[Though he's not thinking of any specific past instance himself, the moment did strike Emet-Selch as somewhat nostalgic. Familiar, in the way they settled together in what privacy they could find, shutting out the outside world for a time. One more world to shut out, in favor of their lover- an easy preference, to turn their attention to this.
Shamelessly, they gaze upon each other. There had never been any lack of hesitation there, nor self-consciousness. And no reason for it to start, when need was only ever tempered for the sake of something more. Mettaton slips onto the bed with all the grace he was familiar with, and no less affected by- as there was no coaxing required for the mage to lean towards him, to seek out his arms and body.
Interest was certainly alight, between them. And distraction with it; already, Emet-Selch was less conscious of his various less-pleasant aches and sores. And if he wasn't as well-rested as Mettaton, he was about as awake as he ever was, all his consciousness focused on the man beside him.
There were no dangers, for now, and no telling when the next crisis would arise. For right now they were together, and that was all they ever seemed to have. Only the present, for as long as it managed to last.]
Then... stay with me, this time.
[The bed underneath might very well have some remnant of robotic-heat left on its covers. Clothed as he was, Emet-Selch couldn't tell, but there was an easy solution to that problem. The plucking at the fabric at his hips could easily transition to a removal of it all. And while he wasn't impatient for his greater touch, there was no hiding that he dearly wanted it.]
You can't take care of anything if you're not here. [His voice is quiet, lifting a hand to cup the side of his husband's face- no longer rent by anyone's claws.] But I don't think we'll ever catch up, like this.
[To the request to stay, he nods. The demand to stay. Of course he'd stay. He had always intended to... There hadn't been a single moment where he ever thought to depart from Emet-Selch's side, save for fleetingly. He would return. He always would.
Emet-Selch is on the bed and Mettaton is on his knees, encircling the smaller man in an embrace. Interest was electricity, and the two of them were equally charged, a contagion that intensified as it bounced between them, as they infected each other over and again. Crises seemed to follow them... but Mettaton lived in this moment where there was none, and Emet-Selch was miraculously drawn in with him.
The hand pressed his cheek is leaned into with a curtaining of lashes, a sweet smile pulling the corner of his lips. His face was restored, and the sensation of Emet-Selch's hand there is something he cherishes with his eye closed. With a hum, he cracks open his eye, but only slightly.
He doesn't think they'll catch up like this. His eyebrow lifts; his pupil runs down Emet-Selch's clothes, where his own fingers are.]
How do you mean? We won't catch up...
[He runs over the statement in his head as he scoots closer, straddling Emet-Selch from behind him with knees on either side of his thighs. And from there, Mettaton maintains as much contact as he can with the hand against his cheek as he presses his hands fully against bare skin. Starting from his hips, Mettaton lifts Emet-Selch's clothes off, making deft but desirous work of both shucking fabric, and giving Emet-Selch a good feel-up. Up and over his head comes flowing fabric, baring Emet-Selch's torso to the air. Contentedly, he sighs.]
Hmm... If you mean to say that we'll never truly conquer the full of our desires, yes. We won't. [He leans in, kissing the back of Emet-Selch's neck as he sidles his entire body flush to Emet-Selch's.] But that's because you keep encouraging more and more in me.
[... And there would be regrettable desires more that would go un-cared for. Mettaton tries not to think about his lacking body for the moment. Someday... someday, he would be in possession of an anatomy, of powers that suited him—and enabled him the same sexual indulgence they'd once enjoyed. He holds fast to the confidence that he still wants Emet-Selch carnally; that Emet-Selch had always been able to drive him mad.]
[Letting his hand fall away from Mettaton's face in order to facilitate the removal of his clothes (and with the robot fully behind him, it wasn't exactly comfortable anyway), his torso is left bare to the open air. Air that wasn't quite chilly, but he shivers all the same, and is encouraged to lean back for him.
Beyond the fresh scarring above his heart, there's the sign of lesser injuries on the mage's body. Bruises that were turning towards the greenish-yellow were scattered across him, along with patches of scabbing. Places where fur had grown, and that he'd torn out. None of it was serious, but it added a bit of soreness to him.
Which he's not thinking of too clearly when Mettaton was kissing his neck, when he could feel his body against skin, a sensation he stretches into with a small sound.]
I would do more than encourage. More and more that....
[--would they even be able to fulfill? Emet-Selch can't help but recall that unfortunate aspect of their combination currently. It wouldn't be for the first time, but for far longer than otherwise, Mettaton had been more than able to match him in the ability to demonstrate arousal. He looks down towards the bed, even as he rests against his body.]
You'll have to learn to shapeshift properly. Soon.
[Mettaton wouldn't be the only one frustrated, at this rate. Though he would admit that the former-puca would have it worse, in not having a cock at all... he wouldn't pretend otherwise that so much of his own pleasure was tied up in the robot's. Not only when it came with the sensation of being filled by him, but just being in the company of his aroused state was enticing.
Though Emet-Selch was already getting hard, a firming line notable within his trousers, he tried to temper his expectations. Which mostly led to a dampening of them, in actuality, and his exhale is as sad as it is interested.]
[There it is, in plain air between them. Mettaton knew it was something that would become addressed at some point, either nor, or at the peaks of desire as Mettaton squirmed and ached and pleaded for something he'd actually had, a mirroring experience to the time that he'd wished for it before ever having had a cock. Some way to demonstrate his arousal in a way like Emet-Selch...
He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.
[It was something inevitable. It wasn't as though neither of them were unaware of the issue, that certain limitations to Mettaton's beloved body ran contrary to how they were used to expressing themselves. A functional display of ardor, that they both adored tending to....
It was better than no body at all. The smaller man accepted that much, was even grateful for that much, that his lover was spared the discomfort of feeling nothing, of not possessing a shape that suited how he saw himself. (And more selfishly, Emet-Selch was relieved to be able to hold him at all, something that wouldn't have been possible had he been a ghost with nothing to hide in.)
And he appreciated with it, that Mettaton was touching him now, was presumably feeling something of the skin underneath his fingers, of the tension he could inspire in his muscles. Temperature, the warmth of his body, those details would be lost, but Mettaton hadn't had much of that to start with.
So Emet-Selch manages a pleased noise, despite his discontent. An approval reflected in the way he presses back to him, assuming that Mettaton would continue handling his chest. His nipples too, react immediately to touch, hardening from even a brush of attention. And arousal comes with it, a warmth that gathered in his body, as it so often did in Mettaton's company.
Though there were multiple reasons to temper it. There was the more immediate of fingers reaching and inspecting for wounds. Gently so, and while it wasn't too uncomfortable physically, it was a reminder of what had happened that night. They'd found each other only to hurt each other- but there was nothing new about that, it was only a matter of degree.
But more reason was their conversation, this addressing what they needed to, when it came to what Mettaton had lost, in arriving here. In being an unaltered robot.
That another robot's body had changed was a surprise, and his brow furrows. Was it because Mettaton wasn't a true robot, that he'd been neglected, somehow? Even as Mettaton toys with his nipples, he couldn't get too distracted, one of his hands moving to brush against a freshly grown hand.]
...Would you have preferred to become human?
[Was this something Mettaton would wish for? Emet-Selch wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would depend entirely on whether it would be a permanent change that would somehow carry across worlds, making Mettaton no longer a monster- and unbearably mortal.]
[He so adores it when Emet-Selch stretches into his touch. Mettaton smiles wider, pleased at the demonstration of proneness to his touch and presence. Emet-Selch's vulnerability in his presence made it easy to be fully, wholly himself, including any of those bits of himself he'd otherwise be too uncomfortable to mention. With him, he could. With him, it felt productive and even soothing, even if in the moment it left him uneasy.
The love he feels for Emet-Selch is something he longed to share. Another thing lost is their Bond... but the robot feels confident that he can share that love in actions. Pressing into Emet-Selch, he makes a small noise as he nuzzles against his neck, burying his face there and breathing him in. He could just barely smell him, the scent of him occurring to Mettaton in impressions from memory...
It's there that he knows his reply.]
I already told you once before, Hades. It's an appealing thought... but after meeting you, I think my decision's different than it would've been. And besides.
[Tightening his arms against Emet-Selch's sides, the robot winds each arm around Emet-Selch's person tight, all the way until he's right back around again and gripping firmly over each pectoral. His thumbs roll gently over the firming flesh of his nipples, and Mettaton sighs fondly over their response to his attentions.]
Can a human do this...? I find my body is uniquely mine. To dip my toes in and experience what it's like to be human is one thing... and I like that. But I like myself as I am. There's a reason I corporealized with this body. This is me.
[Confidently he answers, having already dwelled on this before. If he were confronted with the option here, if it were the only way he could properly have sex with Emet-Selch... and if it were guaranteed that it wasn't his forever body, maybe. He knew he'd miss the silicone, the metal, the durability and the absurd things he could do with this body that humans could not. The feeling of organs in his chest was also still something he felt hyper-aware of sometimes... and while he knew he could adapt, he simply likes this way of being.
But the touch. The sensation. The sensuality. Organic beings promised so much... and it was a temptation too great to ignore. He wanted those things one way or another, and if there were a way to obtain them, he knew he would take it.
Pressing forward, Mettaton's sure to roll his hips, to grind his crotch against Emet-Selch's back with a sigh. He presses entirely flush, curling around him as he tightens his grip, pinching his nipples in the process. Sloppy kisses that would've been surely damp are applied along his shoulder.]
I rather like being me... and having the sensation and the equipment of a more organic being. Mind, darling. I haven't lost heart. One way or another... these are attainable goals, with the right resources. [He pecks his shoulder before lifting his head, hovering slightly over him enough that they can meet eyes.] If I can't find someone to augment my body in this more sexual direction, why... there will be a way. A more magically-inclined way.
[A wish. Emet-Selch's powers, returned to him. Mettaton knew there were ways, and he'd have to impatiently work for it.]
[The relief he feels at that answer is more than he expected, as he'd assumed in himself more ambivalence. But he relaxes, even snuggles back into his lover's embrace, even managing a half-smile as Mettaton demonstrates one of those features he could only have this way.]
Good. I would miss this body.
[Though he would adapt to whatever Mettaton had, this one, with its sturdy features capable of crushing him, with winding arms capable of constricting him- this one, he was already attached to. (If not in the literal way Mettaton was attached to it.) And he squirms, pleased to be caught, to be wrapped up, encouraging the security of his hold- and the way his nipples could be played with at the same time. Even so--]
Though your puca variant was...
[He doesn't even conclude that statement with anything but a sigh. He missed that. All the robotic benefits, plus many of the organic ones. He'd found the claws, the ears, even the fur- endearing. Pleasant to touch. And with full shapeshifting at his disposal, Mettaton could take a break from those features as wanted. Could try on a fully organic body... or at least a semi-organic erection.
Since the grinding against his back, erotic as it was, was less of a tease than it should've been, as there was nothing more there to look forward to, right now.]
We'll find some way of restoring you the pertinent details.
[Though resolute, his tone was a bit tired too, to think on all they would have to reobtain. (Their Bond he simply grieved for.) Kisses against his shoulder too weren't quite the same, though he liked the sensation anyway. It wasn't as if he missed precisely Mettaton drooling on him as he sometimes did, but he was conscious of the dryness of silicone. Soft and warm, but dry- and incapable of neither tasting nor feeling his own heat.
Which was altogether nearly as much of a downer as the lack of cock.]
Though that doesn't change the now. How much will you- can you even feel of me?
[Mettaton can't help himself. Brightly he laughs, beside himself at Emet-Selch's appreciation for his body. And while he knew he appreciated it because he had a thing against the mortal failings of human bodies,]
You'd better miss it, honey! This body's as good as yours, and I expect you to love it as much as I do.
[And though it's a playful comment... there was perhaps some truth to it, as Mettaton knew Emet-Selch was fond of his form for a good many reasons. It made Mettaton more vulnerable than he would've been without a body—but thinking of himself without a body is simply abhorrent, and Emet-Selch knew that, too. It gave Mettaton so much more. It gave him clarity, confidence, and ways to interact with the world that he'd never had before.
It just wasn't equipped. And that fact is glaringly obvious between them, as between Mettaton thighs is a whole lot of nothing. His puca variant had at least brought with it the enhancement of sensation, if disturbing in its ways. The flesh and veins and organs that crept beneath the surface of silicone and metal... It would disturb any good mechanic, particularly the sorts who wanted to see no cyborgs.
