[Emet-Selch would have to be breathless for the both of them, a condition he fell naturally into, given the passion of their arrangement. Still dizzied as though he had air to catch up on, his heart reluctant to slow, he was in no condition to do more than remain where he was- and no desire to do otherwise.
As it was hard to not be eternally inspired, when Mettaton reacted like that underneath his hands, when he wasn't even handling his cock. The shiver that went through him has his fingers dig harder for a moment, for his hips to even twitch, even as his erection was still in the process of fading, much less filling back up. But there was heat, and dripping stickiness smeared over their lengths, and with Mettaton tugging him closer, until they were chest to chest, his muscles still set to trembling from it all.
Emet-Selch had also drawn that uncomfortable comparison with his reaction to his sundered people. The memory of what he'd had, a way of life objectively better- and his refusal (and inability) to accept what came afterward. The determination instead to return things to what they had been, what they should always have been.
But while he couldn't love the broken remnants of his people, he still loved Mettaton as much as before. He would affirm that part was crucially different; he didn't view him as any less, no matter the condition of his body. But the way he was used to expressing that love, and having it felt- he couldn't see past that loss. He refused to live with something less than what they deserved.
In both cases he felt himself absolutely justified in his actions, his reactions. (The only guilt was in the distress it caused Mettaton, to feel rejected.)
Nudging his face against him in a form of nuzzle, he exhales heavily, very slowly beginning to collect himself. Still feeling exposed- still wanting to do nothing to hide it, he manages a less charged sort of reply.]
Then why am I the one who feels stunned.
[He mumbles against him, before kissing his throat, with an attention that softens as his heart continues to. They were each other's treasure; he knew it without question.
When he feels Mettaton's hand leave their lengths in favor of burying sticky fingers underneath his hair to touch his neck, he only sighs at it, pleased by the affection most of all. Though if their bodies hadn't been together like this, he would've been inclined to let one of his own hands slip between them to replace Mettaton's, conscious of his rising needs. To take up the 'duty' of squeezing their lengths together, to fondle and appreciate his husband's. But he holds off for now, especially since he could still feel Mettaton's cock nudged slickly against his, their bodily orientation ensuring that they would meet regardless. A squirm of his own (for the simple purpose of moving tighter, closer), further brushes them, inspiring aftercurrents of pleasure to run through his own body.
And with it, sentiment. Where he'd been about to raise his head to meet his eye or find his lips, held like this and spoken to, he remains. It touched him in ways that he, as ever, had trouble expressing verbally, or at all. But he holds the robot tighter, hands kneading tensely at him- his body itself the best tool he had to demonstrate his feelings for him, but still putting forth the effort to find the words to go with it.]
...Then... my being here has meaning.
[Not only this world, but to be alive again at all.]
You're my purpose.
[Which was a lot to put on someone... but he knew Mettaton could handle it.]
[Too enamored to realize that his hand is still with traces (plenty) of come slicking him up (as that was the point to start), Mettaton unintentionally gets started on making Emet-Selch a mess. Because even though he's reaching for his neck, that still means transferring semen to skin, and letting it catch in hair... He'd have plenty of fodder for complaint at some later point, whenever Emet-Selch wished to bring it up.
For now, though, the robot doesn't realize what a mess he's making, too lost in the moment. Seconds that stretch, an eternity just for them found right here... Time didn't matter to him right now, right here, where sentiment ruled the day. They met in ways more than sexually, as even though their erections were slickly together, their bodies and hearts came together as well. Mettaton sighs, breathing the smaller man in; he wanted to smell him, but even the heat he could feel from his scalp felt like a scent all its own. This was more than perfect.
Of course, even Mettaton wasn't the sort to settle. He should be able to have it all... and he would agree that they deserved more than what he arrived here with. Even so, it's his point of insecurity: to ask the ghost of himself if he deserved a physical form would be met with hesitation, with a wistful dream but with the hesitation of deserving or not. And when his own body that he'd reached for failed to deliver... it tapped into that same insecurity.
He knew Emet-Selch knew he felt hurt by it all. It didn't change Emet-Selch's reaction, still. It didn't change his own fierce desire, and the equal hurt for lacking a sharp sense of touch, for lacking the equipment needed to engage his lover sexually. The want was all there... and the knowledge that he deserved more was, too. But the repeated rejection had stung; it had shaken his core, and made him weaker.
It wasn't, perhaps, the best way they could've dealt with it overall... but that was a thing of the past, and an issue no longer. Because the way they wanted to deal with it was by fixing it, and Mettaton was entirely on board with that. Holding Emet-Selch in his lap, he could feel their mutual loneliness soothed; he could feel their hearts beating together. It inspired, and the sensation of Emet-Selch burying himself into his neck some more, squirming closer. Even without words he understood.
But to hear it said... Mettaton sighs, shakily, overcome.]
Then let me fill yours days with my gratitude... and my love for you. [Twisting his head, the robot moves from burying himself into his scalp, and dips lower to kiss the side of his neck.] Anywhere I go, I want you to be there with me.
[His constant companion. Even if they couldn't be literally fused, as they'd attempted once (and nonsensically became split apart from), he would still see Emet-Selch always with him. It's what he wanted... even if it selfishly dragged the smaller man from his final rest.
In other words, Mettaton knew the gravity of being the meaning for Emet-Selch's continued existence. And he stood taller for it, lived stronger for it, and thought for the purpose of not just himself, but for Emet-Selch. Even his own wish made to the Overseer was with Emet-Selch in mind, after all... for it was a fail-safe. Should he ever be separated, should his powers be inadequate to cross the expanses of worlds (and he doubted that very much), he had his husband's heart in mind.
Without words, he knew they both knew of each other's dedication. And for it, he squeezes him tight, their hearts bared to one another, tenderness gripping them in the space between climaxes. But even still, Mettaton felt arousal course through him strongly, endearment enough to fuel a bodily response to claim, to take, to make his husband gasp and moan, and to feel his body tense and writhe. Mettaton makes a small, sweet hum, a series of kisses planted along his neck and down to the tip of his shoulder.]
[And Emet-Selch would bring it up at some point, that of all the places Mettaton could have chosen to get semen onto, that it went right into his hair. And not even as a result of the robot shooting it onto his face, with some collateral damage, which would at least be justifiably erotic. ...Even so, for all that he does notice it, he doesn't voice that complaint, nor does he feel actually bothered.
It was too affectionate, for one thing. And it had felt so long since there had been any sort of sexual mess between, that there was something nostalgic about it. A strange thing for him to miss, but there it was.
(There were still things to regain. Mettaton's senses of smell and taste, as it was a small regret still that the robot couldn't experience their coupling in those particular ways. But in comparison to what they had regained, it was a minor detail- something to add when they had the choice.)
Despite their conversations, grief-stricken and hindered by flowers, that he knew very well that Mettaton was hurt by how he'd acted, the Ascian didn't think of it as having undermined his lover's confidence in himself. Whether it was denial or ignorance, turning away from something that was left him feeling worse about his own behavior, he thought of it as a pain more straightforward, akin to the loneliness he felt for himself.
And which had already been soothed immeasurably by what they'd done, and by the promise of what more they could do. In grasps that each of them could feel in their entirety, to the appreciation of the heat their bodies could collect when flush (and the contrasting coolness of the open air).
It was hard to shift any closer, but they both tried, the mage conscious of his lover's own shudders, both of them left exposed to each other. Raw and wanting, needs that they soothed and showed best through sex, it seemed- and all that went with it, such as embraces like this. Words too, which felt easier to find when they were surrounded by the signs of their particular intimacy.
A small noise comes from his throat as Mettaton kisses his neck. Naturally, he gives it to him, hair falling to the side as he tilts his head.]
I'll follow you, wherever your life or chance takes you. I've managed it this far, haven't I?
[If not consciously or deliberately; there hadn't been any choice to make, when he'd found himself here, in Mettaton's wake. Nor did he recall them being separated before being brought here. But if he had any power, any choice- how could he take any other path? If there was a way to feel not utterly alone, without giving in to rebirth and the true end of this life, it would be in Mettaton's persistent company.
And... he wanted that. To see Mettaton's happiness, to aid or encourage his ambitions (to criticise and complain), to provide whatever support was called for. To find some version of his own happiness with him... the closest thing to a normal life that he could still have.
And his desire for it all was most readily expressed bodily, in the shift of bodies and hitch of breaths. The quivers of tension that already wished to gather in him, even if he still needed time to recover. Mettaton's arousal was inescapable and appealing, and he wanted to encourage it, to feel it, and to give his lover all of his own responses in return. Exhaling another small, pleased noise, he leans into his touch.]
[It was something akin to the wondering of how Emet-Selch would continue to love him as a ghost, bereft of a body. ...And in that circumstance, there would most definitely be no sexual contact between them, though the robot had hope that it was possible to have some contact at all. But in that case the same goal applied: fix things. An admirble goal, that Mettaton was ultimately on board with, even though insecurity would plague him in the meanwhile.
