[So he'd given in, repeatedly; at best, Emet-Selch had accepted that he always would. He couldn't move on, couldn't accept what they had left without persistent grief. Even while Mettaton had approached him less often with the more physical forms of intimacy (and that the smaller man had tried to view them as something other than an attempted prelude to sex), Emet-Selch had felt less relief, and more guilt. A reminder of what he wasn't doing- which of course did little to put him in the mood for anything. But he'd tried to offer affection, contact, to not withdraw as he had been, if with only mixed success. It was a process.
And it hurt, from every angle. Even wishing wasn't a painless thing.
But right now, it was worth it; if there was hurt to follow, he could dwell on it later, could fail to work out the more complicated feelings that went with this wish being granted. That he did it on his own went without saying, to him; he'd stubbornly told Mettaton that he would restore everything they needed, with his own shards, without help. This... just happened to be first. What felt the most important to bring back, somehow.
And to enhance it? More than he ever had. While he hadn't expressly wished for that, something that went beyond what Mettaton had experienced as a robotic puca, it was a positive bonus, and the mage makes a small noise against him. Presses his lips to the top of the rectangle, while he shifts in place, wanting to arch into the pet of his spine, to soak in every touch, just as Mettaton was doing with him. Melding into him, it was a plea for closeness more than it was a demand, and for all that it was his own fault that he felt so bereft of it... it wouldn't stop him from reaching out now, for holding and touching him now, with a grip that might bruise himself.
Although... this hadn't been all that he'd wished for. It was enough, though; he wasn't disappointed. Knowing that Mettaton could hold him, could experience the world with him in greater depth- if that was the entirety of what he'd been granted, he wouldn't resent it.
Barely managing to loosen his grip as Mettaton comments on it, he strokes tensely down his sides. It's not quite awkward, but there's a heavy kind of silence to him, as he weighs whether to ask about it.]
...It wasn't only your sensation that I wished for.
[He says it like a confession, lips against smooth metal. The grip of his arms tight enough to leave angled imprints through the sleeves of his robe, his fingers rub more absently at Mettaton as he hesitates. He hadn't specified how he'd wanted Mettaton to, well, have access to a cock. He'd tried more specific wishes in the past, and been ignored. In case that was the problem, he left it vague. Heartfelt, but vague. Which also meant he didn't know how this part of his wish would choose to manifest, if it even would.]
[His passion for Mettaton goes heard. Mettaton can feel his plea in the curve of his body, in the shift of his posture, in the gentlest suggestion of an arch to his spine... he could feel so much now, after all, and it only felt like he had to wait years for it. A drought of sensation that left him feeling... all of this.
He'd be lying if he said it wasn't extraordinarily overwhelming. Emphasis on the extraordinary. Is this really how humans felt all the time...? How Emet-Selch felt?
Mettaton can't dwell on what this meant before. He doesn't have the headspace to mourn how Emet-Selch must've felt, knowing that the robot couldn't answer this depth of feeling, that their embraces, admittedly, paled in comparison to what they could be. To be on his end, feeling everything and knowing the other party couldn't feel... it was suffering on either end, as Mettaton pined for something deeper, while Emet-Selch longed for a time where he could be felt. He understood, and had understood to start... but to have this- Mettaton knew instantly that at least something between them had been righted. What progress they had made had been a process... and with the ability to wish it all back, it would be more of a process of suffering than it had to be.
Because he could feel him so sharply, all over again. No longer would the onus be placed on Emet-Selch, as much as Mettaton had ever regretted that. They could experience with each other, and the idol knew how much Emet-Selch treasured Mettaton's ability for sensation. The answer: almost as much as he did for himself, really, which was flattering and worth fondness.
Emet-Selch clings tighter to him, only to let loose slightly. Sensitive to it all, Mettaton relinquishes him just enough for him to adjust himself, to shift against his body as he asks after... another wish.]
Hmm? ... Ah...
[It dawns on him quickly, what Emet-Selch means by this. And the fact of the matter is: it's a question, if tinged like a statement, one colored by confession. Mettaton unconsciously grips Emet-Selch tighter; he feels that electricity jolt in his body. A heady excitement sinks heavily in him, and he returns the stroke of his side with a similarly tense one down Emet-Selch's, from his chest to his waist. (Almost his hip. But he stops short.)]
... Given all else I feel differently, it's hard to tell what else is new. [Could it be part of his shapeshifting repertoire? He considers it, as he forces Emet-Selch to separate just slightly from him.] Shall I do the honors, and... check for any new developments?
[It's not impossible to shapeshift something as a box-bot, of course, and Mettaton tries to think about how this world does shapeshifting... But for now, he can barely separate them- and he finds himself crushing the smaller man against his front again, too lured by the sensation of his body, his lips, aginst himself.]
[Even if sensation at all was a boon, something to be grateful for, Mettaton's bodies tangible and able to be held, noticed, this was a step far advanced of that. And he'd missed it, sorely and terribly, even when he'd burrowed against him in search of what company he could claim. A burrowing, a clinging that felt wholly different from what he was doing now, as though he'd finally reached him, even if it had taken magic to do it.
And immense as it was, could there be more? What else he'd wished for... Emet-Selch could feel that his husband had caught on quickly enough to his meaning; that tighter grip was answer enough. Their desires weren't exactly hidden from each other, their history of gratuitous sexual contact something difficult to forget, even when it hurt. And where they could do so much with this greater sensitivity, he was certain- there was no reason to not see whether they could go even further than that. (No reason beyond the risk of disappointment.)
He feels a rush of something like expectation, hope- though he also attempts to temper it somewhat, even at the lure of a hand running down his chest, side, and the accompanying heady awareness that Mettaton could feel what he was doing. The muffling of fabric would be a tease rather than dullness on top of dullness; like this, there was the promise of more (though the sharpness of the pang of want that he felt at the idea- it was greater than he would've expected, exasperatingly so).]
I didn't specify how it should manifest. [He adds, as another admittance; he couldn't suggest for what Mettaton should be looking for. It was perhaps too trusting, to leave it up to whatever force was granting these wishes- but from what he'd heard and seen of other wishes being granted, they weren't delivered in a twisted way. It would be something acceptable, or nothing. (Not that he could rule out some cruel disappointment. He never could.)] If there's anything more out of place... a new ability, or....
[Knowing, trusting that Mettaton wouldn't be moving far, his own hold relents slightly to permit the robot the space to lean back. Nor does he question his lover's apparent intent to feel out for something new while in his current rectangular configuration. It was true that they'd never indulged in it together, but not for lack of ability.
...Not that either of them seemed inclined to move far from each other. Space was difficult to claim, and when he finds himself clutched tight to the front of Mettaton again, there was nothing he could do but return that grasp. If the robot had possessed a lap, he would have crawled into it by now. Kissing ardently to metal, it was true that he had no lips to meet, no mouth to claim- but he was enticed all the same by the idea that his lover could properly feel what he was doing, from the warmth of his face to the grip of his hands.]
[Could Mettaton manage a cock even as a rectangle? Likely so, once he figured out the ropes. But there was another, better reason to change into his EX form, and his display flickers between red and yellow to accompany his fondness- and his overwhelm, at being so held and kissed. He shudders a sigh, petting over Emet-Selch's back once more, encouragingly.]
Hades...
[These are sensations he missed. He missed them so much that it hurt doubly when it was highlighted that he lacked them, or when it made him feel that much less real... though he knew Emet-Selch, too, was suffering in his own right, isolated and reaching. In its way it still hurts to know that this was stripped from him... but with it returned, the air itself reminded him how tangible he really was. And every kiss applied reminded him of the chill of saliva, of the way lips were warm, only to leave you cold without. A cause for more kisses, of course, until they were both overheated.
As Mettaton feels that chill, juxtaposed against that warmth. And Emet-Selch's body- warm, pressed flush to him, and he could just imagine the way he'd feel straddled over his lap... Electricity courses through him again, in a way he missed, in a way he couldn't feel before- and he wondered, then, if this was some indication of how Emet-Selch's wish manifested. The very notion that he could properly exhibit his arousal, combined with the way Emet-Selch gripped him and kissed him, elicits a groan from the affected robot, who clutches his prize, tattoo luminous and alive with their connection.]
I can think of a lot of good reasons to transform... So, I will. [Which meant that they needed a little bit of separation again, as Mettaton lifts his hands and gingerly coaxes Emet-Selch back by his shoulders.] Not least of all... how it feels to kiss your lips, and show you my heat.
[And, of course, explore the wild world of magically-induced dick. However that would go.
Properly separated from Emet-Selch, the idol's quick to activate his transformation. Just enough of a fog (scentless and benign, really just for show) is released to obscure the grisly parts of a mechanical transformation, as Mettaton's body is reconfigured, metal planes replaced with the curves of a humanoid body. And even before that smokescreen entirely clears, Mettaton gasps.]
Oh! Ohh, my...
[The robot finds himself leaping to his feet. Adjusting his footing, his legs... before shuddering intensely, metal trembling with him. With a grunt he so obviously, and shamelessly, handles his crotch, palming it. Voice hitching at the sensation alone, he presses his thighs together, glancing down his body (and leaning enough so that he could peer over his ample chest).
Emet-Selch would find nothing special there. But Mettaton's behavior suggests otherwise. No bulge, no cock. Mettaton hesitates.]
I... feel something, though... [Discoveries await them, apparently. Mettaton doesn't seem discouraged... but restlessly he shifts, examining his body in the wake of clearing haze.]
[To hear a groan come from the box he held has him shiver in reply, hands sliding down his sides, fingers brushing incidentally again over the robot's tattoo. It was natural, the way they wanted to clamber all over each other- so natural, that they'd barely done anything like it over these past few months together. An uncomfortable memory he pushes aside for now, in favor of holding Mettaton close. Electricity couldn't exactly pass between them, but something seemed alight all the same, a current (that should have been there all along) that nearly burned. Softly, he nuzzles him, at the sound of his name. He still couldn't believe that it had worked--
A small noise, quickly stifled and barely audible, is the automatic response to Mettaton cutting off the contact between them. But Emet-Selch doesn't offer resistance beyond a twitch of tension in his arms, letting himself be guided back, gaze focused with singular intent on the other man. An attentiveness and visible longing that was vulnerable in itself. Of wishing he could have shown him this the whole time, no matter the condition of Mettaton's body- but needing this bridge all the same.
It was what it was. Exhaling a slow breath, he waves him onward, before letting his hands fall heavily into his lap.]
Show me. Every trace of it- every part of your heat.
[Dick hopefully included. Emet-Selch forces himself to sit back properly, sinking into the cushions of the couch. Partially to get a better view of his lover's transformation, and partially to aid in resisting the impulse to reach for him.
Without delay, that familiar smokescreen is released, and Mettaton's form is hidden from him entirely, the process a continued mystery, even after all this time. Yet even before he could see the result, could make out more than a humanoid shape beyond the fog, the idol's voice cuts through it, as the now-taller man lunges to his full height. Impatient- and uncommonly excited- the Ascian is made to wait to see what had elicited his lover's reaction.
The haze finally clears; automatically, his eyes fall upon Mettaton's crotch, as the other man gripped it, squirming in place, clutching at... nothing? Everything about his response spoke of immediate and shameless arousal, a combination that has his own pulse speed, his muscles tighten in sympathetic desire- but he couldn't see anything there.
His brow furrows, expression more confused than disappointed. There was no question that Mettaton was aroused... and if no cock ever appeared, that much would still be true. As they both took in this reaction, one that spoke of more than was visible, Emet-Selch wrests his attention from between his husband's thighs, and back towards his face.]
Something... other than your restored sensitivity?
[Where skepticism would've usually bloomed, he sounds more hopeful instead, despite himself. There was a good deal they could still enjoy, if Mettaton's reaction to handling his bare crotch was anything to go by- but he'd be lying if he pretended that he didn't actively miss his husband's cock. The ability to bring him, to see him in climax- it mattered to him (even apart from the simple attractiveness in all that surrounded the process).
But there was also no denying that there was no sign of any cock, as yet. And nowhere for it to be hiding, unless it was underneath silicone... somehow.
Though he longed to touch him, his hand even lifting from his lap before he realizes, he holds himself back.]
Is it internal? [But where? And how were they meant to access it, then?] Or can you shapeshift, as you used to?
[The cacophony of Mettaton's impact, from his cry to the thud of his heels, the rattle of metal... only causes the dragon a light stir. They seem to have inherited a proclivity for napping, and this happens to be a deeper part of their snooze, comfortable under the sun's rays with only a pronounced flop as protest for all of the noise.
It is comfortable, and happy, its foot twitching slightly. Those who it recognizes as its parents are nearby, and it could feel something... pleasant between them. That is all it cares about.
Turning his attention instead to Emet-Selch rather than his legs, Mettaton excitably smiles, feeling properly stared down. Like predator to prey, as Emet-Selch wanted nothing short than to devour him- and it felt like a look he longed for for too long already. If he's prey, he's the most willing of them all, and it may be that he wishes to lure the smaller man in with his charms to do whatever he wished with him.
That look alone could do him in, he thought. Such single-minded intensity... He could swoon, and he sighs, noting how hot his body is already. God, he wanted to put on a show for him- and the ache between his legs is so heavy, so pronounced, that it surprises him again as he follows Emet-Selch's attention down south, only to continue seeing... nothing. Not even a hint of anything, despite the fact that he felt so much.
His lips part, as he attempts to explain precisely what he was feeling. With this pronounced ache between his thighs, it grows easy to focus only on the input immediately surrounding him... On the sensations that plague him currently, and that alone. Of the sight of luminous golden eyes fixed on him attentively, with hope tinging his gaze. Mettaton warms, softens.]
I feel like... Hades, you know the way you look when you're still dressed, but... [And even the memory, combined with his current sensation, has him exhale with a shudder.] When I've riled you up, and you can barely take another second while dressed. I feel just like that, ah...
[He felt restrained. Even the description has him pressing his thighs tensely together, knees shifting enough that they're nearly knocked. He presses and squeezes over the swell of his thighs, which feel... exceptionally plush, he thought. But his ability to feel must be the cause...
Was it a shapeshift? Was he imagining an erection, the way he might've imagined hare ears atop his head? Mettaton taps into his understanding of shapeshifting into a rabbit... and finds himself unable to change a thing in the direction of endowment. (Perhaps as soon as he figured out what was happening, that would change.) Fingers roving over his front, over his thighs, Mettaton's brow furrows.]
It really does feel like I'm... I know I'm right! But how can that be... Oh? Oh...?
[Bizarrely enough, the robot feels something right on his hip. And as he turns slightly, jutting his hip out to Emet-Selch, so too does his tattoo become apparent: printed over the seam in his torso, the tattoo glows bright, rings orbting as fluidly and steadily as they might in the Ascian's magic, glowing darkly. The stagelight's center manages to be white-hot without actually emitting any light, merely a trick of the eye. It wouldn't blind, in any case.
But Mettaton doesn't notice this, as he flicks at... what appears to be a very-well hidden zipper on his hip? Something that has never been a feature before now, as his brow furrows. His body's endured some kind of mechanical upgrade, and it happeend in the span of seconds, enough for the idol not to notice. But before he tugs that zipper down, his extendable arm gropes down the side of his leg- where he fiddles with the boot on his foot.]
It's... removable. It's all removable...
[This boot looks just like his old one. But for some reason... it as as though he could take it off. Even the black silicone that coated his legs seemed to be a removable feature- and just a sliver of silicone underneath peeked out, a tease of 'skin' that matched Mettaton's face. Not that any of that explained why nothing seemed visible in the front... Mettaton continues to observe himself, as he lifts a foot and carefully dislodges his shoe- which begins to slip off. He gawks, spellbound at this unexpected, but necessary development.]
[Emet-Selch has all but forgotten about their reptilian charge, politely staying out of the way and taking the opportunity to nap (a habit it 'inherited' honestly). His only reminder is the sight of the dragon-made tattoo, which had translated itself in as approximate a location as it had been on the rectangle (which implied that those pieces of metal were the same, somehow...). There was still no explanation for that, for why it happened, or if it served any purpose beyond aesthetics.
But the mage paid it only as much thought and attention as it deserved as a part of Mettaton's body- and he had the whole rest of him to appreciate as it was. Even though, aside from the glowing rings and their center light that looked as though it would be hot to the touch, everything seemed normal. Familiar, and undoubtedly attractive to him- especially when he caught his lover's smile, when their eyes briefly met, and the rest of the world bled away.
It felt as though some restraint, whether conscious or instinctive, defensive, had dissolved in him. Even if it might have been battered down in time, to look at Mettaton now and see him responding to the stimulus of existing in an aroused state, and to know how he would react to his touch, whether delicate or desperate- inspired more wanting than he thought he could bear. Desire was something that could be given into now, rather than denied- and for a moment, Emet-Selch wondered just who would be doing the devouring- but that they would be tearing into one another was a foregone conclusion.
And yet, there was no visible erection (and Emet-Selch was near certain that it would be an erection at this point, given the energy between them; though he wasn't yet fully hard himself, he was moving quickly in that direction, even if his body was ever one to lag behind). Even though Mettaton behaved as though there was, a heaviness between his thighs to bear the pressure that built in him, there was nothing to be seen. Breathlessly, he hums at the idol's description.]
More than look, I know the way it feels. All the discomfort you've caused me, while leaving me restricted for far too long.
[Though he also did appreciate the sight, of his erection growing firm, insistent enough to be visible through fabric, an outline that demanded to be noticed and spoke of his attention. But if Mettaton was feeling something like that, there was no sign of it, no tell-tale bulge... and why would there be? The silicone there wasn't fabric that could be tented... not in any non-permanent way.
But it wasn't a shapeshift either. Though he couldn't see, nor feel, the process behind the robot's given magics, he assumed he'd be feeling out for some new instinct having been implanted in him. Yet no cock emerged, so it wasn't that.
