[(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?
[Mettaton knew that Emet-Selch had been looking out for him. For his pleasure and his ecstasy and his enjoyment. Even during these past months when Mettaton had tried for sex with him, hadn't Emet-Selch been focused on what Mettaton couldn't experience with him? What he couldn't respond to- and Mettaton knew he felt isolated. But he also knew that Emet-Selch responded to his own pleasure- and was carried away with it. Ths is just a fact, and when he could respond in this way, he could see the result.
With his climax coming to an end, Emet-Selch so attractively draws off of his cock- leaving him cold to the ambient air, and Mettaton's hips jerk again just to impress upon Emet-Selch how much he enjoyed the security of his mouth. So Emet-Selch pulls off, and as though meeting his kiss, his cock is shoved against his lips, leaving a sticky line of seed against him.
He's reeling. Emet-Selch took him with such dedication, and the idol felt nothing short of grateful for it all. He knew they'd both have wished for this outcome, and he felt pleased to know that they prioritized how they came together in blissful ecstasy, in attempting to bridge what space existed between them. To watch Emet-Selch now was to see him with defenses dropped, focused and pleased to be in service... while similarly enjoying himself, as the robot knew how aroused he'd be by now. A thought to ache over again, as though oversensitivity weren't enough to have him shuddering.
Mettaton groans at the sight of Emet-Selch smearing come over his lips, the still-swollen tip an applicator. To... smooth semen over his lips- and when he lifts his head just barely, enough to speak to Mettaton with his lips still against his cock, the impression of his lips glistening catches Mettaton's breath. If there's something pecuiar about the content of his climax, not even Mettaton notices it entirely- and finds that Emet-Selch's lips should be flush with color, and glistening to boot. (A bit like lip gloss, but he doesn't think anything other than how lovely he looks, and how it matches the flush to his feature, the mussiness of his hair.)]
You know how easily you can do me in. It's almost unfair. [His pout is all for show, though he's taken aback at how quickly Emet-Selch could have him screaming in orgasm... Not really, though. Because that was expected of him.] I... I can barely think, still. I feel so... vividly, ah... I need you, my love...
[And needed him, just like this, in this way so intimate. With another shudder, Mettaton's posture slouches in his overcome, and his hands rove down Emet-Selch's neck and grope at the smaller man's upper back. Releasing him from the welcome prison of his legs, he still wants him close. For now, he slumps over him, eclipsing light as he tries to hold onto him despite his body's momentary disagreeableness.
With a sigh, he pets through his skin, fingers rubbing over his scalp.] And you... how did you like me?
[It endeared, the jerk of hips, the push of Mettaton's erection against his lips as if to kiss him back with it- or to protest being left out in the cold. A condition he was sympathetic to, and was more than amenable to fixing, considering his own preference, his own longing to fit him all the way into his neck. But for all that he suspected that his lover wouldn't complain about being provided that intensity so soon after one climax, it would still be better for them both to wait a moment. Besides, Emet-Selch wanted to soak in this: the awareness of having just brought Mettaton to release, having the taste of it on his tongue, the feeling of it glazing his lips. The memory of the sounds he'd made, as his body had reacted to the pleasure wracking him.
Taking him back into his mouth already would lead to more than just holding him there. The smaller man also wasn't sure how he'd last through that, and he didn't particularly want to climax with his clothes still on (though it would be more likely an aggravation than a mood-killer, in his current state). The mage huffs at their own impatience, that getting Mettaton's pants off had been as far as they'd gotten, when it came to disrobing them both- but he also couldn't blame them.
Nearly smiling at Mettaton's reply, it gratified in some honest way to hear it, for all that he already knew the answer.]
If I can return to you some measure of the way I feel- then it was worth the price.
[The intangible cost of bringing this back to them. The distastefulness of treating with that Crystal (and their Overseer) at all. He'd do it all again. He'd keep doing it, to restore anything else that would continue to enhance their life.
If Mettaton sought his closeness, close he would remain- as Emet-Selch had no desires that ran remotely contrary to that (beyond wishing he were bared to him too). Though he exhales a shaky breath against the head of his cock, it's followed by a warm and gentle kiss to it. A small portion of his affection for him, delivered unselfconsciously. He would've kissed his lips too, shared the texture of his semen with him, if not its flavor, but he couldn't quite reach him like this.
But from there, he leaves Mettaton's cock for the moment, if not to move far. Only to rest the side of his head against the inside of the robot's bared thigh, nuzzling close into this similarly intimate position. His eyes drift closed for the moment, enjoying the attention to his hair, the sensation of fingers deep within it. His heart was pounding, his body's want consistent, undaunted, uneased, but his manner was otherwise as relaxed as it could be. Appreciating his husband's afterglow, the added nearness his slouch provided, and all evidence of his overcome, he hums quietly to himself.
While he lets one hand drop, the other does remain at Mettaton's length, petting slowly over him with similar signs of affection. Though he'd left him 'clean', at least of come, a sheen of spit remained, glistening. Absently, his fingers spread it further down his cock, not deliberately, but as a part of their simple stroking over him. Marveling over the texture, his closeness- Emet-Selch sighs again, contentedly, nudging his cheek more firmly into his leg.]
You overwhelm, as ever. I know you recall the effect this has on me.
[He was very, very aroused, and can't help but shiver at every touch, at the hands on his back, things he wanted to press into if it wouldn't mean moving away from his spot. But after a pause, he continues, in a quieter voice.]
...I missed this.
[The sex was the means, but this way of bonding with him- he didn't know how they could ever replace it.]
[Is he hallucinating it? Emet-Selch's lips aren't just glossy with something slick... Sparkling, perhaps. He does notice this, though he continues not to draw a connection. He wouldn't guess that anything was different about his ejaculate so soon. Especially not without it on full display against skin.
MTT understands immediately what Emet-Selch finds the price to be, which extended beyond mere currency. He smiles, simple and bright- before exhaling his heat, eyelid lowering heavily in his lust at the sight presented before him. Emet-Selch... is a horrible tempter, even when he moves from planting semen-slick kisses against the tip of his slow-to-fade erection to rest against his thigh. Mettaton follows each point of contact with rapt attention, unable to ignore the pinpricks of feeling that shock him to his core. From the hand that lazily strokes over a hyper-sensitive arousal, to the way weight and pressure felt against... his bare thigh (another absurdity).
And the way that wet was drawn down his length from a slow stroke, which has Mettaton shift ever so slightly with a light grunt. He can't help but pet over his head some more, his hands roaming to his back, compelled to touch him all over- and with a productive result.
Especially becaue he did know the effect. His next sigh is a shudder, though his smile only grows, eagerness blooming despite his recent release. And warmth, ultimately, as Mettaton gropes softly over his shoulder blades needily.]
I did, too. [He missed this closeness. But he also missed this sensation, and the ways Emet-Selch always sought to bring it to him.
... Perhaps there was no one-to-one replacement, after all, even if there were other ways they could reach for each other's hearts and passions. A dance, Mettaton knew, would serve them similarly... but each time they'd ever danced there had always been an edge of arousal to it, and that would be lost in translation, for all that they would feel it. Like lacking a body to express with; like aching for form to feel with, to show with, to motion and react with, both the deliberate actions and the unintentional responses. This had become an integral part of himself, as necessary as having a body at all. He needed it like he needed a voice.
So he sighs, leaning in some more. With Emet-Selch having settled back and against his thigh, Mettaton can curl forward enough to nudge his nose into his scalp.] I missed it all.
[It had felt lonely. It had hurt. He doesn't know how he can come to terms with the months of ache. He doesn't resent Emet-Selch; he doesn't even resent himself anymore. ...It was a good thing he was corporealized, he thought, closing his eye. If he ever lost his body, the way he lost his sense of touch like this...
