[Every response drew him in further, from the groans that passed Mettaton's lips, to the slight spread of his legs, showing off the fullness that rose between them. Even beyond his cock, there were the twitches and trembles that ran through a robotic body, all these indications of the intensity of what the other man was already feeling. How much more intense could he make it, until Mettaton spilled, lost himself entirely? Emet-Selch longed to see it, most of all.
It was only one step to see his cock fully bared, to drink in the sight of it where it belonged. Apart from coloring, it did look astoundingly like the erection he was familiar with, and he could appreciate how the result of his wish had taken his lover's preferences into account. And Emet-Selch was very familiar with Mettaton's cock, given how much time he spent at eye-level with it, with his lips upon it. A condition that was difficult to not re-obtain with immediacy, now that he had the opportunity, and he nearly huffs to himself at the absurdity of being so... amorous. Of wanting his husband's sex anyway he could have it, that he was stricken by the need for something so base.
Primitive a need as it was, it remained, unable to be reasoned with. He wanted everything at once, and he knew it. To take him in his hand like this, to stroke their cocks together, impress upon Mettaton his own wanting and heat (which only existed because of the taller man, as if arousal itself was a work to dedicate to him). To hold his length between his thighs and stroke him off between them- or to feel his seed shot flush to his entrance, making a mess of him. And to be fucked, of course, in every position they liked... though that would take more lube than existed on this world. (For that reason, if nothing else, Emet-Selch needed his creation powers back.)
He shudders another sigh.]
You know I couldn't forget.
[Which had been the problem, the loss of what had seemed so fundamentally right (just as Mettaton's robotic body was right) not something he could brush off, in the end. (But why should he resign himself to loss and work past it? He knew what they were meant to have! ...The only problem was when his holding back hurt Mettaton too, more than necessary.)
At the sound of his name, he looks up to catch the robot's eye, and he's distracted from the need to remove Mettaton's pants entirely, somehow (and all of his own clothes too, but that was more straightforward). Distracted even from his erection, beyond a sense of things being right once more between them. This would be healing, wouldn't it?]
...I love you too.
[Cock or no cock, and they both knew that. He hoped so, at least. Beyond the exasperation he felt for being this apparently starved for his husband's erection (and the sensitivity that went with it- as he wouldn't be anywhere close to this desirous of him if he knew that Mettaton's capacity for arousal was as dulled as ever), he'd missed this closeness most of all. Even if he shouldn't have let it go on this long- but he'd wanted to express what he knew he could, in this way that suited them both.
Twisting slightly to face him, he leans up to find Mettaton's lips again, in a kiss that still leaned towards the tender. But it was no less needy for it, no less wanting. At the same time his fingers slip to the other man's cock, to wrap around him with a gentle possessiveness, stroking upward to the bulbous head which he squeezes just as carefully. Textures that he missed having under his hand, and were well worth groaning over, though the sound is stifled somewhat by the meeting of their lips.]
no subject
It was only one step to see his cock fully bared, to drink in the sight of it where it belonged. Apart from coloring, it did look astoundingly like the erection he was familiar with, and he could appreciate how the result of his wish had taken his lover's preferences into account. And Emet-Selch was very familiar with Mettaton's cock, given how much time he spent at eye-level with it, with his lips upon it. A condition that was difficult to not re-obtain with immediacy, now that he had the opportunity, and he nearly huffs to himself at the absurdity of being so... amorous. Of wanting his husband's sex anyway he could have it, that he was stricken by the need for something so base.
Primitive a need as it was, it remained, unable to be reasoned with. He wanted everything at once, and he knew it. To take him in his hand like this, to stroke their cocks together, impress upon Mettaton his own wanting and heat (which only existed because of the taller man, as if arousal itself was a work to dedicate to him). To hold his length between his thighs and stroke him off between them- or to feel his seed shot flush to his entrance, making a mess of him. And to be fucked, of course, in every position they liked... though that would take more lube than existed on this world. (For that reason, if nothing else, Emet-Selch needed his creation powers back.)
He shudders another sigh.]
You know I couldn't forget.
[Which had been the problem, the loss of what had seemed so fundamentally right (just as Mettaton's robotic body was right) not something he could brush off, in the end. (But why should he resign himself to loss and work past it? He knew what they were meant to have! ...The only problem was when his holding back hurt Mettaton too, more than necessary.)
At the sound of his name, he looks up to catch the robot's eye, and he's distracted from the need to remove Mettaton's pants entirely, somehow (and all of his own clothes too, but that was more straightforward). Distracted even from his erection, beyond a sense of things being right once more between them. This would be healing, wouldn't it?]
...I love you too.
[Cock or no cock, and they both knew that. He hoped so, at least. Beyond the exasperation he felt for being this apparently starved for his husband's erection (and the sensitivity that went with it- as he wouldn't be anywhere close to this desirous of him if he knew that Mettaton's capacity for arousal was as dulled as ever), he'd missed this closeness most of all. Even if he shouldn't have let it go on this long- but he'd wanted to express what he knew he could, in this way that suited them both.
Twisting slightly to face him, he leans up to find Mettaton's lips again, in a kiss that still leaned towards the tender. But it was no less needy for it, no less wanting. At the same time his fingers slip to the other man's cock, to wrap around him with a gentle possessiveness, stroking upward to the bulbous head which he squeezes just as carefully. Textures that he missed having under his hand, and were well worth groaning over, though the sound is stifled somewhat by the meeting of their lips.]