But something was going on, a process of discovery and sensation that he could only imagine, but it was enough to keep him from becoming disheartened, to resign himself to a (literally) anticlimactic end. He would trust in what Mettaton was feeling out- a trust that was soon rewarded when the robot found... something?]
It's--
[...removable? The Ascian simply stares as Mettaton discovers a heretofore unknown (and nonexistant) seam on his hip. A carefully crafted zipper, near-impossible to spot unless one were looking for something there- and with it, a permanently-grafted boot was suddenly not so permanent after all. Brows growing no less furrowed at this development, the smaller man unconsciously leans forward, scooting towards the edge of the couch to get a better look. To watch... whatever was happening.]
[How strange it was, to see Emet-Selch so clearly enamored when the months before he'd been distant. Mettaton couldn't tell if it was because he was feeling the world in so many shades of texture, that it felt more intense to him, or if... the smaller man really had shrugged off his reservations. And those reservations would be about Mettaton, about their ability to bond with each other when they lacked passionate physicality. Though there was a difference here, a significant one that Mettaton wasn't about to ignore.
He himself felt more overwhelmingly aroused than he had in months. It was no fault of his companion or even his vivid imagination... but rather, how far his body could perform that feature. It hadn't been designed to do that. (Though the promise to make him 'fuckable' was definitely there, if made by a particular scientist who... he didn't want to think too far about, lest he miss her too sharply. (Mettaton also only knew about this because he dug through her papers, and found some plans and very, very scrawly writing. She seemed flustered.) But that aside notwithstanding,) with the agumentation wished into being by his very own husband...
Mettaton sighs at the sight of him, distracted from removing his... skin. Or, feet. Shoes. It reminded him a little of when he was a Puca, and had rabbit-like feet... but somehow, the world's seen fit to give him his beloved pink heels as a replacement, as though simply modifying the design of his body. Could the Crystal really do all of this? Mettaton sighs with a silly smile even as Emet-Selch regards him with confusion, thinking all the while of their heated tangos with Emet-Selch pitching tents in his trousers, all for Mettaton to tease into continued existence with playful nudges of his thigh, or the sultry suggestion of what-he-wanted-to-do-to-him's.
He has to mumble in response, just for Emet-Selch to know.]
I love seeing you squirm, my dear.
[And he loved making him squirm some more. Then, he loved indulging him for his wait, and hearing him cry out as he's subdued, overcome... God, Mettaton realizes. Even he himself felt as though his shackles had been shed- because there wasn't a thought he felt he couldn't make good on! He brightens visibly--
Though he still has the task of finding that erection he's so sure he feels. (How cruel would it be, to give a phantom cock to a ghost? Mettaton knew he'd have to clear that maze just to track down Mr. Vaeros, and demand he fix it immediately.) When Emet-Selch starts, his proclamation makes Mettaton laugh.]
I don't know, beautiful! But let's find out, shall we? It seems I've underwent some sneaky changes... [Moving his attention from his shoe to meet Emet-Selch's eyes, he smirks.] Let's hope they're upgrades, rather than downgrades.
[His shoe is slipped off- not entirely an unusal sight, given his tenure as a Puca. But the foot beneath is not one of fur, but something entirely foreign to Mettaton. Humanoid, but plastic, it has... toes. It has an arch to its foot, and whatever metal framework makes him up is coated in fine white silicone. Sculpted to perfection, his calves are sheathed in black- and that, Mettaton realizes, is a curiosity indeed. He snorts.]
This is the first time I realized I was wearing pants. Are you sure you didn't wish for my decency, darling? [It's a tease, as he's been victim before of the accusation of his clothesless self. Robots don't need clothes! But with a hum, he contemplates this change- and the sensation he felt, hot in his thighs.] And if I did develop our desired equipment... it would be necessary...
[Skin-tight latex pants. That is the Mettaton Way now. But if he had something hidden there, if Emet-Selch wasn't being specific... perhaps it made sense that the universe (or the Overseer, clever and possibly fashionable man he is) sought to grant Mettaton propriety. Which still didn't explain the lack of notice to the front of his new 'pants,' but he suspends his thoughts to move along. After all, Emet-Selch is watching- closely.
It's with natural showiness that Mettaton takes to that zipper, leaving his other heel on. (They uncovered the mysteries of Removable Shoes, it was time to discover Removable Pants, even if it left him off-kilter.) He bares more of what would become his newly naked thigh, still snow white silicone all the way down to his mid-thigh. But whatever else there was to discover, the two of them have a presently burning question- and that was if he had Emet-Selch's wish granted.
Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eye, still unable to keep still, as he shifts his hips, pressing his legs together. Emet-Selch's lean for him was enchanting, and Mettaton sought to see his wishes granted, with all his heart. Dislodging the silicone from his waist (what a flawless fit; it had to be magic), Mettaton knew his heart would be pounding in anticipation to behold what he feels should be there, even while he questions how it would be possible at all. Shimmying them slightly down his hips is all it takes, as the robot shows himself off mid-strip for Emet-Selch.
As well as the brilliant, if magically deceptive, sight of his erection. Latex hugs the shaft tight, its bulbous tip swollen and heated, as Mettaton halts his stripping half-way down his hips. Those pants must be hot and magic, because there was no indication of this, an obvious, thick arch tight against Mettaton's body- and with a flush that is bright, hot pink, of all things. Who needs to have "natural" coloring when you're a robot themed in blacks, pinks, whites, and silvers??
Mettaton swallows, lips parted as he gives Emet-Selch a look. His wish had worked. It worked, if manifesting differently than expected- but his size, his girth, the exhibition of his overall arousal- Mettaton can do nothing but smile, woozy and wordless.]
Hades, I... God, I wanted this, for you to see... [All of how much he craved him. That's what he yearned for him to know, and this was a means for him to communicate that.]
[(And squirm he would, though he huffs at the reply, briefly managing to hold still, to at least pretend to calm. It wouldn't last very long, not when he wanted to make up for... everything. Not when he was moved this powerfully.)
A whole heel, removed. It did remind him a bit of Mettaton's prior puca-hood. By the time he'd met him, his legs had already been consumed by those monstrous changes, made into something lagomorphic rather than robotic. Which had come with the unexpected benefit of choice... as puca were a natural part of that world, and any number of them would want fancy footwear that could accommodate their particular feet. The market existed, and Mettaton could join it.
Here, though, his pink heels were the same as his leg; there would be no removing them. Until now.
(A strange oversight on the part of his body's designer, Emet-Selch felt. Given the opportunity, he knew Mettaton would love an array of boots to switch into on a whim, even if he also loved his default look.
Another oversight, of course, was Mettaton's (lack of) fuckability... and a far more crucial one, in his opinion.)
But his thoughts don't dwell too far on this unexpected side-development when it came to his lover's ability to switch shoes, or the existence of a humanoid foot underneath his heel (rather than a nest of wiring and bolts). Curious of an upgrade(?) as it was, it was still not an erection, and nor did there seem to be one hiding in his boot either. (Thankfully.)
So where was it? The mage stared unashamedly at his lover's crotch between looking up to his face, waiting for it (or rather, Mettaton) to reveal its secrets.
--All to snort at Mettaton's reply.]
A wish for your respectability is beyond anyone's ability to grant. I wouldn't waste my time trying.
[It had occurred to him, that were Mettaton to obtain a permanent addition, it would necessitate... changes. More specifically, it would require his husband to wear pants, as while nude robots were acceptable, nude robots sporting a visible erection were distinctly not, when it came to the public sphere. Even so, he'd left it up to fate, chance, or the designs of their Overseer. Or Mettaton himself, even, if unconsciously, finding a solution that would be acceptable to him.
Heart racing enough for the both of them, his fingers dig into the fabric at his thighs, as Mettaton teases with a zipper, turning the question of Where Was Mettaton's Cock? into a premier show, a tease for them both as more 'skin' was revealed. All the way until- there. Unmistakably vivid, and deceptively hidden until it was given permission for the suggestion of freedom. For the briefest moment, Emet-Selch's eyes close, and he exhales a shuddered breath, and something akin to a moan with it.
...It worked. His wish had been accepted in its entirety, from his lover's ability to feel, to his ability to show off his wanting with the proper endowment. One that suited Mettaton in size, shape- even coloring, unnaturally pink as it was.
(Should he have wished for a penetrable ass with it, comes the passing thought- a wish for another time, he supposed, though this reveal of Mettaton's Pants would at least solve the problem of continued respectability, when it came to that point (or rather, hole) as well.)
And what a magical solution, he couldn't help but marvel at, eyes opening again to take him in, the thick length still held tight, but permitted the touch of air. Some magic had to have been given to his lover's 'pants', to hide what would have otherwise been an utterly indecent bulge. Even if Mettaton hadn't been erect, it would have been obvious. Distractingly obvious. But like this, he could tuck himself away with no one the wiser as to what he was packing... all to suffer with the mage, whenever he became aroused while contained. (A concept that pleases the Ascian immediately, terribly. Even if Mettaton would have the 'mercy' of being spared the risk of tenting fabric in public, he'd feel it all the same, just as he did.)
Swallowing, he glances up, looking back to Mettaton's face as he speaks, stricken with him. Complicated emotions remained, as was the nature of love and attachment- but the fierce ache of desire threaded through it all, regret not enough to outweigh it.]
I knew- I always knew, but....
[He knew how Mettaton wanted him. He didn't need a cock- or even sensitivity- for Emet-Selch to know it. But it had hurt them both, to not have it available, to not have something tangible to hold onto. Edging forward, nearly leaving the couch entirely, he reaches out to touch the robot's thigh, to skim fingers along the 'bared' part of it, skirting around his erection itself, for all that he longed to grasp it. There was so much- how many fantasies were there, that they could now make good on--]
--It still needs testing, though, don't you think?
[That he was now properly hard himself, Emet-Selch is only distantly aware of. A warmth, a faint dizziness given how quickly blood had been drawn low, but apart from the background pleasure of it, he doesn't think anything on it. The normal result, when he had Mettaton's erection available.]
[Mettaton would argue that he could change the design of his feet. His shoes were removable- but they really just came off, the full thing. ...The ability to take off a shoe was leaps and bounds easier, though, because shoes were made for all kinds of people. His? They had to be custom-built. Inconvenient.
If he hadn't been aroused before, Mettaton knew that the intensity with which he stared between the robot's thighs would've been enough provocation on its own to get him there. Any pretense of respectability is shed, the vague nature of Emet-Selch's request granting Mettaton a cock, all right- and the necessary features to continue concealing it, as the achingly hot, pink tip of himself suggests one very interesting feature. His pants were not unlike a bag of holding, except for heavy cocks, aching with arousal.
...A blessed inclusion, he'd consider later, even if right at this very moment he wanted to be bulging, to be tenting his pants and showing his want. No, he would continue to masquerade as a sexless robot, all while concealing a very prominent secret.
The sight of Emet-Selch's eyes gracefully slipping shut could be enough provocation on its own to lunge for him, though Mettaton's knees feel like jelly for the moment, overwhelmed at the feeling of himself with such a heady, deep ache, and the evident overcome on Emet-Selch's features. The sound of his moan- god Mettaton had longed for that sound, and to be responsible for it without even touching him. He feels agonizingly hard, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
(That he would privately suffer any erections sported at inconvenient times... Mettaton scratches that. It would be proper and decent, but he wouldn't be the only one to know. He would need to tell Emet-Selch- who he knew would be waiting impatiently for the grand review, only so he could agitate him in the meantime. A shuddered breath on Mettaton's part slips into a sweet, airy moan, thighs pressed together at the thought.)
The robot's hands press over his own thighs, as though threadbare will alone keeps him from grappling his own erection and stroking himself for show. But as soon as Emet-Selch reaches for him, the robot lifts his hands, granting Emet-Selch instead that plane of touch- and the spark he feels upon contact with his thigh is enough to make him moan, knees nearly buckling. And somehow, the unconscious knowledge exists that Emet-Selch is undoubtedly hard- and he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted to feel him touch him all over, and to touch his body in return.
Mettaton nods fiercely, slipping his thumb into the waistband of his new... pants. He can't help himself as he adjusts the tight latex, slipping lower down his shaft before letting it rest. Fabric crowds his cock, pinning it tight against his body in a way that was agonizing but relieving at once: agonizing to feel it so tight and aching, and relieving to ache at all, like this.]
I do think that, [He breathes, trying to shift his posture. The height of his heels makes the shifting of his weight very difficult, though feeling this electrified has Mettaton stilled, wavering, fingers digging into his thigh on one side and reaching for Emet-Selch with the other. He twines his digits in with the ample fabric of his robe, for steadiness and to keep a grip on him at all, as he attempts to lure the smaller man to take him to the bedroom.]Take me to bed, beautiful. I want to feel you with... with all of this impossible clarity you've given me.
[A kindness immense. Mettaton shivers, overcome at the sight of him- aware that this was something he'd wished for, and he knew that it had far less to do with Emet-Selch's own libido, and more to do with his own comfort. His own self-expression...
There are two compelling reasons to not stick to the couch. The awful sensation is one. (Mettaton could deal, though it would inevitably distract him in moments of clarity or calm.) The other, of course, is keeping thei love-making away from the dragon. They could leave it to its slumber, and take to the bedroom. Though Mettaton grins, leaning into Emet-Selch's touch.] I'd like to feel as much as possible... and Hades. Your warmth, against me- I want to feel that too.
[(A brief, intrusive thought: where was his cock when Mettaton had been in his rectangular configuration? How had it not come out when he'd shifted between them?)
Even though he could see it happening, those pants were an impressive work of containment, in managing to hide all of his husband's sex beneath them without splitting, and without even showing more than what had been explicitly revealed. Of course, when they were together like this, Emet-Selch knew that they would have both appreciated the sight of a visible outline of his length, a look more than suggestive but one that begged to be touched, teased into getting harder yet. Just watching Mettaton slide latex down his girth caused his breath to catch with a small noise, something sympathetic; though he was also dressed, he wasn't bound anywhere near so tightly. And if Mettaton found it difficult to resist stroking himself, freeing his cock completely and wrapping his hand around it, Emet-Selch found it similarly challenging to not do the same.
(Mettaton had boasted more of a wardrobe than himself, on other worlds (and if that wasn't true yet here, it soon would be- especially with Emet-Selch's own proclivity towards identical robes and identical robes only). If they wanted to play with his public capacity for decency, it would be easy for the robot to switch one set of pants for another whose ability to cover ran mundane.
But for all the times when Mettaton went 'unclothed'... what lay beyond would be their secret.)
Those future thoughts were there, if only in some hazy way that would take time to be defined. No, it was mostly there as an impression of what they now could do together, could have together, clothed and bare, inside the bedroom or wherever they happened to be.
But the bedroom seemed like the right destination this time, a bed the most practical place for what they wanted, and when Mettaton moans, shifts in place with a squeeze of thighs that he wanted to be between, he was ever more certain of it. Both in terms of comfort, in materials more forgiving than the weave of the couch, and in terms of space for them both, which the couch also lacked. (The couch's durability too, for that matter... even if it would probably hold, why risk it?
Emet-Selch still remembered the lesson of the Chair (the lesson was to not try to fuck in chairs that were not built for that). Not that something like that would be likely to stop him now, should some other bit of furniture give way (though he would gripe nonetheless)).
He'd hoped for sensation. He'd wished for a proper cock to go with it, to make use of and provide relief for the need sensation would create. But for temperature to come with it, more than Mettaton had ever had before as a robot- went beyond what he would have thought to ask for, and for the first time he was grateful. And now that it was there, it would be difficult to understate how much he wanted that aspect, for his lover to feel his heat all along his body.]
You'll have it. All the warmth I can give you.
[Rising up, drawn easily away from the couch, it took concerted effort to not continue that movement all the way into melding tight to the robot's body, to press a half-covered erection against his fully concealed one. ...But they had a bedroom to get to, and the desire to strip down, and to see Mettaton fully- he wanted both of those things as quickly as possible. Giving in and grinding against him here would be counterproductive (if enjoyable).
Impossible to resist was the need for a kiss- though he keeps it relatively brief, nearly chaste, as his hands reach up to drag Mettaton down into it. It had been several minutes since the robot had transformed into this shape, one with lips that could be met and kissed, and it felt a travesty that he'd gone without. An understandable one, though, as Mettaton's leap from the couch and fondling of himself, groping at an erection neither of them could see- well, it was a distraction.
But he'd take that kiss now, lips soft and warm against firm silicone, and another shiver of want courses through him at the idea that Mettaton could feel, could well and truly feel this. It felt regrettable to have to draw back, and his eyes linger on him all the same, as he swallows again. The fabric of his robes moves, brushes against the other man's body, but he otherwise manages to maintain a slight distance when he lets go with a brief stroke of the taller man's face.]
--Can you walk like....
[With one heel off, (with Mettaton's boots off, he wondered absently whether they would be around the same height), it would be an awkward way of getting anywhere. Nor could Emet-Selch teleport them even the shortest distance, or do anything to make things magically easier.
It's not about to stop him from grasping for one of Mettaton's hands (the one with their wedding ring; gods, there was still so much to recover, and he was touched all over again at the thought of this one piece being dear enough to his husband to wish over in his absence), squeezing it tight, and practically dragging him towards the bedroom. It's at least not a far journey; their cottage's diminutive size having the lone advantage of never being far from a bed.]
[(Indeed, Mettaton has an exciting future of wearing clothes ahead of him, and he would be eager to use it as an opportunity to go unrestrained around his husband. And even the times where that wasn't the intent, to be so obscenely obvious... who was to say that it couldn't evolve that way? If the robot was sporting a glamorous pair of actual hotpants, he could do it without this latex covering... and the consequences would be showing off his equipment, if they were too tight, or if he was otherwise erect.
So many thoughts for the future. And unlike before, all of them were achievable.)