Mettaton was a mess inside, even though he'd felt better and more vividly than ever. His puca variant was something to miss; to that, Mettaton hugs him tight. Against his skin, he interjects with a mutter.]
... I didn't mind it, either. All of the little things...
[... He does have that, anyway. Even if it's not quite so detailed, anatomically, and more of a magical manifestation. Mettaton partially shapeshifts into a rabbit—but it's only that much, with fur upon his hips, claws on fingertips, ears upon his head... and rabbit feet where heels once were. They'd find a way, and Mettaton nuzzles Emet-Selch deeply with an appreciative sound.]
Right now, [he starts, ears folding back;] It's about as much as I'd gained from corporealizing, dear. More than I used to have. Less than what I gained in Aefenglom. The harder the touch, the more I feel it.
[Pressure that increased also increased in sensitivity, and things outright painful felt the most intense he could get it. Mettaton sighs, thinking about the very first time he'd ever felt anything so bright that it blinded, which was... Wow. Fighting against Frisk. Unfortunate.
And now, that was about as intense as it got. Emet-Selch had introduced him to so much more, and Mettaton snorts, giving the Ascian's nipple a departing pinch before smoothing over his chest, letting the tips of claws graze along in his wake.]
I have a feeling my memory of all you've done to me will leave me aching for dizzying, increasing madness, as I am. It's a bit restrictive... But you know me, Hades. I derive pleasure in ways beyond touch.
[With a kiss to his jaw, Mettaton recalls how good at pulling Mettaton under Emet-Selch had been even when they first started going to bed together. They were effective on each other, and Mettaton shivered to think of how much he just loved Emet-Selch, and found their combining attractive.]
[Which counted as ownership, though his haughtiness over it is half-hearted. He did love it, and loved besides what it meant to Mettaton to have it. Even if it stayed permanently limited like this, he would love it and restore it any time anything happened to damage him (which would hopefully be infrequent).
There weren't any convenient mirrors in sight, so it's only when he feels the faint graze of claws, the suggestion of fur against skin, that he realizes that he'd changed. Twisting his neck a little, he catches the familiar long ears atop his husband's head, before settling back, into those nuzzles.]
Do those changes add to what you can feel? I don't want to have to become a wolf again to get you to notice me.
[He mutters, remembering how Mettaton had cried out when he'd bitten him. Even if he couldn't remember what he'd said, some sounds didn't require translation.
But he knew that touch wasn't the sole component in their effectiveness on each other. (Or taste, or scent...) Yet he'd been spoiled by it, and though their first times together in bed hadn't included any ability to shapeshift, they had included heightened sensitivity on the puca's part. And... they hadn't known any better. They'd still been exploring one another, deepening their investment by degrees.
And even then they'd ached for more.
Turning his head slightly into that kiss, he tries to defer that sense of being disheartened already. He wasn't even the one lacking sensation... but he was the one aspected to negativity. Holding back a sigh, trying to focus on the elevation of his pulse, the firmness of his own cock, the interest in his body for the other man. His love for his company.]
[Delivered a bit flatly, as Emet-Selch's enthusiasm is evident. But Mettaton understood the ache, and he presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's shoulders for the moment. In answer to his question, though, Mettaton attempts to squirm closer. His presses impossibly flush to his body, testing himself for sensation, but finding it hard to tell how he'd respond to pain. Pain, the thing he found most intense of all... But he even liked that after he'd regained sensation.
Were his senses enhanced? He tries to smell. He tries to taste, kissing slow and deliberate, a soft, silicone tongue flicking out to press against the Ascian's flesh. And then...]
...If these changes do, I haven't mastered that aspect of it yet. They do not. Though they add to the real estate of places to feel from. Ears, and tail, and all.
[His rabbit-like toes curl. He could feel the bend in their movement, but they felt just as insulated as they should he supposes, given all the fur. He wondered if at some point, they'd enhance his ability to feel.
Though he does offer:] Strangely, if I shapeshift fully into a rabbit... I can feel pets quite vividly! [He smiles.] But, ha. That's not very helpful right now.
[Bunny shapeshifts were not very sexy.
There's a level of self-consciousness that settles heavily in Mettaton, though not sourced from Emet-Selch. It's himself, as he considers all they used to love in his shapeshifted body, and what they lacked now. They were capable of exploring each other and sating themselves on hypotheticals, before Mettaton had ever been capable of shapeshifting properly. But now they knew what love they had for sexual intimacy, exploring bodies conveniently equipped with points of intense arousal.
They would continue to ache for more, more acutely than ever. Mettaton closes his eye again, frustrated by all he lacked. All of the need he felt, impotent. Nails dig into Emet-Selch's chest on reflex, feeling trapped.
But he had Emet-Selch. He had his body. Mettaton breathes him in, imagines his warmth; he feels the firmness and softness of skin alike, swallowing while he drowns himself in the softness of pliant skin beneath his fingertips. Shuddering slightly, he finds his hands wandering lower, prodding his abdomen in a state of both fond fascination, and even envy.]
Even so... With all I am, and with all you are. I will show you my love for you, and reflect it in your body, as well as my own.
[He can only snort, shaking his head at Mettaton's reply. He knew he wasn't offering the usual intensity the idol could usually draw out from him without even trying. Interest was there, wanting was there, but it was hard to imagine being consumed by it, no matter how close Mettaton squirmed to him, against him.
And then those rabbit senses were tested. Emet-Selch waits for the verdict, without daring to hope that more would amount from this beyond the sensation of being kissed. And the touches were nice, pleasing and intimate... but he sighs anyway at the expected conclusion. Though he holds back from pointing out that having more places to touch didn't matter if Mettaton couldn't feel anything from them, it doesn't keep the disappointed tone from him.]
'Tis a familiar look, if nothing else.
[A full rabbit shapeshift... no. He might appreciate holding Mettaton like that at another point, but it was not sexy. Even the mention of it deflates him a little; was that really the best hope his lover had to feel anything? As a literal animal?
Claws dig into him, and Emet-Selch bites a sound back, not wanting to make things worse, but equally not wanting to pretend that he was content with what they had left to them. Without even their Bond, their souls and moods connected, they couldn't blend that way either- and no matter how close Mettaton pressed to him, they remained more distant than ever. Separate, in a way he didn't know how to reach past.
...The Bond really had been something of a crutch, when it came to expressing himself. Like this, he felt muted in a different way, even as he feels Mettaton shudder against his back, and he didn't know how or what to reassure him with. He takes a breath.]
It's fine. We'll manage.
[It's not enthusiasm, but it's a little better. A wanting to try, even if it made all the aches worse. And Mettaton's hands did feel good on him, claws and all, especially when they trail to his abdomen.]
You can... move lower than that.
[Voice lowering to a murmur, he pushes himself back against Mettaton's body, as if in an insistence to being held tighter, and his legs spread slightly.]
[Part of the pleasure they drew from their combinings as of late had pivoted heavily over how Mettaton was feeling about it, with his acquired ability to sense and feel. Even if he weren't being directly touched, the threat—or more accurately, the treat—of it loomed, as they knew that if he had Emet-Selch bound to his whims, set before him for touch and enjoyment... Even if he were the one groping and handling the mage, the monster would have his own display of arousal to show for it. He would press his cock against the smaller of the two, and they'd feel sparks fly as they enjoyed the heavy presence that needed tending. Emet-Selch had often put his own arousal in as an afterthought in comparison—and that was something fine by them.
It hurt, to feel his lover's interest faded. That his body failed at something, and there was no peacocking he could do to make up for that sheer lack. But Mettaton still felt himself worth arousal, for all he is, and his frustration exists alongside desire. Even without the anatomy of it, Mettaton desires Emet-Selch, after it all. He truly wanted his intimacy, his control, his love and his vulnerability. He wanted everything Emet-Selch was, and wanted Emet-Selch to treat him to the same deliberation he ever had.
Emet-Selch's words do reach Mettaton. He smiles; he presses his lips to his shoulder, and gives him a gentle nuzzle. He could tell that those simple words conveyed more than met the eye, a desire to hold his heart and reassure him.]
We will. ...Thank you.
[Earnestly, he speaks, soft and low. He even feels tension drain from him just through his own gratitude expressed—and in reflecting over his own warmth, it takes him off-guard as he feels Emet-Selch push back, his thighs pushing against Mettaton's as he spreads his legs encouragingly.
Mettaton exhales, eager and focused. He can't help himself as he presses ever tighter to Emet-Selch's body, winding arms squeezing his victim in his excitement for the presentation of Emet-Selch's body. His fingers drift low, claws a gentle scratch as he charts a path lower upon request.]
Hades...
[It's awe and want that tinges his voice, deep and tense. His ears are sprung, though they lean for the man in front of him, if at an akimbo splay. Emet-Selch's waistband remains an obstacle, his pants still there—but that doesn't stop Mettaton as he greedily makes for the front of his pants, immediately palming the prominence to be found between thighs.
Wracked with a bout of shudders, Mettaton exhales, covetous and hungry.]
Ah... You. You never fail to impress... I wouldn't have your response to me any other way.
[He couldn't help but be flattered just at the way Emet-Selch reacted to his presence, and all of the history they had behind them. Even when they'd first taken to intimacy, even when they stood together in a kissing booth... he remembers the grief in parting then, and how he just knew Emet-Selch was aroused. Any time he knew, it never failed to spark delight and desire in him. Fingers dance along the firm line trapped under fabric, rolling in a gentle pinch over the fullness of the tip.]
[Mettaton was certainly worth his arousal. He knew the other man could inspire it without even touching him, that the right look might suffice. Conversation, certainly, as both voice and specific content were an effective tease. And though he knew he was biased, Mettaton was an attractive man besides. Moreover, he loved him.
And still, a part of that arousal was the knowledge and memory of how touch would follow, that the robot took his own pleasure from seeing him hard as well. If he was wanting, it was difficult to imagine Mettaton turning him away.
All of that was true. And with the way Mettaton pressed to him now, with the way he spoke, Emet-Selch knew he was still desired too. Nudging his head against the other man's as best he could, it was a wordless request for closeness. The splay of his legs was a welcoming gesture too, even though they were still clothed.
...Even so. Even so, Emet-Selch knew he wasn't as drawn in as he should be, when Mettaton handled his body. There were limits now that he couldn't escape thinking about. The robot could get him off with ease, but... that was it.
But his breath takes on a shuddered note all the same, a whisper of Mettaton's name, as his body certainly knew what to do when he was being touched by him. Not as directly as it might like, but with the sort of tease that could be made good on. Fabric could be parted, removed entirely, and the strength of his reaction made explicitly visible. A shameless display he'd ever enjoyed pressing to Mettaton's body in an appeal for attention or appreciation- or just friction.
(And so often too did he go relatively neglected- brought to pleasure and relief both through some application of Mettaton's own erection. Through Mettaton's climax, he was lured to his own- when permitted. And even when he was allowed to come first, it was often to enhance the robot's own release, which of course enhanced his own....
Tantalizing imagery. Memories. If ones he tries to not dwell on too closely, in favor of the expert, familiar way he could watch Mettaton handle him now, along a length that filled for him.)]
You never fail to inspire. Too much so, at times...
[It's not a real grumble, but the show of one. From their first (technically second) kiss, and the interest that came with it, they'd both been aroused that afternoon, and so suddenly. But they maintained decency (beyond whatever they lost from making out behind a kissing booth), even as the prospect of taking to each other right then had been... attractive.
Just as he was attracted now to what they were doing- and with far more experience together behind them. Knowledgeably touched, rather than curiously, though they'd never known hesitation once they'd begun. His own fingers grip at the side of the bed, and his thighs tense with the desire to press up, to roll his hips into Mettaton's hand. But he didn't want to move away from his body either.]
[Escapism is Mettaton's forte. He knew it was a difficult order, given that the escape would be from recalling that he is a robot who natively possessed no sexual organs with which to penetrate Emet-Selch with, but he would show him how much he wanted him without. How much of him he'd take, at that, greedily consuming Emet-Selch and his body, a gateway to his heart.