Luckily, a prominent chunk of what they were missing has been dealt withhhhh right now, and Mettaton could feel the pressure with which Emet-Selch was squeezed to his chest. He could sigh breathlessly, as though his chest's been compressed of air, but he adored the pressure. He pets over his neck, and kisses ardently his neck, appreciative of its offering- and of the specific sensation of Emet-Selch's voice against his lips. They part, and Mettaton takes more of a mouthful of a kiss, though he doesn't deliberately try to apply any suction, given his lack of damp. He loves the sensation all the same, and wants to express that.
(Eventually, saliva would have to be a wish. Have to be. If his body could produce ejaculate somehow, it would have to produce saliva... and he wanted to better kiss and mark up his husband.)]
Hades... [His voice is soft and warm, lips moving against his neck. ] I love you too- and believe in you, dear. Ever reliable, you are.
[Even when he came to this world, he had spent his evenings with the fierce belief that his lover would arrive here to join him... even if he lost his memories, even if he couldn't remember him. Mettaton had plans for that situation, should it ever arise- and he was ready for anything. He was even ready to wait months... but he was also determined to find him, should he not manifest.
But he also got through lonely evenings with him close to his heart. With the belief that he would show up and rejoin him. So that he could lean upon him; so that he could watch Emet-Selch in those quiet moments, where the smaller man lived between seconds without the pressure of duty save for the support he was as his husband. To watch him meet his beaming with a small smile of his own, and to share instants with him. And...
To share this. Explorations of each other, when they were all that mattered in the world- Mettaton sighs, kissing Emet-Selch some more as he leans into him. Smiling against his neck, he encourages Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- slipping him closer to his cock, so that they didn't merely touch, but sidled against each other's lengths, roots firmly riding against one another. Mettaton nearly groans, slowly and shortly rolling his hips with want.]
Mmm... Why don't you... see what else this body of mine has to offer? Some... closer examination.
[Though he quite enjoyed the feeling of Emet-Selch on his lap. He wouldn't mind having this exercised some more... but he also wouldn't mind it to be groped, pressed in other ways- sat on, kissed, swallowed, teased, he wanted it all, and squirms with every imagining, with the present sensation of Emet-Selch heavied in his lap, legs spread around his hips. He can't help it when he shifts him even closer, forcing the mage to settle more firmly against his root.]
[If Mettaton hadn't felt thick and firmed up before, having his own yet-softening length pushed up against the robot's root served to show it off that much more. A small groan escapes him, along with a roll of his hips, to provide further contact, further pressure.]
What else... what else did you have in mind?
[He felt amenable to anything he could think of- as what way was there that he wouldn't want his husband, now that he could see him to the heights of his pleasure? Whether it was stroked off by his hand or against any other part of his body, or taken into his mouth again (though that would serve to remove the come he'd thoughtfully let slick against Mettaton's length), or fit into his body elsewhere.... Impaled on his length, whether sitting on his lap, spread around him, or pressed down and mounted- there was too much he could want.
And his thoughts did center somewhat around Mettaton's cock, though he chooses not to blame or judge himself for that. Appreciating the rest of his lover's body went with it, anyway... from his thighs and hips, to the firmness of the chest jutting into his (not uncommonly would he be left with the imprint of dials to skin), and to his face, which he couldn't get enough of kissing.
So it's a kiss that he searches out now, encouraging Mettaton to turn to face him, to let him take his lips with his own (saliva, yes... outside of the careful way the robot had to kiss his body without hurting him unintentionally, he's reminded of that missing element again; it was still something he'd ask Mettaton over before wishing it into being, just in case the other man would prefer to skip the unglamorousness of drooling). Soft to start with, repeated brushes of them together, but with an insistence that couldn't help but increase. And with it, small matching rolls of his hips, stroking their lengths together. Hands at Mettaton's back to help anchor himself, his breath is a touch shaky as he barely interrupts a kiss in order to speak.]
In what way would you prefer my inspection?
[By taking him inside, in hand? In getting down on eye-level once more, and inevitably seek to lap him clean? He sighs heavily, heatedly, the sound paired with a push of his body, working to stimulate Mettaton's cock with his own. He was in the mood to be accommodating- which carried its own sense of neediness with it, an ache that had gone mostly unfulfilled these past months to... serve. To be something other than the contrary mess he always was.]
[As soon as Emet-Selch demands it of him without words, Mettaton is amiably enticed to kiss his lips. Emet-Selch could provide plenty of saliva for the two of them on this front, as just a bit was just enough to kiss him, to drag his tongue slowly over his lower lip in consideration. A soft, low hum pairs it: how did he prefer his inspection most of all?
...His own thoughts are centered around his cock. It was hard for it to be anything but the case, as he was hard, and he felt that delicious ache that felt so familiar...
That notice felt inspiring all on its own, and Mettaton gasps, groaning against Emet-Selch's lips- and reactively jolting his hips at the feeling of him grinding into his root, pushing himself against his cock. God it struck him, then, how heavily, unrelenting it felt to be aroused; he couldn't be blamed for losing inhibition like this, for making a scene and demanding his lover's touch. Everything felt so vivid that he feels compelled to share, lips parting reluctantly from Emet-Selch's.]
I want to tell you just how I feel. And see if it compels you in any direction of curiosity... because darling. This body must be different from the way it was. And yet...
[His sigh is shuddered, a hiccup made more of static in his head than it was of any bodily impact. Mettaton moves his hand away from the back of the Ascian's skull and instead, returns to his tattooed hip, where he clutches onto him, thumb placed squarely in the dip of his hip. A perfect spot to grasp him, he thought with continued, aching arousal, feeling particularly at home with the smaller man straddling his hips.
Fundamentally, this body had to be different because he is no longer a Puca. A monster he is, but not of Aefenglom's definition of it. He is a robot; there is nothing about his body that is organic any longer, save for his very soul and the magic that is dumbed down as much as anybody's. ...And yet.]
I feel... So heavy, Hades, oh... Already, it's... so much pressure.
[His voice is higher for this confession, as he wriggles beneath Emet-Selch's weight, jerking his hips some more for continued contact. It didn't feel dissimilar from the way fluid had been able to be produced by his hybrid organic body... the way that veins had grown and travelled throughout his figure, a new coolant system that sought its relief in broad ears and in erotic release. He nuzzles Emet-Selch next, lips together with his.]
It feels like that ache that doesn't abate. Just like it... without the relief of a pulse. Hades... won't you squeeze me somehow? Maybe... your fingers, to start- ah... [Even though in reality, he wanted... anything. Everything. All of it, at some point. His lips, his throat, his ass, his grip- his body to spill upon, all of it was coveted by him, and he shifts atop the bed in expression of this.]
[Emet-Selch would snort at the idea of Mettaton losing inhibition, questioning how much the other man had ever possessed to start. Puca or no puca, he knew of his libido, how easily he was enticed- and if a thought came to him of something he'd like to do, the Ascian was sure that it would be soon introduced to them. He wouldn't believe for a moment that he would hold back anything out of inhibition.
(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]
[It's true. Mettaton often pursued what he wanted. In broad daylight in a crowd with their eyes trained on him? ...Passes that weren't so subtle is what would come from him, especially now that he's dipped his toes into societies where sex was even an attraction. If desirous, he would make it obvious... and if caught stealing away with his husband, hand-in-hand and totally entranced by his silhouette, he wouldn't deny that he was lured by him, and needed some alone time.
But all of that was for Emet-Selch alone.
If he had the ears for it they'd perk at Emet-Selch's grumbling, the awareness that he had been pricked by something (other than his cock). He'd have to examine that later, once they weren't so busy enjoying the notion and sensation of Mettaton exposing his feelings. He would've shared it anyway, but he felt particularly pleased to share his feelings and let Emet-Selch live through his experience vicariously- because he could tell his husband was enjoying his enjoyment, and felt touched not just for that, but for the fact that he wished for it at all. He deserved to know his feelings.
The mage is quick to take action, to obey as desired- and Mettaton gasps preemptively, even before his hand has a chance to wrap around his length. Fingertips send sparks through his body, each enough to blank his mind, as he shudders and shifts, rocking his hips side to side in anticipation- and groaning, hard and sharp, when he wraps his fingers around his girth. His entire package is cupped, and Mettaton nearly whines, before exhaling in satisfaction to imagine how Emet-Selch would perceive his pleasure, and enjoy his size. The way he can wrap around his cock, and stroke over his cock using the slickness of semen. His own lips part, and he gasps, body stuttering as much as his vocals do.]
Oh- ohh-- Like...
[Like this, indeed. Pressure is combatted by pressure; Mettaton's thighs shift under Emet-Selch, squeezing closer before spreading farther apart, though it does nothing to keep Emet-Selch's from their spread about his hips. Mettaton can't fight the grip his husband has on him, nor does he want to when it's exactly what he wanted, but the thrill of having his hands otherwise occupied while someone else had his girth encircled, pumping him independent of his own actions, is something he's acutely aware of; the feeling of being jerked, admired, and squeezed was sharp and shocking, and immensely arousing.
Akin to the feeling of having missed something, but being far too distracted to feel any sorrow over it, especially when that thing was happening right now. Mettaton instead felt exalted and completely righted.]
Yes, this... Hades...