But Mettaton doesn't venture down that path. All of this had been fortunately returned, and he sighs, squeezing Emet-Selch's back and venturing up to the collar of his robes. Slipping fingers beneath, he slips a single hand beneath fabric so that he could touch and squeeze at the skin of his upper back while seconds tick by, while he smiles and breathes him in.]
But you wanted this as much as I do. I think you understand my heart, too. How it feels to want to feel you, and be felt. [To feel Emet-Selch closely, firmly, sensitively, and to have his sex, his want, his passion felt in return. And Emet-Selch wanted to be felt, Mettaton knew... To be heard without words, understood with the brush of fingertips and the collapse of his body and the sweat of his skin. Mettaton buries himself in his hair, planting a long, firm kiss there.
Before smiling again, more mischievous this time.] And I want to feel you, all right... Your body, against mine. None of this fabric, unless it's bedsheets. [His next sentiment is a hiss of a whisper, husky and heated.] Oh, I'm aching to have you flush to me...
[Even if they might have managed some acceptance towards their limitations someday- no. Emet-Selch couldn't believe even that. That they would survive as they had been, yes, but no more. It wouldn't get easier; he wouldn't become inured to it, because that would be the same as giving up. One way or another, this was how they were meant to be.
Some details were interchangeable; whether Mettaton could shapeshift, or whether he had a permanent (if potentially detachable?) endowment, that much mattered less so long as it functioned. Whether Mettaton's greater sensitivity came about with a partial fusion as an organic entity, or something as purely magical as this... this was probably, strictly speaking, better. (As a puca allergic to himself was its own unique cruelty. And for all that Emet-Selch found the ears and fur and even some of the behavior reluctantly charming- he knew some of those aspects aggravated his husband.)
Most of all, he wants to dwell on this pleasure, this relief, this anticipation- for what both of them might continue to feel as they continued. The conversion of the ache of yearning into the ache of overuse. There was nothing that would erase what they'd lived through, the loneliness they'd felt even while resting in each other's company- but they'd reached the end of it now.
(Emet-Selch still needed his magic, his aetherial sensitivity. He hadn't forgotten it; his own senses felt deadened in that way. But he'd never relied on it to reach Mettaton- and right now, reaching him had been the greatest priority of all. His own losses would be easier to bear, like this.)
A small noise is his response to the way Mettaton seemed to curl over him, containing him, the warmth of his face in his hair. Rubbing his cheek more firmly to him, nearly burrowing against him, the mage finds his refuge there. Not quite able to speak, he nods; he'd wanted this, the same as him. As much as him. They'd yearned for this together, had reached for it however they could. For this moment, he was safe.
A security that wasn't quite restful, not with as stiff as he was, and as stiff as he knew Mettaton could be brought to again (while he savored how reluctantly the robot ever became anything less than firm). And with the way Mettaton slipped his hands under fabric, seeking bare skin, it was difficult to not squirm, to lean into that touch however he could. So he doesn't deny the impulse, groaning low as his own body felt oversensitive, keen for any sort of touch.
Oblivious to whatever extra had been left in his husband's ejaculate, Emet-Selch kisses Mettaton's thigh with sticky lips, before licking from him that small residue- still feeling inclined to claim it all for himself, his breath damp and warm against him.]
You could help, [He responds in a similar whisper, rougher, but just as heated.] to strip these robes from me, if you're feeling impatient. Even if I'm left to remove the rest myself.
[His podea, shoes... he was really quite overdressed for what would presumably occupy the rest of the day. For the way he wanted to be, with him, decorated only in the results of their ardor.
Emet-Selch huffs, even nips the inside of Mettaton's thigh, while giving his cock a loving squeeze.]
You're not the only one aching... for that, for everything we've dreamt of.
[Though it was more than his cock that wanted to be pressed to him, shown to him; that ache went deeper than that.]
[(Had Emet-Selch been gifted his powers before Mettaton's sensitivities and anatomy, would they have found something different together? What of Mettaton's powers to boot? Again, the biggest point of lament was this setting and its apparent need to strip its inhabitants of what made them, them. From the mundane to the important. Not all was solved or perfect... and Mettaton understood Emet-Selch's interest in his own powers. In a world where they awoke with only their native powers, what would become of them and their need for closeness? What would they do, with their abilities to manipulate souls- to take them, and to see them, to combine?)
Mettaton only skirts around these kinds of thoughts, thinking instead of his own loss, then gain, and his gratitude over having it back. Over the man who wished for it to be so- and what he could have wished for in himself. But all things would come to them, thought Mettaton, even if they shouldn't have to wish for something fundamentally them back into being.
That's the nature of it. And right now, Mettaton was grateful that this method of his expression was returned to him. He and his husband could connect like this; they'd grown accustomed to having this much, and found it to be plenty.
As fingers smooth over skin, Mettaton sighs, shivering as tactile input shot through his arms and left him feeling... a lot of things. The softness of skin beneath robes, the warmth of his body beneath all of that fabric, the palpable firmness of muscle and bone beneath- the every last detail of his spine, of his much-softer waist... Mettaton could become lost in soaking in these details all over again, he knew with a smile and shiver, as Emet-Selch invites him to help, if he were impatient. Was he?
Well, he ached. That much was for sure. Mettaton chuckles- though he gasps, closing his thighs slightly around Emet-Selch's face at the sensation of teeth in silicone. (That... is a sensation to revisit. Mettaton shudders, rubbing the smaller man between his legs appreciatively.)]
Let's see... Can I be impatient and patient, at once? [A rhetorical question. Mettaton knew how he felt.] Because I'd tear these robes from your body... but I want to savor you, too. And, well. You know. [He pecks the top of his head.] Not rip your clothes.
[Important. Even if Emet-Selch had his magic to repair it, Mettaton did not want to rip his clothes. But he didwant him stripped post-haste, that much was true, and he'd agree that Emet-Selch was very over-dressed for their late afternoon together, that would progress into the evening.
(The dragon youngling would likely want dinner once roused from its nap. Mettaton is not thinking about them right now. Good parenting. Perhaps he'd be reminded of them shortly...)
It's easy to draw his hands up Emet-Selch's back, fingers probing over the softness-and-firmness of skin until he's at the collars of his clothes. And even if it has proper closures, it's spaciousness means that Mettaton can whisk the cowl over the top of Emet-Selch's head to start, flicking it off to the side of the bed. His robes are next- similarly spacious enough to coax up and over his head, even if there was some other way to remove them. The robot gathers fabric in his fists and tugs, drawing it up until he could pull it over his husband's head with an urgency that definitely felt impatient but eager more than anything.]
Off with this bulk! Give me your warmth, Hades... I'm getting more than I dreamt of, at this rate. [Because damn. Warmth and chill were already making his head spin, in addition to all else. Even while he grips onto fabric, Mettaton attempts to urge Emet-Selch to join him up on the bed, gentle pushes and nudges while he pulls and coaxes fabric up- and finally, draws it up enough that he can provide the suggestion for Emet-Selch to move arms, to slip them from sleeves.]
[(Briefly, they'd been in that situation in Nippon, after their memories of one another had returned, but before Mettaton's pucahood had joined it. There had been less time for frustration to build, given that their collected recollection- for all that they were certainly and solidly in love, attached and dedicated- wasn't complete. And that they'd shared a night of godhood, of being united in soul, only to break apart when morning finally came for them. It had... hurt, in a way unique that Emet-Selch hadn't felt before or since.
However. If given enough time, he suspected that the trauma of interrupted divinity would be outdone by exactly what they'd been going through now. Or if not exactly (as they would be able to reach, to interact with one another's souls to some degree, even when they weren't merged), close enough that shedding his body another time would've become the only possible option. They would have one another, in all the ways they wanted, even if it took being a god to do it.)