The mage responds to the monster readily, practiced and primed. Memories and dreams strike them both, as the former-puca recalls the way that Emet-Selch could be made to fill out for him, even before he'd shapeshifted anything concrete to busy himself with. Mettaton sighs, pressing his hand firmly and fully to trap his cock against his body, stuck between clothes and hand and with pressure applied. There was so much they loved to do with a point of pleasure like this—and Mettaton focuses on all he could do to Emet-Selch, to deprive and overwhelm, to restrain or demand.
Needy, Emet-Selch's hips jerk, and Mettaton hums an ascending note of interest at his show. He can't help but chuckle lowly at the accusation that he hears and knows isn't deeply felt, insofar as its delivery. Past fabric, he continues to appreciate his firm and filling arousal, working from pinching the tip to groping him down toward his root with a possessive, commanding confidence. Mettaton viewed Emet-Selch's body as his own, and this was his cock to touch and treat, to deny and to please.]
But I like that. To inspire dreams beyond the constraints of sense... [His voice, a soft purr, is pressed to the side of Emet-Selch's neck, where he brushes soft, silicone lips.] And to captivate you, and draw you into my own dreams. I'd argue it, Hades... that you're a bit of an inspiration yourself, love.
[An inspiration to Mettaton specifically, whether it was the solid basis of his shapeshifts, or the desire to reach for more and more. He sighs, working his way down, down, fingers pinching the shape of his cock beneath fabric, until he bites at his lower lip and fully grips him. His fingers slide between thighs, the motion to grab both his balls and cock in a gesture of ownership, all before sighing warmly against skin.
He remembers the way he'd felt back then, when he was first exploring Emet-Selch's body. And somehow... somehow, it even paled to this kind of intensity, Mettaton realizes with a start. The ache he feels is somehow acute, even without muscles, without veins. He gasps, fingers squeezing and handling his balls as his palm is nudged firmly against his root, and Mettaton lets him go only so that his hand can quickly chart a path straight to his waistband. It was a sort of psychological ache, something that set his body to heating, electricity to course fast in his body—and even behind Emet-Selch, the robot shifts with pent-up need to move.
That gasp is released in a sigh that is utter heat. Not burning nor scalding, but hot air, void of damp. He could feel Emet-Selch keep from thrusting, and as Mettaton takes to the fastening of his trousers with a deft hand, he gives Emet-Selch a brief nip to the side of his neck.]
Mm. Stay still for me, now. I want to appraise what I've done to you... since you think it too much.
[And even here, even though he was sorely lacking a crucial part to their passion play... Mettaton is too focused on their collective arousal to dwell on it right now.]
If you weren't inspired, I'd think you weren't paying me close enough attention.
[Smoothly arrogant, but emotionally touched all the same, he felt an appreciation for all that they did inspire in each other. Though he knew Mettaton's consideration of his body had both its practical and personal aspects, the addiction to their combining was something they'd fostered together. It was inescapable, which was its own problem.
Was it even possible to escape from past escapes? Emet-Selch didn't know, but his swift pulse and filling cock spoke of a reason to try. Though he doubted his own ability to be pulled under completely, for Mettaton to take him to a depth that could briefly sate him- he thought it likely that it would feel good, anyway. Tempering expectations, but appreciating being touched at all- he could do that much.
The robot's fingers were a convincing argument in themselves, and he shivers as the attention to his tip turns to a groping for his girth. Even through fabric, it was nicely possessive, the way Mettaton grabbed for both balls and shaft. And he responds with a soft groan, escaping with an exhale of breath. Not as warm as the robot behind him, but heated all the same, and a touch damp as an organic entity would be. For all that it was forgiving material, it was beginning to feel quite constrictive, with the way Mettaton was grasping him, with as hard as he was getting.
Or he was just eager to be touched directly. Which is why he can't complain too far, when Mettaton abandons that hold in favor of slipping to the fastenings, anticipation warming him through. The nip to his neck has him tilting his head in offering, a soft gasp preceding his reply.]
A call to remain still... you do know how to appeal to me.
[A touch wry. Even if Mettaton was also good at giving him reasons to move, for all that he ever remained not as inclined in that direction as the robot. But for the point of appraising, of attention- yes. He could remain as still as desired. How obedient he felt otherwise was yet to be decided.]
[Mettaton smiles, simple and pleased, for he does pay Emet-Selch close attention. He kisses over his shoulder, open-mouthed and-- if failing in the dampness, it's full and passionate, and soft thanks to his lack of saliva. That's what follows his nip, as though in gratitude for Emet-Selch's agreement: he would still, because it was in line with what he wanted. Not an act of obedience. Mettaton could read between the lines.
Because even wound up, bound and tied, Emet-Selch would be stubborn and defiant. Mettaton smiles wider- almost maddened, hungered. The quickness of his fingers stumble, fumbling to free what lies beneath cloth, and the robot coaxes his pants to part for him with another gentle nibble of the Ascian's neck.]
Hades... [Is all he finds himself saying, voice a low purr. For the moment, he's transfixed on his prize—and Mettaton lifts his head so that he's on alert, ears leaning far enough that they're surely making their way into Emet-Selch's vision. Clawed fingertips push deep between folds, and the puca-like robot fondles his mate, gasping softly at the sensation of his filled, filling erection, pushing at restraint of fabric. And now, at the grip of his hand.
With a soft groan, Mettaton could sympathetically feel the rigidity as though it were his own. He doesn't even need to close his eyes, wrapping fingertips around Emet-Selch's root as he pushes and parts fabric further to properly free his cock with a roll of his wrist, fighting his trousers to pull free his erection. And once free, Mettaton only barely manages to lift his hand from skin, just to give him a look, to appraise him as he'd promised.]
How you always manage to be a delightful presentation, I'll never know. [Mettaton sighs, stroking a finger along his length, the underside of the root all the way up until he gives the tip a firm press, causing him to bob.] If you want more things to do for me... Won't you lay back on the bed, darling? I want to... better appreciate you.
[Better appreciate, punctuated with another nip to his shoulder, ardent yet gentle. In spite of his condition, Mettaton's mind races with all he wanted to do, whether he could manage it in his current state or not. He wanted to lay him down, to spread his legs, to stuff his own cock between his thighs and describe how good he looked full him and erect; he wanted to lay him down and kiss him from neck to ankles, to leave him bitten and sensitive. He wanted to straddle his hips and push their cocks together, to grip them both until they oozed, slick and sticky and perfect to jerk off in tandem... Mettaton shivers with a sigh, pressing bodily against Emet-Selch.
But he similarly tugs at him, encouraging him to climb deeper onto the mattress. He would be more than supportive in helping him into place. He smirks against his neck, lips grazing along skin until he's just beneath his ear, able to nip at his earring.]
And by appreciate... I want the full spread of your body, Hades.
[His breath catches, hips twitching against the bed at the first sensation of fingers reaching his cock, in touching him directly. Emet-Selch could tell Mettaton was no less taken by this contact, an appeal they were drawn to together. If there was any filling left to be done, watching and feeling his lover fondle him underneath fabric was enough to do it. And then he was free, exposed to the air, and to sight, an appropriately rigid vision for them both. The brief relief of no longer being trapped gave way almost immediately to a sharper pang of want, as they admired his fullness together.
Even though it was for the sake of observation, which in itself he enjoyed, he can't quite stifle the small protesting sound when Mettaton unhands his erection, for even a moment.]
If we're to talk of presentation, I've always found your hand to be an appropriate accessory.
[A hint, delivered. Though it was more than his hand that appealed, as the sight of his cock pressed to any part of Mettaton's body was an attractive one. Framed between his thighs, taken into his mouth, pressed firm and thick against Mettaton's own cock, where they could stroke each other off into a sticky mess- they were only a few of the ways he loved to see himself.
But he's provided a tease of a touch, his cock made to wobble in the open air, and given another simple task.]
--Once more, you appeal to my expertise.
[It was often enough that he ended upon his back, in bed... but he wasn't inclined to argue over this request either, aligned to his own desires and nature as it was. A tug deeper onto their modest bed is accepted, though there's a bit of wriggling involved to make sure that his pants didn't come with him. With all fabric slid off to gather unceremoniously on the floor, Emet-Selch shifts the small distance into the center of the bed, and lays down, head aligned with their pillows.
Shivering a little from being so uncovered, the air feeling far cooler than the heat of his body, the warmth of arousal, he glances down at himself, his erection even more of a sight this way, swollen and gently curved. Though his body had a few bruises left, healing sores and scrapes, they were all a result of wolfhood rather than loving ardor.
Exhaling a shaking breath, his gaze soon returned to Mettaton. Unlike the robot, he wasn't so naturally inclined towards posing, or conscious display, but the mage was comfortable, at ease with his casual sprawl, legs slightly parted. A languid wave towards himself completes the appeal(?).]
[What a provocative sentiment. Mettaton fixes his eye upon Emet-Selch's erection, his fingers a ring upon its girth. Overcome by the notion, his lashes curtain his gaze, a tight shudder wracking metal.
...He realizes suddenly that he's been drawn right back into gripping him, at the description of him as an accessory. He wanted to see it. When Mettaton couldn't feel as acutely, vision was a provocative show, and he ends up pumping over Emet-Selch's fullness in a deliberate, slow movement, admiring the sight of him touching him.
But he knows he wants more. Once again, his hand parts from the upright arch of his cock, though not without petting over him, letting him bob back to the air.]
You're right. [He sounds breathless. Mettaton sighs, nuzzling against the side of Emet-Selch's neck.] You do look best with something of me on you.
[If it wasn't his own come, it would be his body. Sandwiched between his lovely thighs, head gently rest between his lips, or encircled by fingers, Mettaton squirms just to consider the possibilities, each inciting enough that he aches. How far could he bring himself to ache...? (And how on earth would he manage to soothe that ache, given how much it manages to burn him, to heat him? It didn't feel the same as the delectable filling of his thighs, the way fluid pooled low in his body, but it felt increasingly hot, and inescapable.)
It's almost in a daze that he relinquishes his hold on Emet-Selch, permitting him the chance to shuck his pants. And fully exposed to the air, Mettaton watches, rapt, as he lays himself comfortably back in a manner appropriate for him. Lazy, easygoing, his casualness was part of his demeanor—and even that wave was just so him that it charms as well as excites. Mettaton smiles silly, brimming with warmth as he crawls to his own spot.
Taking up post between the Ascian's legs, he decides to examine him with his upright poise. Mettaton's movements are elegance, flowing as he lifts a finger to his lower lip and thoughtfully pours over his husband, over the planes of his body, the lack of his bruises, the hardness of nipples and the way air chilled him over. And of course, to the attractive, swollen member between thighs—which Mettaton decides to focus on, as his hands move quickly, fluidly, to his legs.]
Spread wider. [With his hands, Mettaton encourages Emet-Selch's thighs apart. It could disrupt the casual ease of his sprawl... but Mettaton also felt sure that Emet-Selch would still make a full demonstration look casual.] I see myself between them, as more than an accessory...
[... Sure. He also could envision himself fitting his girth between his cheeks, spreading Emet-Selch's legs and stuffing him full just like so. To bind him up, to keep him spread and unable to move save for writhing... But he keeps that fantasy to himself, and focuses instead on leaning closer, watching Emet-Selch's face as he dips nearer to his cock. With a sultry smile, he fits just the tip of him against his lips, leaving him with a warm, soft kiss.]
[Provocative for them both. And Emet-Selch felt reasonably rewarded when his words got him a fleeting, if sure touch, a firm pump along a cock that invited touching. The sight too was a reward for them both, of a four-fingered hand applied to him, a rigidity that was there because of the robot's work. Even so, his eyes half-slip shut for a moment, letting the rush of arousal flood him for that handful of seconds. But there was no chance of looking away entirely.
And he doesn't protest again when Mettaton has to let go of him for the opportunity to situate himself. Though it wasn't a touch that could tide him over... it helped, and gave reason to shuffle himself into a better position.]
And you've been so generous with me, in the past....
[Decorated with his come, with bruises and bites, with jewelry and ropes. Marked suggestively, aesthetically, possessively (with not all of that available, possible now; he swallows back a sigh even as he settles into place on the bed), Mettaton always knew how to apply himself to his body.
And it was an application he ached for, his skin showing the beginning of a flush as he lay as an offering against covers and blankets, even as he wondered what Mettaton could feel in turn. Was there internal pressure as there had been as a puca, somehow? Was there any sense of heat? But Mettaton's expressions, the way he exhaled in some sort of need- he tried to take some reassurance there, that his husband was assuredly aroused with him, in some form.