Even standing here before Emet-Selch, the tip of his cock peeking out from over the waistband of his pants, reminds Mettaton of the ambient chill compared to his overwhelming heat. It wasn't a cold day by any means but it still impressed upon him the sensation of "colder," and Mettaton feels every... nerve(???) in his body responding to it by warming even more. By shifting and moving, watching Emet-Selch in his lean as he promises heat, and rises to meet him.
Sparks fly between them so quickly and profusely that Mettaton wonders if they'd magnetize, coming together and being quite unable to come apart. He exhales shakily, pressing his palms against his hips and flexing his fingers against himself to remind himself to keep from getting so handsy, or showing off to Emet-Selch the power of his libido.
Barely able to resist—and completely incapable of stooping in and meeting Emet-Selch half-way. But the sensation of being dragged into it draws a moan out of Mettaton readily, and he shudders, the sensation of his lover's heat a hint of what he had to enjoy. It takes all of his power not to deepen it, and he nearly gives, a flick of his tongue the taste of heat he desires...
If there was any reason to part, it's to murmur, ] You're so soft, I...
[It stuns him silent. He knew all along of Emet-Selch's tenderness, but to feel it for himself was its own experience. The dance of fabric against his body, billows of robe brushing over him, has his breath hitch all over again- has Mettaton jolt slightly, a tickle where he was so, so sensitive, and attuned to Emet-Selch's every touch.
When he shivers, shudders, engrossed in the arousal that came from every last sensation if he lost himself to it all, he almost misses Emet-Selch's question. It's only when the mage takes his hand that he recalls the sound of his voice and actually translates its contents into language that he grounds himself—both literally and figuratively.
That is, he shifts his ample weight between feet.]
Like this? Honey, [He starts, playfully squeezing Emet-Selch's hand and flashing him a grin.] I 'walk' on a pole and wheel. I can handle an unsteady gait.
[Had he ever done it? No, actually! But Mettaton believes in his ability to. It wasn't as though he could pull anything or cause any damage anyway, though he lets the smaller man draw him along, attention bright at the notion that Emet-Selch is quite hurried despite his question. He even giggles: Even if I couldn't, I have a feeling he'd be tugging me along just to get the trip over with quickly, he thinks, smile reaching his eye in his pleasure.
Emet-Selch guides them in; Mettaton closes the door behind them. They're quickly in the bedroom together, and Mettaton continues to press onward toward the bed, crowding Emet-Selch as much as possible without getting too flush with him. But like this he switches places with him, taking a seat at the edge of the bed so that he can fold his leg over his knee and work his second heel off. (Indeed, he had no problems with it.) Slipping pink down over skin-tight latex, MTT rolls his ankle as soon as he releases his foot—as he marvels over the change, if just for a moment. And there's... so much to marvel over, as his attention roves up his shin and toward his thighs, his lap...
Then, back to Emet-Selch, heat brimming in his gaze.]
You, my love... deserve to unwrap me. I am your wish... And I want to watch your reaction to my body.
[(How many times had they gone out without the express intent of getting horny over each other, and yet their thoughts still took them in that direction? And once started, it was difficult to stop- not that Emet-Selch could remember much in the way of trying, in that regard. But why would they? It was rare that whatever they were doing was more interesting, more important than sex. And back then, he could teleport, rendering it an easy thing to retreat into privacy.
Now he couldn't. But what would keep them from playing so dangerously in the future?)
Even the sound of a moan coming from his lover has the Ascian's breath hitch, their kiss nearly interrupted for that reason too. With the sound, he could practically feel the mutual inclination to go deeper than this- and the mutual work it took to stop.
But he's softened instead at being called soft, weakened in a way that hurt, but something that he wouldn't ever seek to ease. That most of all made it near-impossible to resist taking on another kiss, the need to show all the tenderness he felt, how soft his body would be next to his (and yet how hard it would be in certain areas). This way of expression suited them best, he felt- and how he'd missed it--
Somehow they resist taking it further right there. And Emet-Selch expected Mettaton to be able to handle a bit of uneven walking, though the reminder of his familiarity of moving about on a single wheel earns him a quietly amused, if breathless, sound, an acknowledgement. Even if, for some reason the robot couldn't make the small distance on his own, Emet-Selch could drag him. Unglamourously (and probably uncomfortably, now that the robot would be able to feel the floor he was pulled across), but successfully. He had wrangled his unconscious body into a bed, when his wish for his healing had knocked the idol out. He would wrangle his conscious body too.
But it was fortunately and expectedly unnecessary, the retreat to their bedroom uneventful and as smooth as it might be. With the world shut out behind them, they were alone. Together.
With Mettaton seated at the edge of the bed, he watches as the other boot is removed, another foot revealed, complete in its craftsmanship. Another curious feature, but one he can only spend a moment's attention to, when there was all else about his lover to observe. It had already felt a challenge to part from one another long enough for the other man to sit down, to work off his boot, rather than follow him onto the bed, to sit on top of him and kiss him hard.
Though as Mettaton invites him to do the honors of undressing him, he does lean over to leave a kiss next to his functional eye, before slipping down next to him on the bed in a heap of robes. Exhaling carefully, his eyes roam over planes of silicone and metal, before landing between his thighs, to gaze unabashedly at the bright pink poking suggestively free. Something so unnatural shouldn't be so appealing, but his hand reaches for him before he's even aware of it. A single, soft brush of a finger across Mettaton's very tip, before a stroke downward, following where he imagined an outline.]
...My prize. And how neatly packaged.
[And tightly wrapped at that. From one touch to another, his fingers take to the edge of the latex, and work their way underneath, and begin tugging it downward. This wasn't some normal fabric, something that could be slipped off with ease, made for being shed- this was skin-tight, and made for Mettaton in particular. Haste mingles with patience in his touch, as the desire to extend this moment, to savor each and every inch of him revealed, warred with a desperation to see him bared.]
I've wanted- I've dreamt of this moment so often.
[Perhaps not in this shade of pink, or this specific solution to their problem- but he had, no matter how much he tried not to. If this wasn't the only way he knew how to express himself to him- it was the way he knew best.
And with incessant, determined pulls, Emet-Selch works the constrictive material lower. More peeling than undressing- all until he'd worked it far enough to expose the whole of Mettaton's erection, letting it bob free in the open air. Hopeless to stifle was his moan, or the way he curled closer to the robot's body. Though his hand doesn't yet grasp him, it wasn't for a lack of wanting to, as his fingers splay around him, close to his base.]
You're... look at you. You're already so thick for me.
[Admiration, abject wanting- it's all there in his voice, in the trembling tension in his body.]
[(Play dangerously they would- until his powers could be restored to him. Mettaton, so touched by Emet-Selch, knew that he could focus his own wishing solely to restore the other man's powers to him... Now that their mutual desire to see MTT endowed once more was taken care of.)
Despite the intensity of their desire, and though half of him expects to be taken up in a ravenous kiss, Mettaton is mollified at the kiss next to his eye. He exhales, lids fluttering closed, and lips parted in his pleasure. Because of course, even these tender actions are pleasurable... and intense, at that. The texture of lips, the gentlest of suctions worthy of a kiss so sweet and simple- he could feel it all, and it marveled, and overwhelmed.
Even when he was used to it, it had never stopped overwhelming.
With his eye closed it manages to take him off-guard to feel Emet-Selch's digit probe the tip of his cock, and he tenses and shudders, wriggling in his spot. Parted lips mean he can't help it when he groans, shivering as his hips perform as they instinctively know to, by thrusting, seeking out more attention when Emet-Selch parts.
Even when haste and need seems to be Mettaton's key, though... he would be more than pleased with the gradual unwrapping process. He thrived under the exclusive, and pointed attention. And even when Emet-Selch begins to pry impossibly sturdy latex from Mettaton's hips, the robot can't help himself when he fixes his attention not on his lap, but on Emet-Selch's face- to gaze upon him rapturously, helplessly in love with the man who found his love language back on his tongue. Intensity and passion and daring was theirs, as he recalls their discussion of it... as that ferocity couldn't be conveyed without possessive passion. This is his body, and Emet-Selch sought to see it restored and maintained.
It's fortunate that the material, despite being a perfect fit for MTT alone, isn't disagreeable. When it was wanted off, it would slip its way over silicone thighs- and before they know it Emet-Selch has Mettaton that bit more exposed. Mettaton feels the chill of air, the inertia of a stiff cock bouncing to stand proudly on display- but he watches as Emet-Selch collapses closer, and drinks in his moan beside the sound of his own.
From balls to cock, his overall shape wasn't dissimilar from the way Mettaton had always preferred it. It was a perfect replica, in fact, uncannily so; his tip was a firm, full swell, and the rest of him thick enough to suit his large robotic figure. Framed by Emet's fingers, Mettaton patiently keeps as still as he can manage- which isn't much, as he writhes against the bed. He could feel the pent-up, and impending, need to grasp him- and it nearly keeps his thoughts from moving, his lips from forming words, from doing anything more than managing a groan. He is thick, and he spreads his legs slightly to emphasize what was theirs to enjoy.]
In case you don't remember... how could I not be? I'm inundated by... by, ah...
[He couldn't quite find the words to summarize how he felt about sensation. There was the simpleness of air, of held hands, of surfaces and his own touch, or of vibration or tapping. Then there was any deliberate movement upon Mettaton from Emet-Selch, from his every kiss to his embrace, sweet and heady both.
And now he had Emet-Selch's fingers framing his cock, applying pressure to his crotch. Mettaton gasps, squirming some more in aching need- but he can't resist watching Emet-Selch in the end, attention flitting between his hands to his body, his face.
And of course that tattoo's activity remains alight, steady movement paired with a luminous center. But it's a new feature that has fallen by the wayside in MTT's eyes for now, given... this. Given the high, thick curve between his thighs- and all of the promise it brought, to fulfill both of their desires. A conduit for their feelings of heat and love and care- and something Emet-Selch had wished for him to enjoy again.]
Hades... I love you...
[He can't help but utter that. Even if it could be considered a "shortcut" in comparison to working out how to express themselves in other ways, this... was their favored method, and one that was cathartic, deepening their bond with every touch. Mettaton loved it, and wanted it back swiftly.]
[Every response drew him in further, from the groans that passed Mettaton's lips, to the slight spread of his legs, showing off the fullness that rose between them. Even beyond his cock, there were the twitches and trembles that ran through a robotic body, all these indications of the intensity of what the other man was already feeling. How much more intense could he make it, until Mettaton spilled, lost himself entirely? Emet-Selch longed to see it, most of all.
It was only one step to see his cock fully bared, to drink in the sight of it where it belonged. Apart from coloring, it did look astoundingly like the erection he was familiar with, and he could appreciate how the result of his wish had taken his lover's preferences into account. And Emet-Selch was very familiar with Mettaton's cock, given how much time he spent at eye-level with it, with his lips upon it. A condition that was difficult to not re-obtain with immediacy, now that he had the opportunity, and he nearly huffs to himself at the absurdity of being so... amorous. Of wanting his husband's sex anyway he could have it, that he was stricken by the need for something so base.
Primitive a need as it was, it remained, unable to be reasoned with. He wanted everything at once, and he knew it. To take him in his hand like this, to stroke their cocks together, impress upon Mettaton his own wanting and heat (which only existed because of the taller man, as if arousal itself was a work to dedicate to him). To hold his length between his thighs and stroke him off between them- or to feel his seed shot flush to his entrance, making a mess of him. And to be fucked, of course, in every position they liked... though that would take more lube than existed on this world. (For that reason, if nothing else, Emet-Selch needed his creation powers back.)
He shudders another sigh.]
You know I couldn't forget.
[Which had been the problem, the loss of what had seemed so fundamentally right (just as Mettaton's robotic body was right) not something he could brush off, in the end. (But why should he resign himself to loss and work past it? He knew what they were meant to have! ...The only problem was when his holding back hurt Mettaton too, more than necessary.)
At the sound of his name, he looks up to catch the robot's eye, and he's distracted from the need to remove Mettaton's pants entirely, somehow (and all of his own clothes too, but that was more straightforward). Distracted even from his erection, beyond a sense of things being right once more between them. This would be healing, wouldn't it?]
...I love you too.
[Cock or no cock, and they both knew that. He hoped so, at least. Beyond the exasperation he felt for being this apparently starved for his husband's erection (and the sensitivity that went with it- as he wouldn't be anywhere close to this desirous of him if he knew that Mettaton's capacity for arousal was as dulled as ever), he'd missed this closeness most of all. Even if he shouldn't have let it go on this long- but he'd wanted to express what he knew he could, in this way that suited them both.
Twisting slightly to face him, he leans up to find Mettaton's lips again, in a kiss that still leaned towards the tender. But it was no less needy for it, no less wanting. At the same time his fingers slip to the other man's cock, to wrap around him with a gentle possessiveness, stroking upward to the bulbous head which he squeezes just as carefully. Textures that he missed having under his hand, and were well worth groaning over, though the sound is stifled somewhat by the meeting of their lips.]
[Of course he knew he loved him. Mettaton smiles bright at Emet-Selch's confession, and continues to smile into the kiss applied to his lips. With energy he meets it, lips parting to catch Emet-Selch's kiss with one of his own, a flick of his tongue, a sloppy painting of Emet-Selch's lip with himself... for all that he still lacked saliva and taste. Those senses hadn't been restored to him. But it was likely to be restored soon enough—it just meant that Mettaton wouldn't have any chance to taste that which they enjoyed.
But they do have this, and so much more, as Mettaton's reminded of it with the pressure around his base twined in with a kiss. Mettaton's entire body jolts, and a pleasured groan passes through his throat while his hips jerk immediately to press as firmly as he can into Emet-Selch's touch. Even his own sound is muffled by their kiss, which he returns no less ardently, a hand venturing to Emet-Selch's lap to grab onto a fistful of fabric for stability. The curling of his fingertips nearly skirts the smaller man's erection, and that would've been his handle to grab were the stars aligned just right.
As it is, Mettaton's leaning into Emet-Selch too, legs twitching, shifting, knees pressing together thanks to their overall restraint. Those pants would do to be removed to grant him the full expanse of his flexibility, and it would be a worthwhile result eventually—but even Mettaton's lost in their kiss, in Emet-Selch's touch, in the spark of their chemistry charging the air that chills him.
It's amazing, really. This does feel right—but not long ago and they would feel unable to communicate their love. Maybe it was because they had such a pleasurable time together in sex... and it was immense vulnerability. Where else could they deliberately give themselves over like this, in deepening intimacy that felt so good? He could practically feel his lover's heart as his own, even its heartbeat something he could feel as his... even when he himself possessed plenty of sensation to keep track of.
Mettaton meets his tenderness with a fiery rendition of his own, deep and hot. But soft—and Mettaton breaks it on accident with a moan, as the mage pets up his cock, squeezing him up to his glans with a firmness that Mettaton recognized. Falling right back into familiar rhythms, it welcomes Mettaton readily.]
H... Hades... Ah...
[Even though he's not actively thinking about their lube situation, he's aware of it. But they could get creative just as they are; even if they struggled before, lacking lubricant wouldn't keep them from indulgence, even if there were moments where they longed for deep, full penetration. But there's so much else he could think to do as they are—pushing past Emet-Selch's lips, feeling the smaller man rapturously swallow around his cock and relish the fullness of his neck... feeling the smaller man kiss him up and down, melding his lips along his shaft. Or just the pleasure of being naked together.
...That "nakedness" was an achievable state for Mettaton makes him smile, the absurdity of it not lost on him. Little things and major ones—Mettaton sighs, slipping comfortably against his husband's side as he watches his fingers drift along his length, before glancing back to his face with lips parted, heat building in his body.]
We... We have even more to catch up on now. Hah... [Both sex they missed out on, and all of the dimensions they had to take each other—in new ways and familiar. But more than that, they had a lot of expressing they could accomplish like this.
While Emet-Selch pulls at his cock, fingers forming a ring beneath the head, Mettaton shifts his legs to continue working fabric down his thighs. But the grip he has on Emet-Selch's robes is a reminder too:] I want you stripped too, you know.
[It was notable- and unsurprising- Mettaton's lack of saliva. And with it, Emet-Selch assumed that his sense of taste went similarly unrestored. He hadn't requested it, after all, and it was further of a leap than the addition of temperature to touch. So he wasn't disappointed, for all that it would have been pleasant to have it; it was something to gain back in future, one sense after another.
Already pleasant was the press of Mettaton's tongue, dry as it was. His own mouth was enough to keep things smooth, and he offered it completely, losing himself to their kiss. Even if this much was something that they could have done countless times already on this star... it felt easier to give himself over, somehow. (Because he knew Mettaton could feel it with him?)
What was entirely new to this world was what he could grip in his hand, could stroke while indulging in the meeting of their lips. Even if it wasn't a requirement to enjoy a kiss with him- in the moment it felt like the most right thing possible, to handle his cock while breathing in the sound he made when he did.
Including the sound of his name, which hitches his breath again. The only way things could be improved further was to move even closer yet, to have more skin (and equivalent) revealed, to see what it was like when they were flush. With ever more to want, there was ever more to do....]
We'll never see the end of it, at this rate.
[And a glance down, seeing Mettaton continuing the work of removing his pants has him recall what he was meant to be doing (but how could he not become distracted, with a cock available, and in reach?). With a departing squeeze just underneath the corona, as though to tide them both over, Emet-Selch's hand returns to assist with the stripping of him. The returning of Mettaton's nudity... which was a strange thought. Rather than the default state, it was an achievable one, existing only to hide one very notable feature.
With the side-effect of restricting Mettaton's movement when only partway removed (which had its advantages, perhaps, though for now he wanted him completely bared). So he helps with the process of working his pants the rest of the way downward, though he has to sigh, gaze briefly scanning upward to the idol's face at the reminder of all he was also wearing.]
I only have so many hands, Mettaton.
