[It was nearly that he whined with him, feeling as though their arousals were joined- but weren't they, in a way, always fed off of each other's? Even when their souls weren't directly linked (something he would forever miss), to see their lover in rising (and peaking) pleasure was one of the most inciting things of all.
It was a limitation of his body only that took Emet-Selch longer to show off his wanting, but he felt as though he'd been swollen for some time now. Where bringing him to climax could've served to encourage Mettaton back into a completely engorged state (Rather than the... partially? mostly? firmed condition that seemed to be his default; could the robot ever be completely flaccid? It would make his new condition of Pants Wearing somewhat difficult, if not.), this was a time where he had to wait, no matter how he yearned for touch, for relief. Not that Mettaton would keep him waiting long; he knew that from experience. No, it was his own body once again that required more time.
But he still didn't feel quite frustrated either, as the pain (and expectation) of a rigid cock was worth enduring, was a pleasure in its own right. But by the same token he sorely wanted to proceed, even if it meant being made more sore than he otherwise might have been. And while he works his fingers as deep as they could go, spreading them and what slickness he could give himself, it was a slower process than he would have liked.
He still finds it in him to huff at Mettaton's reply, though he nudges into the kiss to his cheek anyway. He could guess what else his lover might've said about him, and appreciated it not being directly called out....
Of course, his preference lied most of all in Mettaton; anyone else's thickness wouldn't do.]
How thick. [He repeats, tilting his head to seek out the other man's lips again. Another attempt of a kiss.] How thick can you give me? All that and- more, until you've filled me out completely.
[...He could probably use more time, even another finger, especially as their lubrication situation wasn't ideal. But it was growing more difficult to wait, and harder to judge his own readiness with anything like objectivity. He... could take him, he thought, with only a reasonable amount of trouble. And with Mettaton spreading him, grinding his erection against his body, how was he meant to resist?
But he tries for a few moments longer, unable to keep from whining though, soft and keen as he pushes back into his own hand, into the thrust of fingers that couldn't begin to satisfy him.]
How- do you think you'll feel? Fit- fitted tight inside of me? Tell me how much- how much you want this.
no subject
It was a limitation of his body only that took Emet-Selch longer to show off his wanting, but he felt as though he'd been swollen for some time now. Where bringing him to climax could've served to encourage Mettaton back into a completely engorged state (Rather than the... partially? mostly? firmed condition that seemed to be his default; could the robot ever be completely flaccid? It would make his new condition of Pants Wearing somewhat difficult, if not.), this was a time where he had to wait, no matter how he yearned for touch, for relief. Not that Mettaton would keep him waiting long; he knew that from experience. No, it was his own body once again that required more time.
But he still didn't feel quite frustrated either, as the pain (and expectation) of a rigid cock was worth enduring, was a pleasure in its own right. But by the same token he sorely wanted to proceed, even if it meant being made more sore than he otherwise might have been. And while he works his fingers as deep as they could go, spreading them and what slickness he could give himself, it was a slower process than he would have liked.
He still finds it in him to huff at Mettaton's reply, though he nudges into the kiss to his cheek anyway. He could guess what else his lover might've said about him, and appreciated it not being directly called out....
Of course, his preference lied most of all in Mettaton; anyone else's thickness wouldn't do.]
How thick. [He repeats, tilting his head to seek out the other man's lips again. Another attempt of a kiss.] How thick can you give me? All that and- more, until you've filled me out completely.
[...He could probably use more time, even another finger, especially as their lubrication situation wasn't ideal. But it was growing more difficult to wait, and harder to judge his own readiness with anything like objectivity. He... could take him, he thought, with only a reasonable amount of trouble. And with Mettaton spreading him, grinding his erection against his body, how was he meant to resist?
But he tries for a few moments longer, unable to keep from whining though, soft and keen as he pushes back into his own hand, into the thrust of fingers that couldn't begin to satisfy him.]
How- do you think you'll feel? Fit- fitted tight inside of me? Tell me how much- how much you want this.