[Emet-Selch's shifted to look low, and MTT felt anything but self-conscious. At the same time, it sent a deep, heady weight through his body to know he was being looked at... a firming of that pressure, an ache that intensifies and fills him out. He bites his lower lip, nuzzling the side of the mage's face.]
Mmm... And when you look at me, [he begins, exhaling enough heat that he could feel it bounced back at him. It was nothing to sneeze at, how warm he could get, his internal temperature something that sought relief now in, well, release.] I feel it like a grip all its own. Yes, l adore your touch... but, oh... Even this, knowing you're getting a good look at me... Ha. As if I could get any more pronounced for you. If I could get stiffer... my body's trying, just to impress.
[That, he could tell. He could feel that battle of pressure, the tension of Emet-Selch's squeezing touch rivaled by the fullness he felt in his erection. Any softness that he had yet to finish filling out is well-filled by this point, his body rising to the challenge of giving Emet-Selch the perfect form to squeeze, giving only far enough to be clenched around- but that tip of his remains soft, giving far enough to be squeezed around, to betray the rigidity of his overall length.
An exhale of heat is paired with a sweet, melodic note of a moan while the robot kneads his hip. Both hands move to either side of him and grip him there, though the side without a mark flirts to squeeze idly at Emet-Selch's ass. (That he still has some pants to remove all the way is a truth, but at least he's stripped for him mostly.)]
Do you like what you see in me? How about what you feel...?
[Anticipation- and then, reward, one to quickly follow the other, as the mage's hand takes hold of his lover's cock. Strokes him encouragingly, speculatively, even though he could tell at a glance that the other man had hardened up just right for him. Filled out enough to be breathless over- the both of them, each of their exhalations heated. (Though Mettaton could beat him there for warmth too, though it fascinated him to feel it, this localized display of how hot his husband's body already was- a sure sign of arousal (as though what he was handling wasn't sign enough).) Nuzzling back affectionately, he manages a sigh at the sight presented before him.]
Mm... if you were any stiffer, I think something might tear.
[A comment paired with a tighter grip around Mettaton's base- one that he slowly lets drag upward until he's around the neck of his cock. A grip to 'test' that stiffness, that core of rigidity that he knew would be perfect to sit on, or be pushed down his throat. It wouldn't give way, with just enough softness around to be squeezable, to be comfortable to take.
All with the even softer, bulbous head, which he devotes a few moments of particular attention to, kneading it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the slit.]
Hard enough to be worth my time... [--No, he couldn't even pretend that it was even in question. He loved this too much, and the man whose cock he now held.] You already impress.
[That his grip was made smooth by his own semen was more arousing than it should have been, but also not unexpectedly so. Humming lowly, breathlessly, he unhands his hold on Mettaton's cock with a parting squeeze around the glans- all to take his own cock in hand. A single, slow grasp up his length has his breath catch, his body to tense- enjoyably, if sharply sensitive. But he wasn't distracted, and it's after that lone pass that he lets go of himself again, having scooped up some of the come that had dribbled there.
And with his fingers additionally slick, his hand returns to Mettaton's erection as if pulled there. Firm, but not so tight as to hurt him, he makes a satisfied noise at the slicker attribute of his grip, and the greater cloudiness to mark that improved glide. There would've been little chance of convincing him to not take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. Though he wasn't literally devouring him, his actions spoke of someone starved all the same.
Tilting his head briefly to kiss Mettaton's jaw, his gaze returns downward as if similarly pulled there, drawn to witness every pump of his fist, and to admire the thickness he had the privilege of tending to. An attractive sight between his own spread legs (his own cock ignored again now that he'd gotten what he wanted from it), the way Mettaton's kept trying to spread underneath him amused... as what could either of them do but want to be a display? And if Mettaton wanted to show himself off, he'd reward him with every bit of his attention. Whether it was his eyes on him, or his hand, or whatever part of his body that was called on, he would match it.
(The grip to his ass, though it first provokes a moan from him, is also an exasperating reminder of the fabric that remained stuck on one of his legs. Would he ever get a chance to remove it...)]
You're a vision. [He murmurs, a near-groan in his voice.] Every part of you.
Tear? No way. [Mettaton has far too much faith in his body's composition, despite it being new to him. He's cocky, and he smirks at Emet-Selch, jutting his hips so that's prominently displaying his cock.] I can handle a little more hardness.
[He's also thinking instead about what might tear on himself, apparently, or at least to start. It's hard to do anything else, especially when the mage grips him at the base and pumps him, slow and steady... Testing his structure, from the hardness of his core (which he readily anticipates that Emet-Selch is appraising for its sturdiness, to slip down his throat and properly fill him out) to the plush give of how squeezable he was (which he dreamed of being squeezed, Emet-Selch let to groan as the fullness of his tip was pressed just past his entrance for him to clench around).
Syncing up with the moment Emet-Selch slips up his length, pinching the glans reverently. Mettaton shudders, sinking into Emet-Selch's touch.]
Hard enough to keep you full, I'd hope. ...Ah. But not to hurt you, I see...
[Too hard and he might hurt Emet-Selch? (Or tear him... No. Mettaton did not want something like that to happen.) When he thought about preserving his husband, it made sense to not want to give him too much stiffness or size... Which was just fine. As far as Mettaton was aware, this was his cock now, and this was how he would present to his husband. So far, it seemed appropriately sized- stiff enough and big enough for Emet-Selch to consider him worth his time, which Mettaton takes as a compliment rather than a true sentiment of judgement.
Enjoying thoroughly his slow, deliberate touch, savoring his appreciation, Mettaton hums an inquisitive noise that almost veers into a whine when his hand departs. He pulls back just enough to look between them, and gasps at the sight of his lover's gip at the base of his softened cock. A good slick slip up its length later (and deliciously, Mettaton thought- he'd salivate, and that realization nearly has him laugh) and he was well-coated, any surplus of come added to his hand.
Which is wrapped right back around Mettaton's length. He realizes then what Emet-Selch was doing. Instead of putting on a show for him, Emet-Selch was just making him even more sticky with his release, and Mettaton melts some more under his touch with a groan. He tilts into Emet-Selch's kiss, eyelids heavying, letting himself be overwhelmed by the pleasure of his touch.]
Ah... Yes, I... I can tell you enjoy it... Ohh...
[He was obviously rapt, attentive and present, giving Mettaton all of his attention. The robot feel so soft for him even while he presents so hard, his erection standing alert no matter how firmly the Ascian strokes him over with seed-sticky fingers. It only brought him to greater hardness it felt like, as Mettaton groans in tandem with his lover, thrusting shortly into his grasp. Steadying Emet-Selch upon his lap by his hips, Mettaton nuzzles him, cheek to cheek.]
I love you, Hades. No matter how hard I get... I can't help but feel so lovesick for you, sweetheart. [Turning, he fixes him with a properly woozy smile, overcome with his love for him. That was some way of expressing how soft he felt despite everything, as his lips part for a gasp, as Emet-Selch fondles the thickness of his erection.] I hope you see how I feel, too. This body of mine... is made to make my feelings for you obvious.
[And now, it was made even more prone to expression. This was one avenue where Mettaton couldn't control how he felt- and he loved it for that, quite shamelessly, as his legs spread and he rolls his hips, tensing up so that he's in full presentation.]
[At the mention of being hurt himself, he glances up, slightly surprised- before belatedly realizing that his tease about tearing could have equally been referring to him. Immediately, he shakes it off, giving Mettaton another small kiss to his jaw. Obviously, neither of them wanted that, but though the size of what he was handling was undoubtedly girthy and achingly rigid, it was no worse than what he'd taken from him before.
There was, presumably, some sort of max limit when it came to what Emet-Selch could take, that all the lube in the world wouldn't persuade his body to fit, but they weren't at that point. What Mettaton had been bestown matched both of their preferences, he believed... and while he would've appreciated any sort of length on his lover's part so long as it functioned, it was unavoidably true that he enjoyed being full.
And he trusted that Mettaton wouldn't tear anything himself either, of course- that his body's unusual composition would hold, no matter how aroused he grew, how much he was permitted to swell.]
You know what I like to see in you, and when you're as full as this--
[During the brief time when the robot wasn't being touched, he was nearly polite in his reaction, Emet-Selch thought. A small hint of a protest, but appreciation too, of the sight of the mage giving a stroke to his own cock in front of him- an incidental show. One short-lived when the real star was at hand, and now in his hand again, free to pump Mettaton's cock with rapt, quickening interest.
(An interest which, inevitably, encouraged his own body to react. A reaction that he felt should have been there ever since his own release, as climaxing in front of Mettaton was reason enough to be hard... but only now was he starting to catch up. If not properly erect, he wasn't soft now either, and every stroke over Mettaton's erection was a reason to fill.)
A touch out of breath, he pushes his cheek back to Mettaton's.]
Even were I entirely blind, I could see it. Your... your feelings.
[Not that either of them would want him blinded (it had never surprised him that blindfolds had never played a part in their sex), considering how effective it was on Mettaton to be seen. Seen... like this, in a form he was comfortable with, and now once more able to express himself through the medium of a hard, upright cock, swollen with fluid(?). Even when Emet-Selch looks up again to catch his eye, his expression, his hand carried on stroking him, squeezing him, a viewing through touch. Memorizing him from thick root to soft tip, a rigidity so full that his own body couldn't help but shift in place, legs spreading a degree more around him in unconscious and automatic wanting.]