[He couldn't disrobe while he was depanting a robot. Though for all that he wasn't anywhere near so tightly (or invisibly) restricted, the Ascian was increasingly aware of the requests made by his own erection. The want to be freed, to be shown off just like his husband's; the want to be stroked too, as his body noticed how close Mettaton had come to grabbing onto him through his robe, even if the mage himself was less conscious of it. There was only the rush of wanting, a shift of his thighs with the contained desire to move.]
[Oh, that squeeze. Divine. Mettaton's breathless in sound, near static his only response as he attempts to gather his bearings, thrusting in place at the sensation of fingers lost. He doesn't growl or protest his departure, but he does long for the moment where contact's returned—as the idol knows precisely what Emet-Selch's up to.
Groaning against his lips again, Mettaton's pleasure is earned not just through touch, but exploration. After all, he was sensitive all over, and even the sensation of his 'skin' bared to the air has him shuddering. It was chilled compared to his body, and he wanted to be flush with the warmth the Ascian offers already next to his thigh, their bodies close—and even thinking about that attainable future has Mettaton smiling, squirming, excited for what he had to look forward to.
Which made Emet-Selch's state of being clothed excusable. He giggles, pecking him on the lips.]
Yes. But I have two hands, and I want to strip you naked with them.
[Which would happen before they knew it. For now, he was willing to be stripped down first—he has a lot to look forward to, all at once, and they really wouldn't see the end of it.
Emet-Selch's help makes removing the glossy latex easier. Slipped down his knee, the give of the side-zipper makes removing it from his ankles not too difficult, as Mettaton uses his feet to peel tight, stretchy fabric off, with Emet-Selch's help.
With Emet-Selch's eyes on his face, Mettaton's smile turns into a silly grin, at how much he wanted them so close to each other. He sighs, though, and shivers at the sensation of air surrounding his legs—and the temperature of it all, an entirely new sensation to him.]
I want you... so close to my body. [In it. Around it. But Mettaton gazes at him longingly, a bright, full smile on his lips.] But I also want you to look at me, just as much as I want to see what my upgrades are.
[Conceit, sure. But Mettaton is genuinely curious what changes he's endured, and his ankles flex as he uses his toes to finally shuck his new 'pants.' Magic pants, enchanted to handle a prominent package, apparently.
Mettaton's legs are silicone all the way from hip to toe. Seams run over joints, lines dividing his hips to his thighs, or the areas of his knees—but his knees... the seams, cute and doll-like, are heart-shaped. His ankles are lined with plenty, indicating plenty of flexion. But it's overall a puzzle of seams that are appropriately placed, and smooth, proper workmanship on exhibition. Between his legs stands his cock, erect and heavy and hot, with balls settled just as heavily between his thighs—all pink, to boot.
(Up close, it might be obvious that there's some mechanism that could theoretically make his parts detachable... Theoretically.)
As he is, Mettaton sighs, scooting back on the bed with satisfaction as the mage finally has him stripped. He nudges their thighs together, giving Emet-Selch a heavy look.]
I know I want you naked. And I want you flush to me. But, darling... I want you to take a closer look.
[Barely withholding a sigh from their quick kiss, he turns it into a hum instead. Mettaton's hands would be more than welcome to strip him- or do anything else to him- is what it seems to convey, for all that Emet-Selch doesn't use his words on it. Dwelling on their nearness, on what he could feel took precedence; gazing down at his lover's body as it was revealed took definite precedence.
It was a somewhat strange sight, to see Mettaton with neither heels nor the fur of a puca, for his bare legs to be truly bare with aspects new to them both. With both legs and feet revealed, it looked like the work of something deliberate, that was always meant for being viewed like this. From the cute hearts at his knees, to the work put into his ankles indicating a visible amount of flexibility, there was an attention to detail there that he approved of. Though clearly inorganic, none of it appeared unfinished, a completely tidy and attractive robotic body.
And of course, an erection, a whole package no less artificial than the rest, but with a sensitivity that spoke of something unusual going on underneath its surface. Had he developed some system of organic nerves and veins again? (Maybe it was just magic.) Were his balls for more than the aesthetic? Aroused as he was, he would still need to see whether he could come....
Gaze flitting up, expression a match for him in terms of longing, it skims downward again, across his chestplate, to the familiar glow at his waist, and lower. There was so much that deserved to be pressed to with his own body, with hands and lips and the rest of him too, which meant shedding these robes as the last things separating them, now with the robot's pants removed. But if Mettaton sought to be observed closely most of all--]
Do you think I've been looking anywhere else?
[He murmurs, a touch dry and breathless both. Being distracted from Mettaton and his body- it wasn't something that he could imagine, as he runs a hand down a bared thigh, even as his own clothed one nudges back to his in reply. Just imagining it against skin was a thrill.
But the wants of his own body readily fell to the side, and even the wish to be just as exposed to him- repeated in Mettaton's own stated desires- had to be pushed aside in favor of the robot's other demand. And the easiest way to meet it was to leave the bed entirely, if only to sink between his husband's thighs, forcing his way between them.
And with so much now on a more convenient level with his eyes, he sighs heavily, attention centered here, where he belonged. It had been months since he'd last been in a position like this, and even if it wasn't that long in the scheme of things, it felt like an eternity.]
Is this... close enough for you? Or.... [From his breath gracing him, he presses his cheek to the side of the robot's shaft, nuzzling into him, while a hand steadies him on the other side of his girth.] Did you have something else in mind?
[...This close, Emet-Selch does notice certain seams that implied something about how Mettaton's cock was attached- and perhaps some degree of removability? Not that he could imagine ever wanting to, unless it broke from overuse and needed taken off to be serviced in the less sexual sense. But the logistics are less important to him now in comparison to the existence of a cock at all, as he leans in enough to press his lips firmly to his root.]
[Mettaton giggles as Emet-Selch sinks heavily between his thighs, and arousal shoots hot through his body enough for it to ache.]
Oh, I KNOW where you've been looking. But I, ah...
[Yes. This is what he wanted- though he knew he would've welcomed a great many things, whether that was Emet-Selch covering the ground of his entire body, sensitive as it is, or doing precisely what he's after now. It's no surprise, that he would hone in on his cock straightaway.
When Mettaton looks down between his thighs, Emet-Selch shoves his way deep between them, all the way until he could feel the heat of his sigh against his aching cock. Mettaton nearly whines at the proximity, the intensity more than he thought he could handle should his husband dive in for him- and the sight alone was enough that he thought he could collapse or overheat, or both at the same time. He reaches for the top of his head, winding his fingers in long strands of ivory hair, lips parted in awe at the sight of him.
And the sensation of him. The Ascian closes in, deeper between robotic thighs, nuzzling the shaft of his brand-new erection that felt like a continuation of something he's always longed to have.]
Ah- ahhh, I... Ohh...
[His hips reflexively jerk, though it's obvious that its lack of impact is suggesting of MTT's restraint, for whatever good that did. His eyes bright with desire, a hunger that hadn't been satiated or even touched upon for months, and the sight of Emet-Selch with his lips flush to his root has Mettaton stuttering and groaning, hips jerking some more.
Panting out of affect, the robot breathlessly laughs, petting and smoothing Emet-Selch's hair.]
I have a lot in mind, but this is... Oh, Hades, I couldn't hold on for long like this, if you...!
[This would do him in swiftly. He is already so sensitive, the air itself enough to arouse him. The knowledge that Emet-Selch was present, there to watch him as he basks in the expanded world of sensation, and adoring it fiercely-that was the real kicker, and the dimension that made it worthy of sexual arousal more than anything.
Mettaton loops a leg over Emet-Selch's shoulder, rubbing over his back with his heel. Even though these legs were once more quite different from his others, they were easy to get the hang of- and closer to a Puca's legs than anything. And he'd ventured as a human... That was just like this, right down to the sensitivity to ambient sensation. The texture of lips to the cradle of Emet-Selch's hand was the hardest to ignore, as Mettaton hums, attempting to still his hips.]
[A soft, gratified sound leaves his throat at the sensation of fingers winding in his hair. Another familiar sensation, and while he'd felt it before since he'd arrived on this star, he hadn't in this precise positioning. Which added to the sense of feeling welcomed, of belonging in this place with his lips pressed to warm silicone(?), to a body that reacted more than any organic partner he'd ever had.
Though Emet-Selch could also feel Mettaton's attempt at restraint, that the way he jerked his hips wasn't with the force the other man could exert. And while it was nice, while he appreciates his lover's effort to control himself- no small part of him wanted to feel him let go, to be forced to move without any hope of holding out. But he was sympathetic towards what Mettaton must be facing. A body's worth of sensitivity restored at once, with an erection being kissed, stroked, attended to by someone who loved him; how could he expect him to hold on?
The Ascian couldn't help but shudder himself from a rush of overwhelm, as his hand strokes downward to fondle the robot's balls, as if testing them for realism. Or just appreciating their weight, their warmth, just as he was doing with Mettaton's cock and his face, his own skin somewhat flushed by now. Kissing heatedly, deliberately open-mouthed and sloppily up his shaft, it's only when his lips catch on the head that he glances upward again, towards his lover's face. Warmed by his laugh, by every evidence of both arousal and pleasure, his eyes half-close to leave a lingering, sucking kiss to the side of his glans. Keeping him steady with his other hand, he shows every evidence of enjoying himself- and every intent to continue doing so, for as long as either of their bodies held out.]
Mm... it will do, then, for a start. Won't it?
[He speaks with lips flush to him. Because this wouldn't be enough, not for either of them. Even had things been normal they could act as though they'd been pent up for years- and this time they really had gone without for a while. Longer than they'd ever been, since they'd first encountered each other. There was no hope of resisting, not when every instinct told him this was required; they'd each gone too long without this base method of possessiveness displayed.
Accepting Mettaton's leg around him with another approving sound, its weight was familiar even if it wasn't quite like anything that he'd dealt with from him before. But it was a reason to stay close, to remain where he was for right now, even if he wasn't strictly trapped there. There was everything to want, to hope for, but right now, seeing Mettaton off like this, as he knelt between his legs, it appealed terribly.
Unable to resist when he was right there, and not wanting to give Mettaton any cause to jerk his hips anywhere but with his cock properly aligned, he takes the head of him wholly into his mouth. Taking as much as he comfortably could, for that matter- he groans around his mouthful, sucking steadily over him as his hand tightens around his girth.]
[A sharp gasp would've been choked on, MTT knew, if he had saliva. Already the sensation of lips lingering on a welcoming kiss ignites those sparks that sear through his body, setting fire to his thighs, his crotch. (Figuratively. He's a robot, so it's worth clarifying.) Emet-Selch makes out with his cock and makes it look proper, sweet and nearly chaste, even though Mettaton felt nothing short of kisses that would give a makeout a run for its money.
This is a suggestion that Emet-Selch would start here, and keep going. And Mettaton ached harder, cock preemptively dribbling sweet milky fluid, at the promise of being relieved over and over—and being aroused over and over as well. Mettaton loved the intensity of being coaxed into arousal, and loved it immensely when it was Emet-Selch who was the object of his fascination, and the one fascinating over him.
Every last sound of pleasure that comes from Emet-Selch, whether pleased or approving, brings Mettaton to groan. To buck his hips, and when Emet-Selch settles into the bind of his legs, the robot squeezes him there for security. He's possessed, and Mettaton laces both of his thighs over Emet-Selch's shoulders to impress upon him that truth.
He also just can't help but twine his legs around him while in his rapture. Emet-Selch grips onto his base and wraps his lips tight around his tip, and Mettaton stumbles over syllables, over cries that break and form and break again, cascading and loud.]
H- H- Hades!! Ohh, Hade- Hades—
[He cries his name, because he's the center of his world right now. Orbiting each other, Mettaton can't envision it being possible for anyone else's name to sail from his lips as Emet-Selch's does, the most comfortable name to cry out and the most comfortable man to give himself over to... In the moment, even all of their waiting felt like a blip, as they continue right from where they left off in this comfortable, familiar dance. God, it felt so familiar to be held like this, to scream his name and lose himself and to know that this was a demonstration of intensity and love and most of all, vulnerability.
Gripping into Emet-Selch's hair, Mettaton helplessly strokes himself against his lips, against his tongue, as Emet-Selch fit his girth in his mouth. He suited him well, Mettaton thought hazily, focus blearily upon him as he leaks against his tongue. It's a warning that Mettaton meant it: he could not hold on with the smaller man taking to him so abruptly, and he wouldn't even try, not with the way Emet-Selch called this just a start.
He was going to be well-fucked, and Mettaton's next groan is enamored in his bliss. He needed this. From the sensation to the overwhelm to the feeling of Emet-Selch responding to him and his evident love at being responded to, he needed this.]
[Every reaction, whether tangible or audible, was a spur to keep going. When Mettaton had invited him to get a better look at him, how could anything but this be the result? When faced with the robot's cock, he would have to get his lips on it, and from there he could hardly be blamed for needing to take him into his mouth. Emet-Selch missed doing this too much... even if he would've reacted much the same had he sucked him just yesterday (or for that matter, ten minutes ago....).
But if there was a sharper edge to it, a craving that went past desperation and back into longing- he wouldn't be surprised. Not that he was giving it much thought in the moment, beyond an awareness of how much he loved this- and when he first felt the slickness of precome against his lips, in response to his ardent kisses, he knew Mettaton loved this with him.
And also knew that Mettaton's assessment was accurate, that he wouldn't be holding on very long at all. Which, if anything, has the mage take to him more earnestly yet, his pulse pounding with something like eagerness. If Mettaton would rub himself against his tongue, he would stroke him right back, reward him with firm, rhythmic pressure as he dips his head over him, and pumps upward with his hand over whatever didn't fit in his mouth.
But he elects not to take him into his throat, not this time. Not out of any lack of desire to do so; to the contrary, on every nudge of his length forward, teasing the back of his throat, it tempted him. He knew Mettaton would enjoy it just as he did, and surely missed being encased in that particular pressure- just as he missed having his throat made full, with no space for air and only just enough space for his lover's girth. But there was already enough to overwhelm, as it was- and he enjoyed too much just this, the weight of the thickened tip against his tongue, the way it slightly gave to the tightness of his mouth. And with it, the expectation, the want to feel him lose it right there. Even if it would all end up down his throat anyway, he wanted the sensation of his heat flooding his senses.
Groan stifled around the robot's new girth, his hair falls forward as he sucks, Mettaton's grip in it not enough to keep it from brushing against the other man's body with each dive onto him. His own hands were too busy and not inclined to hold it back either, with one occupied with milking his cock, squeezing upwards, and the other still handling his balls.
Reveling in the sound of his own name in Mettaton's voice, his willingness- and for that matter, desire- to see his lover to this initial end, was evident in Emet-Selch's touch, in his manner. In his unwillingness to let go of Mettaton's erection, to release him from his hand or mouth without first claiming his seed. Which was his, just as the rest of Mettaton was, body and soul both. Even possessiveness could be a show of vulnerability, though- an admittance of need, of concern and care- the exposure of being attached. And as ever, the request for a break from loneliness, which laced through most of the smaller man's touches.]
[This is absolutely a way to get a closer look, and a much anticipated result. Mettaton adjusts his grip in the smaller man's hair out of affect rather than for a better grip, ardently combing through hair only to knot it up in his fingers again. It had happend too quickly, how ready his body was to burst- as though it were physically pent up, ready to be milked of load after load. (He doesn't think about it at all, not in any conscious way- but it was a relief to see or feel that he could produce liquid of some kind at all. That was... important to him, a way to exert claim on his husband.)
Emet-Selch laps along his shaft, his tongue smoothing over the ridge of his glans, and Mettaton cries out, bright and overcome. Each time he dips low Mettaton felt complete warmth, a comfortable sheathing of his cock in damp heat and pressure- but each time Emet-Selch tugged slightly off of his cock, that air was let to chill (even though his fingers wrap around him, blocking him from most of the chill- Mettaton is just sensitive, and terribly so). He wanted to pound himself into his warm mate; he wanted to leave Emet-Selch heated through as well.
His throat comes to mind. And just dreaming of being held there, Emet-Selch's lips encircling his root as the smaller man swallowed and swallowed to clear that blockage- Mettaton moans, leaking some more as he carefully smooths a thumb against his lover's temple, effectively brushing some of that hair out of the way, though he found it charming to see it brushed forward in the mage's focus.
The focus, the dedication, the passion, the love... Mettaton saw it all from Emet-Selch, and felt it just as clearly. Their language had been returned to him, but it felt so much deeper than that. Mettaton pants, stricken.]
I... I...
[He can't complete the sentiment in words. He cries out instead, sensitive and shocked to his core. But far from distracted- and somehow, the sentiment easily reaches Emet-Selch anyway. (Whether it's the work of their new dragon-wrought brand, or just a connection they share as they are, it was hard to say.) He loves him. He's crazy about him, and he wanted him to know it.
It sure felt as though he were being milked of his first load. First, with the words Emet-Selch gave him, that this would be a start; a threat, but one that brought Mettaton sparks of thrill. But the way Emet-Selch compressed his root and stroked upward to meet his own lips, urging him to spill, in combination with the handling, kneading, and possessive appraising of his balls would be more than enough of a reason to feel that he was being urged toward climax. He had a lot to give, it felt, and the robot tightens his legs around Emet-Selch, urging the smaller man to receive him when he couldn't warn him of the impending release.
They were both exposed, and both terribly attached. And Mettaton could feel Emet-Selch's love and care for him in every squeeze around his thick tip, the compression of amorous suckles show enough that the smaller man was invested in him. In his heart, in his comfort, his pleasure, and the vivid and colorful world Mettaton thrived in. He wanted to hold him tight, and with that desire in his heart, Mettaton spills over.
Spurts of release flood Emet-Selch's mouth- and if not proper semen, it's a convincing duplicate. Slick and sticky and thick, it coats the mage's tongue- and there would be nothing about it that would be jarring or different from what it's ever been in reception. It was Mettaton's, after all, and the idol gives himself over to Emet-Selch's care, his grip in his hair tightening as much as his legs do 'round his shoulders.
