[He knew that no matter how they got around to preparing Emet-Selch, it would've been an intimate affair. But there was an advantage to letting Emet-Selch do it, he would've thought with greater clarity if he had that. And that was that he knew he would've been exploratory, testing the heat of his body with his fingertips, tugging at muscle and crooning over the tension he could exert. Would Emet-Selch be able to last through all of Mettaton's fondling, his enthusiastic petting and stroking?
Perhaps it was for the best. Especially because no matter which way they approached the task, MTT was still being aroused... though it may be rousing in two different directions. With Emet-Selch nuzzling him, kissing his neck and panting against silicone, the robot nearly groans, growls, as his legs shift and his hips jerk, becoming swiftly full- and covetous of the space Emet-Selch had occupied, enough that his squirming jostles the smaller man above him, as Mettaton curls with the unconscious intent to prod him with his cock.]
You want to talk about my heat...
[Yet Emet-Selch is an obviously warm body in the waiting, an aspect to their sex that he hadn't as much experience with. With that prize waiting for him, the idol all but whines, his silky voice high yet breathless as it peters out as soon as he feels lips against his jaw.
He was intensely aroused, and insanely quick. The only way he knows what Emet-Selch's doing is by the sensation of muscles moving in his arm, and Mettaton could imagine all of the intricate slips of his fingers, all of the gentle pulls and slick rubs and the fullness he could never imitate, but was all too aware of. Mettaton's voice hitches in the midst of a groan, tipping his head to permit Emet-Selch a trail of kisses that served only to intensify his ache. His every ache, including the same ones he felt with Emet-Selch that reached deep and gripped their hearts.
He knew this wasn't too big for Emet-Selch. He knew it was just right, that the Ascian enjoyed riding something thick. And to hear him complain, before following up with the acceptance of accommodation, only inspires the imagining of his entrance stretched about a thick, full root- a sight in his mind's eye that is enough to have Mettaton moaning some more, squirming in his anticipation.]
No matter what you say, dearest, I... I know what you find preferential to comfort. [He turns his head enough to kiss Emet-Selch's cheek.] Pleasure, of course. And you...
[... Have a thing for something thick, he wants to say. But overeager as he's increasingly becoming, he squirms; he thrusts, as if his body sought to declare its readiness without words. With one hand he spreads Emet-Selch some more, and the arm he has trapping him, wrapped around his body, tugs him deeper unto his lap.]
Won't you... Ohh, Hades... Tell me, how thick you're anticipating me. [And how thick he's preparing himself, to that end. Emet-Selch would only be able to do so much, but he knew they'd work him into comfort eventually, even if it took patience. And practice. Mettaton grinds his root against Emet-Selch's crotch, greedily collecting him, dragging his weight over his root.] And how you know it'll feel, to take me...?
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Perhaps it was for the best. Especially because no matter which way they approached the task, MTT was still being aroused... though it may be rousing in two different directions. With Emet-Selch nuzzling him, kissing his neck and panting against silicone, the robot nearly groans, growls, as his legs shift and his hips jerk, becoming swiftly full- and covetous of the space Emet-Selch had occupied, enough that his squirming jostles the smaller man above him, as Mettaton curls with the unconscious intent to prod him with his cock.]
You want to talk about my heat...
[Yet Emet-Selch is an obviously warm body in the waiting, an aspect to their sex that he hadn't as much experience with. With that prize waiting for him, the idol all but whines, his silky voice high yet breathless as it peters out as soon as he feels lips against his jaw.
He was intensely aroused, and insanely quick. The only way he knows what Emet-Selch's doing is by the sensation of muscles moving in his arm, and Mettaton could imagine all of the intricate slips of his fingers, all of the gentle pulls and slick rubs and the fullness he could never imitate, but was all too aware of. Mettaton's voice hitches in the midst of a groan, tipping his head to permit Emet-Selch a trail of kisses that served only to intensify his ache. His every ache, including the same ones he felt with Emet-Selch that reached deep and gripped their hearts.
He knew this wasn't too big for Emet-Selch. He knew it was just right, that the Ascian enjoyed riding something thick. And to hear him complain, before following up with the acceptance of accommodation, only inspires the imagining of his entrance stretched about a thick, full root- a sight in his mind's eye that is enough to have Mettaton moaning some more, squirming in his anticipation.]
No matter what you say, dearest, I... I know what you find preferential to comfort. [He turns his head enough to kiss Emet-Selch's cheek.] Pleasure, of course. And you...
[... Have a thing for something thick, he wants to say. But overeager as he's increasingly becoming, he squirms; he thrusts, as if his body sought to declare its readiness without words. With one hand he spreads Emet-Selch some more, and the arm he has trapping him, wrapped around his body, tugs him deeper unto his lap.]
Won't you... Ohh, Hades... Tell me, how thick you're anticipating me. [And how thick he's preparing himself, to that end. Emet-Selch would only be able to do so much, but he knew they'd work him into comfort eventually, even if it took patience. And practice. Mettaton grinds his root against Emet-Selch's crotch, greedily collecting him, dragging his weight over his root.] And how you know it'll feel, to take me...?