It was unreasonable, how responsive he felt to simple touches to his back, as though his own sensitivity had not only been restored but enhanced. Every nerve was charged, reactive to Mettaton's investigative stroking, as he noted the places that gave and the places that couldn't. Muscle and bone, as the complement to Mettaton's metal and silicone.
But Mettaton's fresh sensitivity was similarly inescapable, the sharp reaction to a simple bite something he knew he'd be replaying, savoring the immediacy of it. It was difficult to not keep biting, but he wanted to hear what Mettaton was saying... and he wanted to be undressed, and distracting his lover wouldn't get him any closer to that. (He kisses him instead- with a hint of teeth, if not a full-on bite- as a reminder to them both of this.)
And snorts, at Mettaton's contradictory response.]
You can't have it both ways. Even you have to choose one or the other. [Emet-Selch responds to the rhetorical question anyway, for all that his own reply wasn't a serious one. But he knew how Mettaton felt. His own mood was similar, expectant and desperate to be undone, but appreciating every step of the process, every minute he was made to ache and wait.] But my robes and I appreciate your courtesy.
[It's dry. Also muffled, as he kisses further up Mettaton's thigh before drawing back, resigning himself to the need for a small amount of separation, if the taller man was to strip him. It was hard... and harder still to stop from groaning as fingers trailed up his spine, even if they finally left him to undo and remove his cowl.
(If their dragon came scratching at their door to be let in, would they even hear it...? The dragonlet was about to learn how to hunt for themself.)
And from his cowl, his robes are dragged from him entirely, the mage making an amused sound somewhere in the middle of all that fabric Mettaton sought to gather up and pull off.]
If your dreams are so readily surpassed that a warm body to yours would do it, then... there's space for more, isn't there?
[Letting go of the robot's cock and lifting his arms, shifting his knees so that Mettaton could take up anything that had gotten bunched beneath them, he sighs (it's close to a moan) a breath of relief as it all finally clears his head, and his body down to his waist is left to the comparatively cooler air. The swelling of his erection, too, is more evident, if still protected by his remaining layers.
What was also beginning to be evident was the edge of a very specific pattern crawling over the Ascian's hip. Only part of the gently-glowing circles are visible, and given their positioning, Emet-Selch doesn't immediately notice their presence. It wasn't as though he were looking for a tattoo, much less one in a roughly-approximate-if-inversed location to Mettaton's. Guided upward, he climbs back onto the bed, thigh pressed firm to the robot's. His eyes were back on Mettaton's face, his body leaning for his, not making good at all on his threat of removing his podea himself- or rather, distracted even from that by the want to reach for him.
While he'd been on the floor, he'd been taken by the idea of fitting him into his throat, no matter the damage it would do to his stamina when it came to holding out. (Where were the godsdamned sex shops on this world... what star could manage without lube and cock rings? Some things were fundamental!) Now, though, it was a challenge not to crawl his way into his lap, to straddle his hips and press their chests together- and all else they could manage. Truly, the only thing keeping him was the existence of his pants (on), though he does nothing to rectify that yet. Not when he could draw Mettaton into a kiss, his hand reaching for his face instead.]
You'd better appreciate it. [Even while Mettaton's proceeding with a plan to be patient enough to not tear at his clothes, he's still hungrily gripping at fabric, and starved enough that he can't keep from incidental touches against bare skin, wherever he can get it.] Some day, my darling. You won't have my mercy.
[But that was for another day, and perhaps a specific kink. Mettaton knew Emet-Selch had a thing for his appetitive husband and his monstrous ways at times, and he knew that being less merciful in a great many ways would only serve to arouse the Ascian. Because it was him, and because Mettaton was indulging, which served to indulge him as well... Mettaton found it an agreeable arrangement they had, in their preferences.
Which was fed only if Mettaton could be treated at all, and starved when it couldn't, as it seems. They may have found other outlets... but given the chance and opportunity, they'd want it back, this physical intimacy.
Emet-Selch is a mumble in a sea of black, and Mettaton nearly growls with anticipation. Would that he had the claws to drag Emet-Selch with a more carnal edge, just to express himself. With drag after drag fabric departs from his body, breaking way for the flesh so warm beneath- that Mettaton dreamed of feeling in greater clarity, and that Emet-Selch urged him to dream beyond. Space for more?]
And I want you to make me see stars in all that space.
[His voice is low, and his glance over Emet-Selch's build is fleeting- fleeting enough that at first he misses the tattoo as well, despite the brightness of it at this time, in favor of meeting the smaller man in a kiss. One that he meets first with a feisty energy- but one that quickly warms into something more tender, as soon as the mage's fingertips grace his cheek. They were hopelessly capable of swinging from one energy to another, and the quick and sudden build of electricity in his system is let to course through him, to ignite his senses, as he groans into Emet-Selch's lips.
His tattoo is in its fullest effect, responding to the brand upon Emet-Selch's body and its proximity. But Mettaton still fails to notice either of them, as he welcomes Emet-Selch onto the bed- and presses his thigh against Emet-Selch's in return.
Before, of course, flirting inward, toward his crotch. A gentle nudge is all it takes for Mettaton to shudder, breaking their kiss momentarily.]
Ah... Hades... [He's so hard... Mettaton knew that, but he ached for him, both as himself and in longing for him. And to feel it for himself was a treat all its own, and Mettaton wriggles against him with excitement.] Let me relieve some of that...
[Still spoken against his lips, Mettaton's hands smooth down his sides- his warm, warm sides, his smooth skin, which he inhales shakily to feel and know- before hooking thumbs in his waistband. Fiddling with the draws of his podea again (he's grown quickly good at figuring these out, and how to unfasten it), Mettaton only manages to shift the fabric down slightly before he notices some manner of... light, out of his periphery.
Past Emet-Selch's arm, from his perspective, and down toward his hip, where the smaller man was crawling onto the bed to join him. It was that glaring stage light he'd seen on himself, and Mettaton hums, tugging away from being immediately before his lips so that he could crane around his arm. Working at fabric, he exposes more of the tattoo- before blinking widely at it, shocked at the sight- but pleased, too.]
Oh! Sweetheart, look at your hip! [Mettaton's attention is then drawn immediately to his crotch, cock still trapped beneath fabric. Trapped, but trying to make itself obvious past the skirt-like draping of his podea, especially with Mettaton pulling it taut.] --And, your...! Oh...
[... Listen. Emet-Selch is quite hard, and it was hard not to notice when the robot was busy undressing him.]
[Violence for another day... another time when he could repair his robes with something other than a needle and thread. Emet-Selch hums his gratitude to Mettaton's 'mercy', temporary as it was, when they both knew the excitement it could provoke, to indulge in more monstrous things together. Not that there weren't ways that Mettaton couldn't show it off as it was, while sparing materials that wouldn't repair themselves.]
Mm... I'll look forward to it.
[Both to those times when Mettaton would demonstrate the monster he remained (As Emet-Selch decided that so many of those 'monstrous' traits his lover had demonstrated as a puca, weren't there because he was a puca. Or even because he was a monster now and always- but simply because he was Mettaton.), and to exploring everything they could overwhelm each other with.
The passion to their kiss was unmistakable, an energy that they each committed to, a blending of themselves. Where Mettaton's ran energetic, while Emet-Selch's persisted slower and heavier, the amount of charge felt aligned, their differences complementary.
And it was a charge that wasn't disrupted even when their kiss paused, when Mettaton noticed something that had become exposed with the removal of the mage's outer robes. Shivering any time his skin was touched, his body was alight with heat, and even when the taller man points out something strange, he doesn't think anything of it, at first.
