[Oh, how those ears would spring again. Instead his body tenses, alertness manifesting in the tighter curl around his nude figure, the tops of white silicone thighs pressed against Emet-Selch's skin. They'd committed far enough that one way or another Mettaton would fit his cock inside of Emet-Selch's body for the sake of the intimacy of it, but of course any sign of Emet-Selch wanting him would coax Mettaton into a proper erection. When Mettaton scoops him close, Emet-Selch's only amenable, leaning into him- and the idol sighs in his pleasure of it, nuzzling the man underneath him.
His name, moaned like that... is enough to guarantee a proper filling, he thinks in all ways other than words. Mettaton groans right back, pressing Emet-Selch down with his upper body while still keeping his hips free, permitting him the continued arching into his thrusts. All combined with the sensation of pressing him down into the mattress, which gives Mettaton a rush to feel in combination with that sound that slips past his lips. Emet-Selch's fingertips dig into MTT's back, pressing into metal and demanding he stay. The potential for blame, if he didn't enjoy himself- that only pulls from him a lower groan, a firmer thrust.]
You... won't have a thing to worry about blaming me for, then... Hades.
[As usual: robots can't be breathless. Yet Mettaton sounds that way, unable to grasp for his voice; when he does, it's an airy rendition of it. It's shaping up to be an engagement far, far more productive than clinical, as even when Emet-Selch tenses in pain, Mettaton knows for fact that the rest of him enjoys every bit of this. Psychologically, he knew that pleasure could do wonders.
Thicker and stiffer he gets with each push, as it wasn't very comfortable to him, either. Come wasn't the best of lubricants... and it wasn't as though it was dry even now, but it wasn't slippery enough. Slipping Emet-Selch over his shaft's made into an easier affair with the Ascian participating, and Mettaton grips onto Emet-Selch's shoulders, using him as leverage to press deeper. And indeed, Emet-Selch slips further down his girth, their cravings for each other making it that bit easier to perform.]
Would you... let those fingers of yours wander to the sides of my chest? [A curiosity: Mettaton kisses the corner of Emet-Selch's lips, feeling a strange intensity coursing through him at any accidental touch of his tattoo. But he smiles, kissing him firmer, longer.] You have such an attractive grip, when you're losing yourself to me... Mmm.
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His name, moaned like that... is enough to guarantee a proper filling, he thinks in all ways other than words. Mettaton groans right back, pressing Emet-Selch down with his upper body while still keeping his hips free, permitting him the continued arching into his thrusts. All combined with the sensation of pressing him down into the mattress, which gives Mettaton a rush to feel in combination with that sound that slips past his lips. Emet-Selch's fingertips dig into MTT's back, pressing into metal and demanding he stay. The potential for blame, if he didn't enjoy himself- that only pulls from him a lower groan, a firmer thrust.]
You... won't have a thing to worry about blaming me for, then... Hades.
[As usual: robots can't be breathless. Yet Mettaton sounds that way, unable to grasp for his voice; when he does, it's an airy rendition of it. It's shaping up to be an engagement far, far more productive than clinical, as even when Emet-Selch tenses in pain, Mettaton knows for fact that the rest of him enjoys every bit of this. Psychologically, he knew that pleasure could do wonders.
Thicker and stiffer he gets with each push, as it wasn't very comfortable to him, either. Come wasn't the best of lubricants... and it wasn't as though it was dry even now, but it wasn't slippery enough. Slipping Emet-Selch over his shaft's made into an easier affair with the Ascian participating, and Mettaton grips onto Emet-Selch's shoulders, using him as leverage to press deeper. And indeed, Emet-Selch slips further down his girth, their cravings for each other making it that bit easier to perform.]
Would you... let those fingers of yours wander to the sides of my chest? [A curiosity: Mettaton kisses the corner of Emet-Selch's lips, feeling a strange intensity coursing through him at any accidental touch of his tattoo. But he smiles, kissing him firmer, longer.] You have such an attractive grip, when you're losing yourself to me... Mmm.