[He thought his 'threat' might lead to this manner of response, and he's thrilled deeply to feel it come true. Goading Mettaton into growls; encouraging his passion, even though the robot hardly held back on it at all anyway- it was exactly what he wanted.
It wasn't the same sort of maddened thrusting that he might have usually felt on Mettaton's part. But then, there wasn't much glide to speak of, and while his body might somewhat adapt to his lover's size, neither of them could do anything about the lack of lubrication. So a series of kneading pushes like this, where the robot barely removed himself from his body at all- that might have been kindest in the end, rather than rubbing him rawer yet.
It felt like the right choice regardless, as his body irregularly tenses around Mettaton's girth, due to twinges of pain and pleasure both. He hadn't been filled in months, Mettaton hadn't been able to fill him in months; was it a surprise that they couldn't bear to go without that sensation for even a moment, now that they'd regained it? Not that Emet-Selch is thinking about it like that, only moaning wordlessly as he takes him, as he's pushed and worked inescapably into the mattress.
No warning was required, when he feels Mettaton's climax begin, when the note of his cries change, when even the beat of his thrusts seemed to express what was happening, a form of tension that existed without muscle, somehow. Most of all, Emet-Selch was privy to his lover's heat, as the first dribble of it turned into a torrent. Hot enough that it felt like it might scald him after all, as each spurt is shot deep, inside a body that had no hope of matching him for temperatures.
(It truly was inescapable. Not dwelling on it in any detail, he's aware of it mostly as a familiar, much-loved part of their sex. Giving control over to Mettaton, being helpless but to rapturously receive him, to be taken and used as his lover decided- he did love that. Even if this hadn't been the best way to get there, not at all. (But was it really control, if Emet-Selch only acquiesced and adapted without resentment if it was something that he wanted anyway? Usually their hearts aligned and there was no issue- but on this occasion their wills had clashed in a more unpleasant way. (Rather than an exciting way, where Emet-Selch struggled for the pleasure of being overcome.)))
He squirms hard in place, writhing as he struggles to meet him still, as even if it wasn't entirely comfortable to take something that hot, he adored it too much to not wish to wring every bit of it from him. An output that felt like it could outdo any organic creature when it came to amount as well... which remained a satisfying aspect of their union, and satisfying again that his wish had restored that part of his husband's natural virility. (As natural as a robot shooting thick glittery semen could be. It was Mettaton's natural.)
Mettaton had no breath to lose, no lungs to do their best to keep up with his activity, but Emet-Selch could hear him panting nonetheless. A result of affect that always moved him, that felt as real as anything- as he trusted his husband wouldn't pretend in something like this, that sentiment and sensation could cause a robot to be overwhelmed too. And Emet-Selch loved him for it, was grateful to him for it, for going through with their sex after all, and leaving him with all of this. His body trembling and scalded but full, holding the whole of Mettaton's length and a load of his seed, possessing one another down to the root.
Kissing and nuzzling back, he's more 'genuinely' breathless, and has little more success in whispering his lover's name. Stroking with tense fingers at his side with one hand, the other had found its way to the robot's back once more, to grip tight across metal there. Even as Mettaton's climax seemed to slow, his own tension remained, his own pleasure remained, an affection that could burn him just as effectively as robotic seed.]
no subject
It wasn't the same sort of maddened thrusting that he might have usually felt on Mettaton's part. But then, there wasn't much glide to speak of, and while his body might somewhat adapt to his lover's size, neither of them could do anything about the lack of lubrication. So a series of kneading pushes like this, where the robot barely removed himself from his body at all- that might have been kindest in the end, rather than rubbing him rawer yet.
It felt like the right choice regardless, as his body irregularly tenses around Mettaton's girth, due to twinges of pain and pleasure both. He hadn't been filled in months, Mettaton hadn't been able to fill him in months; was it a surprise that they couldn't bear to go without that sensation for even a moment, now that they'd regained it? Not that Emet-Selch is thinking about it like that, only moaning wordlessly as he takes him, as he's pushed and worked inescapably into the mattress.
No warning was required, when he feels Mettaton's climax begin, when the note of his cries change, when even the beat of his thrusts seemed to express what was happening, a form of tension that existed without muscle, somehow. Most of all, Emet-Selch was privy to his lover's heat, as the first dribble of it turned into a torrent. Hot enough that it felt like it might scald him after all, as each spurt is shot deep, inside a body that had no hope of matching him for temperatures.
(It truly was inescapable. Not dwelling on it in any detail, he's aware of it mostly as a familiar, much-loved part of their sex. Giving control over to Mettaton, being helpless but to rapturously receive him, to be taken and used as his lover decided- he did love that. Even if this hadn't been the best way to get there, not at all. (But was it really control, if Emet-Selch only acquiesced and adapted without resentment if it was something that he wanted anyway? Usually their hearts aligned and there was no issue- but on this occasion their wills had clashed in a more unpleasant way. (Rather than an exciting way, where Emet-Selch struggled for the pleasure of being overcome.)))
He squirms hard in place, writhing as he struggles to meet him still, as even if it wasn't entirely comfortable to take something that hot, he adored it too much to not wish to wring every bit of it from him. An output that felt like it could outdo any organic creature when it came to amount as well... which remained a satisfying aspect of their union, and satisfying again that his wish had restored that part of his husband's natural virility. (As natural as a robot shooting thick glittery semen could be. It was Mettaton's natural.)
Mettaton had no breath to lose, no lungs to do their best to keep up with his activity, but Emet-Selch could hear him panting nonetheless. A result of affect that always moved him, that felt as real as anything- as he trusted his husband wouldn't pretend in something like this, that sentiment and sensation could cause a robot to be overwhelmed too. And Emet-Selch loved him for it, was grateful to him for it, for going through with their sex after all, and leaving him with all of this. His body trembling and scalded but full, holding the whole of Mettaton's length and a load of his seed, possessing one another down to the root.
Kissing and nuzzling back, he's more 'genuinely' breathless, and has little more success in whispering his lover's name. Stroking with tense fingers at his side with one hand, the other had found its way to the robot's back once more, to grip tight across metal there. Even as Mettaton's climax seemed to slow, his own tension remained, his own pleasure remained, an affection that could burn him just as effectively as robotic seed.]