But if he was to look anywhere else from Mettaton's face or body, it would be down towards his own crotch, the notable bulge there something worth groaning over. But it's a short stop from there to his hip, where- Emet-Selch wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from his lover's exclamation, but that hadn't been it. Startled, for a moment he wondered how in the world Mettaton had transferred his tattoo to him- but no, the robot's was still there, and instead there was an exact replica lurking on his own body.]
That- was not here this morning....
[A statement that could apply equally to the glowing pattern and to his erection, which felt unfathomably hard. And which remained distracting, despite being faced with this mystery on his hip. Mettaton's mixed attention was understandable, given that his own was similarly compromised. His legs wished to spread, thighs twitching in the desire to thrust, to receive his husband's hand and attention, as directly on himself as possible. He felt impatient to be exposed, while enjoying this tightness, the pulse of ache.
But there was the strangeness at his hip- or the suggestion of it, as it wasn't visible in its entirety like this, even with Mettaton having pushed more of the fabric out of the way. As near as he could tell, it was identical to the robot's... but why? And how? Brushing the edge of it with his fingers, he hisses softly, body tensing at the strange stimulation of it. It was probably only because he was already aroused that it was acting like another erogenous zone, but he couldn't pretend that it wasn't sensitive.
Yet despite all this, as it wasn't doing anything to hinder their sex, Emet-Selch would have to admit that unraveling the strangeness wasn't his highest priority. What was a potentially-permanent design on his body in comparison to his erection? To Mettaton's reaction to it, and the other man's ability to appreciate it with him?]
Whatever it is- can wait. Mettaton, I need--
[Relief, him- they were one in the same thing. If the tattoo's existence sharpened that sensation, he was unaware; everything he felt, felt exactly as it was meant to.]
[Differences to settle into and enjoy in each other, as they ever had. This is a familiar pace, thought Mettaton, who still feels jolts and sparks from his previous release- and he knew for fact that Emet-Selch was bound to be harder than hell beneath his robes, once he managed to get them off. Because this difference in their energies was highlighted by this: where Emet-Selch sought to jerk his husband off, the robot was quick to fall victim to his touch... and in the process, his own arousal would be slowly building, growing heavy and hard, and Mettaton would rise to the challenge to meet him once more in perfect time.
Their energies were contrasting, and complimentary indeed.
As complimentary as their brand new tattoos. Mettaton's fingers run along the fastenings at the sides of his podea, skirting digits over the smooth surface of skin as though the tattoo might be tangible. But aside from its warmth, there isn't anything for his fingers to absorb. But he does feel something, something that shot through him on a level more than skin-deep (or, metal/silicone deep). He gasps, and- in true Mettaton fashion- he presses firmly over his hip, instead of recoiling from the sensation.]
Oh...!
[Yes, Emet-Selch's urging him along. But the fact that he could nearly feel his touch on Emet-Selch's hip, a warmth that courses in his chest and makes him feel heated throughout, suggests to him some kind of connection between them. Did Emet-Selch feel it when he probed him, or was he unusually attuned to the sensation? The idol wasn't sure, and there was... a lot to be exploring right now.
As he massages his fingers along its surface, before drawing fabric away from Emet-Selch's crotch. Emet-Selch's bottoms are shifted down his thighs, enough to bare both of his hips, skin exposed enough to see the full circumference of the magic tattoo- and then some. After all, it's his cock on full, unashamed display that Mettaton takes to immediately, urging the smaller man into his lap after all- but facing him, as the monster scoops him into his lap, forcing his legs to spread around his hips.
Like this, Mettaton nearly groans at the sight of his erection nudged against his barely-fading cock, once slicked with spit. With a devious grin, the robot watches Emet-Selch darkly, pressing their foreheads together.]
I was thinking. We could make good use of your come, dear. Especially... if I could get you to glaze my cock. [His smile grows.] We have to make do, Hades-darling. I want to be slick for you... and I want to, to feel you burst against me.
[Just as much as he wanted to feel him spill over with heat, all over his cock. Mettaton squirms, feeling full already at just the thought of such heated, sticky mess, the product of his lover's pleasure, slicking up over his erection. Where one hand wraps gently around their lengths, trapping them together, the other slips down- and Mettaton grips Emet-Selch's hip, sighing at the pleasant sensation of keeping hold of his husband.
With him secured between spread thighs, Emet-Selch made to straddle his hips, a nest made of Mettaton to sit in, the robot stoops in to take his lip between his own. Slow and tender, but with undeniable heat, he hums into his kiss, warmed and offering warmth of his own to Emet-Selch. Against his lips, his voice is a low purr.]
To know my man's leaving me a mess... And I know. You'll put it to good use.
[When he'd first touched Mettaton's branding, had he felt a corresponding jolt? Emet-Selch honestly wasn't sure; when his lover had jerked in response, he'd been startled, distracted by that. But he didn't recall any particular rush of arousal to follow it, nothing that acted as though it had a direct line to his cock. How these paired tattoos functioned was something that they would have to explore... but seeing how they both appeared to feel it when he touched his own mark now was worth remembering. A new spot sensitive to them both, and arousing while they were already wanting.
(It did not surprise him at all to see Mettaton react by seeking out more of that intensity. It was a bit endearing.)
An even greater priority and avenue for exploration was all else that was revealed as Mettaton pulled fabric down: namely, his erection. The mage's breath catches, eyes nearly slipping shut at the simple relief, of having a length too long constricted permitted to bob free in the open air between them.
Yet before he can shed the rest of his clothes completely, as they remained merely undone, and pushed down past his hips- he's dragged instead directly onto Mettaton's lap. A noise of protest, of argument, is mingled with an instinctive moan at having his legs spread around his lover's own hips. The kind of position naturally and fiercely arousing- if exasperating, both at how easily his body wanted to respond to it, and that it meant going not entirely undressed. Bracing himself with his arms immediately slipping around the robot's body, his legs do nothing but accept this position with familiar aplomb.]
Could you... not wait a moment more-- [He'll gripe about it verbally, anyway, while simultaneously shifting to make himself at home here.] You're not the only one who'll be made a mess of.
[Yet unlike their interrupted time before, there's no hint of distraction at the thought of future laundry (if anything, there was excitement over the idea of how much he might be forced to drip everywhere). His complaints were only heated because all of him was heated, as lively as the Ascian ever became. And it was impossible for him not to twitch, when the first thing his cock is nudged against is Mettaton's own, that firm, warm sensation enough to drag a groan from him. Glancing downward to the vision of their cocks brushed together only deepened the sound, as his legs tighten around the taller man's hips.
Out of breath, with their foreheads together, his own pulse felt particularly loud- though it had no hope of drowning out Mettaton's words, the picture he painted something that veered past suggestive and went right into obscene. And something he dearly wanted to see for himself- though his first attempt at a reply is stolen up by a sharp gasp, when Mettaton takes their cocks together in his hand, squeezing them both. A sound followed by a hard shudder, and a tense jerk of his hips, an attempt to thrust into his touch, needy and shameless.
A softer noise, closer to a whine, is nearly swallowed up entirely when he finds his lips met by the other man's, his own sucked upon, while his body was held safely in position. When it finally pauses, his breathing is quicker.]
If- if you want glazed, I'll- [He swallows, pushing their lips together harder in something that wasn't really a kiss, too sloppy and aggressive for that.] I'll give you everything you need.
[Already, his body seemed inclined to provide something to make that grip easier, as precome leaks from the tip of his cock, hot and slick.]
[In all of the rustling Emet-Selch's bottoms were shifted- but even he notes that this is... not ideal. How could the smaller man spread his legs with both ankles in his pants?? So at least Mettaton does one thing, and nobody forgot about physics: he frees just one ankle. That's it.
He exhales, leaving Emet-Selch with as sloppy of a kiss as a robot could make.] There's- there's your moment.