I love you. [A softer murmur, his own heart aching with each beat, a heaviness that felt as if it could drown him, afflicted by something as terrible and vulnerable as love.] And I love... this. And I want to see you- I want to watch as you come.
[A small, fond hum is his reply, as Mettaton nuzzles deeper into Emet-Selch's cheek. He tilts his head until he can press his lips against his cheek, he presses kiss after kiss against him, acknowledging silently all of the ways he would have his feelings known, even without sight. The firmness of his cock... The insistence of his kiss. The comfort he took in his lover's presence, offering up the whole of himself to him. He knew it too.
He sighs, smiling against his cheek.]
I know you'd know, even blind... You didn't seem to struggle when you were before.
[Emet-Selch had lost half his vision, and even for a bit there, the full of it. But he never stopped using his hands, reading the robot like braille for evidence of the love he felt: the heat of his body, the eagerness of his every jerk and twitch, and of course all other signs he could show, as previously mentioned. Especially the presentation of his arousal: a vulnerability, a way to express his desire for closeness.
It felt like he was being read right now. The mage grips him firmly at the base, steadily rising up his shaft and groping him along the way- and the intensity of it makes Mettaton bubble over with a moan, as though the pressure of his touch was enough to force him into a pleasurable utterance. Softly, of course, as he's touched and heated through by his profession of love, and aroused some more when Emet-Selch's legs reflexively spread.
He glances down between them: at the fingers that slick up his shaft and appreciate his tip, and at the thighs belonging to his husband, framing their bodies. Which included Emet-Selch's cock, softened but filling. How could he help swallowing, groaning a note of desire for him?]
Ohhhh...
[He wanted to watch Emet-Selch's fingers wrapped around his swollen erection, slickly pumping him until he could barely see straight, until more of his semen was let to burst- and all over again, MTT knew he'd be quickly roused to greater heights of desire. After all, if Emet-Selch had him make such a mess, that would be... more lubricant for them, and an enticing mess to watch his lover tidy up.
The anticipation of what could follow, as well as the sight before him now, the warmth of their passion between them, has the robot glancing up, fixing his attention on Emet-Selch's face.]
I love this... [He whispers this with such heavy reverence, pulling Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- enough that the root of his cock is nearly nudged against the other man.] I do too, dear. I want... That, and everything else about you. Hades...
[This is the way he's meant to express himself when it came to his love. Mettaton always had this sensual side to him, but to be in a relationship with another person... he was always bound to be intense, pasionate so long as it was a meaningful relationship. And this was precisely the way he wanted to show Emet-Selch how he felt about him, and what he did to him, for him, and with him.
He loved every expression and sound and touch Emet-Selch gave, and wanted to express how much it affected him. And what better way than to present himself, to press between spread thighs and thrust into the fingers that massaged his length? MTT grips firmly Emet-Selch's hips, pressing him firmly onto his lap- and the suggestion of that position, hovering right before his erect length, is inspiring all on its own. Mettaton sighs, groaning past a smile.]
I want to watch how much of a mess I make you... and, darling. [He settles into this, knowing that this is where he'd leave his next load: as a mess for his lover to bear... as well as himself. Because:] I want to watch you stroke me into spilling... so that I know that I'm nice and slick, enough for you to taste me, or sit on me...
[If there was no lubricant here, couldn't they... make do?]
[Though he's all set to hum pleasantly, breathlessly, at the repeated kisses, the deluge of affection, it all parts for a more disgruntled noise at the reminder of the time where he had been fully, if temporarily blinded.]
I remember a certain amount of struggling, and all due to your help....
[He couldn't help but mutter it, recalling most of all the frustration of the experience, of not only being unable to navigate properly without help, but Mettaton using his disability against him. Throwing his voice... trying to dress him in gods knows what... being an absolute menace, both during and outside of sex. Emet-Selch was absolutely convinced that the robot had moved things around just to (literally) trip him up.
A firmer squeeze to Mettaton's tip is the recompense to remembered displeasure- though he had no excuses for the way he stroked repeatedly over the slit, while imagining what Mettaton would look like with milky come dripping from it.
--As all of that disgruntlement parts easily to what they were doing, experiencing together. The neediness they could show one another, the responsivity- as every time they reached for their lover's body, it was the same as reaching for more than that. A request for company, for security, and if they showed it best through hardened cocks and breathless cries, why was that a problem? Emet-Selch could tell his husband was a passionate sort at his core, and understandably touch-starved; given the closeness of their hearts, what better way was there for them to bond?
They loved this. He could hear it in Mettaton's voice even before he spoke, as their eyes met, his body tugged closer. But he could still move his hand- and he doesn't stop, couldn't stop when they both adored this sensation. And they would still be able to look between their bodies- though that doesn't keep him from taking a brief kiss from him first, a brush and press of their lips. And when Mettaton suggests what he wants to follow, how could he do anything but shiver, attention keen, and body rocking into his.]
I want to taste you, take you- everything--
[He'd had a taste of him before, but when had that ever been enough? But like this, when he was practically made to ride up against Mettaton's root, could feel his length arching up against his body, where his hand still worked, slickly pumping him- it was no great leap to take to imagining how little shifting it would take to align their bodies properly. To take him inside, to sit on him while joined--
Not that his body had been prepared at all- and not that the existing amount of come would be enough to do so, especially as it was already 'in use'. And... not that semen was an effective replacement for purpose-made lubrication either. It worked well enough for what they were doing now, a handjob made more congenial with the addition of something slick (and an especially erotic choice, at that), but for full-on penetration....
--Well, they'd make do. They'd made do with worse (i.e., essentially nothing beyond some of Mettaton's copious amount of saliva (mixed with the Ascian's blood)), and while that hadn't been remotely comfortable or something to attempt repeating, they wouldn't need to. A plentiful amount of semen and a bit of unworking would have to be enough. It would just mean he got sore much quicker, probably....
Not that Mettaton had even come yet- and nor was that an experience to discount. This sight, ongoing and impending was worth anticipating, his heart quick as his own cock continued to fill, visibly turned on already from what he was doing, what he was seeing and looking forward to. The sight of his husband in full climax, both of them watching his ejaculation as it was milked from him- he shudders hard, legs tensing on either side of him as Mettaton holds him tighter to his body, securing him.
...Of course, the idea of cleaning him too was immensely attractive. More so than it should have been, to nuzzle and lick at him, lap up the mess he'd made, all to inspire him to leave another one spattered across skin. Because what would his actions do, other than inspire Mettaton towards another erection? Another fullness that would need relieved, a pressure that he would eagerly soothe with mouth and hands. He moans again, soft and deep, glancing low, at the incessant, insistent working of his fist, the milky glaze over both hand and cock, and the obscene thickness edged against his body.]
Make us slick- leave me a mess worth remembering- I'll take every part of you, Mettaton--
You can't blame me for my inclination toward helpfulness. It's... It's who I am, and you're too enticing...
[Mettaton doesn't overtly blame his "helpfulness" on being a Puca, but a lot of it was that. But even under the layers of that, he is a ghost, a monster- and what good monster wouldn't be inclined toward setting his husband up for a puzzling experience to be sorted blind? And what good Mettaton wouldn't set his husband up for grand success- that is, looking as prone and accessible to him as possible? He was helping. If Emet-Selch had tripped, it had ever been intentional- and there had always been some properly placed surface, cushioned and all, for him to lay upon for MTT to predate upon him.
Practically writhing under his touch, Mettaton arches his back again, still trying to jut his hips up and into the mage's touch when his tip is fondled, compressed- and he doesn't hold back the moan that couples with the very sensitive slit as he's toyed with. There is anticipation and expectation paired with the way his lover touches him, and it does anything but daunt the flashy robot who thrives on performance and expectation. Groaning at the heat and heaviness he felt, he knew that Emet-Selch was dreaming of a productive release as he fondled the tip of him, and he felt nothing short of excited to impress.
The quick jerking over his cock is a sentence for small death, but so too was the way Emet-Selch looks at him would be the real seal for his end. His luminous eyes settle low, watching as his fingers slip and slide over the slickness of his length, fingers slipping up and over the swollen tip before stroking low to the base. With lips parted, gaze bleary in his overcome, it's writing on the walls: any climax he reaches now , as Emet-Selch strokes him off with his fingers, would serve to pave the way for another productive round.
He couldn't be exasperated by that. It's not in his nature, first of all... but it only served to arouse him deeper, to bring him closer to the brink with greater haste. His own cock was framed perfectly by thighs, and greater enhanced, its fullness supple beneath the Ascian's fingers. Obscene indeed, and Mettaton moans, soft and high.]
Hades...! Oh, you're too good...
[It wasn't just the way he touched him, but the involvement of their coupling that was most arousing. If Emet wasn't invested in him for the long haul, leaning for him and watching him with those beautiful, citrine eyes with heavy regard, it wouldn't be so arousing. Emet-Selch is captivated, and Mettaton is captivated in turn.