And of course, he sings out Emet-Selch's name in his passionate release. His voice ascends upon his name, chanting it for the inability to think about anything else- and if he gets a glimpse of anything, it's the man before him, dutifully caring for him and seeing him to relief.
It's a full first load, a gushing burst of overwhelming heat coming from a very hot robot. But it comes to an end eventually, even though Mettaton's oversensitivity is such that he responds as though in climax for longer than even his release pours from the slit. Every stroke over his length was something worth writhing into, and Mettaton is mindless, overcome and in love.
Unwound by the end of it all, Mettaton's body rattles with a shiver as he slumps slightly, curling forward.] H... Hades, ohhh...
[This. This was what they both needed, and it felt as natural as anything could be. If there were complications, they could drift away for now, and Emet-Selch didn't even have to be asphyxiated to manage that condition. There was too much to concentrate on, on this duty he loved, on the taste and texture of his husband's arousal, and of how much they wanted together. And could achieve, finally.
(Emet-Selch had felt a similar kind of relief, on tasting and feeling the first hints of precome. This implied that Mettaton had the capacity to be... productive, in his releases. That his orgasm (as he refused to imagine the cruelty of him being unable to reach that point with this equipment, with this sensation) wouldn't be a dry affair. That much would have been a disappointment, if he were honest with himself- and would have necessitated an additional wish.
But some part of him relaxes at that tell-tale dribble; somehow, Mettaton's body was capable of producing fluid. He wasn't inclined to ask how.)
It still hitches his breath, causes his body to tense hard when the initial burst of semen hits his tongue, floods his mouth. It's only the work of practice that has him swallowing it down as neatly as he does, despite his own overwhelm and desire to cry out with him. But dedication took priority, dedication and simple covetousness, not wanting to let even a single drop escape him, after so long without (Even if they both appreciated him being made a mess- but that was ever a process, a work to be built on round after round. As he'd already told him, this was only the start.).
Swallowing back each spurt as he's given it, he slows his movement but doesn't cease it immediately, maintaining a firm, demanding pressure around the robot's cock. His hands, too, don't neglect their duties, as his grip squeezes up Mettaton's shaft, milking him, encouraging him to give up everything that he had. The grip on his balls is comparatively gentle, a softer rub provided by his thumb, if no less possessive for it. All of what he touched belonged to him, and not because he'd wished it into existence.
But with that possessiveness was a rapturous adoration of this moment and this man he was knelt before, whose cock he was taking. His own erection felt heavier with every swallow of thick seed, but the mage doesn't consider making any move to touch himself through fabrics that felt uncomfortably restrictive. And while he shifts in place, it doesn't distract him, only adds to his own pleasure in the moment, of being properly wanting and needy as he knew he could be. All he needed was Mettaton's own cock....
Even a release as full, as extended as Mettaton's had to reach some kind of end. While the robot still moves, Emet-Selch obediently strokes him, providing him contact even to a length especially sensitive. But his mouth finally departs him, once he feels the gush of his climax slow to a drip. Not that he moves far at all, as his tongue laps gently at the slit, leaving it with damp kisses and the stroke of his lips against it, smearing what drip of come remained across them.
Safe, warmed by all he'd swallowed, and feeling protected during this whole experience by the way Mettaton's legs had wrapped around him, by the fingers in his hair, he's finally able to glance upward again, towards the other man's face. Out of breath, his own look remains fairly tidy apart from the flush to him (and the muss to his hair where it had been gripped), Mettaton's come neatly contained besides the sheen smeared deliberately on his lips. If there was anything different to his semen, the Ascian hadn't noticed it, satisfied entirely by its familiar consistency and heat- something fitting to the hot robot who produced it.]
Mettaton. [He whispers against him, soft as anything. Relieved, despite his body's own ache- as if something he'd needed to express finally had been.] How... was that?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And it hurt, from every angle. Even wishing wasn't a painless thing.
But right now, it was worth it; if there was hurt to follow, he could dwell on it later, could fail to work out the more complicated feelings that went with this wish being granted. That he did it on his own went without saying, to him; he'd stubbornly told Mettaton that he would restore everything they needed, with his own shards, without help. This... just happened to be first. What felt the most important to bring back, somehow.
And to enhance it? More than he ever had. While he hadn't expressly wished for that, something that went beyond what Mettaton had experienced as a robotic puca, it was a positive bonus, and the mage makes a small noise against him. Presses his lips to the top of the rectangle, while he shifts in place, wanting to arch into the pet of his spine, to soak in every touch, just as Mettaton was doing with him. Melding into him, it was a plea for closeness more than it was a demand, and for all that it was his own fault that he felt so bereft of it... it wouldn't stop him from reaching out now, for holding and touching him now, with a grip that might bruise himself.
Although... this hadn't been all that he'd wished for. It was enough, though; he wasn't disappointed. Knowing that Mettaton could hold him, could experience the world with him in greater depth- if that was the entirety of what he'd been granted, he wouldn't resent it.
Barely managing to loosen his grip as Mettaton comments on it, he strokes tensely down his sides. It's not quite awkward, but there's a heavy kind of silence to him, as he weighs whether to ask about it.]
...It wasn't only your sensation that I wished for.
[He says it like a confession, lips against smooth metal. The grip of his arms tight enough to leave angled imprints through the sleeves of his robe, his fingers rub more absently at Mettaton as he hesitates. He hadn't specified how he'd wanted Mettaton to, well, have access to a cock. He'd tried more specific wishes in the past, and been ignored. In case that was the problem, he left it vague. Heartfelt, but vague. Which also meant he didn't know how this part of his wish would choose to manifest, if it even would.]
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He'd be lying if he said it wasn't extraordinarily overwhelming. Emphasis on the extraordinary. Is this really how humans felt all the time...? How Emet-Selch felt?
Mettaton can't dwell on what this meant before. He doesn't have the headspace to mourn how Emet-Selch must've felt, knowing that the robot couldn't answer this depth of feeling, that their embraces, admittedly, paled in comparison to what they could be. To be on his end, feeling everything and knowing the other party couldn't feel... it was suffering on either end, as Mettaton pined for something deeper, while Emet-Selch longed for a time where he could be felt. He understood, and had understood to start... but to have this- Mettaton knew instantly that at least something between them had been righted. What progress they had made had been a process... and with the ability to wish it all back, it would be more of a process of suffering than it had to be.
Because he could feel him so sharply, all over again. No longer would the onus be placed on Emet-Selch, as much as Mettaton had ever regretted that. They could experience with each other, and the idol knew how much Emet-Selch treasured Mettaton's ability for sensation. The answer: almost as much as he did for himself, really, which was flattering and worth fondness.
Emet-Selch clings tighter to him, only to let loose slightly. Sensitive to it all, Mettaton relinquishes him just enough for him to adjust himself, to shift against his body as he asks after... another wish.]
Hmm? ... Ah...
[It dawns on him quickly, what Emet-Selch means by this. And the fact of the matter is: it's a question, if tinged like a statement, one colored by confession. Mettaton unconsciously grips Emet-Selch tighter; he feels that electricity jolt in his body. A heady excitement sinks heavily in him, and he returns the stroke of his side with a similarly tense one down Emet-Selch's, from his chest to his waist. (Almost his hip. But he stops short.)]
... Given all else I feel differently, it's hard to tell what else is new. [Could it be part of his shapeshifting repertoire? He considers it, as he forces Emet-Selch to separate just slightly from him.] Shall I do the honors, and... check for any new developments?
[It's not impossible to shapeshift something as a box-bot, of course, and Mettaton tries to think about how this world does shapeshifting... But for now, he can barely separate them- and he finds himself crushing the smaller man against his front again, too lured by the sensation of his body, his lips, aginst himself.]
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And immense as it was, could there be more? What else he'd wished for... Emet-Selch could feel that his husband had caught on quickly enough to his meaning; that tighter grip was answer enough. Their desires weren't exactly hidden from each other, their history of gratuitous sexual contact something difficult to forget, even when it hurt. And where they could do so much with this greater sensitivity, he was certain- there was no reason to not see whether they could go even further than that. (No reason beyond the risk of disappointment.)
He feels a rush of something like expectation, hope- though he also attempts to temper it somewhat, even at the lure of a hand running down his chest, side, and the accompanying heady awareness that Mettaton could feel what he was doing. The muffling of fabric would be a tease rather than dullness on top of dullness; like this, there was the promise of more (though the sharpness of the pang of want that he felt at the idea- it was greater than he would've expected, exasperatingly so).]
I didn't specify how it should manifest. [He adds, as another admittance; he couldn't suggest for what Mettaton should be looking for. It was perhaps too trusting, to leave it up to whatever force was granting these wishes- but from what he'd heard and seen of other wishes being granted, they weren't delivered in a twisted way. It would be something acceptable, or nothing. (Not that he could rule out some cruel disappointment. He never could.)] If there's anything more out of place... a new ability, or....
[Knowing, trusting that Mettaton wouldn't be moving far, his own hold relents slightly to permit the robot the space to lean back. Nor does he question his lover's apparent intent to feel out for something new while in his current rectangular configuration. It was true that they'd never indulged in it together, but not for lack of ability.
...Not that either of them seemed inclined to move far from each other. Space was difficult to claim, and when he finds himself clutched tight to the front of Mettaton again, there was nothing he could do but return that grasp. If the robot had possessed a lap, he would have crawled into it by now. Kissing ardently to metal, it was true that he had no lips to meet, no mouth to claim- but he was enticed all the same by the idea that his lover could properly feel what he was doing, from the warmth of his face to the grip of his hands.]
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Hades...
[These are sensations he missed. He missed them so much that it hurt doubly when it was highlighted that he lacked them, or when it made him feel that much less real... though he knew Emet-Selch, too, was suffering in his own right, isolated and reaching. In its way it still hurts to know that this was stripped from him... but with it returned, the air itself reminded him how tangible he really was. And every kiss applied reminded him of the chill of saliva, of the way lips were warm, only to leave you cold without. A cause for more kisses, of course, until they were both overheated.
As Mettaton feels that chill, juxtaposed against that warmth. And Emet-Selch's body- warm, pressed flush to him, and he could just imagine the way he'd feel straddled over his lap... Electricity courses through him again, in a way he missed, in a way he couldn't feel before- and he wondered, then, if this was some indication of how Emet-Selch's wish manifested. The very notion that he could properly exhibit his arousal, combined with the way Emet-Selch gripped him and kissed him, elicits a groan from the affected robot, who clutches his prize, tattoo luminous and alive with their connection.]
I can think of a lot of good reasons to transform... So, I will. [Which meant that they needed a little bit of separation again, as Mettaton lifts his hands and gingerly coaxes Emet-Selch back by his shoulders.] Not least of all... how it feels to kiss your lips, and show you my heat.
[And, of course, explore the wild world of magically-induced dick. However that would go.
Properly separated from Emet-Selch, the idol's quick to activate his transformation. Just enough of a fog (scentless and benign, really just for show) is released to obscure the grisly parts of a mechanical transformation, as Mettaton's body is reconfigured, metal planes replaced with the curves of a humanoid body. And even before that smokescreen entirely clears, Mettaton gasps.]
Oh! Ohh, my...
[The robot finds himself leaping to his feet. Adjusting his footing, his legs... before shuddering intensely, metal trembling with him. With a grunt he so obviously, and shamelessly, handles his crotch, palming it. Voice hitching at the sensation alone, he presses his thighs together, glancing down his body (and leaning enough so that he could peer over his ample chest).
Emet-Selch would find nothing special there. But Mettaton's behavior suggests otherwise. No bulge, no cock. Mettaton hesitates.]
I... feel something, though... [Discoveries await them, apparently. Mettaton doesn't seem discouraged... but restlessly he shifts, examining his body in the wake of clearing haze.]
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A small noise, quickly stifled and barely audible, is the automatic response to Mettaton cutting off the contact between them. But Emet-Selch doesn't offer resistance beyond a twitch of tension in his arms, letting himself be guided back, gaze focused with singular intent on the other man. An attentiveness and visible longing that was vulnerable in itself. Of wishing he could have shown him this the whole time, no matter the condition of Mettaton's body- but needing this bridge all the same.
It was what it was. Exhaling a slow breath, he waves him onward, before letting his hands fall heavily into his lap.]
Show me. Every trace of it- every part of your heat.
[Dick hopefully included. Emet-Selch forces himself to sit back properly, sinking into the cushions of the couch. Partially to get a better view of his lover's transformation, and partially to aid in resisting the impulse to reach for him.
Without delay, that familiar smokescreen is released, and Mettaton's form is hidden from him entirely, the process a continued mystery, even after all this time. Yet even before he could see the result, could make out more than a humanoid shape beyond the fog, the idol's voice cuts through it, as the now-taller man lunges to his full height. Impatient- and uncommonly excited- the Ascian is made to wait to see what had elicited his lover's reaction.
The haze finally clears; automatically, his eyes fall upon Mettaton's crotch, as the other man gripped it, squirming in place, clutching at... nothing? Everything about his response spoke of immediate and shameless arousal, a combination that has his own pulse speed, his muscles tighten in sympathetic desire- but he couldn't see anything there.
His brow furrows, expression more confused than disappointed. There was no question that Mettaton was aroused... and if no cock ever appeared, that much would still be true. As they both took in this reaction, one that spoke of more than was visible, Emet-Selch wrests his attention from between his husband's thighs, and back towards his face.]
Something... other than your restored sensitivity?
[Where skepticism would've usually bloomed, he sounds more hopeful instead, despite himself. There was a good deal they could still enjoy, if Mettaton's reaction to handling his bare crotch was anything to go by- but he'd be lying if he pretended that he didn't actively miss his husband's cock. The ability to bring him, to see him in climax- it mattered to him (even apart from the simple attractiveness in all that surrounded the process).
But there was also no denying that there was no sign of any cock, as yet. And nowhere for it to be hiding, unless it was underneath silicone... somehow.
Though he longed to touch him, his hand even lifting from his lap before he realizes, he holds himself back.]
Is it internal? [But where? And how were they meant to access it, then?] Or can you shapeshift, as you used to?
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It is comfortable, and happy, its foot twitching slightly. Those who it recognizes as its parents are nearby, and it could feel something... pleasant between them. That is all it cares about.
Turning his attention instead to Emet-Selch rather than his legs, Mettaton excitably smiles, feeling properly stared down. Like predator to prey, as Emet-Selch wanted nothing short than to devour him- and it felt like a look he longed for for too long already. If he's prey, he's the most willing of them all, and it may be that he wishes to lure the smaller man in with his charms to do whatever he wished with him.
That look alone could do him in, he thought. Such single-minded intensity... He could swoon, and he sighs, noting how hot his body is already. God, he wanted to put on a show for him- and the ache between his legs is so heavy, so pronounced, that it surprises him again as he follows Emet-Selch's attention down south, only to continue seeing... nothing. Not even a hint of anything, despite the fact that he felt so much.
His lips part, as he attempts to explain precisely what he was feeling. With this pronounced ache between his thighs, it grows easy to focus only on the input immediately surrounding him... On the sensations that plague him currently, and that alone. Of the sight of luminous golden eyes fixed on him attentively, with hope tinging his gaze. Mettaton warms, softens.]
I feel like... Hades, you know the way you look when you're still dressed, but... [And even the memory, combined with his current sensation, has him exhale with a shudder.] When I've riled you up, and you can barely take another second while dressed. I feel just like that, ah...
[He felt restrained. Even the description has him pressing his thighs tensely together, knees shifting enough that they're nearly knocked. He presses and squeezes over the swell of his thighs, which feel... exceptionally plush, he thought. But his ability to feel must be the cause...
Was it a shapeshift? Was he imagining an erection, the way he might've imagined hare ears atop his head? Mettaton taps into his understanding of shapeshifting into a rabbit... and finds himself unable to change a thing in the direction of endowment. (Perhaps as soon as he figured out what was happening, that would change.) Fingers roving over his front, over his thighs, Mettaton's brow furrows.]
It really does feel like I'm... I know I'm right! But how can that be... Oh? Oh...?
[Bizarrely enough, the robot feels something right on his hip. And as he turns slightly, jutting his hip out to Emet-Selch, so too does his tattoo become apparent: printed over the seam in his torso, the tattoo glows bright, rings orbting as fluidly and steadily as they might in the Ascian's magic, glowing darkly. The stagelight's center manages to be white-hot without actually emitting any light, merely a trick of the eye. It wouldn't blind, in any case.
But Mettaton doesn't notice this, as he flicks at... what appears to be a very-well hidden zipper on his hip? Something that has never been a feature before now, as his brow furrows. His body's endured some kind of mechanical upgrade, and it happeend in the span of seconds, enough for the idol not to notice. But before he tugs that zipper down, his extendable arm gropes down the side of his leg- where he fiddles with the boot on his foot.]
It's... removable. It's all removable...
[This boot looks just like his old one. But for some reason... it as as though he could take it off. Even the black silicone that coated his legs seemed to be a removable feature- and just a sliver of silicone underneath peeked out, a tease of 'skin' that matched Mettaton's face. Not that any of that explained why nothing seemed visible in the front... Mettaton continues to observe himself, as he lifts a foot and carefully dislodges his shoe- which begins to slip off. He gawks, spellbound at this unexpected, but necessary development.]
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But the mage paid it only as much thought and attention as it deserved as a part of Mettaton's body- and he had the whole rest of him to appreciate as it was. Even though, aside from the glowing rings and their center light that looked as though it would be hot to the touch, everything seemed normal. Familiar, and undoubtedly attractive to him- especially when he caught his lover's smile, when their eyes briefly met, and the rest of the world bled away.
It felt as though some restraint, whether conscious or instinctive, defensive, had dissolved in him. Even if it might have been battered down in time, to look at Mettaton now and see him responding to the stimulus of existing in an aroused state, and to know how he would react to his touch, whether delicate or desperate- inspired more wanting than he thought he could bear. Desire was something that could be given into now, rather than denied- and for a moment, Emet-Selch wondered just who would be doing the devouring- but that they would be tearing into one another was a foregone conclusion.