[Which is the only way that Emet-Selch's able to assume his pose with ease, so readily spreading his legs that even Mettaton felt that familiar, heavy arousal, a hot coil winding in his lower body. The sensation of him nearly snuggling into place, an unconscious closeness the Ascian assumes with his legs tight around his hips just right- and now, with their cocks nestled together.
When Emet-Selch moans, Mettaton's voice is robbed from him. Attention held so closely, he listens as Emet-Selch goes from breathless groans, gasps, and even whines, while he thrusts into his touch- a glistening bead of precome a tantalizing prize to win. Mettaton licks his lips just in time for the Ascian to snap him up in a kiss, fierce as their heat. Mettaton could melt under its intensity, and he willingly bends into it, shuddering tight under the overwhelm of sensation the mage's treating him to.
With a shivering groan, Mettaton bucks his own hips, pushing his barely-softened erection against Emet-Selch's- giving him a taste of that jolting momentum, inertia built up over months of want. From kisses deep Mettaton snaps him up in another, leaving his lips with a smack of a kiss and a heated pant- as well as an affectionate nuzzle of noses.]
Give me, Hades... Ah, give me...! Come for me, dear heart, oh...
[Voice low, a hiss of a demand, Mettaton grips firm around his hip, thumbing the protrusion of bone while with his other hand, he thumbs the very tip of Emet's cock. Swirling around the soft glans, that bead of come is perfect lubrication for movement- and Mettaton gives them both an upwards, milking squeeze, a gentle pull of their cocks so as not to drag skin with the lack of lube they presently have.
For now, though, the tip of Emet-Selch's cock was offering plenty to stimulate the tip of him with, as Mettaton swirls his thumb around him, rubbing rhythmically over the ridge of the corona before returning to knead and play with the slit of him in eager wait for more. But even a flirting with his own cock- a dab of come brought to join with his own erection- has Mettaton sighing eagerly, as he feels firm weight settling low all over again.
(How his new body worked, Mettaton would have to learn and explore with time. Is there some kind of reservoir...?)
But the heat, and residual cool, of his seed- the idol closes his eye and groans,squeezing Emet-Selch closer to him, his home formed out of Mettaton's shapely legs formed around him.]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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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With his climax coming to an end, Emet-Selch so attractively draws off of his cock- leaving him cold to the ambient air, and Mettaton's hips jerk again just to impress upon Emet-Selch how much he enjoyed the security of his mouth. So Emet-Selch pulls off, and as though meeting his kiss, his cock is shoved against his lips, leaving a sticky line of seed against him.
He's reeling. Emet-Selch took him with such dedication, and the idol felt nothing short of grateful for it all. He knew they'd both have wished for this outcome, and he felt pleased to know that they prioritized how they came together in blissful ecstasy, in attempting to bridge what space existed between them. To watch Emet-Selch now was to see him with defenses dropped, focused and pleased to be in service... while similarly enjoying himself, as the robot knew how aroused he'd be by now. A thought to ache over again, as though oversensitivity weren't enough to have him shuddering.
Mettaton groans at the sight of Emet-Selch smearing come over his lips, the still-swollen tip an applicator. To... smooth semen over his lips- and when he lifts his head just barely, enough to speak to Mettaton with his lips still against his cock, the impression of his lips glistening catches Mettaton's breath. If there's something pecuiar about the content of his climax, not even Mettaton notices it entirely- and finds that Emet-Selch's lips should be flush with color, and glistening to boot. (A bit like lip gloss, but he doesn't think anything other than how lovely he looks, and how it matches the flush to his feature, the mussiness of his hair.)]
You know how easily you can do me in. It's almost unfair. [His pout is all for show, though he's taken aback at how quickly Emet-Selch could have him screaming in orgasm... Not really, though. Because that was expected of him.] I... I can barely think, still. I feel so... vividly, ah... I need you, my love...
[And needed him, just like this, in this way so intimate. With another shudder, Mettaton's posture slouches in his overcome, and his hands rove down Emet-Selch's neck and grope at the smaller man's upper back. Releasing him from the welcome prison of his legs, he still wants him close. For now, he slumps over him, eclipsing light as he tries to hold onto him despite his body's momentary disagreeableness.
With a sigh, he pets through his skin, fingers rubbing over his scalp.] And you... how did you like me?
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Taking him back into his mouth already would lead to more than just holding him there. The smaller man also wasn't sure how he'd last through that, and he didn't particularly want to climax with his clothes still on (though it would be more likely an aggravation than a mood-killer, in his current state). The mage huffs at their own impatience, that getting Mettaton's pants off had been as far as they'd gotten, when it came to disrobing them both- but he also couldn't blame them.
Nearly smiling at Mettaton's reply, it gratified in some honest way to hear it, for all that he already knew the answer.]
If I can return to you some measure of the way I feel- then it was worth the price.
[The intangible cost of bringing this back to them. The distastefulness of treating with that Crystal (and their Overseer) at all. He'd do it all again. He'd keep doing it, to restore anything else that would continue to enhance their life.
If Mettaton sought his closeness, close he would remain- as Emet-Selch had no desires that ran remotely contrary to that (beyond wishing he were bared to him too). Though he exhales a shaky breath against the head of his cock, it's followed by a warm and gentle kiss to it. A small portion of his affection for him, delivered unselfconsciously. He would've kissed his lips too, shared the texture of his semen with him, if not its flavor, but he couldn't quite reach him like this.
But from there, he leaves Mettaton's cock for the moment, if not to move far. Only to rest the side of his head against the inside of the robot's bared thigh, nuzzling close into this similarly intimate position. His eyes drift closed for the moment, enjoying the attention to his hair, the sensation of fingers deep within it. His heart was pounding, his body's want consistent, undaunted, uneased, but his manner was otherwise as relaxed as it could be. Appreciating his husband's afterglow, the added nearness his slouch provided, and all evidence of his overcome, he hums quietly to himself.
While he lets one hand drop, the other does remain at Mettaton's length, petting slowly over him with similar signs of affection. Though he'd left him 'clean', at least of come, a sheen of spit remained, glistening. Absently, his fingers spread it further down his cock, not deliberately, but as a part of their simple stroking over him. Marveling over the texture, his closeness- Emet-Selch sighs again, contentedly, nudging his cheek more firmly into his leg.]
You overwhelm, as ever. I know you recall the effect this has on me.
[He was very, very aroused, and can't help but shiver at every touch, at the hands on his back, things he wanted to press into if it wouldn't mean moving away from his spot. But after a pause, he continues, in a quieter voice.]
...I missed this.
[The sex was the means, but this way of bonding with him- he didn't know how they could ever replace it.]
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MTT understands immediately what Emet-Selch finds the price to be, which extended beyond mere currency. He smiles, simple and bright- before exhaling his heat, eyelid lowering heavily in his lust at the sight presented before him. Emet-Selch... is a horrible tempter, even when he moves from planting semen-slick kisses against the tip of his slow-to-fade erection to rest against his thigh. Mettaton follows each point of contact with rapt attention, unable to ignore the pinpricks of feeling that shock him to his core. From the hand that lazily strokes over a hyper-sensitive arousal, to the way weight and pressure felt against... his bare thigh (another absurdity).
And the way that wet was drawn down his length from a slow stroke, which has Mettaton shift ever so slightly with a light grunt. He can't help but pet over his head some more, his hands roaming to his back, compelled to touch him all over- and with a productive result.
Especially becaue he did know the effect. His next sigh is a shudder, though his smile only grows, eagerness blooming despite his recent release. And warmth, ultimately, as Mettaton gropes softly over his shoulder blades needily.]
I did, too. [He missed this closeness. But he also missed this sensation, and the ways Emet-Selch always sought to bring it to him.
