[(Indeed, Mettaton has an exciting future of wearing clothes ahead of him, and he would be eager to use it as an opportunity to go unrestrained around his husband. And even the times where that wasn't the intent, to be so obscenely obvious... who was to say that it couldn't evolve that way? If the robot was sporting a glamorous pair of actual hotpants, he could do it without this latex covering... and the consequences would be showing off his equipment, if they were too tight, or if he was otherwise erect.
So many thoughts for the future. And unlike before, all of them were achievable.)
Even standing here before Emet-Selch, the tip of his cock peeking out from over the waistband of his pants, reminds Mettaton of the ambient chill compared to his overwhelming heat. It wasn't a cold day by any means but it still impressed upon him the sensation of "colder," and Mettaton feels every... nerve(???) in his body responding to it by warming even more. By shifting and moving, watching Emet-Selch in his lean as he promises heat, and rises to meet him.
Sparks fly between them so quickly and profusely that Mettaton wonders if they'd magnetize, coming together and being quite unable to come apart. He exhales shakily, pressing his palms against his hips and flexing his fingers against himself to remind himself to keep from getting so handsy, or showing off to Emet-Selch the power of his libido.
Barely able to resist—and completely incapable of stooping in and meeting Emet-Selch half-way. But the sensation of being dragged into it draws a moan out of Mettaton readily, and he shudders, the sensation of his lover's heat a hint of what he had to enjoy. It takes all of his power not to deepen it, and he nearly gives, a flick of his tongue the taste of heat he desires...
If there was any reason to part, it's to murmur, ] You're so soft, I...
[It stuns him silent. He knew all along of Emet-Selch's tenderness, but to feel it for himself was its own experience. The dance of fabric against his body, billows of robe brushing over him, has his breath hitch all over again- has Mettaton jolt slightly, a tickle where he was so, so sensitive, and attuned to Emet-Selch's every touch.
When he shivers, shudders, engrossed in the arousal that came from every last sensation if he lost himself to it all, he almost misses Emet-Selch's question. It's only when the mage takes his hand that he recalls the sound of his voice and actually translates its contents into language that he grounds himself—both literally and figuratively.
That is, he shifts his ample weight between feet.]
Like this? Honey, [He starts, playfully squeezing Emet-Selch's hand and flashing him a grin.] I 'walk' on a pole and wheel. I can handle an unsteady gait.
[Had he ever done it? No, actually! But Mettaton believes in his ability to. It wasn't as though he could pull anything or cause any damage anyway, though he lets the smaller man draw him along, attention bright at the notion that Emet-Selch is quite hurried despite his question. He even giggles: Even if I couldn't, I have a feeling he'd be tugging me along just to get the trip over with quickly, he thinks, smile reaching his eye in his pleasure.
Emet-Selch guides them in; Mettaton closes the door behind them. They're quickly in the bedroom together, and Mettaton continues to press onward toward the bed, crowding Emet-Selch as much as possible without getting too flush with him. But like this he switches places with him, taking a seat at the edge of the bed so that he can fold his leg over his knee and work his second heel off. (Indeed, he had no problems with it.) Slipping pink down over skin-tight latex, MTT rolls his ankle as soon as he releases his foot—as he marvels over the change, if just for a moment. And there's... so much to marvel over, as his attention roves up his shin and toward his thighs, his lap...
Then, back to Emet-Selch, heat brimming in his gaze.]
You, my love... deserve to unwrap me. I am your wish... And I want to watch your reaction to my body.
no subject
So many thoughts for the future. And unlike before, all of them were achievable.)
Even standing here before Emet-Selch, the tip of his cock peeking out from over the waistband of his pants, reminds Mettaton of the ambient chill compared to his overwhelming heat. It wasn't a cold day by any means but it still impressed upon him the sensation of "colder," and Mettaton feels every... nerve(???) in his body responding to it by warming even more. By shifting and moving, watching Emet-Selch in his lean as he promises heat, and rises to meet him.
Sparks fly between them so quickly and profusely that Mettaton wonders if they'd magnetize, coming together and being quite unable to come apart. He exhales shakily, pressing his palms against his hips and flexing his fingers against himself to remind himself to keep from getting so handsy, or showing off to Emet-Selch the power of his libido.
Barely able to resist—and completely incapable of stooping in and meeting Emet-Selch half-way. But the sensation of being dragged into it draws a moan out of Mettaton readily, and he shudders, the sensation of his lover's heat a hint of what he had to enjoy. It takes all of his power not to deepen it, and he nearly gives, a flick of his tongue the taste of heat he desires...
If there was any reason to part, it's to murmur,
] You're so soft, I...
[It stuns him silent. He knew all along of Emet-Selch's tenderness, but to feel it for himself was its own experience. The dance of fabric against his body, billows of robe brushing over him, has his breath hitch all over again- has Mettaton jolt slightly, a tickle where he was so, so sensitive, and attuned to Emet-Selch's every touch.
When he shivers, shudders, engrossed in the arousal that came from every last sensation if he lost himself to it all, he almost misses Emet-Selch's question. It's only when the mage takes his hand that he recalls the sound of his voice and actually translates its contents into language that he grounds himself—both literally and figuratively.
That is, he shifts his ample weight between feet.]
Like this? Honey, [He starts, playfully squeezing Emet-Selch's hand and flashing him a grin.] I 'walk' on a pole and wheel. I can handle an unsteady gait.
[Had he ever done it? No, actually! But Mettaton believes in his ability to. It wasn't as though he could pull anything or cause any damage anyway, though he lets the smaller man draw him along, attention bright at the notion that Emet-Selch is quite hurried despite his question. He even giggles: Even if I couldn't, I have a feeling he'd be tugging me along just to get the trip over with quickly, he thinks, smile reaching his eye in his pleasure.
Emet-Selch guides them in; Mettaton closes the door behind them. They're quickly in the bedroom together, and Mettaton continues to press onward toward the bed, crowding Emet-Selch as much as possible without getting too flush with him. But like this he switches places with him, taking a seat at the edge of the bed so that he can fold his leg over his knee and work his second heel off. (Indeed, he had no problems with it.) Slipping pink down over skin-tight latex, MTT rolls his ankle as soon as he releases his foot—as he marvels over the change, if just for a moment. And there's... so much to marvel over, as his attention roves up his shin and toward his thighs, his lap...
Then, back to Emet-Selch, heat brimming in his gaze.]
You, my love... deserve to unwrap me. I am your wish... And I want to watch your reaction to my body.