[This is absolutely a way to get a closer look, and a much anticipated result. Mettaton adjusts his grip in the smaller man's hair out of affect rather than for a better grip, ardently combing through hair only to knot it up in his fingers again. It had happend too quickly, how ready his body was to burst- as though it were physically pent up, ready to be milked of load after load. (He doesn't think about it at all, not in any conscious way- but it was a relief to see or feel that he could produce liquid of some kind at all. That was... important to him, a way to exert claim on his husband.)
Emet-Selch laps along his shaft, his tongue smoothing over the ridge of his glans, and Mettaton cries out, bright and overcome. Each time he dips low Mettaton felt complete warmth, a comfortable sheathing of his cock in damp heat and pressure- but each time Emet-Selch tugged slightly off of his cock, that air was let to chill (even though his fingers wrap around him, blocking him from most of the chill- Mettaton is just sensitive, and terribly so). He wanted to pound himself into his warm mate; he wanted to leave Emet-Selch heated through as well.
His throat comes to mind. And just dreaming of being held there, Emet-Selch's lips encircling his root as the smaller man swallowed and swallowed to clear that blockage- Mettaton moans, leaking some more as he carefully smooths a thumb against his lover's temple, effectively brushing some of that hair out of the way, though he found it charming to see it brushed forward in the mage's focus.
The focus, the dedication, the passion, the love... Mettaton saw it all from Emet-Selch, and felt it just as clearly. Their language had been returned to him, but it felt so much deeper than that. Mettaton pants, stricken.]
I... I...
[He can't complete the sentiment in words. He cries out instead, sensitive and shocked to his core. But far from distracted- and somehow, the sentiment easily reaches Emet-Selch anyway. (Whether it's the work of their new dragon-wrought brand, or just a connection they share as they are, it was hard to say.) He loves him. He's crazy about him, and he wanted him to know it.
It sure felt as though he were being milked of his first load. First, with the words Emet-Selch gave him, that this would be a start; a threat, but one that brought Mettaton sparks of thrill. But the way Emet-Selch compressed his root and stroked upward to meet his own lips, urging him to spill, in combination with the handling, kneading, and possessive appraising of his balls would be more than enough of a reason to feel that he was being urged toward climax. He had a lot to give, it felt, and the robot tightens his legs around Emet-Selch, urging the smaller man to receive him when he couldn't warn him of the impending release.
They were both exposed, and both terribly attached. And Mettaton could feel Emet-Selch's love and care for him in every squeeze around his thick tip, the compression of amorous suckles show enough that the smaller man was invested in him. In his heart, in his comfort, his pleasure, and the vivid and colorful world Mettaton thrived in. He wanted to hold him tight, and with that desire in his heart, Mettaton spills over.
Spurts of release flood Emet-Selch's mouth- and if not proper semen, it's a convincing duplicate. Slick and sticky and thick, it coats the mage's tongue- and there would be nothing about it that would be jarring or different from what it's ever been in reception. It was Mettaton's, after all, and the idol gives himself over to Emet-Selch's care, his grip in his hair tightening as much as his legs do 'round his shoulders.
And of course, he sings out Emet-Selch's name in his passionate release. His voice ascends upon his name, chanting it for the inability to think about anything else- and if he gets a glimpse of anything, it's the man before him, dutifully caring for him and seeing him to relief.
It's a full first load, a gushing burst of overwhelming heat coming from a very hot robot. But it comes to an end eventually, even though Mettaton's oversensitivity is such that he responds as though in climax for longer than even his release pours from the slit. Every stroke over his length was something worth writhing into, and Mettaton is mindless, overcome and in love.
Unwound by the end of it all, Mettaton's body rattles with a shiver as he slumps slightly, curling forward.] H... Hades, ohhh...
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Emet-Selch laps along his shaft, his tongue smoothing over the ridge of his glans, and Mettaton cries out, bright and overcome. Each time he dips low Mettaton felt complete warmth, a comfortable sheathing of his cock in damp heat and pressure- but each time Emet-Selch tugged slightly off of his cock, that air was let to chill (even though his fingers wrap around him, blocking him from most of the chill- Mettaton is just sensitive, and terribly so). He wanted to pound himself into his warm mate; he wanted to leave Emet-Selch heated through as well.
His throat comes to mind. And just dreaming of being held there, Emet-Selch's lips encircling his root as the smaller man swallowed and swallowed to clear that blockage- Mettaton moans, leaking some more as he carefully smooths a thumb against his lover's temple, effectively brushing some of that hair out of the way, though he found it charming to see it brushed forward in the mage's focus.
The focus, the dedication, the passion, the love... Mettaton saw it all from Emet-Selch, and felt it just as clearly. Their language had been returned to him, but it felt so much deeper than that. Mettaton pants, stricken.]
I... I...
[He can't complete the sentiment in words. He cries out instead, sensitive and shocked to his core. But far from distracted- and somehow, the sentiment easily reaches Emet-Selch anyway. (Whether it's the work of their new dragon-wrought brand, or just a connection they share as they are, it was hard to say.) He loves him. He's crazy about him, and he wanted him to know it.
It sure felt as though he were being milked of his first load. First, with the words Emet-Selch gave him, that this would be a start; a threat, but one that brought Mettaton sparks of thrill. But the way Emet-Selch compressed his root and stroked upward to meet his own lips, urging him to spill, in combination with the handling, kneading, and possessive appraising of his balls would be more than enough of a reason to feel that he was being urged toward climax. He had a lot to give, it felt, and the robot tightens his legs around Emet-Selch, urging the smaller man to receive him when he couldn't warn him of the impending release.
They were both exposed, and both terribly attached. And Mettaton could feel Emet-Selch's love and care for him in every squeeze around his thick tip, the compression of amorous suckles show enough that the smaller man was invested in him. In his heart, in his comfort, his pleasure, and the vivid and colorful world Mettaton thrived in. He wanted to hold him tight, and with that desire in his heart, Mettaton spills over.
Spurts of release flood Emet-Selch's mouth- and if not proper semen, it's a convincing duplicate. Slick and sticky and thick, it coats the mage's tongue- and there would be nothing about it that would be jarring or different from what it's ever been in reception. It was Mettaton's, after all, and the idol gives himself over to Emet-Selch's care, his grip in his hair tightening as much as his legs do 'round his shoulders.
And of course, he sings out Emet-Selch's name in his passionate release. His voice ascends upon his name, chanting it for the inability to think about anything else- and if he gets a glimpse of anything, it's the man before him, dutifully caring for him and seeing him to relief.
It's a full first load, a gushing burst of overwhelming heat coming from a very hot robot. But it comes to an end eventually, even though Mettaton's oversensitivity is such that he responds as though in climax for longer than even his release pours from the slit. Every stroke over his length was something worth writhing into, and Mettaton is mindless, overcome and in love.
Unwound by the end of it all, Mettaton's body rattles with a shiver as he slumps slightly, curling forward.] H... Hades, ohhh...