[Emet-Selch would snort at the idea of Mettaton losing inhibition, questioning how much the other man had ever possessed to start. Puca or no puca, he knew of his libido, how easily he was enticed- and if a thought came to him of something he'd like to do, the Ascian was sure that it would be soon introduced to them. He wouldn't believe for a moment that he would hold back anything out of inhibition.
(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]
no subject
(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]