[One kiss often did beget another, and where Mettaton takes a brief delay in answering for the sake of one, Emet-Selch felt no impatience. He could nearly see the robot's train of thought there, and was more than amenable to another press of lips, a small pause taken for a kiss. Conversations could readily take place around ardor, around their work to draw their lover in; there was always a moment to seek out contact. (Apart from recently, where he... just couldn't give what Mettaton wanted from him. Couldn't respond like this, to show the love he felt for him- and it hurt. It hurt in a different way now, to have it back, where the fierceness of that want left him off-balance.)
They were... absurdly desirous of one another. And while he'd known that to be the case, he didn't think he was imagining how raw, how sharp it felt now, in the way they gazed upon each other. Despite what they'd done already, they felt desperate for a fuck, he thought- the rounds behind them having done nothing but stoke their want.
But there could be a glimmer of patience. He had asked a question, after all- even if it was mostly a commentary on this unexpected aspect. Besides, it was a commentary, a consideration worth arousal in its own right, as the aftermath of their sex often was. What was a mess but an inspiration to create more of one, to make it truly worthwhile to be left smeared sticky and exhausted, bodies emptied of seed as much as they could be (his own, at least... though he wondered whether Mettaton's productivity would be the same as he remembered).
Together, they glance down towards their cocks again, the pinkish-milky mess an unsubtle decoration, glittering visibly in the ambient light. Even had they only Mettaton's waist to go on, it would've been clear that something was strange... and with the sun not yet near setting, there was plenty more light where that came from, enough to illuminate them properly, if not harshly.
He can't help the paused breath, to watch Mettaton take up a sizable smear of his own come onto his fingers. There was no looking away from him, as the other man toys with it, letting it string suggestively between fingers, a tease of its consistency.
Shuddering, he swallows reflexively as Mettaton paints his lips in glittery ejaculate. A lipstick that suited him- yes, he would agree with that completely. If it were less thickly applied, would it serve as an innocent-seeming lip gloss... but it was hard to imagine it ever looking anything other than obscene. And as it was, it was unashamedly sexual, and his own body felt particularly hot just to watch this simple show of it. Mettaton's voice itself felt like a caress down his body, and the way he looked at him was irresistible.
...Though he'd already taken him in his mouth, felt him ejaculate against his tongue, Emet-Selch makes his own show of considering his lover's face as though the answer lay there. Leaning up, he slowly brings their lips together, forcing back the moan that wished to blossom at the explicit texture of his husband's semen sticky between their mouths. Willingly decorating them both with it, he slips his tongue into the other man's mouth to get a better taste of him there- as he knew Mettaton had left another smear of seed there, to be claimed. He would lap it up from any part of him just as devotedly- but he would also let messes remain, for their appeal.
Barely breaking the kiss, it makes a slightly wetter sound than usual, given what was likely to string between their lips, he doesn't move far in order to answer.]
...It suits you. [He finally agrees, in a low rumble.] And it tastes like you.
[Which meant he loved it, because it was Mettaton's. It was his pleasure, tangible- and nothing to take for granted, especially now.]
It's just as I remember it.... [And if that was a strange thing to feel sentimental about, he doesn't question it; they had the ability to have sex again as they wished, and this was proof of it. He still manages a sigh; it's closer to a groan, as he nudges their noses together.] Outside of its obnoxious color.
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They were... absurdly desirous of one another. And while he'd known that to be the case, he didn't think he was imagining how raw, how sharp it felt now, in the way they gazed upon each other. Despite what they'd done already, they felt desperate for a fuck, he thought- the rounds behind them having done nothing but stoke their want.
But there could be a glimmer of patience. He had asked a question, after all- even if it was mostly a commentary on this unexpected aspect. Besides, it was a commentary, a consideration worth arousal in its own right, as the aftermath of their sex often was. What was a mess but an inspiration to create more of one, to make it truly worthwhile to be left smeared sticky and exhausted, bodies emptied of seed as much as they could be (his own, at least... though he wondered whether Mettaton's productivity would be the same as he remembered).
Together, they glance down towards their cocks again, the pinkish-milky mess an unsubtle decoration, glittering visibly in the ambient light. Even had they only Mettaton's waist to go on, it would've been clear that something was strange... and with the sun not yet near setting, there was plenty more light where that came from, enough to illuminate them properly, if not harshly.
He can't help the paused breath, to watch Mettaton take up a sizable smear of his own come onto his fingers. There was no looking away from him, as the other man toys with it, letting it string suggestively between fingers, a tease of its consistency.
Shuddering, he swallows reflexively as Mettaton paints his lips in glittery ejaculate. A lipstick that suited him- yes, he would agree with that completely. If it were less thickly applied, would it serve as an innocent-seeming lip gloss... but it was hard to imagine it ever looking anything other than obscene. And as it was, it was unashamedly sexual, and his own body felt particularly hot just to watch this simple show of it. Mettaton's voice itself felt like a caress down his body, and the way he looked at him was irresistible.
...Though he'd already taken him in his mouth, felt him ejaculate against his tongue, Emet-Selch makes his own show of considering his lover's face as though the answer lay there. Leaning up, he slowly brings their lips together, forcing back the moan that wished to blossom at the explicit texture of his husband's semen sticky between their mouths. Willingly decorating them both with it, he slips his tongue into the other man's mouth to get a better taste of him there- as he knew Mettaton had left another smear of seed there, to be claimed. He would lap it up from any part of him just as devotedly- but he would also let messes remain, for their appeal.
Barely breaking the kiss, it makes a slightly wetter sound than usual, given what was likely to string between their lips, he doesn't move far in order to answer.]
...It suits you. [He finally agrees, in a low rumble.] And it tastes like you.
[Which meant he loved it, because it was Mettaton's. It was his pleasure, tangible- and nothing to take for granted, especially now.]
It's just as I remember it.... [And if that was a strange thing to feel sentimental about, he doesn't question it; they had the ability to have sex again as they wished, and this was proof of it. He still manages a sigh; it's closer to a groan, as he nudges their noses together.] Outside of its obnoxious color.