Was it possible to look casual with legs more explicitly spread? The mage makes as good an attempt at it as might be possible, nearly languid despite being so hard, as though it were nothing to expose himself so vulnerably. But his pulse surely moves quicker to see Mettaton between them, to feel hands on his thighs, encouraging their parting.
He allows a low, pleased hum to escape from his own lips, at the feeling of Mettaton's kiss placed to his tip, and to the look of him there, soft silicone against swollen, sensitive flesh. Though he doesn't moan, it would be an easy thing to provoke out of him, and one of his thighs trembles in expectant pleasure.]
Now there's an even better sight.
[...He tries not to think on how Mettaton couldn't feel how warm he was, against his lips. Could he even feel him as clearly as he usually seemed to?]
--And more than an accessory. Yes, you might just manage it.
[They both avoid thoughts of what Mettaton couldn't do. A delicate balance to strike; an errant thought could set either of them on a downward spiral, resenting what was lost or aching for it. Most likely, both. And should it happen—as it's not ruled out as something that could strike—Mettaton would be hurt by it, the raw vulnerability he showed to Emet-Selch making the discomfort a sharp pang of upset.
He felt pleased that Emet-Selch was so pliant. So willing, so obviously heated, senses he could drink in with his eyes and the press of his fingertips. He could see the Ascian's warmth in the flush of his features, from his cheeks to his fingertips to the swell of his cock. He looked so warm... Mettaton wanted to grope him head to toe, to feel soft flesh give under his touch and to hear the sound of Emet-Selch's breath hitching, his groans and cries and sighs as he brought pressure into his groin. He licks his lips, hovering so close to the glans that he could flick out his tongue and lap at the slit if he pleased.
He grins, unable to help himself. He gingerly laps at the tip, a brush of silicone over the swell of soft skin.]
I imagine I'm a breathtaker. But you, too, Hades... If we're going to talk abut generosity, you've so much to offer me in visuals alone!
[The sight of him, everything he could consume as he is. He's always loved seeing him, loved drinking in the sights of him reflected back in mirrors; loved seeing the state of his arousal and the flush of well-bitten lips, the stickiness of him having come. He dreams of all the things he could see, and in the moment, he forgets about the senses he has that are dulled in favor of his pleasure in sight.
He manages to make it easy, laying back so spread. The shamelessness in showing off the full of his arousal has Mettaton unable to resist dipping low, sucking a small kiss to Emet-Selch's inner thigh.
Raw suction, rather than the damp environment created by the aid of saliva, yields a quicker result more than anything: without involving teeth, the robot's kiss is warm and soft and full, as he hums into the vulnerability of skin he can't help but palpate. Pressing into him with touches markedly more firm than he might normally, Mettaton is attracted to the way his body gives, and whatever he could feel is comparatively just as much as he can manage.
As ever, he wants more. As ever, he would endlessly crave more and more and more. After one kiss, Mettaton groans, stooping in for another, firm pressure applied briefly and without the relief of slippery saliva. Drawing back, two bright, deep marks are quick to form, making this more effective at bruising him.
With a sigh, Mettaton thumbs the marks, glancing up toward Emet-Selch. He knew his kisses should feel different, and he checks in with his lover—despite feeling fully confident that a kiss from him should make it worthwhile, no matter how different.]
Such deep marks... You really are wide open to me. [A press of his clawed thumb, Mettaton rubs a circle into his upper thigh, glancing down at his cock.] How does it feel, darling?
[There was no damp. That was notable, for all that the contact itself was pleasant. Of course it would be, to feel soft silicone stroking against such a sensitive part of him. He liked it, though there was an edge of dissonance that went with it, as the expectation of damp heat was missing one particular component, and there would be no sheen of spit left from wherever Mettaton teased him with his mouth. The sight otherwise, though, appealed greatly, as it was more than suggestive to watch his lover with lips and tongue against his cock. It was nearly more effective than the sensation.
Visuals alone it was, but he doesn't say it. He only hums a small, breathless sound of assent, as though in full agreement, rather than some modified sense of it. The visuals were powerful, after all, from the way he knew he looked, spread out like this in aroused anticipation (rather than the enticing aftermath, where he was more of a mess, undone and panting), to Mettaton's presence between his legs. That sight itself could get him hard from nothing, the robot an undeniably attractive addition (leaning bunny ears and all).
And from the head of his cock, Mettaton graces his thigh with his lips instead, and with a pressure that causes his breath to catch, and his muscles to tighten.
Raw suction, he quickly realized, was a different sensation from what Mettaton used to inflict on him. It was something sharper, more pinching, more quickly reaching a point where he knew dark bruises would be left behind. It hurt, more than expected. Not strictly unpleasant, no- and the throb of his erection helped in appreciating the sensation for what it was- but it was different.
(To see those bruises, and feel that suction... to even feel himself prodded more firmly than usual by fingers, it all led to a certain hesitation when it came to the idea of being sucked off. Ending up with a bruised cock might be intense, but he wasn't sure he would actually like it.)
Everything about his touch seemed firmer than usual, and Emet-Selch didn't think he was imagining it. But he doesn't complain, or even mention it, assuming that this would just... be how it was, now, and if this was what Mettaton needed to do to feel him, then he would get used to it.
Gaze casting down to the deep colors that now graced his skin (with no damp sheen that usually accompanied the sight), he considers it.]
Hmm... I can see you're making up for lost time. I have been going quite undecorated.
[Which wasn't quite the same as expressing what it felt like, but the visual effect, at least, was unreservedly attractive. The full firmness of his erection seemed to indicate a continued approval.]
[Though not like the sharp pinch a vacuum pressed directly to skin, Mettaton's mouth without saliva ends up suctioning to him with a delicate flick of his tongue, with the press of his lips tight to his thighs. Spit would've made him slide, slippery against skin. But there's none of that, nor any substituting fluid, and Mettaton can just tell that he has a better hold on Emet-Selch's thigh.
Which explains why he knew to let him go- and why he's not as surprised at the resulting depth in his mark. But the sight of Emet-Selch's eye on him has Mettaton's ears lifting, the robot's interest only increasingly stoked. Emet-Selch's a splendid view, with his body flush and on display for Mettaton... but Mettaton feels sparks alight in his body at the thought of being watched from Emet-Selch's end, his every kiss and movement to be recorded by an exclusive, privileged audience.
Sight and vision was Mettaton's crutch. A part of him ached. Any time he felt the want for more, any time he felt his fingertips pressing firm into skin only to see how he was denting Emet-Selch's thigh, a press more than he thought, he can't help but ache. Had he never been granted the stronger ability for sensation, he would've never known what he was missing. Mettaton EX was his perfect body, and it failed in no ways. In itself, he could do everything save for taste, and that, he'd been content to imagine. He'd been content to imagine a lot of the things he didn't understand, and as for the senses and physicality he'd gained... it fulfilled completely, having not realized that there was more he could gain.
And then he got more. And then he found Emet-Selch; and then they dove head-first into the depths of experience and intensity, and it left Mettaton feeling for those sensations again. So he presses, and presses harder, not realizing just how hard he pressed. A once-delicate hand is delicate in movement, but every touch is firmer. He hasn't gotten used to the way he used to be after spending years as a puca.
The cock before him stood tall and swollen; Emet-Selch doesn't explicitly answer how it feels. Only one of Mettaton's ears makes any indication of his notice, swiveling in curiosity at the omission before deciding he knew already why it was being omitted. For the same reason Mettaton ached.
And the reason it's omitted, too, is because of their love. His smile gentles, and he sinks low to the mage's crotch. With a sigh, his eye's drawn to Emet-Selch's arousal before pressing his face there, burying himself against the full heat of his cock with a soft groan. Nuzzling against him, Mettaton can't bring himself to close his eye even this close up, when he enjoyed the sight of his mate's body flush to his face.]
I like it when you wear accessories provided by me.
[He's muffled by the root of Emet-Selch's cock, which he talks flush to. Burying himself deeper, his lips are pressed to his balls, pursed in a kiss and treated to a nuzzle. A hand moves along Emet-Selch's thigh to grip at his cock, steadying it enough so that he can give the full length of him kisses from beneath, applied so sloppy that he'd definitely be glistening with saliva if the idol could produce it.
Because if visuals were what they had, if Emet-selch was soaking him in with as much intensity as he did him, the robot wanted to make sure he inspired.]
And... I concede. When I am an accessory of yours, too. [He plants a firm kiss to the tip of his erection, giving him just a gentle pet with his tongue.]
[Had he likewise never encountered Mettaton with a sensation-enhanced body (and eventual shapeshifting potential), he wouldn't have known that there was as much to miss. As Mettaton was clearly affected by what they were doing, involved and incited, leaving bruises and tending to his cock, in something that wasn't a one-sided show for his sake. Their pleasure would be and had been mutual.
(Even then, he knew they would dream for more, at least in the sense of having more avenues for penetration, and especially the ability to come, just as they had in their earliest encounters with Mettaton as a puca. But the amount they were lacking on top of an absent cock, wouldn't be felt so keenly. The baseline would be different; Mettaton being able to touch and hold and feel at all would be delightful.
It still was. But they both knew better.)
Emet-Selch was still aware that for all that he missed what Mettaton was missing, that Mettaton would be in a far sorrier state, in having all this arousal, but no way to show it through a hard cock, no way of filling him with seed. When they'd briefly shared a body as god, he'd felt something of the puca-ized robotic experience, the way pressure and fluid had pooled in them, as they fascinated over their combined form. The utter relief when Mettaton had shapeshifted an erection for them to handle was something he wouldn't forget.
So he tries now to not think too far, too openly, on what he wished Mettaton still had. Neither of them were any less interested in one another sexually- which of course was its own problem, the reason it was difficult to not ache over what they no longer had.
But Mettaton's groan is echoed by a soft moan on his part, when the taller man returns to his erection, the press of his face and brush of his lips sending a jolt of wanting through him. He shudders at the sight, of his own length flush and full to his lover's face, a warmth that the mage could feel, at least.]
Is there any I would turn down wearing, if it came from you?
[Whether it was a pattern of bruises, or pieces of jewelry. Though when it came to more intimate items, was there anywhere here they could even buy cock rings from....
For that matter, was there any place to buy lubrication. It would get expensive, fast, if they had to beg the Crystal for a new bottle every time they ran out. And with Mettaton being a very dry robot, they would still need it for a lot of things. Was there any sort of sex shop in town?
But he tries to not think too far in that vein; it would be easy enough to bitterly question the point of it, even if it was there. He breathes another moan instead, as though he weren't distracted, watching his cock be treated to a series of kisses, messy in sight, if not in residue. Held steady by Mettaton's hand, it was a vision to get caught up in, and one that he tries to, thighs tense on either side of his head.
Pushing himself up to lean back on his elbows to better watch him, he exhales slowly.]
[Cheekily, and with a stupid, MTT-Brand smile (of the goofy and vulnerable variety), Mettaton nuzzles his cock, cheek against its side as he locks eyes with Emet-Selch.]
Oh, I'm sure I could find some you'd turn down, with your discerning eye. Haha.
[...Because their tastes ran different, and Mettaton knew that. Especially as Emet-Selch had griped and denied his assistance back when he'd fully lost his sight, the terror of Mettaton's decision-making for his daily wardrobe making him choose nudity or robes. Heaven forbid that his idol of a husband go wild and dress him in something he wouldn't like. They had their own tastes, even when Mettaton thought his tastes were always good. He still respected it, and even enjoyed it, when Emet-Selch's opinion differed from his own.
With a sigh, the cheeky grin dissipates into something sultry and hot, as he turns toward Emet-Selch's erection to further kiss it. If he kisses him sloppily, suction is not made in any bruising way; he latches onto him only to release, silicone lips drifting up, down, and around his shaft, pressed close to his own face by a clawed hand. His silver, black-tipped ears lean forward once more, entirely drawn in by Emet-Selch's body.
And his attention, as Mettaton couldn't help but glance up at him, eager to see his eyes on him. Each time he does, his ears spring up, then nearly flop forward in overcome, electricity coursing hot within the limits of his body... (And he wonders: just where is he to put all of this energy? He squirms; it'd be hard to tell at this angle, but possible, when Mettaton presses his legs tightly together and gasps, his imagination running wild just to envision the heaviness of the cock he'd have...)]
