[A stiffer, fuller insertion didn't exactly make things any easier on the mage's part, but he would want nothing less. (Though the solidity of Mettaton wasn't the worst thing to happen, in a purely practical sense, as he assumed that a softer cock would require more force to be pushed deep, while something appropriately firm was literally made for this purpose.) It meant that his lover was taking some pleasure in this, at least physically, and hadn't that been the greatest thing lacking, in the months leading up to this? Why Emet-Selch couldn't bring himself to react as he usually did to Mettaton, because his husband's duller senses wouldn't experience it with him....
So he embraces every bit of it now, as Mettaton coaxed their bodies together, and Emet-Selch did what he could to meet and receive him. He could guess that this wasn't the most delightful of sensations either for the robot, and that they wouldn't make a habit of fucking like this once they obtained an actual source of lubrication... but he found himself relieved that his husband could visibly (and audibly) become reasonably aroused by it still.
And that could dizzy him (along with his more genuine breathlessness, as he either forgets to take in air, or loses the chance through kisses, or expends it on sounds of his own). Altogether it... helped, and if he wasn't enjoying himself by now, it was near enough to make little difference.
Even if it wasn't the same kind of enjoyment as he'd been having before, when he'd been painfully erect, and lost to a different sort of desperate madness. But the more he sank into this (and the more Mettaton sank into him, however uncomfortably), the more pleasure there was. The more arousal there was, as it wasn't as though his body had been made exhausted of its potential for it.
But he wasn't really thinking of that, beyond an understanding that he... liked this, with less reluctance in each moment. Even if his body couldn't give in as readily to being entered like this, it mattered less even as it hurt more. Nearly every twinge of pain was followed by a firmer, decided roll of his hips upward, in defiance of his own limitations. And where his gasps weren't wholly free of signs of hurt, they demonstrated even more pleasure than that, warmth increasing each time Mettaton groaned with him, and with each bit more of his girth he felt pressed deep.
Mettaton's request draws a smaller sound from him- assent, probably. Though he'd mostly forgotten about their dragon bites in the wake of all else they'd been through and were doing, he doesn't question what his lover was asking for. His back felt the most natural to grasp onto, but there were other places he could reach, and none that he was opposed to touching. So his hands slip to his sides and drag upwards, the tips of his fingers firm against metal- but nowhere near as firm as what he was stroking.
Where Mettaton didn't need breath to speak, and didn't have to be hindered either by the act of kissing unless he wished to be, Emet-Selch had to operate under both of those constraints. Especially when he'd rather snap Mettaton's lips up in another kiss, forever caught up in answering, leaning for each one the taller man gives him. The scrape of his fingers tries to pull him closer somehow.]
If- you want that, then keep- what you're doing....
[It's mumbled with middling coherence, but it's all Mettaton's going to get, so long as Emet-Selch had his lips to claim.]
no subject
So he embraces every bit of it now, as Mettaton coaxed their bodies together, and Emet-Selch did what he could to meet and receive him. He could guess that this wasn't the most delightful of sensations either for the robot, and that they wouldn't make a habit of fucking like this once they obtained an actual source of lubrication... but he found himself relieved that his husband could visibly (and audibly) become reasonably aroused by it still.
And that could dizzy him (along with his more genuine breathlessness, as he either forgets to take in air, or loses the chance through kisses, or expends it on sounds of his own). Altogether it... helped, and if he wasn't enjoying himself by now, it was near enough to make little difference.
Even if it wasn't the same kind of enjoyment as he'd been having before, when he'd been painfully erect, and lost to a different sort of desperate madness. But the more he sank into this (and the more Mettaton sank into him, however uncomfortably), the more pleasure there was. The more arousal there was, as it wasn't as though his body had been made exhausted of its potential for it.
But he wasn't really thinking of that, beyond an understanding that he... liked this, with less reluctance in each moment. Even if his body couldn't give in as readily to being entered like this, it mattered less even as it hurt more. Nearly every twinge of pain was followed by a firmer, decided roll of his hips upward, in defiance of his own limitations. And where his gasps weren't wholly free of signs of hurt, they demonstrated even more pleasure than that, warmth increasing each time Mettaton groaned with him, and with each bit more of his girth he felt pressed deep.
Mettaton's request draws a smaller sound from him- assent, probably. Though he'd mostly forgotten about their dragon bites in the wake of all else they'd been through and were doing, he doesn't question what his lover was asking for. His back felt the most natural to grasp onto, but there were other places he could reach, and none that he was opposed to touching. So his hands slip to his sides and drag upwards, the tips of his fingers firm against metal- but nowhere near as firm as what he was stroking.
Where Mettaton didn't need breath to speak, and didn't have to be hindered either by the act of kissing unless he wished to be, Emet-Selch had to operate under both of those constraints. Especially when he'd rather snap Mettaton's lips up in another kiss, forever caught up in answering, leaning for each one the taller man gives him. The scrape of his fingers tries to pull him closer somehow.]
If- you want that, then keep- what you're doing....
[It's mumbled with middling coherence, but it's all Mettaton's going to get, so long as Emet-Selch had his lips to claim.]