It's quick that beads over with precome. And... indeed, clear as anything, though milky and creamy, it glimmers and glitters in pinks. But he might need to finish his orgasm for it to become clearer.]
Hades, take me... ah...! [Mettaton isn't regarding that too far, though, as he grips his lover's hips, thrusting into his touch with obvious ardor.]
[(He will absolutely blame him, and that added huff he gives in answer to Mettaton's comment seems to indicate it. It didn't matter how thoughtful the puca had been in setting up household traps for him to fall suggestively into, it had still been disorienting and terrible. And something that he expected Mettaton to do, pucahood not to blame for what he would consider intrinsic personality defects.)
Even though Emet-Selch is paying very, very close attention to his lover's erection in rapt expectation of what seemed soon to emerge from it, the suggestive milky leak of precome is met with a groan of pleasure, rather than confusion. Mettaton's cock was also pink; though he noticed that this drip of fluid glittered, he thinks absolutely nothing of it. His heart was racing as though he were the one approaching climax, for all that he was still in the process of hardening fully. All he could tell, all that mattered was that his husband was close, and that he was desperate to guide him there.]
Come- come for me- Mettaton...!
[Though he couldn't 'command' it from his husband in the way Mettaton could and did for him, the control over the mage's climax having become some expected part of their sex- it doesn't keep him from requesting it. Pleading for it, as though the lean of his body and quickness of his breath didn't demonstrate his interest. He would have kissed him, nuzzled him in additional shows of encouragement (and because he loved him- and in moments of high passion like this, it was easiest to show affection with more complete abandon) if it wouldn't have meant looking away from between their legs. And how could he do that when Mettaton was so close, and risk missing the proper start of his climax?
Tensed, curved towards him as much as he could, Emet-Selch was focused. Taking what beaded up from the tip of the other man's cock, he adds it to what he was already using to jerk him off with. If it added a faint shimmer to Mettaton's girth, he doesn't think anything of that either, noticing more the heat that drip of come portended to the rest of his husband's release with a rush of pleasure.
Swallowing, his wrist moves with quick flicks, focusing his attention especially towards the head of Mettaton's cock, squeezing him that bit harder there. Matching Mettaton's thrusts as much as he could, drawn into his pace (even though he was the one with the hand wrapped around an erection), he scarcely blinked, lest he miss a moment of it.
Not only of what would soon be his orgasm, but all of this leading up to it, the indelible pleasure of having his husband's arousal at hand again, hard and interested, with the scent of their sex around them, and Mettaton's cries in his ears. This... intimacy, this love that felt made for them. He never wanted it to end- but then, even a climax wouldn't be an end, given how inspiring they found the experience, how readily provoked they were into more.]
[(He really did not need to be a Puca to want to play tricks. He also did not need to be anything else he was to be mischievous. Yes: it's a personality defect.)
Emet-Selch's enthusiasm met his own fever, and Mettaton groans brightly, losing himself to his lover's touch with abandon. He trusted him entirely with the duty of handling his body and his pleasure when he let himself go, and the robot grips onto his hips while he lets his head loll, body jerking and seizing at the sound of Emet-Selch's request.
It's the same phrasing they use for each other, that much was true. But the fact is that they each registered the demand in different ways. Where Emet-Selch sees it as a needy plea, a way to relieve his own frantic pulse, it was to the end of Mettaton's pleasure that he lived through. And when MTT demanded orgasm out of his husband, it was a demand because he wasn't to do it without; Mettaton enjoyed exerting that control over his husband, and ravished him with adoration over his ability to obey without a hitch. To watch the satisfaction Emet-Selch found in his obedience... to exert that control over his husband, and find it ultimately pleasurable to them both—it was a mutually satisfactory exchange.
The sound of Emet-Selch's voice would cause those rabbit ears he no longer has to bounce to high attention, before succumbing to the splay of gravity, as Mettaton moans nice and loud, his voice singing out and cutting through the air. Even without those kisses he's encouraged toward release, the mage's posture indicating his interest, swirling a thumb over the head of his cock to slick him over with- with heat, utter heat that Mettaton could feel. His own heat, and the robot hiccups, overcome with the desire to share his observation.
But unable to form it into words, as he succumbs to the sensation of his lover's palm stroking over his cock in perfect time with the jolting of his thrusts. So tense and pent-up is his climax that it comes in spurts, gushing past the slit and even spattering Emet-Selch in his lean. It was more than obvious even in his release that Mettaton agreed: this was no end to their encounter, but just a point of delight in the midst of what's otherwise a session of intimacy, a deepening of their already tight-knit bond. If anything, Mettaton spills over with the exciting notion that this was a provocation of its own, as he lets go, spilling over for his husband to watch.
... As sure as anything, Mettaton leaves his seed for Emet-Selch to slick over his cock, and for it to paint his lover's fingers, his body. And while all else was the same as it's ever been, that pink silicone cock produces a sticky, pink-tinged ejaculate, completely riddled with glitter. Mettaton is a real man.
Even as his actual ejaculation comes to an end, his cock producing as much as it could for this round, the robot still thrusts into Emet-Selch's touch with a hiss, a groan, a full-bodied shudder. One hand shifts up to grasp onto Emet-Selch's waist desperately, as though continuing to secure his mate in his lap where he wanted him. But all the while he's torn between watching himself as he thrusts into Emet-Selch's grip, and on the Ascian's features, transfixed by his focus.]
[The first hot burst of seed hits him, and the mage shudders, his moan soft and nearly disappearing entirely underneath Mettaton's far louder cry. Without slowing down, Emet-Selch milks him through those first few moments, squeezing him as the taller man continued to thrust desperately upward into his touch. He would carry him through this, relieve him of everything he could produce in a round.]
Oh... oh, Mettaton....
[His voice is just as soft as his moan had been, something awed at the performance taking place under him, that he couldn't have pulled his gaze from even if he'd wanted to. Oblivious to Mettaton's observance of him, with his focus caught up entirely in every jerk and cry the robot was making, and the sticky mess that went with it, shot all over between them, impressively productive. He loved this.
And loved how reluctantly it seemed to come to a temporary end, with Mettaton continuing to jerk in his grasp, even when the spurts of fluid slowed to a drip. A lower, instinctively-soothing noise forms in his throat at the continuing convulsions underneath him, even when the robot's climax seemed otherwise 'complete'. Emet-Selch's pumps of him slow, while his heart continues to race, affected by all he saw, all he rode out with him, in an effort to ease him down from those heights.
Beyond the bliss that he could nearly feel himself, body tensing sympathetically (and cock hardening more than that, for all that he wasn't the one being touched), it was unmistakable now that something was... off, about Mettaton's semen. Different. The hint of pink couldn't be explained away by being on the backdrop of the robot's erection, not when it was spattered across his body. Even the glow of Mettaton's waist didn't explain it, as he was used to seeing things against that light. But more notable than the slight coloring change was the thorough and explicit glittering. His hand finally stills against yet-rigid silicone. He even lets go of him in order to better observe this, to touch what had hit his own body.
There was no question of 'was that normal'. It was not. It wasn't normal for anyone- not even Mettaton, given all their prior times together. Emet-Selch was... quite familiar with his husband's ejaculate. And up until this point it had been normal (as normal as an ejaculating robot could be).
(Was that safe to ingest? He sure had already swallowed a load of this, which had kept him from seeing what he was taking... and he hadn't tasted (nor felt underneath his fingers now) any textural difference. It wasn't rough (thankfully, or else Mettaton's experience of climax might have been somewhat uncomfortable, as infinite sharp-edged specks were expelled with great force from him....), but the presence of what absolutely looked to be glitter in his husband's come was not what he'd expected to face today.)
...He wanted to comment on it. He needed to comment on it, and the transfixed way he stared at what was dripping down his hand, which strung between his fingers with glimmering cloudiness indicated that he was somewhat at a loss. Aroused, definitely, affected by the existence of what he was handling, this very tangible residue of his lover's ability to climax, to share in pleasure with him- but nonplussed as well.
His lips part, but he can't quite find the words to comment on it yet, when he looks back up to Mettaton's face. Going in for a kiss instead, he pulls him into it with his other, yet-clean hand, taking his lips for several ardent, loving presses. Unexpected qualities of this result aside (and the consequences for him and all of their things should this glitter be as impossible to remove as glitter usually was, having not occurred to him yet), he was relieved. Pleased. Painfully in love with the man whose cock he returns to gently holding, both of them sticky with seed.]
Mettaton... [He whispers it against his lips.] I love you.
[Glimmering seed is spattered most of all over Emet-Selch's fist and down the robot's shaft, with smears of it left on Emet-Selch proper- and that pink is pronounced, shimmering in the light of Mettaton's core, if anything. No, it was different; it was silky-smooth, its texture identical to the way it's always been, but still riddled with specks of glitter, refracting light like stars.
Amazing.
Mettaton doesn't notice Emet-Selch's withdrawal, at least because he was being so thoroughly tended to. His entire orgasm has Emet-Selch wrapped up in him, or with fingers wrapped 'round him, from the start of his spilling to the moments even beyond it, when Mettaton continued to stroke himself, oversensitive and loving it, against his lover's touch. The sound of his moan, so soft and reverent, rings in his head; he feels dizzied by it, as though deprived of air and left stunned, and his smile is dazed after a productive release.