I trust that you'd decorate me impeccably, darling. Any time. I look good in anything, but... [A nearly-sucking kiss right to the tip has Mettaton prodding him with a pink tongue, but not too much: without fluid, he knew too much rubbing would just tug and irritate.] Whatever you choose to adorn me with... will surely catch both our eyes.
[Rings, jewelry, clothes... his come. Mettaton exhales over his cock, kissing him back down his shaft so that he's buried at the root, as Mettaton compresses his stiff cock against his own face for a nuzzle. (He's so rigid, he thought, admiring the firmness that coupled arousal. And firm in addition to that was the spread of his thighs, as a quick glance to the side shows him the way his legs tense under obscene attentions.
(Where would they get lube from? It seemed that with an absence of human residents, so too was there an absence for sex shops... Unless they had just managed to evade Mettaton's notice. How many bottles of lube could they get from how many shards... He'd have to budget for that, while trying to similarly get Emet-Selch's creation powers back, which would solve all the problems.)
With a smirk, and a half-open glance of Emet-Selch's sprawled body before him, Mettaton presses another series of kisses, from his balls to his root, before speaking flush to his body.]
As for you... There's also the appeal in just seeing you totally bare of anything. So much real estate, for jewelry and kisses...
[He doesn't mention the come he'd love to leave him messy with. He closes his eye instead, humming and continuing to lave Emet-Selch's erection with kisses.]
I would try to. [And where Mettaton smiles, the Ascian gives a heavier sigh, as though the robot were just too much to deal with, accompanied with a long-suffering look. It remains mostly intact despite the slight flush to him. Though aroused, he wasn't particularly discomposed.] And yet, you've a talent for convincing me into your nonsense.
[Or he was weak to persistence (and Mettaton's pleasure). (Of course, he could be contrary too, or just stubborn, but he felt as though Mettaton could get him to do things more often than not.)
As the robot returns to sultry suggestion, laving the stiff length nudged against his face with attention, Emet-Selch returns to watching him- not that he'd ever truly stopped.
He mostly trusted that Mettaton would remember to not suck too hard at any part of his cock, when there was nothing to soften (or slicken) the pressure. A trace of guardedness did remain, though, due to the familiar unfamiliarity of the situation. But it was a tension that was not unlike the rest of his; an attentiveness that would've been there regardless.
And while all these kisses would've normally been enough to tease him into asking, needing something fuller, however that manifested, that sort of desperation felt far on the horizon- if he reached it at all. Partially because there was nothing to beg for.
But it was pleasant to look at, to see Mettaton with his lips on his balls, to watch the other man nearly squirm in his arousal, and he wondered if the idol was enjoying this more than he was. Which wasn't a problem, to him, though he did find it ironic. But he hums a soft noise, deliberately nudging his cock against Mettaton's face. An assent of some kind, either to Mettaton's ability to wear anything at all, or that his own taste was perfect when it came to selecting something for the robot.
The wedding rings he'd picked for him brought a sentimental ache to think of- and a comfort to remember that Mettaton had been given back one of them. A memory that went right to his cock were all the times where he saw his come on his body, whether it was against Mettaton's waist, or between thighs, or at his lips. Anywhere it smeared or dripped... was a compelling argument for its presence.]
If you would have me bare... I would have a hard time arguing against the convenience. [Anything about his condition could be visible from a glance, from bruises to arousal.] However, I would miss those times when you disrobe me, whether in full or only part.
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Shamelessly, they gaze upon each other. There had never been any lack of hesitation there, nor self-consciousness. And no reason for it to start, when need was only ever tempered for the sake of something more. Mettaton slips onto the bed with all the grace he was familiar with, and no less affected by- as there was no coaxing required for the mage to lean towards him, to seek out his arms and body.
Interest was certainly alight, between them. And distraction with it; already, Emet-Selch was less conscious of his various less-pleasant aches and sores. And if he wasn't as well-rested as Mettaton, he was about as awake as he ever was, all his consciousness focused on the man beside him.
There were no dangers, for now, and no telling when the next crisis would arise. For right now they were together, and that was all they ever seemed to have. Only the present, for as long as it managed to last.]
Then... stay with me, this time.
[The bed underneath might very well have some remnant of robotic-heat left on its covers. Clothed as he was, Emet-Selch couldn't tell, but there was an easy solution to that problem. The plucking at the fabric at his hips could easily transition to a removal of it all. And while he wasn't impatient for his greater touch, there was no hiding that he dearly wanted it.]
You can't take care of anything if you're not here. [His voice is quiet, lifting a hand to cup the side of his husband's face- no longer rent by anyone's claws.] But I don't think we'll ever catch up, like this.
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Emet-Selch is on the bed and Mettaton is on his knees, encircling the smaller man in an embrace. Interest was electricity, and the two of them were equally charged, a contagion that intensified as it bounced between them, as they infected each other over and again. Crises seemed to follow them... but Mettaton lived in this moment where there was none, and Emet-Selch was miraculously drawn in with him.
The hand pressed his cheek is leaned into with a curtaining of lashes, a sweet smile pulling the corner of his lips. His face was restored, and the sensation of Emet-Selch's hand there is something he cherishes with his eye closed. With a hum, he cracks open his eye, but only slightly.
He doesn't think they'll catch up like this. His eyebrow lifts; his pupil runs down Emet-Selch's clothes, where his own fingers are.]
How do you mean? We won't catch up...
[He runs over the statement in his head as he scoots closer, straddling Emet-Selch from behind him with knees on either side of his thighs. And from there, Mettaton maintains as much contact as he can with the hand against his cheek as he presses his hands fully against bare skin. Starting from his hips, Mettaton lifts Emet-Selch's clothes off, making deft but desirous work of both shucking fabric, and giving Emet-Selch a good feel-up. Up and over his head comes flowing fabric, baring Emet-Selch's torso to the air. Contentedly, he sighs.]
Hmm... If you mean to say that we'll never truly conquer the full of our desires, yes. We won't. [He leans in, kissing the back of Emet-Selch's neck as he sidles his entire body flush to Emet-Selch's.] But that's because you keep encouraging more and more in me.
[... And there would be regrettable desires more that would go un-cared for. Mettaton tries not to think about his lacking body for the moment. Someday... someday, he would be in possession of an anatomy, of powers that suited him—and enabled him the same sexual indulgence they'd once enjoyed. He holds fast to the confidence that he still wants Emet-Selch carnally; that Emet-Selch had always been able to drive him mad.]
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Beyond the fresh scarring above his heart, there's the sign of lesser injuries on the mage's body. Bruises that were turning towards the greenish-yellow were scattered across him, along with patches of scabbing. Places where fur had grown, and that he'd torn out. None of it was serious, but it added a bit of soreness to him.
Which he's not thinking of too clearly when Mettaton was kissing his neck, when he could feel his body against skin, a sensation he stretches into with a small sound.]
I would do more than encourage. More and more that....
[--would they even be able to fulfill? Emet-Selch can't help but recall that unfortunate aspect of their combination currently. It wouldn't be for the first time, but for far longer than otherwise, Mettaton had been more than able to match him in the ability to demonstrate arousal. He looks down towards the bed, even as he rests against his body.]
You'll have to learn to shapeshift properly. Soon.
[Mettaton wouldn't be the only one frustrated, at this rate. Though he would admit that the former-puca would have it worse, in not having a cock at all... he wouldn't pretend otherwise that so much of his own pleasure was tied up in the robot's. Not only when it came with the sensation of being filled by him, but just being in the company of his aroused state was enticing.
Though Emet-Selch was already getting hard, a firming line notable within his trousers, he tried to temper his expectations. Which mostly led to a dampening of them, in actuality, and his exhale is as sad as it is interested.]
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He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.
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It was better than no body at all. The smaller man accepted that much, was even grateful for that much, that his lover was spared the discomfort of feeling nothing, of not possessing a shape that suited how he saw himself. (And more selfishly, Emet-Selch was relieved to be able to hold him at all, something that wouldn't have been possible had he been a ghost with nothing to hide in.)
And he appreciated with it, that Mettaton was touching him now, was presumably feeling something of the skin underneath his fingers, of the tension he could inspire in his muscles. Temperature, the warmth of his body, those details would be lost, but Mettaton hadn't had much of that to start with.
So Emet-Selch manages a pleased noise, despite his discontent. An approval reflected in the way he presses back to him, assuming that Mettaton would continue handling his chest. His nipples too, react immediately to touch, hardening from even a brush of attention. And arousal comes with it, a warmth that gathered in his body, as it so often did in Mettaton's company.
Though there were multiple reasons to temper it. There was the more immediate of fingers reaching and inspecting for wounds. Gently so, and while it wasn't too uncomfortable physically, it was a reminder of what had happened that night. They'd found each other only to hurt each other- but there was nothing new about that, it was only a matter of degree.
But more reason was their conversation, this addressing what they needed to, when it came to what Mettaton had lost, in arriving here. In being an unaltered robot.
That another robot's body had changed was a surprise, and his brow furrows. Was it because Mettaton wasn't a true robot, that he'd been neglected, somehow? Even as Mettaton toys with his nipples, he couldn't get too distracted, one of his hands moving to brush against a freshly grown hand.]
...Would you have preferred to become human?
[Was this something Mettaton would wish for? Emet-Selch wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would depend entirely on whether it would be a permanent change that would somehow carry across worlds, making Mettaton no longer a monster- and unbearably mortal.]
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The love he feels for Emet-Selch is something he longed to share. Another thing lost is their Bond... but the robot feels confident that he can share that love in actions. Pressing into Emet-Selch, he makes a small noise as he nuzzles against his neck, burying his face there and breathing him in. He could just barely smell him, the scent of him occurring to Mettaton in impressions from memory...
It's there that he knows his reply.]
I already told you once before, Hades. It's an appealing thought... but after meeting you, I think my decision's different than it would've been. And besides.
[Tightening his arms against Emet-Selch's sides, the robot winds each arm around Emet-Selch's person tight, all the way until he's right back around again and gripping firmly over each pectoral. His thumbs roll gently over the firming flesh of his nipples, and Mettaton sighs fondly over their response to his attentions.]
Can a human do this...? I find my body is uniquely mine. To dip my toes in and experience what it's like to be human is one thing... and I like that. But I like myself as I am. There's a reason I corporealized with this body. This is me.
[Confidently he answers, having already dwelled on this before. If he were confronted with the option here, if it were the only way he could properly have sex with Emet-Selch... and if it were guaranteed that it wasn't his forever body, maybe. He knew he'd miss the silicone, the metal, the durability and the absurd things he could do with this body that humans could not. The feeling of organs in his chest was also still something he felt hyper-aware of sometimes... and while he knew he could adapt, he simply likes this way of being.
But the touch. The sensation. The sensuality. Organic beings promised so much... and it was a temptation too great to ignore. He wanted those things one way or another, and if there were a way to obtain them, he knew he would take it.
Pressing forward, Mettaton's sure to roll his hips, to grind his crotch against Emet-Selch's back with a sigh. He presses entirely flush, curling around him as he tightens his grip, pinching his nipples in the process. Sloppy kisses that would've been surely damp are applied along his shoulder.]
I rather like being me... and having the sensation and the equipment of a more organic being. Mind, darling. I haven't lost heart. One way or another... these are attainable goals, with the right resources. [He pecks his shoulder before lifting his head, hovering slightly over him enough that they can meet eyes.] If I can't find someone to augment my body in this more sexual direction, why... there will be a way. A more magically-inclined way.
[A wish. Emet-Selch's powers, returned to him. Mettaton knew there were ways, and he'd have to impatiently work for it.]
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Good. I would miss this body.
[Though he would adapt to whatever Mettaton had, this one, with its sturdy features capable of crushing him, with winding arms capable of constricting him- this one, he was already attached to. (If not in the literal way Mettaton was attached to it.) And he squirms, pleased to be caught, to be wrapped up, encouraging the security of his hold- and the way his nipples could be played with at the same time. Even so--]
Though your puca variant was...
[He doesn't even conclude that statement with anything but a sigh. He missed that. All the robotic benefits, plus many of the organic ones. He'd found the claws, the ears, even the fur- endearing. Pleasant to touch. And with full shapeshifting at his disposal, Mettaton could take a break from those features as wanted. Could try on a fully organic body... or at least a semi-organic erection.
