[He knew, with all certainty, that Mettaton would be amenable to his request. That he would've been likely to kiss him regardless, given their position and the turn of the mood being permissive of gestures like that. Saying it aloud was as much an affirmation of his willingness, his desire for the taller man's touch- not only that of his cock, but in other ways too. But Emet-Selch looks a little relieved all the same, to see Mettaton's reaction to his ask, the clear enthusiasm something that he now wanted to see (rather than finding it grating, when Mettaton's humor was maintained while he was contrastingly upset).
And when their lips meet, and his eyes take the opportunity to slip shut, Emet-Selch finds himself for the first time since he'd been placed on his back... not disliking this position. Relaxing a little bit into it, beyond the deliberate way he tries to relax around the robot's length, it was too much to say that he enjoyed it, yet- but it was better. The kiss, though, he was immediately enamored with.
It was pleasant, affectionate- romantic, even, as so many of their touches were. But he felt especially attuned to it now- or at least, felt more of a longing in that direction, for something that would make up for the recently renewed disconnect. Even if it had taken time to even be able to reach for this much, a willingness to accept some sort of reassurance after they'd both been wounded, Emet-Selch soaks it in as though he'd been starved for it for far longer than these minutes.
Though it was a different softness than his own, he could feel the slight give to Mettaton's lips, the texture something to ever fascinate over just as the other man could with his skin. His own mouth providing enough saliva to keep the contact effectively moist, he makes a small noise into the gentle suck of his lip, something appreciative.
It wasn't at all the same as the ardor they might have shared in their more familiar couplings, even the ones where they took a slower pace- but Emet-Selch could feel Mettaton's love for him no less. If anything, it felt a touch rawer than usual, due to that lingering emotional disturbance, as anything sentimental settled close as vulnerabilities were restored. More open again to his lover's heart- of course it would hurt to be close to it.
All of it, though, he would take as some distraction to the gradual way Mettaton worked himself deeper. Not to the idea, the awareness of being slowly filled- but the drag that would have to be endured to get there. That much wasn't so nice, but it was warm too, warmer than their kiss even (the warmth of skin raw...), and he gasps softly against his lips. Arms tightening around him, he buries one hand in dark hair, while his legs readjust to more actively lock around Mettaton's hips. It wasn't the same as being properly aroused, but the more he was able to let go of his distress, the easier it was to remember the abject pleasure that was usually found in this position. In this configuration, with their lips together, and their bodies in the process of joining, Mettaton a welcomed force above him.
(He could be exasperated in himself, at how quickly his mood there could change- but it didn't surprise him. They had too much history like this, too many times the robot had nestled himself just like this between his legs, atop his body, lovingly mounting him. Given the slightest crack in his defensive resolve, and he'd crumble just like this...and he was grateful, then, that Mettaton had neither withdrawn nor left him.)]
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And when their lips meet, and his eyes take the opportunity to slip shut, Emet-Selch finds himself for the first time since he'd been placed on his back... not disliking this position. Relaxing a little bit into it, beyond the deliberate way he tries to relax around the robot's length, it was too much to say that he enjoyed it, yet- but it was better. The kiss, though, he was immediately enamored with.
It was pleasant, affectionate- romantic, even, as so many of their touches were. But he felt especially attuned to it now- or at least, felt more of a longing in that direction, for something that would make up for the recently renewed disconnect. Even if it had taken time to even be able to reach for this much, a willingness to accept some sort of reassurance after they'd both been wounded, Emet-Selch soaks it in as though he'd been starved for it for far longer than these minutes.
Though it was a different softness than his own, he could feel the slight give to Mettaton's lips, the texture something to ever fascinate over just as the other man could with his skin. His own mouth providing enough saliva to keep the contact effectively moist, he makes a small noise into the gentle suck of his lip, something appreciative.
It wasn't at all the same as the ardor they might have shared in their more familiar couplings, even the ones where they took a slower pace- but Emet-Selch could feel Mettaton's love for him no less. If anything, it felt a touch rawer than usual, due to that lingering emotional disturbance, as anything sentimental settled close as vulnerabilities were restored. More open again to his lover's heart- of course it would hurt to be close to it.
All of it, though, he would take as some distraction to the gradual way Mettaton worked himself deeper. Not to the idea, the awareness of being slowly filled- but the drag that would have to be endured to get there. That much wasn't so nice, but it was warm too, warmer than their kiss even (the warmth of skin raw...), and he gasps softly against his lips. Arms tightening around him, he buries one hand in dark hair, while his legs readjust to more actively lock around Mettaton's hips. It wasn't the same as being properly aroused, but the more he was able to let go of his distress, the easier it was to remember the abject pleasure that was usually found in this position. In this configuration, with their lips together, and their bodies in the process of joining, Mettaton a welcomed force above him.
(He could be exasperated in himself, at how quickly his mood there could change- but it didn't surprise him. They had too much history like this, too many times the robot had nestled himself just like this between his legs, atop his body, lovingly mounting him. Given the slightest crack in his defensive resolve, and he'd crumble just like this...and he was grateful, then, that Mettaton had neither withdrawn nor left him.)]