was to not try to fuck in chairs that were not built for that). Not that something like that would be likely to stop him now, should some other bit of furniture give way (though he would gripe nonetheless)).
He'd hoped for sensation. He'd wished for a proper cock to go with it, to make use of and provide relief for the need sensation would create. But for temperature to come with it, more than Mettaton had ever had before as a robot- went beyond what he would have thought to ask for, and for the first time he was grateful. And now that it was there, it would be difficult to understate how much he wanted that aspect, for his lover to feel his heat all along his body.]
You'll have it. All the warmth I can give you.
[Rising up, drawn easily away from the couch, it took concerted effort to not continue that movement all the way into melding tight to the robot's body, to press a half-covered erection against his fully concealed one. ...But they had a bedroom to get to, and the desire to strip down, and to see Mettaton fully- he wanted both of those things as quickly as possible. Giving in and grinding against him here would be counterproductive (if enjoyable).
Impossible to resist was the need for a kiss- though he keeps it relatively brief, nearly chaste, as his hands reach up to drag Mettaton down into it. It had been several minutes since the robot had transformed into this shape, one with lips that could be met and kissed, and it felt a travesty that he'd gone without. An understandable one, though, as Mettaton's leap from the couch and fondling of himself, groping at an erection neither of them could see- well, it was a distraction.
But he'd take that kiss now, lips soft and warm against firm silicone, and another shiver of want courses through him at the idea that Mettaton could feel, could well and truly feel this. It felt regrettable to have to draw back, and his eyes linger on him all the same, as he swallows again. The fabric of his robes moves, brushes against the other man's body, but he otherwise manages to maintain a slight distance when he lets go with a brief stroke of the taller man's face.]
--Can you walk like....
[With one heel off, (with Mettaton's boots off, he wondered absently whether they would be around the same height), it would be an awkward way of getting anywhere. Nor could Emet-Selch teleport them even the shortest distance, or do anything to make things magically easier.
It's not about to stop him from grasping for one of Mettaton's hands (the one with their wedding ring; gods, there was still so much to recover, and he was touched all over again at the thought of this one piece being dear enough to his husband to wish over in his absence), squeezing it tight, and practically dragging him towards the bedroom. It's at least not a far journey; their cottage's diminutive size having the lone advantage of never being far from a bed.]