[It was hard to tell exactly what he would have wanted, what would have 'worked', in a moment that no longer existed. (He wondered too, how he would've reacted had Mettaton voiced his concerns while he had still been on his lap. If the robot hadn't tried to hinder what he was doing, he liked to think that he would have listened- or at least, slowed down enough to argue his need to take him aggressively. He didn't know which of them would be convinced in the end, but as long as the choice wasn't taken from him, he thought it would have gone better.)
He'd already been furious, as soon as his back had hit the covers, Mettaton patronizingly deciding what he was able to take. There was no coming back from that; even recalling it now set him on edge, flooded him with resentment that made it more difficult to tolerate the embrace Mettaton had sunk into. The paltry pretense of closeness- it wasn't anything like the collapses they found themselves in, in the aftermath of their sex.
But he lives with it, not wanting to push him away either, though the hand he places on him in return is limp, passive.]
Mettaton. I would still prefer that. [Though he's speaking directly to him, it's more of a mutter, frustration clear in it, even if it's not quite as sharp as before.] If you're not going to continue, then pull out.
[It was true that he'd gotten used to Mettaton lingering within his body after climax, even if he'd found it strange at first. But now there had been no climax; Mettaton wasn't even fully inside of him, not even close. It didn't qualify as a tease, as there wasn't any pleasure surrounding it, any anticipation for more, for the greater heights (and depths) they had to look forward to- it was just uncomfortable. A reminder of the fullness denied him, his body made sore with nothing to show for it.
But if Mettaton had continued fucking him, while he'd been at the height of his fury- it depended on how quickly the other man had deigned to fill him, he supposed. He still wouldn't have enjoyed it; that chance had been ruined in an instant. He probably would have resented it. The aftermath wouldn't have been pleasant, most likely. But at least he would have had him physically. As it was, there was nothing.
But he didn't see it as Mettaton charging ahead while leaving him behind, unable to catch up. There had been nothing to catch up to, nothing to regain. They were on different tracks entirely. If anything, he'd been the one pushing ahead of the robot, before being forced to derail....
Rumination that causes him to twitch, unsettled and unhappy. He didn't see the problem in being willing to injure himself for this. What difference was there between that, and all the times Mettaton had bitten and bled him into anemia and scarring? (The only difference was that Emet-Selch had control over it. Where before, he hadn't been willing to stop him, even if it led to grievous injury or death.)]
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He'd already been furious, as soon as his back had hit the covers, Mettaton patronizingly deciding what he was able to take. There was no coming back from that; even recalling it now set him on edge, flooded him with resentment that made it more difficult to tolerate the embrace Mettaton had sunk into. The paltry pretense of closeness- it wasn't anything like the collapses they found themselves in, in the aftermath of their sex.
But he lives with it, not wanting to push him away either, though the hand he places on him in return is limp, passive.]
Mettaton. I would still prefer that. [Though he's speaking directly to him, it's more of a mutter, frustration clear in it, even if it's not quite as sharp as before.] If you're not going to continue, then pull out.
[It was true that he'd gotten used to Mettaton lingering within his body after climax, even if he'd found it strange at first. But now there had been no climax; Mettaton wasn't even fully inside of him, not even close. It didn't qualify as a tease, as there wasn't any pleasure surrounding it, any anticipation for more, for the greater heights (and depths) they had to look forward to- it was just uncomfortable. A reminder of the fullness denied him, his body made sore with nothing to show for it.
But if Mettaton had continued fucking him, while he'd been at the height of his fury- it depended on how quickly the other man had deigned to fill him, he supposed. He still wouldn't have enjoyed it; that chance had been ruined in an instant. He probably would have resented it. The aftermath wouldn't have been pleasant, most likely. But at least he would have had him physically. As it was, there was nothing.
But he didn't see it as Mettaton charging ahead while leaving him behind, unable to catch up. There had been nothing to catch up to, nothing to regain. They were on different tracks entirely. If anything, he'd been the one pushing ahead of the robot, before being forced to derail....
Rumination that causes him to twitch, unsettled and unhappy. He didn't see the problem in being willing to injure himself for this. What difference was there between that, and all the times Mettaton had bitten and bled him into anemia and scarring? (The only difference was that Emet-Selch had control over it. Where before, he hadn't been willing to stop him, even if it led to grievous injury or death.)]