Emet-Selch examines; Mettaton shudders, wobbly and overcome. And as soon as the mage thinks better of commenting on it for now, after better taking a look at his lover's seed and realizing he wasn't seeing things, Mettaton nearly falls into his kiss with a simmering, if dazed passion.
His love requires no thought or concentration, and he lets himself float, a sticky hand returning to his cock as Emet-Selch pulls him in and kisses him, one kiss after another after another... Mettaton shudders a sigh, a note soft and warm his hummed reply, as he nuzzles their noses and lips together at his confession.]
I... I love you too, sweetheart... Ohhhh...
[And his hands grapple their way up Emet-Selch's hips, up his waist, where the robot tugs the smaller man close. Sighing heavily against his lips, he's sloppy when he kisses him; he's uncoordinated when he drifts toward his jaw and up to his ear with kisses, sloppy even, with what saliva he could take. But hot, too, his body producing high temperatures in his ecstasy.
His hips do still, but his thighs shift some more, wanting even when something of a refractory period had to settle. He was far more focused on showing his love, and already-slack, too-long arms wrap some more around the Ascian's body as Mettaton attempts to take hold of him with all his heart. He sighs, pressing as flush to him as he can, cheek to cheek before he nuzzles him some more.]
My love, I... I've craved you like this...
[He smiles, eyes as clear as they are deep, dark. Vulnerable, he'd wanted the same from Emet-Selch... but they could never quite meet in these sorts of moments, where overcome and exertion met with the intimacy of pleasure, of release, and of baring their all to one another. Mettaton couldn't do it, and Emet-Selch was reluctant to offer, each for their own reasons... but here they are, engaged and in love all along.]
[Another small, soft sound forms in his throat as he feels himself grasped securely, safely, despite the slackness of Mettaton's arms. It was familiar, this reminder of the composition of his lover's body, this particular attribute of his- but something that he hadn't felt in some time. What reason had there been for them to be in this position, with the robot overcome? There hadn't been any way for the Ascian to render him into a state like this- none that he believed in, at least. Which meant that Emet-Selch couldn't be overwhelmed either....
--But all that had been rectified, even if it didn't erase what they'd lived through before. Legs spread around Mettaton's body, held close onto the taller man's lap, each of their cocks had been on display to one another, and were brushed together as it was. They were sticky with each other's releases, one fresher and hotter than the previous, but Emet-Selch couldn't prevent the tight shiver that coursed through him at the awareness that he was holding a mix of their semen against Mettaton's length.
(He also couldn't forget the new and unusual nature of Mettaton's come, considering how vividly he remembered his climax, the way it had been shot from the other man onto his body, the way it oozed hot and thick over his hand. And one every surface it landed, it shimmered....
But he's not distracted by that aspect, even as he was puzzled over it. It didn't detract whatsoever from the experience, from the greater and far more important feeling of carrying Mettaton through his release, of witnessing every part of it.)
There's kisses, and the sweet nudge of noses. And more kisses to follow as they took what they could of the side of each other's faces- and if the hint of saliva he felt left behind on his cheek was technically his own, the mage enjoyed it all the same. They would share in what each of them were capable of producing- and he didn't need to look down to visualize the mess they were already sharing between their legs.
Where Mettaton's thighs shift, his own tense, as if securing his place where he was- or just being inclined to tense considering the pressure that gathered in his lower body. The instinct to thrust, the continued want for the man he was sitting on- he didn't need a hard cock for the latter, but it was a common manifestation of it. Exhaling a soft groan, he nuzzles back to him.]
I've felt the same. Both to have you... and to show you....
[They belonged wholly to one another, from their souls to their bodies, to memories and expressions. But demonstrating, offering it- making good on those commitments- had felt impossible. And so they both felt lonelier in its absence, even when they shared a bed that only one of them could sleep in. That much might remain true, but with what they could use their bed for now... their time in each other's company wouldn't have to feel so distant.
(How long before the bed, too, would need replaced? Though they had been gentle with it thus far.)
With his clean hand, he cups the other side of Mettaton's face, strokes his cheek with his thumb. Reverence remained in his touch, just as it had been when he'd stroked his erection, or beheld him in the fullness of arousal.]
You're stunning, like this.
[Mettaton was stunning always, beautiful always- but exposed as he was, vulnerable and loving, it felt like every trait was enhanced, somehow. Or maybe he was merely weaker to it.]
[Though it was possible for them to have explored and found some other way to overwhelm the idol, it probably wouldn't have been through intimate physicality. That much was for certain. And with that avenue barred, it meant that their preferred method of bonding with each other wasn't terribly effective, serving only to remind them of what they wanted, or what was lost.
--Indeed, it had been rectified. Mettaton hoped he wouldn't ever have to go through it again, which included sparing Emet-Selch the grief.
Mettaton sighs, and sighs again, stricken with a silly grin on his face. Possessed and given a show, Emet-Selch a unique but steadfast performer, one earnest and eager to please, Mettaton imagined that his ability to stun should be partly attributed to his husband's loveliness. One of his arms snakes around Emet-Selch's waist to wrap about him, all the way until he could cup his cheek, could draw back and gaze into his eyes with shameless affection. They cup each other's cheeks like this, gazing softly into each other and seeing much more than anyone else ever could.
He shudders, squirming closer to Emet-Selch. (He's already on his lap, how can they squirm closer...)]
Stunning, in my post-climax? Even without the flush... I hope I'm showing you all of the heart I put into that.
[He winks, but it's too playful to be anything intentionally vain, as much as it is confident and pleased to show this side of himself to Emet-Selch. He may not be able to sweat or blush, but he could envision himself, lively and still aroused despite his recent orgasm. Lively, aroused, and comfortable most of all, guided along by the capable and inviting touch of Emet-Selch, who fit him like a glove in ways more than the sexual kind.
Mettaton smooths a thumb over Emet-Selch's cheek, soaking in the softness around his eyes, and the openness of his heart, as though he could see his very soul even now. ...If there's anything he could see, it was the way Emet-Selch's arousal was coming back around after being momentarily relieved. A quick glance between them has Mettaton licking his lips at the sight of him, before flitting back to meet Emet-Selch's gaze.]
And you're handsome, my Hades. Handsome and capable... And so, so enticing to me. I'm only showing you what I've wanted to show you each day, from the bottom of my heart... because you're too effective on me.
[That one hand he still has on his hip? Yeah, that turns into a butt squeeze. A good one, at that, that nearly spreads his cheeks, a low rumble of a purr in Mettaton's throat. He just came, but he still wanted his lover.]
[Only Mettaton could embrace him this way, an arm capable of wrapping him up, snakelike, all ending with a touch to his cheek. Besides thinking of it as a novelty to start (as he'd never had a sexual partner with the capabilities that Mettaton possessed), he'd swiftly grown to appreciate its advantages. He liked being wrapped up in him; he also liked the particularly firm way Mettaton could press his various edges into him, impose on him with all the tangibility of metal and silicone. That his lover ultimately found his robotic traits favorable (over the dream of becoming a Real Human) remained a reassurance. And with sensation and a cock restored, they were largely (if not completely) set.
Nudging into the hand against his face, he exhales a soft note. Where Mettaton couldn't flush, he'd do it for him, his body more easily given towards showing traits like that. But Emet-Selch didn't need to see his lover's body turn colors for him to recognize his affect, his involvement.
Though he'd found the gold eye Mettaton had possessed as a puca charming (a coincidental and small way that they matched), it was no surprise that he could lose himself just as easily to the robot's original violet. Another favorable color... and one that suited him. Something so deep shouldn't feel as bright as it did, but he chalked it up to his husband's inherent liveliness. An energy exhausting on a good day, and something he could always complain about; and what did he love more than having a reason to complain?
Though he can't do worse than sigh at Mettaton's playfulness, something more clearly fond, attached, than anything else.]
Were you showing me anything less, I would have to be offended.
[They couldn't scoot much closer than this, though Emet-Selch noted that they both tried to. But with the root of his erection nudged against Mettaton's, there wasn't any further they could go. Not unless the mage was sitting on him more... penetratively, which has his own cock throb harder to consider. Even so, he knew Mettaton had just climaxed, and as firm as his length seemed inclined to remain between releases, there was fullness to regain. Even if they were both aroused....
As there was no question of that, as they looked into each other's eyes, soaked in this moment that was solidly in the midst of their sex. His other hand still pets gently along Mettaton's cock in a gesture that was as affectionate as it was sexual. Though he felt a certain pride at being so effective on the robot, he was just as surely grateful for it, that Mettaton would be this open to him.
While inclined to nuzzle into the touch to his face, his breath catches instead when his ass is squeezed, gripped enough to be a suggestion in its own right, and his muscles tense underneath his grip. Pleasantly, wantingly- as makeshift semen-based lube was sounding increasingly more reasonable when he wanted to be fucked.
Huffing a sound of exasperation at his own neediness, the way his legs twitched around Mettaton's body, he glances between them as well, to both the explicit residue of their coupling, and the evidence of their continued interest. Eyes returning to the taller man's face, he doesn't resist the want to lean in enough to brush their lips together again. (Just remembering the way Mettaton had recently licked at his has him shiver, as though everything the other man did was suggestive, attractive... provocative.)]
