[The first hot burst of seed hits him, and the mage shudders, his moan soft and nearly disappearing entirely underneath Mettaton's far louder cry. Without slowing down, Emet-Selch milks him through those first few moments, squeezing him as the taller man continued to thrust desperately upward into his touch. He would carry him through this, relieve him of everything he could produce in a round.]
Oh... oh, Mettaton....
[His voice is just as soft as his moan had been, something awed at the performance taking place under him, that he couldn't have pulled his gaze from even if he'd wanted to. Oblivious to Mettaton's observance of him, with his focus caught up entirely in every jerk and cry the robot was making, and the sticky mess that went with it, shot all over between them, impressively productive. He loved this.
And loved how reluctantly it seemed to come to a temporary end, with Mettaton continuing to jerk in his grasp, even when the spurts of fluid slowed to a drip. A lower, instinctively-soothing noise forms in his throat at the continuing convulsions underneath him, even when the robot's climax seemed otherwise 'complete'. Emet-Selch's pumps of him slow, while his heart continues to race, affected by all he saw, all he rode out with him, in an effort to ease him down from those heights.
Beyond the bliss that he could nearly feel himself, body tensing sympathetically (and cock hardening more than that, for all that he wasn't the one being touched), it was unmistakable now that something was... off, about Mettaton's semen. Different. The hint of pink couldn't be explained away by being on the backdrop of the robot's erection, not when it was spattered across his body. Even the glow of Mettaton's waist didn't explain it, as he was used to seeing things against that light. But more notable than the slight coloring change was the thorough and explicit glittering. His hand finally stills against yet-rigid silicone. He even lets go of him in order to better observe this, to touch what had hit his own body.
There was no question of 'was that normal'. It was not. It wasn't normal for anyone- not even Mettaton, given all their prior times together. Emet-Selch was... quite familiar with his husband's ejaculate. And up until this point it had been normal (as normal as an ejaculating robot could be).
(Was that safe to ingest? He sure had already swallowed a load of this, which had kept him from seeing what he was taking... and he hadn't tasted (nor felt underneath his fingers now) any textural difference. It wasn't rough (thankfully, or else Mettaton's experience of climax might have been somewhat uncomfortable, as infinite sharp-edged specks were expelled with great force from him....), but the presence of what absolutely looked to be glitter in his husband's come was not what he'd expected to face today.)
...He wanted to comment on it. He needed to comment on it, and the transfixed way he stared at what was dripping down his hand, which strung between his fingers with glimmering cloudiness indicated that he was somewhat at a loss. Aroused, definitely, affected by the existence of what he was handling, this very tangible residue of his lover's ability to climax, to share in pleasure with him- but nonplussed as well.
His lips part, but he can't quite find the words to comment on it yet, when he looks back up to Mettaton's face. Going in for a kiss instead, he pulls him into it with his other, yet-clean hand, taking his lips for several ardent, loving presses. Unexpected qualities of this result aside (and the consequences for him and all of their things should this glitter be as impossible to remove as glitter usually was, having not occurred to him yet), he was relieved. Pleased. Painfully in love with the man whose cock he returns to gently holding, both of them sticky with seed.]
Mettaton... [He whispers it against his lips.] I love you.
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Oh... oh, Mettaton....
[His voice is just as soft as his moan had been, something awed at the performance taking place under him, that he couldn't have pulled his gaze from even if he'd wanted to. Oblivious to Mettaton's observance of him, with his focus caught up entirely in every jerk and cry the robot was making, and the sticky mess that went with it, shot all over between them, impressively productive. He loved this.
And loved how reluctantly it seemed to come to a temporary end, with Mettaton continuing to jerk in his grasp, even when the spurts of fluid slowed to a drip. A lower, instinctively-soothing noise forms in his throat at the continuing convulsions underneath him, even when the robot's climax seemed otherwise 'complete'. Emet-Selch's pumps of him slow, while his heart continues to race, affected by all he saw, all he rode out with him, in an effort to ease him down from those heights.
Beyond the bliss that he could nearly feel himself, body tensing sympathetically (and cock hardening more than that, for all that he wasn't the one being touched), it was unmistakable now that something was... off, about Mettaton's semen. Different. The hint of pink couldn't be explained away by being on the backdrop of the robot's erection, not when it was spattered across his body. Even the glow of Mettaton's waist didn't explain it, as he was used to seeing things against that light. But more notable than the slight coloring change was the thorough and explicit glittering. His hand finally stills against yet-rigid silicone. He even lets go of him in order to better observe this, to touch what had hit his own body.
There was no question of 'was that normal'. It was not. It wasn't normal for anyone- not even Mettaton, given all their prior times together. Emet-Selch was... quite familiar with his husband's ejaculate. And up until this point it had been normal (as normal as an ejaculating robot could be).
(Was that safe to ingest? He sure had already swallowed a load of this, which had kept him from seeing what he was taking... and he hadn't tasted (nor felt underneath his fingers now) any textural difference. It wasn't rough (thankfully, or else Mettaton's experience of climax might have been somewhat uncomfortable, as infinite sharp-edged specks were expelled with great force from him....), but the presence of what absolutely looked to be glitter in his husband's come was not what he'd expected to face today.)
...He wanted to comment on it. He needed to comment on it, and the transfixed way he stared at what was dripping down his hand, which strung between his fingers with glimmering cloudiness indicated that he was somewhat at a loss. Aroused, definitely, affected by the existence of what he was handling, this very tangible residue of his lover's ability to climax, to share in pleasure with him- but nonplussed as well.
His lips part, but he can't quite find the words to comment on it yet, when he looks back up to Mettaton's face. Going in for a kiss instead, he pulls him into it with his other, yet-clean hand, taking his lips for several ardent, loving presses. Unexpected qualities of this result aside (and the consequences for him and all of their things should this glitter be as impossible to remove as glitter usually was, having not occurred to him yet), he was relieved. Pleased. Painfully in love with the man whose cock he returns to gently holding, both of them sticky with seed.]
Mettaton... [He whispers it against his lips.] I love you.