... Perhaps there was no one-to-one replacement, after all, even if there were other ways they could reach for each other's hearts and passions. A dance, Mettaton knew, would serve them similarly... but each time they'd ever danced there had always been an edge of arousal to it, and that would be lost in translation, for all that they would feel it. Like lacking a body to express with; like aching for form to feel with, to show with, to motion and react with, both the deliberate actions and the unintentional responses. This had become an integral part of himself, as necessary as having a body at all. He needed it like he needed a voice.
So he sighs, leaning in some more. With Emet-Selch having settled back and against his thigh, Mettaton can curl forward enough to nudge his nose into his scalp.] I missed it all.
[It had felt lonely. It had hurt. He doesn't know how he can come to terms with the months of ache. He doesn't resent Emet-Selch; he doesn't even resent himself anymore. ...It was a good thing he was corporealized, he thought, closing his eye. If he ever lost his body, the way he lost his sense of touch like this...
But Mettaton doesn't venture down that path. All of this had been fortunately returned, and he sighs, squeezing Emet-Selch's back and venturing up to the collar of his robes. Slipping fingers beneath, he slips a single hand beneath fabric so that he could touch and squeeze at the skin of his upper back while seconds tick by, while he smiles and breathes him in.]
But you wanted this as much as I do. I think you understand my heart, too. How it feels to want to feel you, and be felt. [To feel Emet-Selch closely, firmly, sensitively, and to have his sex, his want, his passion felt in return. And Emet-Selch wanted to be felt, Mettaton knew... To be heard without words, understood with the brush of fingertips and the collapse of his body and the sweat of his skin. Mettaton buries himself in his hair, planting a long, firm kiss there.
Before smiling again, more mischievous this time.] And I want to feel you, all right... Your body, against mine. None of this fabric, unless it's bedsheets. [His next sentiment is a hiss of a whisper, husky and heated.] Oh, I'm aching to have you flush to me...
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Some details were interchangeable; whether Mettaton could shapeshift, or whether he had a permanent (if potentially detachable?) endowment, that much mattered less so long as it functioned. Whether Mettaton's greater sensitivity came about with a partial fusion as an organic entity, or something as purely magical as this... this was probably, strictly speaking, better. (As a puca allergic to himself was its own unique cruelty. And for all that Emet-Selch found the ears and fur and even some of the behavior reluctantly charming- he knew some of those aspects aggravated his husband.)
Most of all, he wants to dwell on this pleasure, this relief, this anticipation- for what both of them might continue to feel as they continued. The conversion of the ache of yearning into the ache of overuse. There was nothing that would erase what they'd lived through, the loneliness they'd felt even while resting in each other's company- but they'd reached the end of it now.
(Emet-Selch still needed his magic, his aetherial sensitivity. He hadn't forgotten it; his own senses felt deadened in that way. But he'd never relied on it to reach Mettaton- and right now, reaching him had been the greatest priority of all. His own losses would be easier to bear, like this.)
A small noise is his response to the way Mettaton seemed to curl over him, containing him, the warmth of his face in his hair. Rubbing his cheek more firmly to him, nearly burrowing against him, the mage finds his refuge there. Not quite able to speak, he nods; he'd wanted this, the same as him. As much as him. They'd yearned for this together, had reached for it however they could. For this moment, he was safe.
A security that wasn't quite restful, not with as stiff as he was, and as stiff as he knew Mettaton could be brought to again (while he savored how reluctantly the robot ever became anything less than firm). And with the way Mettaton slipped his hands under fabric, seeking bare skin, it was difficult to not squirm, to lean into that touch however he could. So he doesn't deny the impulse, groaning low as his own body felt oversensitive, keen for any sort of touch.
Oblivious to whatever extra had been left in his husband's ejaculate, Emet-Selch kisses Mettaton's thigh with sticky lips, before licking from him that small residue- still feeling inclined to claim it all for himself, his breath damp and warm against him.]
You could help, [He responds in a similar whisper, rougher, but just as heated.] to strip these robes from me, if you're feeling impatient. Even if I'm left to remove the rest myself.
[His podea, shoes... he was really quite overdressed for what would presumably occupy the rest of the day. For the way he wanted to be, with him, decorated only in the results of their ardor.
Emet-Selch huffs, even nips the inside of Mettaton's thigh, while giving his cock a loving squeeze.]
You're not the only one aching... for that, for everything we've dreamt of.
[Though it was more than his cock that wanted to be pressed to him, shown to him; that ache went deeper than that.]
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Mettaton only skirts around these kinds of thoughts, thinking instead of his own loss, then gain, and his gratitude over having it back. Over the man who wished for it to be so- and what he could have wished for in himself. But all things would come to them, thought Mettaton, even if they shouldn't have to wish for something fundamentally them back into being.
That's the nature of it. And right now, Mettaton was grateful that this method of his expression was returned to him. He and his husband could connect like this; they'd grown accustomed to having this much, and found it to be plenty.
As fingers smooth over skin, Mettaton sighs, shivering as tactile input shot through his arms and left him feeling... a lot of things. The softness of skin beneath robes, the warmth of his body beneath all of that fabric, the palpable firmness of muscle and bone beneath- the every last detail of his spine, of his much-softer waist... Mettaton could become lost in soaking in these details all over again, he knew with a smile and shiver, as Emet-Selch invites him to help, if he were impatient. Was he?
Well, he ached. That much was for sure. Mettaton chuckles- though he gasps, closing his thighs slightly around Emet-Selch's face at the sensation of teeth in silicone. (That... is a sensation to revisit. Mettaton shudders, rubbing the smaller man between his legs appreciatively.)]
Let's see... Can I be impatient and patient, at once? [A rhetorical question. Mettaton knew how he felt.] Because I'd tear these robes from your body... but I want to savor you, too. And, well. You know. [He pecks the top of his head.] Not rip your clothes.
[Important. Even if Emet-Selch had his magic to repair it, Mettaton did not want to rip his clothes. But he didwant him stripped post-haste, that much was true, and he'd agree that Emet-Selch was very over-dressed for their late afternoon together, that would progress into the evening.
(The dragon youngling would likely want dinner once roused from its nap. Mettaton is not thinking about them right now. Good parenting. Perhaps he'd be reminded of them shortly...)
It's easy to draw his hands up Emet-Selch's back, fingers probing over the softness-and-firmness of skin until he's at the collars of his clothes. And even if it has proper closures, it's spaciousness means that Mettaton can whisk the cowl over the top of Emet-Selch's head to start, flicking it off to the side of the bed. His robes are next- similarly spacious enough to coax up and over his head, even if there was some other way to remove them. The robot gathers fabric in his fists and tugs, drawing it up until he could pull it over his husband's head with an urgency that definitely felt impatient but eager more than anything.]
Off with this bulk! Give me your warmth, Hades... I'm getting more than I dreamt of, at this rate. [Because damn. Warmth and chill were already making his head spin, in addition to all else. Even while he grips onto fabric, Mettaton attempts to urge Emet-Selch to join him up on the bed, gentle pushes and nudges while he pulls and coaxes fabric up- and finally, draws it up enough that he can provide the suggestion for Emet-Selch to move arms, to slip them from sleeves.]
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However. If given enough time, he suspected that the trauma of interrupted divinity would be outdone by exactly what they'd been going through now. Or if not exactly (as they would be able to reach, to interact with one another's souls to some degree, even when they weren't merged), close enough that shedding his body another time would've become the only possible option. They would have one another, in all the ways they wanted, even if it took being a god to do it.)
It was unreasonable, how responsive he felt to simple touches to his back, as though his own sensitivity had not only been restored but enhanced. Every nerve was charged, reactive to Mettaton's investigative stroking, as he noted the places that gave and the places that couldn't. Muscle and bone, as the complement to Mettaton's metal and silicone.