And yet, there was no visible erection (and Emet-Selch was near certain that it would be an erection at this point, given the energy between them; though he wasn't yet fully hard himself, he was moving quickly in that direction, even if his body was ever one to lag behind). Even though Mettaton behaved as though there was, a heaviness between his thighs to bear the pressure that built in him, there was nothing to be seen. Breathlessly, he hums at the idol's description.]
More than look, I know the way it feels. All the discomfort you've caused me, while leaving me restricted for far too long.
[Though he also did appreciate the sight, of his erection growing firm, insistent enough to be visible through fabric, an outline that demanded to be noticed and spoke of his attention. But if Mettaton was feeling something like that, there was no sign of it, no tell-tale bulge... and why would there be? The silicone there wasn't fabric that could be tented... not in any non-permanent way.
But it wasn't a shapeshift either. Though he couldn't see, nor feel, the process behind the robot's given magics, he assumed he'd be feeling out for some new instinct having been implanted in him. Yet no cock emerged, so it wasn't that.
But something was going on, a process of discovery and sensation that he could only imagine, but it was enough to keep him from becoming disheartened, to resign himself to a (literally) anticlimactic end. He would trust in what Mettaton was feeling out- a trust that was soon rewarded when the robot found... something?]
It's--
[...removable? The Ascian simply stares as Mettaton discovers a heretofore unknown (and nonexistant) seam on his hip. A carefully crafted zipper, near-impossible to spot unless one were looking for something there- and with it, a permanently-grafted boot was suddenly not so permanent after all. Brows growing no less furrowed at this development, the smaller man unconsciously leans forward, scooting towards the edge of the couch to get a better look. To watch... whatever was happening.]
Is it in your leg?
[What even. That's not where cocks went.]
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He himself felt more overwhelmingly aroused than he had in months. It was no fault of his companion or even his vivid imagination... but rather, how far his body could perform that feature. It hadn't been designed to do that. (Though the promise to make him 'fuckable' was definitely there, if made by a particular scientist who... he didn't want to think too far about, lest he miss her too sharply. (Mettaton also only knew about this because he dug through her papers, and found some plans and very, very scrawly writing. She seemed flustered.) But that aside notwithstanding,) with the agumentation wished into being by his very own husband...
Mettaton sighs at the sight of him, distracted from removing his... skin. Or, feet. Shoes. It reminded him a little of when he was a Puca, and had rabbit-like feet... but somehow, the world's seen fit to give him his beloved pink heels as a replacement, as though simply modifying the design of his body. Could the Crystal really do all of this? Mettaton sighs with a silly smile even as Emet-Selch regards him with confusion, thinking all the while of their heated tangos with Emet-Selch pitching tents in his trousers, all for Mettaton to tease into continued existence with playful nudges of his thigh, or the sultry suggestion of what-he-wanted-to-do-to-him's.
He has to mumble in response, just for Emet-Selch to know.]
I love seeing you squirm, my dear.
[And he loved making him squirm some more. Then, he loved indulging him for his wait, and hearing him cry out as he's subdued, overcome... God, Mettaton realizes. Even he himself felt as though his shackles had been shed- because there wasn't a thought he felt he couldn't make good on! He brightens visibly--
Though he still has the task of finding that erection he's so sure he feels. (How cruel would it be, to give a phantom cock to a ghost? Mettaton knew he'd have to clear that maze just to track down Mr. Vaeros, and demand he fix it immediately.) When Emet-Selch starts, his proclamation makes Mettaton laugh.]
I don't know, beautiful! But let's find out, shall we? It seems I've underwent some sneaky changes... [Moving his attention from his shoe to meet Emet-Selch's eyes, he smirks.] Let's hope they're upgrades, rather than downgrades.
[His shoe is slipped off- not entirely an unusal sight, given his tenure as a Puca. But the foot beneath is not one of fur, but something entirely foreign to Mettaton. Humanoid, but plastic, it has... toes. It has an arch to its foot, and whatever metal framework makes him up is coated in fine white silicone. Sculpted to perfection, his calves are sheathed in black- and that, Mettaton realizes, is a curiosity indeed. He snorts.]
This is the first time I realized I was wearing pants. Are you sure you didn't wish for my decency, darling? [It's a tease, as he's been victim before of the accusation of his clothesless self. Robots don't need clothes! But with a hum, he contemplates this change- and the sensation he felt, hot in his thighs.] And if I did develop our desired equipment... it would be necessary...
[Skin-tight latex pants. That is the Mettaton Way now. But if he had something hidden there, if Emet-Selch wasn't being specific... perhaps it made sense that the universe (or the Overseer, clever and possibly fashionable man he is) sought to grant Mettaton propriety. Which still didn't explain the lack of notice to the front of his new 'pants,' but he suspends his thoughts to move along. After all, Emet-Selch is watching- closely.
It's with natural showiness that Mettaton takes to that zipper, leaving his other heel on. (They uncovered the mysteries of Removable Shoes, it was time to discover Removable Pants, even if it left him off-kilter.) He bares more of what would become his newly naked thigh, still snow white silicone all the way down to his mid-thigh. But whatever else there was to discover, the two of them have a presently burning question- and that was if he had Emet-Selch's wish granted.
Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eye, still unable to keep still, as he shifts his hips, pressing his legs together. Emet-Selch's lean for him was enchanting, and Mettaton sought to see his wishes granted, with all his heart. Dislodging the silicone from his waist (what a flawless fit; it had to be magic), Mettaton knew his heart would be pounding in anticipation to behold what he feels should be there, even while he questions how it would be possible at all. Shimmying them slightly down his hips is all it takes, as the robot shows himself off mid-strip for Emet-Selch.
As well as the brilliant, if magically deceptive, sight of his erection. Latex hugs the shaft tight, its bulbous tip swollen and heated, as Mettaton halts his stripping half-way down his hips. Those pants must be hot and magic, because there was no indication of this, an obvious, thick arch tight against Mettaton's body- and with a flush that is bright, hot pink, of all things. Who needs to have "natural" coloring when you're a robot themed in blacks, pinks, whites, and silvers??
Mettaton swallows, lips parted as he gives Emet-Selch a look. His wish had worked. It worked, if manifesting differently than expected- but his size, his girth, the exhibition of his overall arousal- Mettaton can do nothing but smile, woozy and wordless.]
Hades, I... God, I wanted this, for you to see... [All of how much he craved him. That's what he yearned for him to know, and this was a means for him to communicate that.]
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A whole heel, removed. It did remind him a bit of Mettaton's prior puca-hood. By the time he'd met him, his legs had already been consumed by those monstrous changes, made into something lagomorphic rather than robotic. Which had come with the unexpected benefit of choice... as puca were a natural part of that world, and any number of them would want fancy footwear that could accommodate their particular feet. The market existed, and Mettaton could join it.
Here, though, his pink heels were the same as his leg; there would be no removing them. Until now.
(A strange oversight on the part of his body's designer, Emet-Selch felt. Given the opportunity, he knew Mettaton would love an array of boots to switch into on a whim, even if he also loved his default look.
Another oversight, of course, was Mettaton's (lack of) fuckability... and a far more crucial one, in his opinion.)
But his thoughts don't dwell too far on this unexpected side-development when it came to his lover's ability to switch shoes, or the existence of a humanoid foot underneath his heel (rather than a nest of wiring and bolts). Curious of an upgrade(?) as it was, it was still not an erection, and nor did there seem to be one hiding in his boot either. (Thankfully.)
So where was it? The mage stared unashamedly at his lover's crotch between looking up to his face, waiting for it (or rather, Mettaton) to reveal its secrets.
--All to snort at Mettaton's reply.]
A wish for your respectability is beyond anyone's ability to grant. I wouldn't waste my time trying.
[It had occurred to him, that were Mettaton to obtain a permanent addition, it would necessitate... changes. More specifically, it would require his husband to wear pants, as while nude robots were acceptable, nude robots sporting a visible erection were distinctly not, when it came to the public sphere. Even so, he'd left it up to fate, chance, or the designs of their Overseer. Or Mettaton himself, even, if unconsciously, finding a solution that would be acceptable to him.
Heart racing enough for the both of them, his fingers dig into the fabric at his thighs, as Mettaton teases with a zipper, turning the question of Where Was Mettaton's Cock? into a premier show, a tease for them both as more 'skin' was revealed. All the way until- there. Unmistakably vivid, and deceptively hidden until it was given permission for the suggestion of freedom. For the briefest moment, Emet-Selch's eyes close, and he exhales a shuddered breath, and something akin to a moan with it.
...It worked. His wish had been accepted in its entirety, from his lover's ability to feel, to his ability to show off his wanting with the proper endowment. One that suited Mettaton in size, shape- even coloring, unnaturally pink as it was.
(Should he have wished for a penetrable ass with it, comes the passing thought- a wish for another time, he supposed, though this reveal of Mettaton's Pants would at least solve the problem of continued respectability, when it came to that point (or rather, hole) as well.)
And what a magical solution, he couldn't help but marvel at, eyes opening again to take him in, the thick length still held tight, but permitted the touch of air. Some magic had to have been given to his lover's 'pants', to hide what would have otherwise been an utterly indecent bulge. Even if Mettaton hadn't been erect, it would have been obvious. Distractingly obvious. But like this, he could tuck himself away with no one the wiser as to what he was packing... all to suffer with the mage, whenever he became aroused while contained. (A concept that pleases the Ascian immediately, terribly. Even if Mettaton would have the 'mercy' of being spared the risk of tenting fabric in public, he'd feel it all the same, just as he did.)
Swallowing, he glances up, looking back to Mettaton's face as he speaks, stricken with him. Complicated emotions remained, as was the nature of love and attachment- but the fierce ache of desire threaded through it all, regret not enough to outweigh it.]
I knew- I always knew, but....
[He knew how Mettaton wanted him. He didn't need a cock- or even sensitivity- for Emet-Selch to know it. But it had hurt them both, to not have it available, to not have something tangible to hold onto. Edging forward, nearly leaving the couch entirely, he reaches out to touch the robot's thigh, to skim fingers along the 'bared' part of it, skirting around his erection itself, for all that he longed to grasp it. There was so much- how many fantasies were there, that they could now make good on--]
--It still needs testing, though, don't you think?
[That he was now properly hard himself, Emet-Selch is only distantly aware of. A warmth, a faint dizziness given how quickly blood had been drawn low, but apart from the background pleasure of it, he doesn't think anything on it. The normal result, when he had Mettaton's erection available.]
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If he hadn't been aroused before, Mettaton knew that the intensity with which he stared between the robot's thighs would've been enough provocation on its own to get him there. Any pretense of respectability is shed, the vague nature of Emet-Selch's request granting Mettaton a cock, all right- and the necessary features to continue concealing it, as the achingly hot, pink tip of himself suggests one very interesting feature. His pants were not unlike a bag of holding, except for heavy cocks, aching with arousal.
...A blessed inclusion, he'd consider later, even if right at this very moment he wanted to be bulging, to be tenting his pants and showing his want. No, he would continue to masquerade as a sexless robot, all while concealing a very prominent secret.
The sight of Emet-Selch's eyes gracefully slipping shut could be enough provocation on its own to lunge for him, though Mettaton's knees feel like jelly for the moment, overwhelmed at the feeling of himself with such a heady, deep ache, and the evident overcome on Emet-Selch's features. The sound of his moan- god Mettaton had longed for that sound, and to be responsible for it without even touching him. He feels agonizingly hard, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
(That he would privately suffer any erections sported at inconvenient times... Mettaton scratches that. It would be proper and decent, but he wouldn't be the only one to know. He would need to tell Emet-Selch- who he knew would be waiting impatiently for the grand review, only so he could agitate him in the meantime. A shuddered breath on Mettaton's part slips into a sweet, airy moan, thighs pressed together at the thought.)
The robot's hands press over his own thighs, as though threadbare will alone keeps him from grappling his own erection and stroking himself for show. But as soon as Emet-Selch reaches for him, the robot lifts his hands, granting Emet-Selch instead that plane of touch- and the spark he feels upon contact with his thigh is enough to make him moan, knees nearly buckling. And somehow, the unconscious knowledge exists that Emet-Selch is undoubtedly hard- and he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted to feel him touch him all over, and to touch his body in return.
Mettaton nods fiercely, slipping his thumb into the waistband of his new... pants. He can't help himself as he adjusts the tight latex, slipping lower down his shaft before letting it rest. Fabric crowds his cock, pinning it tight against his body in a way that was agonizing but relieving at once: agonizing to feel it so tight and aching, and relieving to ache at all, like this.]
I do think that, [He breathes, trying to shift his posture. The height of his heels makes the shifting of his weight very difficult, though feeling this electrified has Mettaton stilled, wavering, fingers digging into his thigh on one side and reaching for Emet-Selch with the other. He twines his digits in with the ample fabric of his robe, for steadiness and to keep a grip on him at all, as he attempts to lure the smaller man to take him to the bedroom.]Take me to bed, beautiful. I want to feel you with... with all of this impossible clarity you've given me.
[A kindness immense. Mettaton shivers, overcome at the sight of him- aware that this was something he'd wished for, and he knew that it had far less to do with Emet-Selch's own libido, and more to do with his own comfort. His own self-expression...
There are two compelling reasons to not stick to the couch. The awful sensation is one. (Mettaton could deal, though it would inevitably distract him in moments of clarity or calm.) The other, of course, is keeping thei love-making away from the dragon. They could leave it to its slumber, and take to the bedroom. Though Mettaton grins, leaning into Emet-Selch's touch.] I'd like to feel as much as possible... and Hades. Your warmth, against me- I want to feel that too.
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Even though he could see it happening, those pants were an impressive work of containment, in managing to hide all of his husband's sex beneath them without splitting, and without even showing more than what had been explicitly revealed. Of course, when they were together like this, Emet-Selch knew that they would have both appreciated the sight of a visible outline of his length, a look more than suggestive but one that begged to be touched, teased into getting harder yet. Just watching Mettaton slide latex down his girth caused his breath to catch with a small noise, something sympathetic; though he was also dressed, he wasn't bound anywhere near so tightly. And if Mettaton found it difficult to resist stroking himself, freeing his cock completely and wrapping his hand around it, Emet-Selch found it similarly challenging to not do the same.
(Mettaton had boasted more of a wardrobe than himself, on other worlds (and if that wasn't true yet here, it soon would be- especially with Emet-Selch's own proclivity towards identical robes and identical robes only). If they wanted to play with his public capacity for decency, it would be easy for the robot to switch one set of pants for another whose ability to cover ran mundane.
But for all the times when Mettaton went 'unclothed'... what lay beyond would be their secret.)
Those future thoughts were there, if only in some hazy way that would take time to be defined. No, it was mostly there as an impression of what they now could do together, could have together, clothed and bare, inside the bedroom or wherever they happened to be.
But the bedroom seemed like the right destination this time, a bed the most practical place for what they wanted, and when Mettaton moans, shifts in place with a squeeze of thighs that he wanted to be between, he was ever more certain of it. Both in terms of comfort, in materials more forgiving than the weave of the couch, and in terms of space for them both, which the couch also lacked. (The couch's durability too, for that matter... even if it would probably hold, why risk it?
Emet-Selch still remembered the lesson of the Chair (the lesson was to not try to fuck in chairs that were not built for that). Not that something like that would be likely to stop him now, should some other bit of furniture give way (though he would gripe nonetheless)).
He'd hoped for sensation. He'd wished for a proper cock to go with it, to make use of and provide relief for the need sensation would create. But for temperature to come with it, more than Mettaton had ever had before as a robot- went beyond what he would have thought to ask for, and for the first time he was grateful. And now that it was there, it would be difficult to understate how much he wanted that aspect, for his lover to feel his heat all along his body.]
You'll have it. All the warmth I can give you.
[Rising up, drawn easily away from the couch, it took concerted effort to not continue that movement all the way into melding tight to the robot's body, to press a half-covered erection against his fully concealed one. ...But they had a bedroom to get to, and the desire to strip down, and to see Mettaton fully- he wanted both of those things as quickly as possible. Giving in and grinding against him here would be counterproductive (if enjoyable).
Impossible to resist was the need for a kiss- though he keeps it relatively brief, nearly chaste, as his hands reach up to drag Mettaton down into it. It had been several minutes since the robot had transformed into this shape, one with lips that could be met and kissed, and it felt a travesty that he'd gone without. An understandable one, though, as Mettaton's leap from the couch and fondling of himself, groping at an erection neither of them could see- well, it was a distraction.
But he'd take that kiss now, lips soft and warm against firm silicone, and another shiver of want courses through him at the idea that Mettaton could feel, could well and truly feel this. It felt regrettable to have to draw back, and his eyes linger on him all the same, as he swallows again. The fabric of his robes moves, brushes against the other man's body, but he otherwise manages to maintain a slight distance when he lets go with a brief stroke of the taller man's face.]
--Can you walk like....
[With one heel off, (with Mettaton's boots off, he wondered absently whether they would be around the same height), it would be an awkward way of getting anywhere. Nor could Emet-Selch teleport them even the shortest distance, or do anything to make things magically easier.
It's not about to stop him from grasping for one of Mettaton's hands (the one with their wedding ring; gods, there was still so much to recover, and he was touched all over again at the thought of this one piece being dear enough to his husband to wish over in his absence), squeezing it tight, and practically dragging him towards the bedroom. It's at least not a far journey; their cottage's diminutive size having the lone advantage of never being far from a bed.]
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So many thoughts for the future. And unlike before, all of them were achievable.)
Even standing here before Emet-Selch, the tip of his cock peeking out from over the waistband of his pants, reminds Mettaton of the ambient chill compared to his overwhelming heat. It wasn't a cold day by any means but it still impressed upon him the sensation of "colder," and Mettaton feels every... nerve(???) in his body responding to it by warming even more. By shifting and moving, watching Emet-Selch in his lean as he promises heat, and rises to meet him.