Since the grinding against his back, erotic as it was, was less of a tease than it should've been, as there was nothing more there to look forward to, right now.]
We'll find some way of restoring you the pertinent details.
[Though resolute, his tone was a bit tired too, to think on all they would have to reobtain. (Their Bond he simply grieved for.) Kisses against his shoulder too weren't quite the same, though he liked the sensation anyway. It wasn't as if he missed precisely Mettaton drooling on him as he sometimes did, but he was conscious of the dryness of silicone. Soft and warm, but dry- and incapable of neither tasting nor feeling his own heat.
Which was altogether nearly as much of a downer as the lack of cock.]
Though that doesn't change the now. How much will you- can you even feel of me?
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You'd better miss it, honey! This body's as good as yours, and I expect you to love it as much as I do.
[And though it's a playful comment... there was perhaps some truth to it, as Mettaton knew Emet-Selch was fond of his form for a good many reasons. It made Mettaton more vulnerable than he would've been without a body—but thinking of himself without a body is simply abhorrent, and Emet-Selch knew that, too. It gave Mettaton so much more. It gave him clarity, confidence, and ways to interact with the world that he'd never had before.
It just wasn't equipped. And that fact is glaringly obvious between them, as between Mettaton thighs is a whole lot of nothing. His puca variant had at least brought with it the enhancement of sensation, if disturbing in its ways. The flesh and veins and organs that crept beneath the surface of silicone and metal... It would disturb any good mechanic, particularly the sorts who wanted to see no cyborgs.
Mettaton was a mess inside, even though he'd felt better and more vividly than ever. His puca variant was something to miss; to that, Mettaton hugs him tight. Against his skin, he interjects with a mutter.]
... I didn't mind it, either. All of the little things...
[... He does have that, anyway. Even if it's not quite so detailed, anatomically, and more of a magical manifestation. Mettaton partially shapeshifts into a rabbit—but it's only that much, with fur upon his hips, claws on fingertips, ears upon his head... and rabbit feet where heels once were. They'd find a way, and Mettaton nuzzles Emet-Selch deeply with an appreciative sound.]
Right now, [he starts, ears folding back;] It's about as much as I'd gained from corporealizing, dear. More than I used to have. Less than what I gained in Aefenglom. The harder the touch, the more I feel it.
[Pressure that increased also increased in sensitivity, and things outright painful felt the most intense he could get it. Mettaton sighs, thinking about the very first time he'd ever felt anything so bright that it blinded, which was... Wow. Fighting against Frisk. Unfortunate.
And now, that was about as intense as it got. Emet-Selch had introduced him to so much more, and Mettaton snorts, giving the Ascian's nipple a departing pinch before smoothing over his chest, letting the tips of claws graze along in his wake.]
I have a feeling my memory of all you've done to me will leave me aching for dizzying, increasing madness, as I am. It's a bit restrictive... But you know me, Hades. I derive pleasure in ways beyond touch.
[With a kiss to his jaw, Mettaton recalls how good at pulling Mettaton under Emet-Selch had been even when they first started going to bed together. They were effective on each other, and Mettaton shivered to think of how much he just loved Emet-Selch, and found their combining attractive.]
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[Which counted as ownership, though his haughtiness over it is half-hearted. He did love it, and loved besides what it meant to Mettaton to have it. Even if it stayed permanently limited like this, he would love it and restore it any time anything happened to damage him (which would hopefully be infrequent).
There weren't any convenient mirrors in sight, so it's only when he feels the faint graze of claws, the suggestion of fur against skin, that he realizes that he'd changed. Twisting his neck a little, he catches the familiar long ears atop his husband's head, before settling back, into those nuzzles.]
Do those changes add to what you can feel? I don't want to have to become a wolf again to get you to notice me.
[He mutters, remembering how Mettaton had cried out when he'd bitten him. Even if he couldn't remember what he'd said, some sounds didn't require translation.
But he knew that touch wasn't the sole component in their effectiveness on each other. (Or taste, or scent...) Yet he'd been spoiled by it, and though their first times together in bed hadn't included any ability to shapeshift, they had included heightened sensitivity on the puca's part. And... they hadn't known any better. They'd still been exploring one another, deepening their investment by degrees.
And even then they'd ached for more.
Turning his head slightly into that kiss, he tries to defer that sense of being disheartened already. He wasn't even the one lacking sensation... but he was the one aspected to negativity. Holding back a sigh, trying to focus on the elevation of his pulse, the firmness of his own cock, the interest in his body for the other man. His love for his company.]
We can see how far we get, I suppose.
[Enthusiasm.]
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[Delivered a bit flatly, as Emet-Selch's enthusiasm is evident. But Mettaton understood the ache, and he presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's shoulders for the moment. In answer to his question, though, Mettaton attempts to squirm closer. His presses impossibly flush to his body, testing himself for sensation, but finding it hard to tell how he'd respond to pain. Pain, the thing he found most intense of all... But he even liked that after he'd regained sensation.
Were his senses enhanced? He tries to smell. He tries to taste, kissing slow and deliberate, a soft, silicone tongue flicking out to press against the Ascian's flesh. And then...]
...If these changes do, I haven't mastered that aspect of it yet. They do not. Though they add to the real estate of places to feel from. Ears, and tail, and all.
[His rabbit-like toes curl. He could feel the bend in their movement, but they felt just as insulated as they should he supposes, given all the fur. He wondered if at some point, they'd enhance his ability to feel.
Though he does offer:] Strangely, if I shapeshift fully into a rabbit... I can feel pets quite vividly! [He smiles.] But, ha. That's not very helpful right now.
[Bunny shapeshifts were not very sexy.
There's a level of self-consciousness that settles heavily in Mettaton, though not sourced from Emet-Selch. It's himself, as he considers all they used to love in his shapeshifted body, and what they lacked now. They were capable of exploring each other and sating themselves on hypotheticals, before Mettaton had ever been capable of shapeshifting properly. But now they knew what love they had for sexual intimacy, exploring bodies conveniently equipped with points of intense arousal.
They would continue to ache for more, more acutely than ever. Mettaton closes his eye again, frustrated by all he lacked. All of the need he felt, impotent. Nails dig into Emet-Selch's chest on reflex, feeling trapped.
But he had Emet-Selch. He had his body. Mettaton breathes him in, imagines his warmth; he feels the firmness and softness of skin alike, swallowing while he drowns himself in the softness of pliant skin beneath his fingertips. Shuddering slightly, he finds his hands wandering lower, prodding his abdomen in a state of both fond fascination, and even envy.]
Even so... With all I am, and with all you are. I will show you my love for you, and reflect it in your body, as well as my own.
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And then those rabbit senses were tested. Emet-Selch waits for the verdict, without daring to hope that more would amount from this beyond the sensation of being kissed. And the touches were nice, pleasing and intimate... but he sighs anyway at the expected conclusion. Though he holds back from pointing out that having more places to touch didn't matter if Mettaton couldn't feel anything from them, it doesn't keep the disappointed tone from him.]
'Tis a familiar look, if nothing else.
[A full rabbit shapeshift... no. He might appreciate holding Mettaton like that at another point, but it was not sexy. Even the mention of it deflates him a little; was that really the best hope his lover had to feel anything? As a literal animal?
Claws dig into him, and Emet-Selch bites a sound back, not wanting to make things worse, but equally not wanting to pretend that he was content with what they had left to them. Without even their Bond, their souls and moods connected, they couldn't blend that way either- and no matter how close Mettaton pressed to him, they remained more distant than ever. Separate, in a way he didn't know how to reach past.
...The Bond really had been something of a crutch, when it came to expressing himself. Like this, he felt muted in a different way, even as he feels Mettaton shudder against his back, and he didn't know how or what to reassure him with. He takes a breath.]
It's fine. We'll manage.
[It's not enthusiasm, but it's a little better. A wanting to try, even if it made all the aches worse. And Mettaton's hands did feel good on him, claws and all, especially when they trail to his abdomen.]
You can... move lower than that.
[Voice lowering to a murmur, he pushes himself back against Mettaton's body, as if in an insistence to being held tighter, and his legs spread slightly.]
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It hurt, to feel his lover's interest faded. That his body failed at something, and there was no peacocking he could do to make up for that sheer lack. But Mettaton still felt himself worth arousal, for all he is, and his frustration exists alongside desire. Even without the anatomy of it, Mettaton desires Emet-Selch, after it all. He truly wanted his intimacy, his control, his love and his vulnerability. He wanted everything Emet-Selch was, and wanted Emet-Selch to treat him to the same deliberation he ever had.
Emet-Selch's words do reach Mettaton. He smiles; he presses his lips to his shoulder, and gives him a gentle nuzzle. He could tell that those simple words conveyed more than met the eye, a desire to hold his heart and reassure him.]
We will. ...Thank you.
[Earnestly, he speaks, soft and low. He even feels tension drain from him just through his own gratitude expressed—and in reflecting over his own warmth, it takes him off-guard as he feels Emet-Selch push back, his thighs pushing against Mettaton's as he spreads his legs encouragingly.
Mettaton exhales, eager and focused. He can't help himself as he presses ever tighter to Emet-Selch's body, winding arms squeezing his victim in his excitement for the presentation of Emet-Selch's body. His fingers drift low, claws a gentle scratch as he charts a path lower upon request.]
Hades...
[It's awe and want that tinges his voice, deep and tense. His ears are sprung, though they lean for the man in front of him, if at an akimbo splay. Emet-Selch's waistband remains an obstacle, his pants still there—but that doesn't stop Mettaton as he greedily makes for the front of his pants, immediately palming the prominence to be found between thighs.
Wracked with a bout of shudders, Mettaton exhales, covetous and hungry.]
Ah... You. You never fail to impress... I wouldn't have your response to me any other way.
[He couldn't help but be flattered just at the way Emet-Selch reacted to his presence, and all of the history they had behind them. Even when they'd first taken to intimacy, even when they stood together in a kissing booth... he remembers the grief in parting then, and how he just knew Emet-Selch was aroused. Any time he knew, it never failed to spark delight and desire in him. Fingers dance along the firm line trapped under fabric, rolling in a gentle pinch over the fullness of the tip.]
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And still, a part of that arousal was the knowledge and memory of how touch would follow, that the robot took his own pleasure from seeing him hard as well. If he was wanting, it was difficult to imagine Mettaton turning him away.
All of that was true. And with the way Mettaton pressed to him now, with the way he spoke, Emet-Selch knew he was still desired too. Nudging his head against the other man's as best he could, it was a wordless request for closeness. The splay of his legs was a welcoming gesture too, even though they were still clothed.
...Even so. Even so, Emet-Selch knew he wasn't as drawn in as he should be, when Mettaton handled his body. There were limits now that he couldn't escape thinking about. The robot could get him off with ease, but... that was it.
But his breath takes on a shuddered note all the same, a whisper of Mettaton's name, as his body certainly knew what to do when he was being touched by him. Not as directly as it might like, but with the sort of tease that could be made good on. Fabric could be parted, removed entirely, and the strength of his reaction made explicitly visible. A shameless display he'd ever enjoyed pressing to Mettaton's body in an appeal for attention or appreciation- or just friction.
(And so often too did he go relatively neglected- brought to pleasure and relief both through some application of Mettaton's own erection. Through Mettaton's climax, he was lured to his own- when permitted. And even when he was allowed to come first, it was often to enhance the robot's own release, which of course enhanced his own....
Tantalizing imagery. Memories. If ones he tries to not dwell on too closely, in favor of the expert, familiar way he could watch Mettaton handle him now, along a length that filled for him.)]
You never fail to inspire. Too much so, at times...
[It's not a real grumble, but the show of one. From their first (technically second) kiss, and the interest that came with it, they'd both been aroused that afternoon, and so suddenly. But they maintained decency (beyond whatever they lost from making out behind a kissing booth), even as the prospect of taking to each other right then had been... attractive.
Just as he was attracted now to what they were doing- and with far more experience together behind them. Knowledgeably touched, rather than curiously, though they'd never known hesitation once they'd begun. His own fingers grip at the side of the bed, and his thighs tense with the desire to press up, to roll his hips into Mettaton's hand. But he didn't want to move away from his body either.]