But Mettaton's fresh sensitivity was similarly inescapable, the sharp reaction to a simple bite something he knew he'd be replaying, savoring the immediacy of it. It was difficult to not keep biting, but he wanted to hear what Mettaton was saying... and he wanted to be undressed, and distracting his lover wouldn't get him any closer to that. (He kisses him instead- with a hint of teeth, if not a full-on bite- as a reminder to them both of this.)
And snorts, at Mettaton's contradictory response.]
You can't have it both ways. Even you have to choose one or the other. [Emet-Selch responds to the rhetorical question anyway, for all that his own reply wasn't a serious one. But he knew how Mettaton felt. His own mood was similar, expectant and desperate to be undone, but appreciating every step of the process, every minute he was made to ache and wait.] But my robes and I appreciate your courtesy.
[It's dry. Also muffled, as he kisses further up Mettaton's thigh before drawing back, resigning himself to the need for a small amount of separation, if the taller man was to strip him. It was hard... and harder still to stop from groaning as fingers trailed up his spine, even if they finally left him to undo and remove his cowl.
(If their dragon came scratching at their door to be let in, would they even hear it...? The dragonlet was about to learn how to hunt for themself.)
And from his cowl, his robes are dragged from him entirely, the mage making an amused sound somewhere in the middle of all that fabric Mettaton sought to gather up and pull off.]
If your dreams are so readily surpassed that a warm body to yours would do it, then... there's space for more, isn't there?
[Letting go of the robot's cock and lifting his arms, shifting his knees so that Mettaton could take up anything that had gotten bunched beneath them, he sighs (it's close to a moan) a breath of relief as it all finally clears his head, and his body down to his waist is left to the comparatively cooler air. The swelling of his erection, too, is more evident, if still protected by his remaining layers.
What was also beginning to be evident was the edge of a very specific pattern crawling over the Ascian's hip. Only part of the gently-glowing circles are visible, and given their positioning, Emet-Selch doesn't immediately notice their presence. It wasn't as though he were looking for a tattoo, much less one in a roughly-approximate-if-inversed location to Mettaton's. Guided upward, he climbs back onto the bed, thigh pressed firm to the robot's. His eyes were back on Mettaton's face, his body leaning for his, not making good at all on his threat of removing his podea himself- or rather, distracted even from that by the want to reach for him.
While he'd been on the floor, he'd been taken by the idea of fitting him into his throat, no matter the damage it would do to his stamina when it came to holding out. (Where were the godsdamned sex shops on this world... what star could manage without lube and cock rings? Some things were fundamental!) Now, though, it was a challenge not to crawl his way into his lap, to straddle his hips and press their chests together- and all else they could manage. Truly, the only thing keeping him was the existence of his pants (on), though he does nothing to rectify that yet. Not when he could draw Mettaton into a kiss, his hand reaching for his face instead.]
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[But that was for another day, and perhaps a specific kink. Mettaton knew Emet-Selch had a thing for his appetitive husband and his monstrous ways at times, and he knew that being less merciful in a great many ways would only serve to arouse the Ascian. Because it was him, and because Mettaton was indulging, which served to indulge him as well... Mettaton found it an agreeable arrangement they had, in their preferences.
Which was fed only if Mettaton could be treated at all, and starved when it couldn't, as it seems. They may have found other outlets... but given the chance and opportunity, they'd want it back, this physical intimacy.
Emet-Selch is a mumble in a sea of black, and Mettaton nearly growls with anticipation. Would that he had the claws to drag Emet-Selch with a more carnal edge, just to express himself. With drag after drag fabric departs from his body, breaking way for the flesh so warm beneath- that Mettaton dreamed of feeling in greater clarity, and that Emet-Selch urged him to dream beyond. Space for more?]
And I want you to make me see stars in all that space.
[His voice is low, and his glance over Emet-Selch's build is fleeting- fleeting enough that at first he misses the tattoo as well, despite the brightness of it at this time, in favor of meeting the smaller man in a kiss. One that he meets first with a feisty energy- but one that quickly warms into something more tender, as soon as the mage's fingertips grace his cheek. They were hopelessly capable of swinging from one energy to another, and the quick and sudden build of electricity in his system is let to course through him, to ignite his senses, as he groans into Emet-Selch's lips.
His tattoo is in its fullest effect, responding to the brand upon Emet-Selch's body and its proximity. But Mettaton still fails to notice either of them, as he welcomes Emet-Selch onto the bed- and presses his thigh against Emet-Selch's in return.
Before, of course, flirting inward, toward his crotch. A gentle nudge is all it takes for Mettaton to shudder, breaking their kiss momentarily.]
Ah... Hades... [He's so hard... Mettaton knew that, but he ached for him, both as himself and in longing for him. And to feel it for himself was a treat all its own, and Mettaton wriggles against him with excitement.] Let me relieve some of that...
[Still spoken against his lips, Mettaton's hands smooth down his sides- his warm, warm sides, his smooth skin, which he inhales shakily to feel and know- before hooking thumbs in his waistband. Fiddling with the draws of his podea again (he's grown quickly good at figuring these out, and how to unfasten it), Mettaton only manages to shift the fabric down slightly before he notices some manner of... light, out of his periphery.
Past Emet-Selch's arm, from his perspective, and down toward his hip, where the smaller man was crawling onto the bed to join him. It was that glaring stage light he'd seen on himself, and Mettaton hums, tugging away from being immediately before his lips so that he could crane around his arm. Working at fabric, he exposes more of the tattoo- before blinking widely at it, shocked at the sight- but pleased, too.]
Oh! Sweetheart, look at your hip! [Mettaton's attention is then drawn immediately to his crotch, cock still trapped beneath fabric. Trapped, but trying to make itself obvious past the skirt-like draping of his podea, especially with Mettaton pulling it taut.] --And, your...! Oh...
[... Listen. Emet-Selch is quite hard, and it was hard not to notice when the robot was busy undressing him.]
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Mm... I'll look forward to it.
[Both to those times when Mettaton would demonstrate the monster he remained (As Emet-Selch decided that so many of those 'monstrous' traits his lover had demonstrated as a puca, weren't there because he was a puca. Or even because he was a monster now and always- but simply because he was Mettaton.), and to exploring everything they could overwhelm each other with.
The passion to their kiss was unmistakable, an energy that they each committed to, a blending of themselves. Where Mettaton's ran energetic, while Emet-Selch's persisted slower and heavier, the amount of charge felt aligned, their differences complementary.
And it was a charge that wasn't disrupted even when their kiss paused, when Mettaton noticed something that had become exposed with the removal of the mage's outer robes. Shivering any time his skin was touched, his body was alight with heat, and even when the taller man points out something strange, he doesn't think anything of it, at first.
But if he was to look anywhere else from Mettaton's face or body, it would be down towards his own crotch, the notable bulge there something worth groaning over. But it's a short stop from there to his hip, where- Emet-Selch wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from his lover's exclamation, but that hadn't been it. Startled, for a moment he wondered how in the world Mettaton had transferred his tattoo to him- but no, the robot's was still there, and instead there was an exact replica lurking on his own body.]
That- was not here this morning....
[A statement that could apply equally to the glowing pattern and to his erection, which felt unfathomably hard. And which remained distracting, despite being faced with this mystery on his hip. Mettaton's mixed attention was understandable, given that his own was similarly compromised. His legs wished to spread, thighs twitching in the desire to thrust, to receive his husband's hand and attention, as directly on himself as possible. He felt impatient to be exposed, while enjoying this tightness, the pulse of ache.
But there was the strangeness at his hip- or the suggestion of it, as it wasn't visible in its entirety like this, even with Mettaton having pushed more of the fabric out of the way. As near as he could tell, it was identical to the robot's... but why? And how? Brushing the edge of it with his fingers, he hisses softly, body tensing at the strange stimulation of it. It was probably only because he was already aroused that it was acting like another erogenous zone, but he couldn't pretend that it wasn't sensitive.