Sparks fly between them so quickly and profusely that Mettaton wonders if they'd magnetize, coming together and being quite unable to come apart. He exhales shakily, pressing his palms against his hips and flexing his fingers against himself to remind himself to keep from getting so handsy, or showing off to Emet-Selch the power of his libido.
Barely able to resist—and completely incapable of stooping in and meeting Emet-Selch half-way. But the sensation of being dragged into it draws a moan out of Mettaton readily, and he shudders, the sensation of his lover's heat a hint of what he had to enjoy. It takes all of his power not to deepen it, and he nearly gives, a flick of his tongue the taste of heat he desires...
If there was any reason to part, it's to murmur,
] You're so soft, I...
[It stuns him silent. He knew all along of Emet-Selch's tenderness, but to feel it for himself was its own experience. The dance of fabric against his body, billows of robe brushing over him, has his breath hitch all over again- has Mettaton jolt slightly, a tickle where he was so, so sensitive, and attuned to Emet-Selch's every touch.
When he shivers, shudders, engrossed in the arousal that came from every last sensation if he lost himself to it all, he almost misses Emet-Selch's question. It's only when the mage takes his hand that he recalls the sound of his voice and actually translates its contents into language that he grounds himself—both literally and figuratively.
That is, he shifts his ample weight between feet.]
Like this? Honey, [He starts, playfully squeezing Emet-Selch's hand and flashing him a grin.] I 'walk' on a pole and wheel. I can handle an unsteady gait.
[Had he ever done it? No, actually! But Mettaton believes in his ability to. It wasn't as though he could pull anything or cause any damage anyway, though he lets the smaller man draw him along, attention bright at the notion that Emet-Selch is quite hurried despite his question. He even giggles: Even if I couldn't, I have a feeling he'd be tugging me along just to get the trip over with quickly, he thinks, smile reaching his eye in his pleasure.
Emet-Selch guides them in; Mettaton closes the door behind them. They're quickly in the bedroom together, and Mettaton continues to press onward toward the bed, crowding Emet-Selch as much as possible without getting too flush with him. But like this he switches places with him, taking a seat at the edge of the bed so that he can fold his leg over his knee and work his second heel off. (Indeed, he had no problems with it.) Slipping pink down over skin-tight latex, MTT rolls his ankle as soon as he releases his foot—as he marvels over the change, if just for a moment. And there's... so much to marvel over, as his attention roves up his shin and toward his thighs, his lap...
Then, back to Emet-Selch, heat brimming in his gaze.]
You, my love... deserve to unwrap me. I am your wish... And I want to watch your reaction to my body.
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Now he couldn't. But what would keep them from playing so dangerously in the future?)
Even the sound of a moan coming from his lover has the Ascian's breath hitch, their kiss nearly interrupted for that reason too. With the sound, he could practically feel the mutual inclination to go deeper than this- and the mutual work it took to stop.
But he's softened instead at being called soft, weakened in a way that hurt, but something that he wouldn't ever seek to ease. That most of all made it near-impossible to resist taking on another kiss, the need to show all the tenderness he felt, how soft his body would be next to his (and yet how hard it would be in certain areas). This way of expression suited them best, he felt- and how he'd missed it--
Somehow they resist taking it further right there. And Emet-Selch expected Mettaton to be able to handle a bit of uneven walking, though the reminder of his familiarity of moving about on a single wheel earns him a quietly amused, if breathless, sound, an acknowledgement. Even if, for some reason the robot couldn't make the small distance on his own, Emet-Selch could drag him. Unglamourously (and probably uncomfortably, now that the robot would be able to feel the floor he was pulled across), but successfully. He had wrangled his unconscious body into a bed, when his wish for his healing had knocked the idol out. He would wrangle his conscious body too.
But it was fortunately and expectedly unnecessary, the retreat to their bedroom uneventful and as smooth as it might be. With the world shut out behind them, they were alone. Together.
With Mettaton seated at the edge of the bed, he watches as the other boot is removed, another foot revealed, complete in its craftsmanship. Another curious feature, but one he can only spend a moment's attention to, when there was all else about his lover to observe. It had already felt a challenge to part from one another long enough for the other man to sit down, to work off his boot, rather than follow him onto the bed, to sit on top of him and kiss him hard.
Though as Mettaton invites him to do the honors of undressing him, he does lean over to leave a kiss next to his functional eye, before slipping down next to him on the bed in a heap of robes. Exhaling carefully, his eyes roam over planes of silicone and metal, before landing between his thighs, to gaze unabashedly at the bright pink poking suggestively free. Something so unnatural shouldn't be so appealing, but his hand reaches for him before he's even aware of it. A single, soft brush of a finger across Mettaton's very tip, before a stroke downward, following where he imagined an outline.]
...My prize. And how neatly packaged.
[And tightly wrapped at that. From one touch to another, his fingers take to the edge of the latex, and work their way underneath, and begin tugging it downward. This wasn't some normal fabric, something that could be slipped off with ease, made for being shed- this was skin-tight, and made for Mettaton in particular. Haste mingles with patience in his touch, as the desire to extend this moment, to savor each and every inch of him revealed, warred with a desperation to see him bared.]
I've wanted- I've dreamt of this moment so often.
[Perhaps not in this shade of pink, or this specific solution to their problem- but he had, no matter how much he tried not to. If this wasn't the only way he knew how to express himself to him- it was the way he knew best.
And with incessant, determined pulls, Emet-Selch works the constrictive material lower. More peeling than undressing- all until he'd worked it far enough to expose the whole of Mettaton's erection, letting it bob free in the open air. Hopeless to stifle was his moan, or the way he curled closer to the robot's body. Though his hand doesn't yet grasp him, it wasn't for a lack of wanting to, as his fingers splay around him, close to his base.]
You're... look at you. You're already so thick for me.
[Admiration, abject wanting- it's all there in his voice, in the trembling tension in his body.]
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Despite the intensity of their desire, and though half of him expects to be taken up in a ravenous kiss, Mettaton is mollified at the kiss next to his eye. He exhales, lids fluttering closed, and lips parted in his pleasure. Because of course, even these tender actions are pleasurable... and intense, at that. The texture of lips, the gentlest of suctions worthy of a kiss so sweet and simple- he could feel it all, and it marveled, and overwhelmed.
Even when he was used to it, it had never stopped overwhelming.
With his eye closed it manages to take him off-guard to feel Emet-Selch's digit probe the tip of his cock, and he tenses and shudders, wriggling in his spot. Parted lips mean he can't help it when he groans, shivering as his hips perform as they instinctively know to, by thrusting, seeking out more attention when Emet-Selch parts.
Even when haste and need seems to be Mettaton's key, though... he would be more than pleased with the gradual unwrapping process. He thrived under the exclusive, and pointed attention. And even when Emet-Selch begins to pry impossibly sturdy latex from Mettaton's hips, the robot can't help himself when he fixes his attention not on his lap, but on Emet-Selch's face- to gaze upon him rapturously, helplessly in love with the man who found his love language back on his tongue. Intensity and passion and daring was theirs, as he recalls their discussion of it... as that ferocity couldn't be conveyed without possessive passion. This is his body, and Emet-Selch sought to see it restored and maintained.
It's fortunate that the material, despite being a perfect fit for MTT alone, isn't disagreeable. When it was wanted off, it would slip its way over silicone thighs- and before they know it Emet-Selch has Mettaton that bit more exposed. Mettaton feels the chill of air, the inertia of a stiff cock bouncing to stand proudly on display- but he watches as Emet-Selch collapses closer, and drinks in his moan beside the sound of his own.
From balls to cock, his overall shape wasn't dissimilar from the way Mettaton had always preferred it. It was a perfect replica, in fact, uncannily so; his tip was a firm, full swell, and the rest of him thick enough to suit his large robotic figure. Framed by Emet's fingers, Mettaton patiently keeps as still as he can manage- which isn't much, as he writhes against the bed. He could feel the pent-up, and impending, need to grasp him- and it nearly keeps his thoughts from moving, his lips from forming words, from doing anything more than managing a groan. He is thick, and he spreads his legs slightly to emphasize what was theirs to enjoy.]
In case you don't remember... how could I not be? I'm inundated by... by, ah...
[He couldn't quite find the words to summarize how he felt about sensation. There was the simpleness of air, of held hands, of surfaces and his own touch, or of vibration or tapping. Then there was any deliberate movement upon Mettaton from Emet-Selch, from his every kiss to his embrace, sweet and heady both.
And now he had Emet-Selch's fingers framing his cock, applying pressure to his crotch. Mettaton gasps, squirming some more in aching need- but he can't resist watching Emet-Selch in the end, attention flitting between his hands to his body, his face.
And of course that tattoo's activity remains alight, steady movement paired with a luminous center. But it's a new feature that has fallen by the wayside in MTT's eyes for now, given... this. Given the high, thick curve between his thighs- and all of the promise it brought, to fulfill both of their desires. A conduit for their feelings of heat and love and care- and something Emet-Selch had wished for him to enjoy again.]
Hades... I love you...
[He can't help but utter that. Even if it could be considered a "shortcut" in comparison to working out how to express themselves in other ways, this... was their favored method, and one that was cathartic, deepening their bond with every touch. Mettaton loved it, and wanted it back swiftly.]
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It was only one step to see his cock fully bared, to drink in the sight of it where it belonged. Apart from coloring, it did look astoundingly like the erection he was familiar with, and he could appreciate how the result of his wish had taken his lover's preferences into account. And Emet-Selch was very familiar with Mettaton's cock, given how much time he spent at eye-level with it, with his lips upon it. A condition that was difficult to not re-obtain with immediacy, now that he had the opportunity, and he nearly huffs to himself at the absurdity of being so... amorous. Of wanting his husband's sex anyway he could have it, that he was stricken by the need for something so base.
Primitive a need as it was, it remained, unable to be reasoned with. He wanted everything at once, and he knew it. To take him in his hand like this, to stroke their cocks together, impress upon Mettaton his own wanting and heat (which only existed because of the taller man, as if arousal itself was a work to dedicate to him). To hold his length between his thighs and stroke him off between them- or to feel his seed shot flush to his entrance, making a mess of him. And to be fucked, of course, in every position they liked... though that would take more lube than existed on this world. (For that reason, if nothing else, Emet-Selch needed his creation powers back.)
He shudders another sigh.]
You know I couldn't forget.
[Which had been the problem, the loss of what had seemed so fundamentally right (just as Mettaton's robotic body was right) not something he could brush off, in the end. (But why should he resign himself to loss and work past it? He knew what they were meant to have! ...The only problem was when his holding back hurt Mettaton too, more than necessary.)
At the sound of his name, he looks up to catch the robot's eye, and he's distracted from the need to remove Mettaton's pants entirely, somehow (and all of his own clothes too, but that was more straightforward). Distracted even from his erection, beyond a sense of things being right once more between them. This would be healing, wouldn't it?]
...I love you too.
[Cock or no cock, and they both knew that. He hoped so, at least. Beyond the exasperation he felt for being this apparently starved for his husband's erection (and the sensitivity that went with it- as he wouldn't be anywhere close to this desirous of him if he knew that Mettaton's capacity for arousal was as dulled as ever), he'd missed this closeness most of all. Even if he shouldn't have let it go on this long- but he'd wanted to express what he knew he could, in this way that suited them both.
Twisting slightly to face him, he leans up to find Mettaton's lips again, in a kiss that still leaned towards the tender. But it was no less needy for it, no less wanting. At the same time his fingers slip to the other man's cock, to wrap around him with a gentle possessiveness, stroking upward to the bulbous head which he squeezes just as carefully. Textures that he missed having under his hand, and were well worth groaning over, though the sound is stifled somewhat by the meeting of their lips.]
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But they do have this, and so much more, as Mettaton's reminded of it with the pressure around his base twined in with a kiss. Mettaton's entire body jolts, and a pleasured groan passes through his throat while his hips jerk immediately to press as firmly as he can into Emet-Selch's touch. Even his own sound is muffled by their kiss, which he returns no less ardently, a hand venturing to Emet-Selch's lap to grab onto a fistful of fabric for stability. The curling of his fingertips nearly skirts the smaller man's erection, and that would've been his handle to grab were the stars aligned just right.
As it is, Mettaton's leaning into Emet-Selch too, legs twitching, shifting, knees pressing together thanks to their overall restraint. Those pants would do to be removed to grant him the full expanse of his flexibility, and it would be a worthwhile result eventually—but even Mettaton's lost in their kiss, in Emet-Selch's touch, in the spark of their chemistry charging the air that chills him.
It's amazing, really. This does feel right—but not long ago and they would feel unable to communicate their love. Maybe it was because they had such a pleasurable time together in sex... and it was immense vulnerability. Where else could they deliberately give themselves over like this, in deepening intimacy that felt so good? He could practically feel his lover's heart as his own, even its heartbeat something he could feel as his... even when he himself possessed plenty of sensation to keep track of.
Mettaton meets his tenderness with a fiery rendition of his own, deep and hot. But soft—and Mettaton breaks it on accident with a moan, as the mage pets up his cock, squeezing him up to his glans with a firmness that Mettaton recognized. Falling right back into familiar rhythms, it welcomes Mettaton readily.]
H... Hades... Ah...
[Even though he's not actively thinking about their lube situation, he's aware of it. But they could get creative just as they are; even if they struggled before, lacking lubricant wouldn't keep them from indulgence, even if there were moments where they longed for deep, full penetration. But there's so much else he could think to do as they are—pushing past Emet-Selch's lips, feeling the smaller man rapturously swallow around his cock and relish the fullness of his neck... feeling the smaller man kiss him up and down, melding his lips along his shaft. Or just the pleasure of being naked together.
...That "nakedness" was an achievable state for Mettaton makes him smile, the absurdity of it not lost on him. Little things and major ones—Mettaton sighs, slipping comfortably against his husband's side as he watches his fingers drift along his length, before glancing back to his face with lips parted, heat building in his body.]
We... We have even more to catch up on now. Hah... [Both sex they missed out on, and all of the dimensions they had to take each other—in new ways and familiar. But more than that, they had a lot of expressing they could accomplish like this.
While Emet-Selch pulls at his cock, fingers forming a ring beneath the head, Mettaton shifts his legs to continue working fabric down his thighs. But the grip he has on Emet-Selch's robes is a reminder too:] I want you stripped too, you know.
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Already pleasant was the press of Mettaton's tongue, dry as it was. His own mouth was enough to keep things smooth, and he offered it completely, losing himself to their kiss. Even if this much was something that they could have done countless times already on this star... it felt easier to give himself over, somehow. (Because he knew Mettaton could feel it with him?)
What was entirely new to this world was what he could grip in his hand, could stroke while indulging in the meeting of their lips. Even if it wasn't a requirement to enjoy a kiss with him- in the moment it felt like the most right thing possible, to handle his cock while breathing in the sound he made when he did.
Including the sound of his name, which hitches his breath again. The only way things could be improved further was to move even closer yet, to have more skin (and equivalent) revealed, to see what it was like when they were flush. With ever more to want, there was ever more to do....]
We'll never see the end of it, at this rate.
[And a glance down, seeing Mettaton continuing the work of removing his pants has him recall what he was meant to be doing (but how could he not become distracted, with a cock available, and in reach?). With a departing squeeze just underneath the corona, as though to tide them both over, Emet-Selch's hand returns to assist with the stripping of him. The returning of Mettaton's nudity... which was a strange thought. Rather than the default state, it was an achievable one, existing only to hide one very notable feature.
With the side-effect of restricting Mettaton's movement when only partway removed (which had its advantages, perhaps, though for now he wanted him completely bared). So he helps with the process of working his pants the rest of the way downward, though he has to sigh, gaze briefly scanning upward to the idol's face at the reminder of all he was also wearing.]
I only have so many hands, Mettaton.
[He couldn't disrobe while he was depanting a robot. Though for all that he wasn't anywhere near so tightly (or invisibly) restricted, the Ascian was increasingly aware of the requests made by his own erection. The want to be freed, to be shown off just like his husband's; the want to be stroked too, as his body noticed how close Mettaton had come to grabbing onto him through his robe, even if the mage himself was less conscious of it. There was only the rush of wanting, a shift of his thighs with the contained desire to move.]
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[Oh, that squeeze. Divine. Mettaton's breathless in sound, near static his only response as he attempts to gather his bearings, thrusting in place at the sensation of fingers lost. He doesn't growl or protest his departure, but he does long for the moment where contact's returned—as the idol knows precisely what Emet-Selch's up to.
Groaning against his lips again, Mettaton's pleasure is earned not just through touch, but exploration. After all, he was sensitive all over, and even the sensation of his 'skin' bared to the air has him shuddering. It was chilled compared to his body, and he wanted to be flush with the warmth the Ascian offers already next to his thigh, their bodies close—and even thinking about that attainable future has Mettaton smiling, squirming, excited for what he had to look forward to.
Which made Emet-Selch's state of being clothed excusable. He giggles, pecking him on the lips.]
Yes. But I have two hands, and I want to strip you naked with them.
[Which would happen before they knew it. For now, he was willing to be stripped down first—he has a lot to look forward to, all at once, and they really wouldn't see the end of it.
Emet-Selch's help makes removing the glossy latex easier. Slipped down his knee, the give of the side-zipper makes removing it from his ankles not too difficult, as Mettaton uses his feet to peel tight, stretchy fabric off, with Emet-Selch's help.
With Emet-Selch's eyes on his face, Mettaton's smile turns into a silly grin, at how much he wanted them so close to each other. He sighs, though, and shivers at the sensation of air surrounding his legs—and the temperature of it all, an entirely new sensation to him.]
I want you... so close to my body. [In it. Around it. But Mettaton gazes at him longingly, a bright, full smile on his lips.] But I also want you to look at me, just as much as I want to see what my upgrades are.