If I'm enticing, then keep showing me. I haven't seen enough. Not... nearly enough.
[But when it came to things he'd seen- he finally has to comment:]
And while I'd love another sample for comparison... have you noticed anything different, in your come?
[Were it not for Emet-Selch's intervention in his life, Mettaton may have been entirely on board for the unknown dive into organic human-ing, given the chance to wish it into being (as it seemed the easiest option to gain, well... the fullness of human experience, if that's what he were after). Of course, this required wanting more than he had; this required sensation and experience to desire, as the robot had been more than content with all who he was, all that he felt. Had he wanted more, it would've been a one-way ticket into becoming a human, permanently.
But knowing how much it mattered to his lover that he remain a robot of a mostly infallible structure, plus weighing the considerations that might come with becoming a human, was what persuaded him into considering other avenues. He could keep what made him so uniquely himself, while still regaining important things- and already, more than that.
He's set, and he has his husband. Here he is, pressing into his fingers, and Mettaton feels heartsick and hungry all at once, heated just as much as Emet-Selch flushes, and his eyelid droops that bit more in his lust. ...It's insane, that he just came and is already hungry for more, that niggling sensation of an itch that felt like an emptiness that begged for fullness; and from there, a fullness that begged for emptiness. It never abated, it felt like... And neither did his adoration for Emet-Selch, as jewel-like eyes keep his focus, an amber so lovely Mettaton thought he might treasure it as dearly as he ever had his Puca's Share. Put these on offer for him, and he'd overturn the world.
They could scoot closer. And Mettaton nearly urges Emet-Selch there, licking his lips again- but Emet-Selch's muscles tense so pleasantly, and he could nearly feel their wants align. He wanted to fuck, and Emet-Selch wanted fucked... Wordless, he believes this to be the case, and that violet of his gaze sharpens that much, deepens that bit darker.
But he smiles, eager and excited- and sighs, madly in love. Emet-Selch kisses him nearly, and as soon as the Ascian finishes speaking... Mettaton closes it, sealing the deal.
Has he noticed anything different... Wait, let me kiss you, read Mettaton's actions, and he nudges himself into Emet-Selch's lips to insist on a quick kiss. But he doesn't make it too deep before sighing as he lets the other man glance to his face, and Mettaton... looks down.]
Hmm...
[... Light filters in through the windows, hazy and warm. It bounces on surfaces light, an ambient glow in the room for their lovemaking, leaving nothing to the imagination. And in their laps is evidence of Mettaton's ejaculation, a pink-tinged fluid that sparkled, as though infused with glitter... And fortunately not glitter, as shards of plastic wouldn't feel good for anyone. But sparkly nonetheless, and Mettaton reaches between their bodies to bring a scoop of it onto his finger.
Testing it before their eyes with his hand that formerly groped Emet-Selch's ass, he tacks his fingers against it before spreading them, letting a string of semen rope between them. And though he's smiling dangerously at the beauty of his own come (lordt), he's just as quick to fixate just as darkly on Emet-Selch... before bringing his digits to his own lips.
Hazily, slowly, he draws that plentiful scoop of seed along his lip. Tongue out to taste, to take on some of the burden of come, he sighs heat enough to reach the Ascian, before smacking his lips, glittery seed let to stain silicone. And from there, he sighs again with a slow, long blink, before answering with... nearly a pout to his voice, and one for performance too.]
It's a suitable look for me, don't you agree? However. I can't tell, darling... You'll have to help me. Does it taste as lovely as it looks?
[Does it taste like him? he suggestively asks, a small curve of a smile on glistening, painted lips, milky and painted and so kissable- if semen-covered was worth kissing.]
What's different... and what's not? I want to hear your thoughts.
[One kiss often did beget another, and where Mettaton takes a brief delay in answering for the sake of one, Emet-Selch felt no impatience. He could nearly see the robot's train of thought there, and was more than amenable to another press of lips, a small pause taken for a kiss. Conversations could readily take place around ardor, around their work to draw their lover in; there was always a moment to seek out contact. (Apart from recently, where he... just couldn't give what Mettaton wanted from him. Couldn't respond like this, to show the love he felt for him- and it hurt. It hurt in a different way now, to have it back, where the fierceness of that want left him off-balance.)
They were... absurdly desirous of one another. And while he'd known that to be the case, he didn't think he was imagining how raw, how sharp it felt now, in the way they gazed upon each other. Despite what they'd done already, they felt desperate for a fuck, he thought- the rounds behind them having done nothing but stoke their want.
But there could be a glimmer of patience. He had asked a question, after all- even if it was mostly a commentary on this unexpected aspect. Besides, it was a commentary, a consideration worth arousal in its own right, as the aftermath of their sex often was. What was a mess but an inspiration to create more of one, to make it truly worthwhile to be left smeared sticky and exhausted, bodies emptied of seed as much as they could be (his own, at least... though he wondered whether Mettaton's productivity would be the same as he remembered).
Together, they glance down towards their cocks again, the pinkish-milky mess an unsubtle decoration, glittering visibly in the ambient light. Even had they only Mettaton's waist to go on, it would've been clear that something was strange... and with the sun not yet near setting, there was plenty more light where that came from, enough to illuminate them properly, if not harshly.
He can't help the paused breath, to watch Mettaton take up a sizable smear of his own come onto his fingers. There was no looking away from him, as the other man toys with it, letting it string suggestively between fingers, a tease of its consistency.
Shuddering, he swallows reflexively as Mettaton paints his lips in glittery ejaculate. A lipstick that suited him- yes, he would agree with that completely. If it were less thickly applied, would it serve as an innocent-seeming lip gloss... but it was hard to imagine it ever looking anything other than obscene. And as it was, it was unashamedly sexual, and his own body felt particularly hot just to watch this simple show of it. Mettaton's voice itself felt like a caress down his body, and the way he looked at him was irresistible.
...Though he'd already taken him in his mouth, felt him ejaculate against his tongue, Emet-Selch makes his own show of considering his lover's face as though the answer lay there. Leaning up, he slowly brings their lips together, forcing back the moan that wished to blossom at the explicit texture of his husband's semen sticky between their mouths. Willingly decorating them both with it, he slips his tongue into the other man's mouth to get a better taste of him there- as he knew Mettaton had left another smear of seed there, to be claimed. He would lap it up from any part of him just as devotedly- but he would also let messes remain, for their appeal.
Barely breaking the kiss, it makes a slightly wetter sound than usual, given what was likely to string between their lips, he doesn't move far in order to answer.]
...It suits you. [He finally agrees, in a low rumble.] And it tastes like you.
[Which meant he loved it, because it was Mettaton's. It was his pleasure, tangible- and nothing to take for granted, especially now.]
It's just as I remember it.... [And if that was a strange thing to feel sentimental about, he doesn't question it; they had the ability to have sex again as they wished, and this was proof of it. He still manages a sigh; it's closer to a groan, as he nudges their noses together.] Outside of its obnoxious color.
[His invitation is met exactly as desired, but it still manages to awe him. His patient smile dressed up in gloss that shimmered inspires Emet-Selch to meet him in a kiss unabashedly erotic. But before, Mettaton basks under his scrutiny, for all that he knew that it was observation of the most loving sort: Emet-Selch was drinking in his traits, but entirely because he loved all he saw, and sought to ascribe it to memory, he thought. He felt heated, and so too did Mettaton.
His answer did lie on his face. Or, against his face. His tongue. Emet-Selch tastes his lips in a kiss that deepens, and Mettaton can't help but lean into it, humming and drawing the smaller man close, winding him up in his embrace. But even that wasn't responsible for Emet-Selch's lack of distance, he knew. Emet-Selch was only drawing back so far because he enjoyed all of this, from the proximity to the intimacy to the feeling of being trapped in his arms.
The only answer Emet-Selch gets is a deepening kiss and a hum, as he draws him in. Emet-Selch talks against his lips, but Mettaton takes him in again, catching his lower lip and sucking upon it, leaving it swollen, leaving him eager for more. He could taste the slow appreciation... and wanted to set fire to it, as he ever did.]
But doesn't its new qualities remind you of me, too? [A simple query, as Mettaton grins against his lips.] You won't be able to mistake it, darling. When you're made a mess of... you'll see both of our efforts, and make note when it's the both of us mixed.
[But he wouldn't be able to mistake it even before, as his memory was too good to fail recalling who climaxed when, where. Milky seed before was a product of them both... but the robot was looking forward to showing his man just how much of it was him- and in addition, how much of it was Emet-Selch.
Of course it was sentimental. They'd wanted this fiercely, and now... it was something they could share in together. Mettaton kisses him slowly, tongue smoothing over Emet-Selch's slick lip before returning that nudge of noses for the third time. But it's then that his fingers are presented before them both, as he'd discreetly slipped low and scooped up another fingerful of seed- which he slicks over Emet-Selch's lip, encouraging him to taste him.
