You can't blame me for my inclination toward helpfulness. It's... It's who I am, and you're too enticing...
[Mettaton doesn't overtly blame his "helpfulness" on being a Puca, but a lot of it was that. But even under the layers of that, he is a ghost, a monster- and what good monster wouldn't be inclined toward setting his husband up for a puzzling experience to be sorted blind? And what good Mettaton wouldn't set his husband up for grand success- that is, looking as prone and accessible to him as possible? He was helping. If Emet-Selch had tripped, it had ever been intentional- and there had always been some properly placed surface, cushioned and all, for him to lay upon for MTT to predate upon him.
Practically writhing under his touch, Mettaton arches his back again, still trying to jut his hips up and into the mage's touch when his tip is fondled, compressed- and he doesn't hold back the moan that couples with the very sensitive slit as he's toyed with. There is anticipation and expectation paired with the way his lover touches him, and it does anything but daunt the flashy robot who thrives on performance and expectation. Groaning at the heat and heaviness he felt, he knew that Emet-Selch was dreaming of a productive release as he fondled the tip of him, and he felt nothing short of excited to impress.
The quick jerking over his cock is a sentence for small death, but so too was the way Emet-Selch looks at him would be the real seal for his end. His luminous eyes settle low, watching as his fingers slip and slide over the slickness of his length, fingers slipping up and over the swollen tip before stroking low to the base. With lips parted, gaze bleary in his overcome, it's writing on the walls: any climax he reaches now , as Emet-Selch strokes him off with his fingers, would serve to pave the way for another productive round.
He couldn't be exasperated by that. It's not in his nature, first of all... but it only served to arouse him deeper, to bring him closer to the brink with greater haste. His own cock was framed perfectly by thighs, and greater enhanced, its fullness supple beneath the Ascian's fingers. Obscene indeed, and Mettaton moans, soft and high.]
Hades...! Oh, you're too good...
[It wasn't just the way he touched him, but the involvement of their coupling that was most arousing. If Emet wasn't invested in him for the long haul, leaning for him and watching him with those beautiful, citrine eyes with heavy regard, it wouldn't be so arousing. Emet-Selch is captivated, and Mettaton is captivated in turn.
It's quick that beads over with precome. And... indeed, clear as anything, though milky and creamy, it glimmers and glitters in pinks. But he might need to finish his orgasm for it to become clearer.]
Hades, take me... ah...! [Mettaton isn't regarding that too far, though, as he grips his lover's hips, thrusting into his touch with obvious ardor.]
no subject
[Mettaton doesn't overtly blame his "helpfulness" on being a Puca, but a lot of it was that. But even under the layers of that, he is a ghost, a monster- and what good monster wouldn't be inclined toward setting his husband up for a puzzling experience to be sorted blind? And what good Mettaton wouldn't set his husband up for grand success- that is, looking as prone and accessible to him as possible? He was helping. If Emet-Selch had tripped, it had ever been intentional- and there had always been some properly placed surface, cushioned and all, for him to lay upon for MTT to predate upon him.
Practically writhing under his touch, Mettaton arches his back again, still trying to jut his hips up and into the mage's touch when his tip is fondled, compressed- and he doesn't hold back the moan that couples with the very sensitive slit as he's toyed with. There is anticipation and expectation paired with the way his lover touches him, and it does anything but daunt the flashy robot who thrives on performance and expectation. Groaning at the heat and heaviness he felt, he knew that Emet-Selch was dreaming of a productive release as he fondled the tip of him, and he felt nothing short of excited to impress.
The quick jerking over his cock is a sentence for small death, but so too was the way Emet-Selch looks at him would be the real seal for his end. His luminous eyes settle low, watching as his fingers slip and slide over the slickness of his length, fingers slipping up and over the swollen tip before stroking low to the base. With lips parted, gaze bleary in his overcome, it's writing on the walls: any climax he reaches now , as Emet-Selch strokes him off with his fingers, would serve to pave the way for another productive round.
He couldn't be exasperated by that. It's not in his nature, first of all... but it only served to arouse him deeper, to bring him closer to the brink with greater haste. His own cock was framed perfectly by thighs, and greater enhanced, its fullness supple beneath the Ascian's fingers. Obscene indeed, and Mettaton moans, soft and high.]
Hades...! Oh, you're too good...
[It wasn't just the way he touched him, but the involvement of their coupling that was most arousing. If Emet wasn't invested in him for the long haul, leaning for him and watching him with those beautiful, citrine eyes with heavy regard, it wouldn't be so arousing. Emet-Selch is captivated, and Mettaton is captivated in turn.
It's quick that beads over with precome. And... indeed, clear as anything, though milky and creamy, it glimmers and glitters in pinks. But he might need to finish his orgasm for it to become clearer.]
Hades, take me... ah...! [Mettaton isn't regarding that too far, though, as he grips his lover's hips, thrusting into his touch with obvious ardor.]