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The mage responds to the monster readily, practiced and primed. Memories and dreams strike them both, as the former-puca recalls the way that Emet-Selch could be made to fill out for him, even before he'd shapeshifted anything concrete to busy himself with. Mettaton sighs, pressing his hand firmly and fully to trap his cock against his body, stuck between clothes and hand and with pressure applied. There was so much they loved to do with a point of pleasure like this—and Mettaton focuses on all he could do to Emet-Selch, to deprive and overwhelm, to restrain or demand.
Needy, Emet-Selch's hips jerk, and Mettaton hums an ascending note of interest at his show. He can't help but chuckle lowly at the accusation that he hears and knows isn't deeply felt, insofar as its delivery. Past fabric, he continues to appreciate his firm and filling arousal, working from pinching the tip to groping him down toward his root with a possessive, commanding confidence. Mettaton viewed Emet-Selch's body as his own, and this was his cock to touch and treat, to deny and to please.]
But I like that. To inspire dreams beyond the constraints of sense... [His voice, a soft purr, is pressed to the side of Emet-Selch's neck, where he brushes soft, silicone lips.] And to captivate you, and draw you into my own dreams. I'd argue it, Hades... that you're a bit of an inspiration yourself, love.
[An inspiration to Mettaton specifically, whether it was the solid basis of his shapeshifts, or the desire to reach for more and more. He sighs, working his way down, down, fingers pinching the shape of his cock beneath fabric, until he bites at his lower lip and fully grips him. His fingers slide between thighs, the motion to grab both his balls and cock in a gesture of ownership, all before sighing warmly against skin.
He remembers the way he'd felt back then, when he was first exploring Emet-Selch's body. And somehow... somehow, it even paled to this kind of intensity, Mettaton realizes with a start. The ache he feels is somehow acute, even without muscles, without veins. He gasps, fingers squeezing and handling his balls as his palm is nudged firmly against his root, and Mettaton lets him go only so that his hand can quickly chart a path straight to his waistband. It was a sort of psychological ache, something that set his body to heating, electricity to course fast in his body—and even behind Emet-Selch, the robot shifts with pent-up need to move.
That gasp is released in a sigh that is utter heat. Not burning nor scalding, but hot air, void of damp. He could feel Emet-Selch keep from thrusting, and as Mettaton takes to the fastening of his trousers with a deft hand, he gives Emet-Selch a brief nip to the side of his neck.]
Mm. Stay still for me, now. I want to appraise what I've done to you... since you think it too much.
[And even here, even though he was sorely lacking a crucial part to their passion play... Mettaton is too focused on their collective arousal to dwell on it right now.]
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[Smoothly arrogant, but emotionally touched all the same, he felt an appreciation for all that they did inspire in each other. Though he knew Mettaton's consideration of his body had both its practical and personal aspects, the addiction to their combining was something they'd fostered together. It was inescapable, which was its own problem.
Was it even possible to escape from past escapes? Emet-Selch didn't know, but his swift pulse and filling cock spoke of a reason to try. Though he doubted his own ability to be pulled under completely, for Mettaton to take him to a depth that could briefly sate him- he thought it likely that it would feel good, anyway. Tempering expectations, but appreciating being touched at all- he could do that much.
The robot's fingers were a convincing argument in themselves, and he shivers as the attention to his tip turns to a groping for his girth. Even through fabric, it was nicely possessive, the way Mettaton grabbed for both balls and shaft. And he responds with a soft groan, escaping with an exhale of breath. Not as warm as the robot behind him, but heated all the same, and a touch damp as an organic entity would be. For all that it was forgiving material, it was beginning to feel quite constrictive, with the way Mettaton was grasping him, with as hard as he was getting.
Or he was just eager to be touched directly. Which is why he can't complain too far, when Mettaton abandons that hold in favor of slipping to the fastenings, anticipation warming him through. The nip to his neck has him tilting his head in offering, a soft gasp preceding his reply.]
A call to remain still... you do know how to appeal to me.
[A touch wry. Even if Mettaton was also good at giving him reasons to move, for all that he ever remained not as inclined in that direction as the robot. But for the point of appraising, of attention- yes. He could remain as still as desired. How obedient he felt otherwise was yet to be decided.]
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Because even wound up, bound and tied, Emet-Selch would be stubborn and defiant. Mettaton smiles wider- almost maddened, hungered. The quickness of his fingers stumble, fumbling to free what lies beneath cloth, and the robot coaxes his pants to part for him with another gentle nibble of the Ascian's neck.]
Hades... [Is all he finds himself saying, voice a low purr. For the moment, he's transfixed on his prize—and Mettaton lifts his head so that he's on alert, ears leaning far enough that they're surely making their way into Emet-Selch's vision. Clawed fingertips push deep between folds, and the puca-like robot fondles his mate, gasping softly at the sensation of his filled, filling erection, pushing at restraint of fabric. And now, at the grip of his hand.
With a soft groan, Mettaton could sympathetically feel the rigidity as though it were his own. He doesn't even need to close his eyes, wrapping fingertips around Emet-Selch's root as he pushes and parts fabric further to properly free his cock with a roll of his wrist, fighting his trousers to pull free his erection. And once free, Mettaton only barely manages to lift his hand from skin, just to give him a look, to appraise him as he'd promised.]
How you always manage to be a delightful presentation, I'll never know. [Mettaton sighs, stroking a finger along his length, the underside of the root all the way up until he gives the tip a firm press, causing him to bob.] If you want more things to do for me... Won't you lay back on the bed, darling? I want to... better appreciate you.
[Better appreciate, punctuated with another nip to his shoulder, ardent yet gentle. In spite of his condition, Mettaton's mind races with all he wanted to do, whether he could manage it in his current state or not. He wanted to lay him down, to spread his legs, to stuff his own cock between his thighs and describe how good he looked full him and erect; he wanted to lay him down and kiss him from neck to ankles, to leave him bitten and sensitive. He wanted to straddle his hips and push their cocks together, to grip them both until they oozed, slick and sticky and perfect to jerk off in tandem... Mettaton shivers with a sigh, pressing bodily against Emet-Selch.
But he similarly tugs at him, encouraging him to climb deeper onto the mattress. He would be more than supportive in helping him into place. He smirks against his neck, lips grazing along skin until he's just beneath his ear, able to nip at his earring.]
And by appreciate... I want the full spread of your body, Hades.
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Even though it was for the sake of observation, which in itself he enjoyed, he can't quite stifle the small protesting sound when Mettaton unhands his erection, for even a moment.]
If we're to talk of presentation, I've always found your hand to be an appropriate accessory.
[A hint, delivered. Though it was more than his hand that appealed, as the sight of his cock pressed to any part of Mettaton's body was an attractive one. Framed between his thighs, taken into his mouth, pressed firm and thick against Mettaton's own cock, where they could stroke each other off into a sticky mess- they were only a few of the ways he loved to see himself.
But he's provided a tease of a touch, his cock made to wobble in the open air, and given another simple task.]
--Once more, you appeal to my expertise.
[It was often enough that he ended upon his back, in bed... but he wasn't inclined to argue over this request either, aligned to his own desires and nature as it was. A tug deeper onto their modest bed is accepted, though there's a bit of wriggling involved to make sure that his pants didn't come with him. With all fabric slid off to gather unceremoniously on the floor, Emet-Selch shifts the small distance into the center of the bed, and lays down, head aligned with their pillows.
Shivering a little from being so uncovered, the air feeling far cooler than the heat of his body, the warmth of arousal, he glances down at himself, his erection even more of a sight this way, swollen and gently curved. Though his body had a few bruises left, healing sores and scrapes, they were all a result of wolfhood rather than loving ardor.
Exhaling a shaking breath, his gaze soon returned to Mettaton. Unlike the robot, he wasn't so naturally inclined towards posing, or conscious display, but the mage was comfortable, at ease with his casual sprawl, legs slightly parted. A languid wave towards himself completes the appeal(?).]
How spread is full enough for you?
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...He realizes suddenly that he's been drawn right back into gripping him, at the description of him as an accessory. He wanted to see it. When Mettaton couldn't feel as acutely, vision was a provocative show, and he ends up pumping over Emet-Selch's fullness in a deliberate, slow movement, admiring the sight of him touching him.
But he knows he wants more. Once again, his hand parts from the upright arch of his cock, though not without petting over him, letting him bob back to the air.]
You're right. [He sounds breathless. Mettaton sighs, nuzzling against the side of Emet-Selch's neck.] You do look best with something of me on you.
[If it wasn't his own come, it would be his body. Sandwiched between his lovely thighs, head gently rest between his lips, or encircled by fingers, Mettaton squirms just to consider the possibilities, each inciting enough that he aches. How far could he bring himself to ache...? (And how on earth would he manage to soothe that ache, given how much it manages to burn him, to heat him? It didn't feel the same as the delectable filling of his thighs, the way fluid pooled low in his body, but it felt increasingly hot, and inescapable.)
It's almost in a daze that he relinquishes his hold on Emet-Selch, permitting him the chance to shuck his pants. And fully exposed to the air, Mettaton watches, rapt, as he lays himself comfortably back in a manner appropriate for him. Lazy, easygoing, his casualness was part of his demeanor—and even that wave was just so him that it charms as well as excites. Mettaton smiles silly, brimming with warmth as he crawls to his own spot.
Taking up post between the Ascian's legs, he decides to examine him with his upright poise. Mettaton's movements are elegance, flowing as he lifts a finger to his lower lip and thoughtfully pours over his husband, over the planes of his body, the lack of his bruises, the hardness of nipples and the way air chilled him over. And of course, to the attractive, swollen member between thighs—which Mettaton decides to focus on, as his hands move quickly, fluidly, to his legs.]
Spread wider. [With his hands, Mettaton encourages Emet-Selch's thighs apart. It could disrupt the casual ease of his sprawl... but Mettaton also felt sure that Emet-Selch would still make a full demonstration look casual.] I see myself between them, as more than an accessory...
[... Sure. He also could envision himself fitting his girth between his cheeks, spreading Emet-Selch's legs and stuffing him full just like so. To bind him up, to keep him spread and unable to move save for writhing... But he keeps that fantasy to himself, and focuses instead on leaning closer, watching Emet-Selch's face as he dips nearer to his cock. With a sultry smile, he fits just the tip of him against his lips, leaving him with a warm, soft kiss.]
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And he doesn't protest again when Mettaton has to let go of him for the opportunity to situate himself. Though it wasn't a touch that could tide him over... it helped, and gave reason to shuffle himself into a better position.]
And you've been so generous with me, in the past....
[Decorated with his come, with bruises and bites, with jewelry and ropes. Marked suggestively, aesthetically, possessively (with not all of that available, possible now; he swallows back a sigh even as he settles into place on the bed), Mettaton always knew how to apply himself to his body.
And it was an application he ached for, his skin showing the beginning of a flush as he lay as an offering against covers and blankets, even as he wondered what Mettaton could feel in turn. Was there internal pressure as there had been as a puca, somehow? Was there any sense of heat? But Mettaton's expressions, the way he exhaled in some sort of need- he tried to take some reassurance there, that his husband was assuredly aroused with him, in some form.
Was it possible to look casual with legs more explicitly spread? The mage makes as good an attempt at it as might be possible, nearly languid despite being so hard, as though it were nothing to expose himself so vulnerably. But his pulse surely moves quicker to see Mettaton between them, to feel hands on his thighs, encouraging their parting.
He allows a low, pleased hum to escape from his own lips, at the feeling of Mettaton's kiss placed to his tip, and to the look of him there, soft silicone against swollen, sensitive flesh. Though he doesn't moan, it would be an easy thing to provoke out of him, and one of his thighs trembles in expectant pleasure.]
Now there's an even better sight.
[...He tries not to think on how Mettaton couldn't feel how warm he was, against his lips. Could he even feel him as clearly as he usually seemed to?]
--And more than an accessory. Yes, you might just manage it.
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He felt pleased that Emet-Selch was so pliant. So willing, so obviously heated, senses he could drink in with his eyes and the press of his fingertips. He could see the Ascian's warmth in the flush of his features, from his cheeks to his fingertips to the swell of his cock. He looked so warm... Mettaton wanted to grope him head to toe, to feel soft flesh give under his touch and to hear the sound of Emet-Selch's breath hitching, his groans and cries and sighs as he brought pressure into his groin. He licks his lips, hovering so close to the glans that he could flick out his tongue and lap at the slit if he pleased.
He grins, unable to help himself. He gingerly laps at the tip, a brush of silicone over the swell of soft skin.]
