[Mettaton was more than a temptation, but someone that had already drawn him in, captured him down to his core, where he had no desire left but to claim all he was offering. There were a lot of things he loved about this, but notable amongst them was this anticipated sharing of warmth. Warmth that Mettaton would be able to feel, both around his cock and pressed to his body, anywhere that they touched. They'd had tastes of it so far, of the heat each of them could produce, but this was inviting it further, literally deep, in a way that they just hadn't been able to perform in months.
It was a wonder that they were as relatively restrained as they were, Emet-Selch distantly mused. He was trying to prepare himself at all; Mettaton hadn't dragged his hand out of the way and replaced it with himself. The shift of their bodies, the slip of the robot's erection to the mage's backside was more than a hint of his wants, however- of his promise, both in heat and size, of something that could fill the smaller man when he'd been so empty. Moaning after him, Emet-Selch's hips jerk back- even if his own hand was in the way, and they weren't aligned properly. He swallows.]
You'll... know how I feel, soon enough.
[Physically, emotionally; in both he felt hot. Desperate but... controlled, yes; he decided this would be good enough, that he'd given his body enough time. It had better be, because it's moments later that his fingers are pulled hastily from himself, without even the farewell of a tease. What was there for him to tease (especially when Mettaton couldn't watch him), when he had what he actually wanted nudging against his ass? Their patience had been remarkable already, he thought....
His feelings felt as taut as his body, and hopefully rawer- though he expected and accepted this wouldn't be entirely comfortable. Not at first, and not afterward, if his body ended up as well-rubbed as he wanted it to be.
But he was more than willing, and knew that Mettaton was similarly interested, even if the less-slick entry wouldn't be as easy for him either. Nudging the side of his face against his (nearly a scenting gesture- not that Emet-Selch had ever possessed those instincts, but it felt like something they just did, regardless), the mage then sits up properly, onto his knees. Bracing himself with one hand at Mettaton's shoulder, the other- newly liberated from fingering himself- feels behind him for the other man's erection.
Still somewhat slick, and already hotter than remembered, and thicker even to feel than to see (and that was already plentily thick), it was too tempting to not squeeze up his shaft, to fondle the swollen tip while imagining how it would feel stretching him. But it's a delay that barely counts as one, because why imagine it when he could have it? Guiding his tip to the right place, even as he expects it, the sharp draw of breath was inescapable, and his heart beat fast enough to dizzy him.
And having the plush tip against his entrance was too much to consider resisting, and with Mettaton's erection held steady (and the other man more than rigid enough to be worth sitting on), he rolls his hips back, onto him. With a forced breath he keeps from tensing up to start with- and with more patience than he thought he had left, he keeps from pressing down hard, from driving Mettaton inside completely.
But just the act of kneading them both has him cry out, if softly, and his body to shudder. They were so close, and every second now when they weren't combined was torture- it's too soon, probably, but yearning has him act without thought, and firm kneading gives way to harder jerks of his hips. Forcing himself downward, he doesn't stop until the full swell of the head was pushed inside of him. Yet being made to stretch over something suddenly so thick has him choke on a gasp, and his whole body to tremble, huddling as close to Mettaton as he could with a sharper whine. Unwillingly he tenses up; it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. Wasn't even unpleasant, probably. Emet-Selch wasn't analyzing it that far.]
M... Mettaton- I- you're....
[His thoughts are no more coherent than his words, and he leans for him, head nudging against him with a smaller, pleading sound.]
no subject
It was a wonder that they were as relatively restrained as they were, Emet-Selch distantly mused. He was trying to prepare himself at all; Mettaton hadn't dragged his hand out of the way and replaced it with himself. The shift of their bodies, the slip of the robot's erection to the mage's backside was more than a hint of his wants, however- of his promise, both in heat and size, of something that could fill the smaller man when he'd been so empty. Moaning after him, Emet-Selch's hips jerk back- even if his own hand was in the way, and they weren't aligned properly. He swallows.]
You'll... know how I feel, soon enough.
[Physically, emotionally; in both he felt hot. Desperate but... controlled, yes; he decided this would be good enough, that he'd given his body enough time. It had better be, because it's moments later that his fingers are pulled hastily from himself, without even the farewell of a tease. What was there for him to tease (especially when Mettaton couldn't watch him), when he had what he actually wanted nudging against his ass? Their patience had been remarkable already, he thought....
His feelings felt as taut as his body, and hopefully rawer- though he expected and accepted this wouldn't be entirely comfortable. Not at first, and not afterward, if his body ended up as well-rubbed as he wanted it to be.
But he was more than willing, and knew that Mettaton was similarly interested, even if the less-slick entry wouldn't be as easy for him either. Nudging the side of his face against his (nearly a scenting gesture- not that Emet-Selch had ever possessed those instincts, but it felt like something they just did, regardless), the mage then sits up properly, onto his knees. Bracing himself with one hand at Mettaton's shoulder, the other- newly liberated from fingering himself- feels behind him for the other man's erection.
Still somewhat slick, and already hotter than remembered, and thicker even to feel than to see (and that was already plentily thick), it was too tempting to not squeeze up his shaft, to fondle the swollen tip while imagining how it would feel stretching him. But it's a delay that barely counts as one, because why imagine it when he could have it? Guiding his tip to the right place, even as he expects it, the sharp draw of breath was inescapable, and his heart beat fast enough to dizzy him.
And having the plush tip against his entrance was too much to consider resisting, and with Mettaton's erection held steady (and the other man more than rigid enough to be worth sitting on), he rolls his hips back, onto him. With a forced breath he keeps from tensing up to start with- and with more patience than he thought he had left, he keeps from pressing down hard, from driving Mettaton inside completely.
But just the act of kneading them both has him cry out, if softly, and his body to shudder. They were so close, and every second now when they weren't combined was torture- it's too soon, probably, but yearning has him act without thought, and firm kneading gives way to harder jerks of his hips. Forcing himself downward, he doesn't stop until the full swell of the head was pushed inside of him. Yet being made to stretch over something suddenly so thick has him choke on a gasp, and his whole body to tremble, huddling as close to Mettaton as he could with a sharper whine. Unwillingly he tenses up; it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. Wasn't even unpleasant, probably. Emet-Selch wasn't analyzing it that far.]
M... Mettaton- I- you're....
[His thoughts are no more coherent than his words, and he leans for him, head nudging against him with a smaller, pleading sound.]