[Conceit, sure. But Mettaton is genuinely curious what changes he's endured, and his ankles flex as he uses his toes to finally shuck his new 'pants.' Magic pants, enchanted to handle a prominent package, apparently.
Mettaton's legs are silicone all the way from hip to toe. Seams run over joints, lines dividing his hips to his thighs, or the areas of his knees—but his knees... the seams, cute and doll-like, are heart-shaped. His ankles are lined with plenty, indicating plenty of flexion. But it's overall a puzzle of seams that are appropriately placed, and smooth, proper workmanship on exhibition. Between his legs stands his cock, erect and heavy and hot, with balls settled just as heavily between his thighs—all pink, to boot.
(Up close, it might be obvious that there's some mechanism that could theoretically make his parts detachable... Theoretically.)
As he is, Mettaton sighs, scooting back on the bed with satisfaction as the mage finally has him stripped. He nudges their thighs together, giving Emet-Selch a heavy look.]
I know I want you naked. And I want you flush to me. But, darling... I want you to take a closer look.
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It was a somewhat strange sight, to see Mettaton with neither heels nor the fur of a puca, for his bare legs to be truly bare with aspects new to them both. With both legs and feet revealed, it looked like the work of something deliberate, that was always meant for being viewed like this. From the cute hearts at his knees, to the work put into his ankles indicating a visible amount of flexibility, there was an attention to detail there that he approved of. Though clearly inorganic, none of it appeared unfinished, a completely tidy and attractive robotic body.
And of course, an erection, a whole package no less artificial than the rest, but with a sensitivity that spoke of something unusual going on underneath its surface. Had he developed some system of organic nerves and veins again? (Maybe it was just magic.) Were his balls for more than the aesthetic? Aroused as he was, he would still need to see whether he could come....
Gaze flitting up, expression a match for him in terms of longing, it skims downward again, across his chestplate, to the familiar glow at his waist, and lower. There was so much that deserved to be pressed to with his own body, with hands and lips and the rest of him too, which meant shedding these robes as the last things separating them, now with the robot's pants removed. But if Mettaton sought to be observed closely most of all--]
Do you think I've been looking anywhere else?
[He murmurs, a touch dry and breathless both. Being distracted from Mettaton and his body- it wasn't something that he could imagine, as he runs a hand down a bared thigh, even as his own clothed one nudges back to his in reply. Just imagining it against skin was a thrill.
But the wants of his own body readily fell to the side, and even the wish to be just as exposed to him- repeated in Mettaton's own stated desires- had to be pushed aside in favor of the robot's other demand. And the easiest way to meet it was to leave the bed entirely, if only to sink between his husband's thighs, forcing his way between them.
And with so much now on a more convenient level with his eyes, he sighs heavily, attention centered here, where he belonged. It had been months since he'd last been in a position like this, and even if it wasn't that long in the scheme of things, it felt like an eternity.]
Is this... close enough for you? Or.... [From his breath gracing him, he presses his cheek to the side of the robot's shaft, nuzzling into him, while a hand steadies him on the other side of his girth.] Did you have something else in mind?
[...This close, Emet-Selch does notice certain seams that implied something about how Mettaton's cock was attached- and perhaps some degree of removability? Not that he could imagine ever wanting to, unless it broke from overuse and needed taken off to be serviced in the less sexual sense. But the logistics are less important to him now in comparison to the existence of a cock at all, as he leans in enough to press his lips firmly to his root.]
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Oh, I KNOW where you've been looking. But I, ah...
[Yes. This is what he wanted- though he knew he would've welcomed a great many things, whether that was Emet-Selch covering the ground of his entire body, sensitive as it is, or doing precisely what he's after now. It's no surprise, that he would hone in on his cock straightaway.
When Mettaton looks down between his thighs, Emet-Selch shoves his way deep between them, all the way until he could feel the heat of his sigh against his aching cock. Mettaton nearly whines at the proximity, the intensity more than he thought he could handle should his husband dive in for him- and the sight alone was enough that he thought he could collapse or overheat, or both at the same time. He reaches for the top of his head, winding his fingers in long strands of ivory hair, lips parted in awe at the sight of him.
And the sensation of him. The Ascian closes in, deeper between robotic thighs, nuzzling the shaft of his brand-new erection that felt like a continuation of something he's always longed to have.]
Ah- ahhh, I... Ohh...
[His hips reflexively jerk, though it's obvious that its lack of impact is suggesting of MTT's restraint, for whatever good that did. His eyes bright with desire, a hunger that hadn't been satiated or even touched upon for months, and the sight of Emet-Selch with his lips flush to his root has Mettaton stuttering and groaning, hips jerking some more.
Panting out of affect, the robot breathlessly laughs, petting and smoothing Emet-Selch's hair.]
I have a lot in mind, but this is... Oh, Hades, I couldn't hold on for long like this, if you...!
[This would do him in swiftly. He is already so sensitive, the air itself enough to arouse him. The knowledge that Emet-Selch was present, there to watch him as he basks in the expanded world of sensation, and adoring it fiercely-that was the real kicker, and the dimension that made it worthy of sexual arousal more than anything.
Mettaton loops a leg over Emet-Selch's shoulder, rubbing over his back with his heel. Even though these legs were once more quite different from his others, they were easy to get the hang of- and closer to a Puca's legs than anything. And he'd ventured as a human... That was just like this, right down to the sensitivity to ambient sensation. The texture of lips to the cradle of Emet-Selch's hand was the hardest to ignore, as Mettaton hums, attempting to still his hips.]
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Though Emet-Selch could also feel Mettaton's attempt at restraint, that the way he jerked his hips wasn't with the force the other man could exert. And while it was nice, while he appreciates his lover's effort to control himself- no small part of him wanted to feel him let go, to be forced to move without any hope of holding out. But he was sympathetic towards what Mettaton must be facing. A body's worth of sensitivity restored at once, with an erection being kissed, stroked, attended to by someone who loved him; how could he expect him to hold on?
The Ascian couldn't help but shudder himself from a rush of overwhelm, as his hand strokes downward to fondle the robot's balls, as if testing them for realism. Or just appreciating their weight, their warmth, just as he was doing with Mettaton's cock and his face, his own skin somewhat flushed by now. Kissing heatedly, deliberately open-mouthed and sloppily up his shaft, it's only when his lips catch on the head that he glances upward again, towards his lover's face. Warmed by his laugh, by every evidence of both arousal and pleasure, his eyes half-close to leave a lingering, sucking kiss to the side of his glans. Keeping him steady with his other hand, he shows every evidence of enjoying himself- and every intent to continue doing so, for as long as either of their bodies held out.]
Mm... it will do, then, for a start. Won't it?
[He speaks with lips flush to him. Because this wouldn't be enough, not for either of them. Even had things been normal they could act as though they'd been pent up for years- and this time they really had gone without for a while. Longer than they'd ever been, since they'd first encountered each other. There was no hope of resisting, not when every instinct told him this was required; they'd each gone too long without this base method of possessiveness displayed.
Accepting Mettaton's leg around him with another approving sound, its weight was familiar even if it wasn't quite like anything that he'd dealt with from him before. But it was a reason to stay close, to remain where he was for right now, even if he wasn't strictly trapped there. There was everything to want, to hope for, but right now, seeing Mettaton off like this, as he knelt between his legs, it appealed terribly.
Unable to resist when he was right there, and not wanting to give Mettaton any cause to jerk his hips anywhere but with his cock properly aligned, he takes the head of him wholly into his mouth. Taking as much as he comfortably could, for that matter- he groans around his mouthful, sucking steadily over him as his hand tightens around his girth.]
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[A sharp gasp would've been choked on, MTT knew, if he had saliva. Already the sensation of lips lingering on a welcoming kiss ignites those sparks that sear through his body, setting fire to his thighs, his crotch. (Figuratively. He's a robot, so it's worth clarifying.) Emet-Selch makes out with his cock and makes it look proper, sweet and nearly chaste, even though Mettaton felt nothing short of kisses that would give a makeout a run for its money.
This is a suggestion that Emet-Selch would start here, and keep going. And Mettaton ached harder, cock preemptively dribbling sweet milky fluid, at the promise of being relieved over and over—and being aroused over and over as well. Mettaton loved the intensity of being coaxed into arousal, and loved it immensely when it was Emet-Selch who was the object of his fascination, and the one fascinating over him.
Every last sound of pleasure that comes from Emet-Selch, whether pleased or approving, brings Mettaton to groan. To buck his hips, and when Emet-Selch settles into the bind of his legs, the robot squeezes him there for security. He's possessed, and Mettaton laces both of his thighs over Emet-Selch's shoulders to impress upon him that truth.
He also just can't help but twine his legs around him while in his rapture. Emet-Selch grips onto his base and wraps his lips tight around his tip, and Mettaton stumbles over syllables, over cries that break and form and break again, cascading and loud.]
H- H- Hades!! Ohh, Hade- Hades—
[He cries his name, because he's the center of his world right now. Orbiting each other, Mettaton can't envision it being possible for anyone else's name to sail from his lips as Emet-Selch's does, the most comfortable name to cry out and the most comfortable man to give himself over to... In the moment, even all of their waiting felt like a blip, as they continue right from where they left off in this comfortable, familiar dance. God, it felt so familiar to be held like this, to scream his name and lose himself and to know that this was a demonstration of intensity and love and most of all, vulnerability.
Gripping into Emet-Selch's hair, Mettaton helplessly strokes himself against his lips, against his tongue, as Emet-Selch fit his girth in his mouth. He suited him well, Mettaton thought hazily, focus blearily upon him as he leaks against his tongue. It's a warning that Mettaton meant it: he could not hold on with the smaller man taking to him so abruptly, and he wouldn't even try, not with the way Emet-Selch called this just a start.
He was going to be well-fucked, and Mettaton's next groan is enamored in his bliss. He needed this. From the sensation to the overwhelm to the feeling of Emet-Selch responding to him and his evident love at being responded to, he needed this.]
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But if there was a sharper edge to it, a craving that went past desperation and back into longing- he wouldn't be surprised. Not that he was giving it much thought in the moment, beyond an awareness of how much he loved this- and when he first felt the slickness of precome against his lips, in response to his ardent kisses, he knew Mettaton loved this with him.
And also knew that Mettaton's assessment was accurate, that he wouldn't be holding on very long at all. Which, if anything, has the mage take to him more earnestly yet, his pulse pounding with something like eagerness. If Mettaton would rub himself against his tongue, he would stroke him right back, reward him with firm, rhythmic pressure as he dips his head over him, and pumps upward with his hand over whatever didn't fit in his mouth.
But he elects not to take him into his throat, not this time. Not out of any lack of desire to do so; to the contrary, on every nudge of his length forward, teasing the back of his throat, it tempted him. He knew Mettaton would enjoy it just as he did, and surely missed being encased in that particular pressure- just as he missed having his throat made full, with no space for air and only just enough space for his lover's girth. But there was already enough to overwhelm, as it was- and he enjoyed too much just this, the weight of the thickened tip against his tongue, the way it slightly gave to the tightness of his mouth. And with it, the expectation, the want to feel him lose it right there. Even if it would all end up down his throat anyway, he wanted the sensation of his heat flooding his senses.
Groan stifled around the robot's new girth, his hair falls forward as he sucks, Mettaton's grip in it not enough to keep it from brushing against the other man's body with each dive onto him. His own hands were too busy and not inclined to hold it back either, with one occupied with milking his cock, squeezing upwards, and the other still handling his balls.
Reveling in the sound of his own name in Mettaton's voice, his willingness- and for that matter, desire- to see his lover to this initial end, was evident in Emet-Selch's touch, in his manner. In his unwillingness to let go of Mettaton's erection, to release him from his hand or mouth without first claiming his seed. Which was his, just as the rest of Mettaton was, body and soul both. Even possessiveness could be a show of vulnerability, though- an admittance of need, of concern and care- the exposure of being attached. And as ever, the request for a break from loneliness, which laced through most of the smaller man's touches.]
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Emet-Selch laps along his shaft, his tongue smoothing over the ridge of his glans, and Mettaton cries out, bright and overcome. Each time he dips low Mettaton felt complete warmth, a comfortable sheathing of his cock in damp heat and pressure- but each time Emet-Selch tugged slightly off of his cock, that air was let to chill (even though his fingers wrap around him, blocking him from most of the chill- Mettaton is just sensitive, and terribly so). He wanted to pound himself into his warm mate; he wanted to leave Emet-Selch heated through as well.
His throat comes to mind. And just dreaming of being held there, Emet-Selch's lips encircling his root as the smaller man swallowed and swallowed to clear that blockage- Mettaton moans, leaking some more as he carefully smooths a thumb against his lover's temple, effectively brushing some of that hair out of the way, though he found it charming to see it brushed forward in the mage's focus.
The focus, the dedication, the passion, the love... Mettaton saw it all from Emet-Selch, and felt it just as clearly. Their language had been returned to him, but it felt so much deeper than that. Mettaton pants, stricken.]
I... I...
[He can't complete the sentiment in words. He cries out instead, sensitive and shocked to his core. But far from distracted- and somehow, the sentiment easily reaches Emet-Selch anyway. (Whether it's the work of their new dragon-wrought brand, or just a connection they share as they are, it was hard to say.) He loves him. He's crazy about him, and he wanted him to know it.
It sure felt as though he were being milked of his first load. First, with the words Emet-Selch gave him, that this would be a start; a threat, but one that brought Mettaton sparks of thrill. But the way Emet-Selch compressed his root and stroked upward to meet his own lips, urging him to spill, in combination with the handling, kneading, and possessive appraising of his balls would be more than enough of a reason to feel that he was being urged toward climax. He had a lot to give, it felt, and the robot tightens his legs around Emet-Selch, urging the smaller man to receive him when he couldn't warn him of the impending release.
They were both exposed, and both terribly attached. And Mettaton could feel Emet-Selch's love and care for him in every squeeze around his thick tip, the compression of amorous suckles show enough that the smaller man was invested in him. In his heart, in his comfort, his pleasure, and the vivid and colorful world Mettaton thrived in. He wanted to hold him tight, and with that desire in his heart, Mettaton spills over.
Spurts of release flood Emet-Selch's mouth- and if not proper semen, it's a convincing duplicate. Slick and sticky and thick, it coats the mage's tongue- and there would be nothing about it that would be jarring or different from what it's ever been in reception. It was Mettaton's, after all, and the idol gives himself over to Emet-Selch's care, his grip in his hair tightening as much as his legs do 'round his shoulders.
And of course, he sings out Emet-Selch's name in his passionate release. His voice ascends upon his name, chanting it for the inability to think about anything else- and if he gets a glimpse of anything, it's the man before him, dutifully caring for him and seeing him to relief.
It's a full first load, a gushing burst of overwhelming heat coming from a very hot robot. But it comes to an end eventually, even though Mettaton's oversensitivity is such that he responds as though in climax for longer than even his release pours from the slit. Every stroke over his length was something worth writhing into, and Mettaton is mindless, overcome and in love.
Unwound by the end of it all, Mettaton's body rattles with a shiver as he slumps slightly, curling forward.] H... Hades, ohhh...
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(Emet-Selch had felt a similar kind of relief, on tasting and feeling the first hints of precome. This implied that Mettaton had the capacity to be... productive, in his releases. That his orgasm (as he refused to imagine the cruelty of him being unable to reach that point with this equipment, with this sensation) wouldn't be a dry affair. That much would have been a disappointment, if he were honest with himself- and would have necessitated an additional wish.
But some part of him relaxes at that tell-tale dribble; somehow, Mettaton's body was capable of producing fluid. He wasn't inclined to ask how.)
It still hitches his breath, causes his body to tense hard when the initial burst of semen hits his tongue, floods his mouth. It's only the work of practice that has him swallowing it down as neatly as he does, despite his own overwhelm and desire to cry out with him. But dedication took priority, dedication and simple covetousness, not wanting to let even a single drop escape him, after so long without (Even if they both appreciated him being made a mess- but that was ever a process, a work to be built on round after round. As he'd already told him, this was only the start.).
Swallowing back each spurt as he's given it, he slows his movement but doesn't cease it immediately, maintaining a firm, demanding pressure around the robot's cock. His hands, too, don't neglect their duties, as his grip squeezes up Mettaton's shaft, milking him, encouraging him to give up everything that he had. The grip on his balls is comparatively gentle, a softer rub provided by his thumb, if no less possessive for it. All of what he touched belonged to him, and not because he'd wished it into existence.
But with that possessiveness was a rapturous adoration of this moment and this man he was knelt before, whose cock he was taking. His own erection felt heavier with every swallow of thick seed, but the mage doesn't consider making any move to touch himself through fabrics that felt uncomfortably restrictive. And while he shifts in place, it doesn't distract him, only adds to his own pleasure in the moment, of being properly wanting and needy as he knew he could be. All he needed was Mettaton's own cock....
Even a release as full, as extended as Mettaton's had to reach some kind of end. While the robot still moves, Emet-Selch obediently strokes him, providing him contact even to a length especially sensitive. But his mouth finally departs him, once he feels the gush of his climax slow to a drip. Not that he moves far at all, as his tongue laps gently at the slit, leaving it with damp kisses and the stroke of his lips against it, smearing what drip of come remained across them.
Safe, warmed by all he'd swallowed, and feeling protected during this whole experience by the way Mettaton's legs had wrapped around him, by the fingers in his hair, he's finally able to glance upward again, towards the other man's face. Out of breath, his own look remains fairly tidy apart from the flush to him (and the muss to his hair where it had been gripped), Mettaton's come neatly contained besides the sheen smeared deliberately on his lips. If there was anything different to his semen, the Ascian hadn't noticed it, satisfied entirely by its familiar consistency and heat- something fitting to the hot robot who produced it.]
Mettaton. [He whispers against him, soft as anything. Relieved, despite his body's own ache- as if something he'd needed to express finally had been.] How... was that?
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