I imagine I'm a breathtaker. But you, too, Hades... If we're going to talk abut generosity, you've so much to offer me in visuals alone!
[The sight of him, everything he could consume as he is. He's always loved seeing him, loved drinking in the sights of him reflected back in mirrors; loved seeing the state of his arousal and the flush of well-bitten lips, the stickiness of him having come. He dreams of all the things he could see, and in the moment, he forgets about the senses he has that are dulled in favor of his pleasure in sight.
He manages to make it easy, laying back so spread. The shamelessness in showing off the full of his arousal has Mettaton unable to resist dipping low, sucking a small kiss to Emet-Selch's inner thigh.
Raw suction, rather than the damp environment created by the aid of saliva, yields a quicker result more than anything: without involving teeth, the robot's kiss is warm and soft and full, as he hums into the vulnerability of skin he can't help but palpate. Pressing into him with touches markedly more firm than he might normally, Mettaton is attracted to the way his body gives, and whatever he could feel is comparatively just as much as he can manage.
As ever, he wants more. As ever, he would endlessly crave more and more and more. After one kiss, Mettaton groans, stooping in for another, firm pressure applied briefly and without the relief of slippery saliva. Drawing back, two bright, deep marks are quick to form, making this more effective at bruising him.
With a sigh, Mettaton thumbs the marks, glancing up toward Emet-Selch. He knew his kisses should feel different, and he checks in with his lover—despite feeling fully confident that a kiss from him should make it worthwhile, no matter how different.]
Such deep marks... You really are wide open to me. [A press of his clawed thumb, Mettaton rubs a circle into his upper thigh, glancing down at his cock.] How does it feel, darling?
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Visuals alone it was, but he doesn't say it. He only hums a small, breathless sound of assent, as though in full agreement, rather than some modified sense of it. The visuals were powerful, after all, from the way he knew he looked, spread out like this in aroused anticipation (rather than the enticing aftermath, where he was more of a mess, undone and panting), to Mettaton's presence between his legs. That sight itself could get him hard from nothing, the robot an undeniably attractive addition (leaning bunny ears and all).
And from the head of his cock, Mettaton graces his thigh with his lips instead, and with a pressure that causes his breath to catch, and his muscles to tighten.
Raw suction, he quickly realized, was a different sensation from what Mettaton used to inflict on him. It was something sharper, more pinching, more quickly reaching a point where he knew dark bruises would be left behind. It hurt, more than expected. Not strictly unpleasant, no- and the throb of his erection helped in appreciating the sensation for what it was- but it was different.
(To see those bruises, and feel that suction... to even feel himself prodded more firmly than usual by fingers, it all led to a certain hesitation when it came to the idea of being sucked off. Ending up with a bruised cock might be intense, but he wasn't sure he would actually like it.)
Everything about his touch seemed firmer than usual, and Emet-Selch didn't think he was imagining it. But he doesn't complain, or even mention it, assuming that this would just... be how it was, now, and if this was what Mettaton needed to do to feel him, then he would get used to it.
Gaze casting down to the deep colors that now graced his skin (with no damp sheen that usually accompanied the sight), he considers it.]
Hmm... I can see you're making up for lost time. I have been going quite undecorated.
[Which wasn't quite the same as expressing what it felt like, but the visual effect, at least, was unreservedly attractive. The full firmness of his erection seemed to indicate a continued approval.]
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Which explains why he knew to let him go- and why he's not as surprised at the resulting depth in his mark. But the sight of Emet-Selch's eye on him has Mettaton's ears lifting, the robot's interest only increasingly stoked. Emet-Selch's a splendid view, with his body flush and on display for Mettaton... but Mettaton feels sparks alight in his body at the thought of being watched from Emet-Selch's end, his every kiss and movement to be recorded by an exclusive, privileged audience.
Sight and vision was Mettaton's crutch. A part of him ached. Any time he felt the want for more, any time he felt his fingertips pressing firm into skin only to see how he was denting Emet-Selch's thigh, a press more than he thought, he can't help but ache. Had he never been granted the stronger ability for sensation, he would've never known what he was missing. Mettaton EX was his perfect body, and it failed in no ways. In itself, he could do everything save for taste, and that, he'd been content to imagine. He'd been content to imagine a lot of the things he didn't understand, and as for the senses and physicality he'd gained... it fulfilled completely, having not realized that there was more he could gain.
And then he got more. And then he found Emet-Selch; and then they dove head-first into the depths of experience and intensity, and it left Mettaton feeling for those sensations again. So he presses, and presses harder, not realizing just how hard he pressed. A once-delicate hand is delicate in movement, but every touch is firmer. He hasn't gotten used to the way he used to be after spending years as a puca.
The cock before him stood tall and swollen; Emet-Selch doesn't explicitly answer how it feels. Only one of Mettaton's ears makes any indication of his notice, swiveling in curiosity at the omission before deciding he knew already why it was being omitted. For the same reason Mettaton ached.
And the reason it's omitted, too, is because of their love. His smile gentles, and he sinks low to the mage's crotch. With a sigh, his eye's drawn to Emet-Selch's arousal before pressing his face there, burying himself against the full heat of his cock with a soft groan. Nuzzling against him, Mettaton can't bring himself to close his eye even this close up, when he enjoyed the sight of his mate's body flush to his face.]
I like it when you wear accessories provided by me.
[He's muffled by the root of Emet-Selch's cock, which he talks flush to. Burying himself deeper, his lips are pressed to his balls, pursed in a kiss and treated to a nuzzle. A hand moves along Emet-Selch's thigh to grip at his cock, steadying it enough so that he can give the full length of him kisses from beneath, applied so sloppy that he'd definitely be glistening with saliva if the idol could produce it.
Because if visuals were what they had, if Emet-selch was soaking him in with as much intensity as he did him, the robot wanted to make sure he inspired.]
And... I concede. When I am an accessory of yours, too. [He plants a firm kiss to the tip of his erection, giving him just a gentle pet with his tongue.]
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(Even then, he knew they would dream for more, at least in the sense of having more avenues for penetration, and especially the ability to come, just as they had in their earliest encounters with Mettaton as a puca. But the amount they were lacking on top of an absent cock, wouldn't be felt so keenly. The baseline would be different; Mettaton being able to touch and hold and feel at all would be delightful.
It still was. But they both knew better.)
Emet-Selch was still aware that for all that he missed what Mettaton was missing, that Mettaton would be in a far sorrier state, in having all this arousal, but no way to show it through a hard cock, no way of filling him with seed. When they'd briefly shared a body as god, he'd felt something of the puca-ized robotic experience, the way pressure and fluid had pooled in them, as they fascinated over their combined form. The utter relief when Mettaton had shapeshifted an erection for them to handle was something he wouldn't forget.
So he tries now to not think too far, too openly, on what he wished Mettaton still had. Neither of them were any less interested in one another sexually- which of course was its own problem, the reason it was difficult to not ache over what they no longer had.
But Mettaton's groan is echoed by a soft moan on his part, when the taller man returns to his erection, the press of his face and brush of his lips sending a jolt of wanting through him. He shudders at the sight, of his own length flush and full to his lover's face, a warmth that the mage could feel, at least.]
Is there any I would turn down wearing, if it came from you?
[Whether it was a pattern of bruises, or pieces of jewelry. Though when it came to more intimate items, was there anywhere here they could even buy cock rings from....
For that matter, was there any place to buy lubrication. It would get expensive, fast, if they had to beg the Crystal for a new bottle every time they ran out. And with Mettaton being a very dry robot, they would still need it for a lot of things. Was there any sort of sex shop in town?
But he tries to not think too far in that vein; it would be easy enough to bitterly question the point of it, even if it was there. He breathes another moan instead, as though he weren't distracted, watching his cock be treated to a series of kisses, messy in sight, if not in residue. Held steady by Mettaton's hand, it was a vision to get caught up in, and one that he tries to, thighs tense on either side of his head.
Pushing himself up to lean back on his elbows to better watch him, he exhales slowly.]
Though I appreciate decorating you as well.
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Oh, I'm sure I could find some you'd turn down, with your discerning eye. Haha.
[...Because their tastes ran different, and Mettaton knew that. Especially as Emet-Selch had griped and denied his assistance back when he'd fully lost his sight, the terror of Mettaton's decision-making for his daily wardrobe making him choose nudity or robes. Heaven forbid that his idol of a husband go wild and dress him in something he wouldn't like. They had their own tastes, even when Mettaton thought his tastes were always good. He still respected it, and even enjoyed it, when Emet-Selch's opinion differed from his own.
With a sigh, the cheeky grin dissipates into something sultry and hot, as he turns toward Emet-Selch's erection to further kiss it. If he kisses him sloppily, suction is not made in any bruising way; he latches onto him only to release, silicone lips drifting up, down, and around his shaft, pressed close to his own face by a clawed hand. His silver, black-tipped ears lean forward once more, entirely drawn in by Emet-Selch's body.
And his attention, as Mettaton couldn't help but glance up at him, eager to see his eyes on him. Each time he does, his ears spring up, then nearly flop forward in overcome, electricity coursing hot within the limits of his body... (And he wonders: just where is he to put all of this energy? He squirms; it'd be hard to tell at this angle, but possible, when Mettaton presses his legs tightly together and gasps, his imagination running wild just to envision the heaviness of the cock he'd have...)]
I trust that you'd decorate me impeccably, darling. Any time. I look good in anything, but... [A nearly-sucking kiss right to the tip has Mettaton prodding him with a pink tongue, but not too much: without fluid, he knew too much rubbing would just tug and irritate.] Whatever you choose to adorn me with... will surely catch both our eyes.
[Rings, jewelry, clothes... his come. Mettaton exhales over his cock, kissing him back down his shaft so that he's buried at the root, as Mettaton compresses his stiff cock against his own face for a nuzzle. (He's so rigid, he thought, admiring the firmness that coupled arousal. And firm in addition to that was the spread of his thighs, as a quick glance to the side shows him the way his legs tense under obscene attentions.
(Where would they get lube from? It seemed that with an absence of human residents, so too was there an absence for sex shops... Unless they had just managed to evade Mettaton's notice. How many bottles of lube could they get from how many shards... He'd have to budget for that, while trying to similarly get Emet-Selch's creation powers back, which would solve all the problems.)
With a smirk, and a half-open glance of Emet-Selch's sprawled body before him, Mettaton presses another series of kisses, from his balls to his root, before speaking flush to his body.]
As for you... There's also the appeal in just seeing you totally bare of anything. So much real estate, for jewelry and kisses...
[He doesn't mention the come he'd love to leave him messy with. He closes his eye instead, humming and continuing to lave Emet-Selch's erection with kisses.]
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[Or he was weak to persistence (and Mettaton's pleasure). (Of course, he could be contrary too, or just stubborn, but he felt as though Mettaton could get him to do things more often than not.)
As the robot returns to sultry suggestion, laving the stiff length nudged against his face with attention, Emet-Selch returns to watching him- not that he'd ever truly stopped.
He mostly trusted that Mettaton would remember to not suck too hard at any part of his cock, when there was nothing to soften (or slicken) the pressure. A trace of guardedness did remain, though, due to the familiar unfamiliarity of the situation. But it was a tension that was not unlike the rest of his; an attentiveness that would've been there regardless.
And while all these kisses would've normally been enough to tease him into asking, needing something fuller, however that manifested, that sort of desperation felt far on the horizon- if he reached it at all. Partially because there was nothing to beg for.
But it was pleasant to look at, to see Mettaton with his lips on his balls, to watch the other man nearly squirm in his arousal, and he wondered if the idol was enjoying this more than he was. Which wasn't a problem, to him, though he did find it ironic. But he hums a soft noise, deliberately nudging his cock against Mettaton's face. An assent of some kind, either to Mettaton's ability to wear anything at all, or that his own taste was perfect when it came to selecting something for the robot.
The wedding rings he'd picked for him brought a sentimental ache to think of- and a comfort to remember that Mettaton had been given back one of them. A memory that went right to his cock were all the times where he saw his come on his body, whether it was against Mettaton's waist, or between thighs, or at his lips. Anywhere it smeared or dripped... was a compelling argument for its presence.]
If you would have me bare... I would have a hard time arguing against the convenience. [Anything about his condition could be visible from a glance, from bruises to arousal.] However, I would miss those times when you disrobe me, whether in full or only part.
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