Yet despite all this, as it wasn't doing anything to hinder their sex, Emet-Selch would have to admit that unraveling the strangeness wasn't his highest priority. What was a potentially-permanent design on his body in comparison to his erection? To Mettaton's reaction to it, and the other man's ability to appreciate it with him?]
Whatever it is- can wait. Mettaton, I need--
[Relief, him- they were one in the same thing. If the tattoo's existence sharpened that sensation, he was unaware; everything he felt, felt exactly as it was meant to.]
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Their energies were contrasting, and complimentary indeed.
As complimentary as their brand new tattoos. Mettaton's fingers run along the fastenings at the sides of his podea, skirting digits over the smooth surface of skin as though the tattoo might be tangible. But aside from its warmth, there isn't anything for his fingers to absorb. But he does feel something, something that shot through him on a level more than skin-deep (or, metal/silicone deep). He gasps, and- in true Mettaton fashion- he presses firmly over his hip, instead of recoiling from the sensation.]
Oh...!
[Yes, Emet-Selch's urging him along. But the fact that he could nearly feel his touch on Emet-Selch's hip, a warmth that courses in his chest and makes him feel heated throughout, suggests to him some kind of connection between them. Did Emet-Selch feel it when he probed him, or was he unusually attuned to the sensation? The idol wasn't sure, and there was... a lot to be exploring right now.
As he massages his fingers along its surface, before drawing fabric away from Emet-Selch's crotch. Emet-Selch's bottoms are shifted down his thighs, enough to bare both of his hips, skin exposed enough to see the full circumference of the magic tattoo- and then some. After all, it's his cock on full, unashamed display that Mettaton takes to immediately, urging the smaller man into his lap after all- but facing him, as the monster scoops him into his lap, forcing his legs to spread around his hips.
Like this, Mettaton nearly groans at the sight of his erection nudged against his barely-fading cock, once slicked with spit. With a devious grin, the robot watches Emet-Selch darkly, pressing their foreheads together.]
I was thinking. We could make good use of your come, dear. Especially... if I could get you to glaze my cock. [His smile grows.] We have to make do, Hades-darling. I want to be slick for you... and I want to, to feel you burst against me.
[Just as much as he wanted to feel him spill over with heat, all over his cock. Mettaton squirms, feeling full already at just the thought of such heated, sticky mess, the product of his lover's pleasure, slicking up over his erection. Where one hand wraps gently around their lengths, trapping them together, the other slips down- and Mettaton grips Emet-Selch's hip, sighing at the pleasant sensation of keeping hold of his husband.
With him secured between spread thighs, Emet-Selch made to straddle his hips, a nest made of Mettaton to sit in, the robot stoops in to take his lip between his own. Slow and tender, but with undeniable heat, he hums into his kiss, warmed and offering warmth of his own to Emet-Selch. Against his lips, his voice is a low purr.]
To know my man's leaving me a mess... And I know. You'll put it to good use.
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(It did not surprise him at all to see Mettaton react by seeking out more of that intensity. It was a bit endearing.)
An even greater priority and avenue for exploration was all else that was revealed as Mettaton pulled fabric down: namely, his erection. The mage's breath catches, eyes nearly slipping shut at the simple relief, of having a length too long constricted permitted to bob free in the open air between them.
Yet before he can shed the rest of his clothes completely, as they remained merely undone, and pushed down past his hips- he's dragged instead directly onto Mettaton's lap. A noise of protest, of argument, is mingled with an instinctive moan at having his legs spread around his lover's own hips. The kind of position naturally and fiercely arousing- if exasperating, both at how easily his body wanted to respond to it, and that it meant going not entirely undressed. Bracing himself with his arms immediately slipping around the robot's body, his legs do nothing but accept this position with familiar aplomb.]
Could you... not wait a moment more-- [He'll gripe about it verbally, anyway, while simultaneously shifting to make himself at home here.] You're not the only one who'll be made a mess of.
[Yet unlike their interrupted time before, there's no hint of distraction at the thought of future laundry (if anything, there was excitement over the idea of how much he might be forced to drip everywhere). His complaints were only heated because all of him was heated, as lively as the Ascian ever became. And it was impossible for him not to twitch, when the first thing his cock is nudged against is Mettaton's own, that firm, warm sensation enough to drag a groan from him. Glancing downward to the vision of their cocks brushed together only deepened the sound, as his legs tighten around the taller man's hips.
Out of breath, with their foreheads together, his own pulse felt particularly loud- though it had no hope of drowning out Mettaton's words, the picture he painted something that veered past suggestive and went right into obscene. And something he dearly wanted to see for himself- though his first attempt at a reply is stolen up by a sharp gasp, when Mettaton takes their cocks together in his hand, squeezing them both. A sound followed by a hard shudder, and a tense jerk of his hips, an attempt to thrust into his touch, needy and shameless.
A softer noise, closer to a whine, is nearly swallowed up entirely when he finds his lips met by the other man's, his own sucked upon, while his body was held safely in position. When it finally pauses, his breathing is quicker.]
If- if you want glazed, I'll- [He swallows, pushing their lips together harder in something that wasn't really a kiss, too sloppy and aggressive for that.] I'll give you everything you need.
[Already, his body seemed inclined to provide something to make that grip easier, as precome leaks from the tip of his cock, hot and slick.]
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He exhales, leaving Emet-Selch with as sloppy of a kiss as a robot could make.] There's- there's your moment.
[Which is the only way that Emet-Selch's able to assume his pose with ease, so readily spreading his legs that even Mettaton felt that familiar, heavy arousal, a hot coil winding in his lower body. The sensation of him nearly snuggling into place, an unconscious closeness the Ascian assumes with his legs tight around his hips just right- and now, with their cocks nestled together.
When Emet-Selch moans, Mettaton's voice is robbed from him. Attention held so closely, he listens as Emet-Selch goes from breathless groans, gasps, and even whines, while he thrusts into his touch- a glistening bead of precome a tantalizing prize to win. Mettaton licks his lips just in time for the Ascian to snap him up in a kiss, fierce as their heat. Mettaton could melt under its intensity, and he willingly bends into it, shuddering tight under the overwhelm of sensation the mage's treating him to.
With a shivering groan, Mettaton bucks his own hips, pushing his barely-softened erection against Emet-Selch's- giving him a taste of that jolting momentum, inertia built up over months of want. From kisses deep Mettaton snaps him up in another, leaving his lips with a smack of a kiss and a heated pant- as well as an affectionate nuzzle of noses.]
Give me, Hades... Ah, give me...! Come for me, dear heart, oh...
[Voice low, a hiss of a demand, Mettaton grips firm around his hip, thumbing the protrusion of bone while with his other hand, he thumbs the very tip of Emet's cock. Swirling around the soft glans, that bead of come is perfect lubrication for movement- and Mettaton gives them both an upwards, milking squeeze, a gentle pull of their cocks so as not to drag skin with the lack of lube they presently have.
For now, though, the tip of Emet-Selch's cock was offering plenty to stimulate the tip of him with, as Mettaton swirls his thumb around him, rubbing rhythmically over the ridge of the corona before returning to knead and play with the slit of him in eager wait for more. But even a flirting with his own cock- a dab of come brought to join with his own erection- has Mettaton sighing eagerly, as he feels firm weight settling low all over again.
(How his new body worked, Mettaton would have to learn and explore with time. Is there some kind of reservoir...?)
But the heat, and residual cool, of his seed- the idol closes his eye and groans,squeezing Emet-Selch closer to him, his home formed out of Mettaton's shapely legs formed around him.]
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