And just encouraging him to do the arousing task of enjoying him. Mettaton sighs and even groans, hips rolling slow at the notion that he was slipping Emet-Selch an intimate taste of himself. But he similarly forces the Ascian to slip forward. And that meant settling firmly onto the root of his own cock, Emet-Selch's balls nudged against a sticky shaft... and soon, he nearly groans to consider the smaller man settling deeper onto his lap, breathless and shifting in his eagerness.]
Hades, mmm... You'll tend to me, won't you? [Front his fingers... to the erection he knew he'd be quick to develop.]
[A deepened kiss was an answer in itself; the suck Mettaton added to the mage's lower lip was another one, the heat of his mouth continually evident. And with the extra 'gloss' added between their lips, it was a suction that was pleasurably, unashamedly erotic.
Breath caught from it, he hadn't recovered when Mettaton finally releases him, where he could feel his smile against mutually damp lips, his words delivered the same way. And he wasn't about to try and interrupt the kiss that followed, something soft and loving, his lips feeling more sensitive to him somehow. The most Emet-Selch could do to finally comment at first was a huff- one that was interrupted too as the robot suddenly had another scoop of come at his fingers, and took to spreading it over the Ascian's lips instead.
And when Mettaton drags him forward, forcing him to ride harder on the root of the robot's cock, it was hopeless to avoid a moan. Shuddering, his body jerks, his own cock rigid and aching, his erection an obvious sign of his enjoyment. And with lips parted, the taste of semen awash over them and his tongue, he couldn't quite manage to swallow back another groan.
It was an oddly attractive thought. To see, explicitly, where each of them had marked one another (and what a primitive thing to find attractive, to take pleasure in marking and being marked by their mate with something as base as semen), and how thoroughly. Even if it was true enough that Emet-Selch had no trouble remembering where each of them had climaxed, even during sessions that grew long, and obscenely plentiful, it wasn't unattractive to imagine having a visual reminder. To see glitter pooling or dripping from him, and be reminded at a glance as to who had done this. (And when it came to stains left to dry on the bed or his clothes, he would know exactly who to blame. (It would always be Mettaton. (Even if it was the mage's how else would it have gotten there, if not for Mettaton's provocation?)))
It appealed to possessiveness. And of course, when their seed gathered together- where Mettaton's would become more clouded, pale and milky, while his own would take on an unsubtle shimmer and hint of pink... he already knew he would love that. He loved it already on the mess of their cocks, as they'd taken turns jerking each other off, with their come left to make a deliberate mess in their laps.
A lap he was riding suggestively hard into, the size of the girth against his body giving an impression of how deeply it could reach. And it was hard for him to imagine wanting something more in these moments.]
Its new qualities, yes. [When he finally manages to speak again, rather than moan, or make any other sort of noise of blatant pleasure, it carries the show of a disgruntled note.] Obnoxious in design... and possibly dangerous to my health. What, exactly, are you having me swallow....
[Was this Ascian-safe glitter? Not that he was remotely concerned, or would do anything other than what he was doing, which was slowly licking it up from his own lips. Claiming it for himself- and given the shaky breath that followed, it was something he took pleasure in doing. (He'd also never been concerned when he'd been lapping up the come of a shapeshifting puca- something that had been the result of his lover's new magical prowess, and his understanding of the appropriate biological systems. And given Mettaton's occasionally-shaky grasp of things- especially when it came to what was safe for organic beings to consume- some retroactive caution might have been wise. But it had never occurred to him.)]
But if you want tended- do you think we have enough? ['Lubrication.' He glances down towards what remained between them, dripped down shafts and glazing their balls, what decorated abdomens and touched thighs.] Before you have me swallow it all down... what will it take to get you to fuck me?
[The last is delivered in something close to a growl, as he leans in to bite at Mettaton's lower lip, glitter apparent between them.]
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As it was hard to not be eternally inspired, when Mettaton reacted like that underneath his hands, when he wasn't even handling his cock. The shiver that went through him has his fingers dig harder for a moment, for his hips to even twitch, even as his erection was still in the process of fading, much less filling back up. But there was heat, and dripping stickiness smeared over their lengths, and with Mettaton tugging him closer, until they were chest to chest, his muscles still set to trembling from it all.
Emet-Selch had also drawn that uncomfortable comparison with his reaction to his sundered people. The memory of what he'd had, a way of life objectively better- and his refusal (and inability) to accept what came afterward. The determination instead to return things to what they had been, what they should always have been.
But while he couldn't love the broken remnants of his people, he still loved Mettaton as much as before. He would affirm that part was crucially different; he didn't view him as any less, no matter the condition of his body. But the way he was used to expressing that love, and having it felt- he couldn't see past that loss. He refused to live with something less than what they deserved.
In both cases he felt himself absolutely justified in his actions, his reactions. (The only guilt was in the distress it caused Mettaton, to feel rejected.)
Nudging his face against him in a form of nuzzle, he exhales heavily, very slowly beginning to collect himself. Still feeling exposed- still wanting to do nothing to hide it, he manages a less charged sort of reply.]
Then why am I the one who feels stunned.
[He mumbles against him, before kissing his throat, with an attention that softens as his heart continues to. They were each other's treasure; he knew it without question.
When he feels Mettaton's hand leave their lengths in favor of burying sticky fingers underneath his hair to touch his neck, he only sighs at it, pleased by the affection most of all. Though if their bodies hadn't been together like this, he would've been inclined to let one of his own hands slip between them to replace Mettaton's, conscious of his rising needs. To take up the 'duty' of squeezing their lengths together, to fondle and appreciate his husband's. But he holds off for now, especially since he could still feel Mettaton's cock nudged slickly against his, their bodily orientation ensuring that they would meet regardless. A squirm of his own (for the simple purpose of moving tighter, closer), further brushes them, inspiring aftercurrents of pleasure to run through his own body.
And with it, sentiment. Where he'd been about to raise his head to meet his eye or find his lips, held like this and spoken to, he remains. It touched him in ways that he, as ever, had trouble expressing verbally, or at all. But he holds the robot tighter, hands kneading tensely at him- his body itself the best tool he had to demonstrate his feelings for him, but still putting forth the effort to find the words to go with it.]
...Then... my being here has meaning.
[Not only this world, but to be alive again at all.]
You're my purpose.
[Which was a lot to put on someone... but he knew Mettaton could handle it.]
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For now, though, the robot doesn't realize what a mess he's making, too lost in the moment. Seconds that stretch, an eternity just for them found right here... Time didn't matter to him right now, right here, where sentiment ruled the day. They met in ways more than sexually, as even though their erections were slickly together, their bodies and hearts came together as well. Mettaton sighs, breathing the smaller man in; he wanted to smell him, but even the heat he could feel from his scalp felt like a scent all its own. This was more than perfect.
Of course, even Mettaton wasn't the sort to settle. He should be able to have it all... and he would agree that they deserved more than what he arrived here with. Even so, it's his point of insecurity: to ask the ghost of himself if he deserved a physical form would be met with hesitation, with a wistful dream but with the hesitation of deserving or not. And when his own body that he'd reached for failed to deliver... it tapped into that same insecurity.
He knew Emet-Selch knew he felt hurt by it all. It didn't change Emet-Selch's reaction, still. It didn't change his own fierce desire, and the equal hurt for lacking a sharp sense of touch, for lacking the equipment needed to engage his lover sexually. The want was all there... and the knowledge that he deserved more was, too. But the repeated rejection had stung; it had shaken his core, and made him weaker.
It wasn't, perhaps, the best way they could've dealt with it overall... but that was a thing of the past, and an issue no longer. Because the way they wanted to deal with it was by fixing it, and Mettaton was entirely on board with that. Holding Emet-Selch in his lap, he could feel their mutual loneliness soothed; he could feel their hearts beating together. It inspired, and the sensation of Emet-Selch burying himself into his neck some more, squirming closer. Even without words he understood.
But to hear it said... Mettaton sighs, shakily, overcome.]
Then let me fill yours days with my gratitude... and my love for you. [Twisting his head, the robot moves from burying himself into his scalp, and dips lower to kiss the side of his neck.] Anywhere I go, I want you to be there with me.
[His constant companion. Even if they couldn't be literally fused, as they'd attempted once (and nonsensically became split apart from), he would still see Emet-Selch always with him. It's what he wanted... even if it selfishly dragged the smaller man from his final rest.
In other words, Mettaton knew the gravity of being the meaning for Emet-Selch's continued existence. And he stood taller for it, lived stronger for it, and thought for the purpose of not just himself, but for Emet-Selch. Even his own wish made to the Overseer was with Emet-Selch in mind, after all... for it was a fail-safe. Should he ever be separated, should his powers be inadequate to cross the expanses of worlds (and he doubted that very much), he had his husband's heart in mind.
Without words, he knew they both knew of each other's dedication. And for it, he squeezes him tight, their hearts bared to one another, tenderness gripping them in the space between climaxes. But even still, Mettaton felt arousal course through him strongly, endearment enough to fuel a bodily response to claim, to take, to make his husband gasp and moan, and to feel his body tense and writhe. Mettaton makes a small, sweet hum, a series of kisses planted along his neck and down to the tip of his shoulder.]
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It was too affectionate, for one thing. And it had felt so long since there had been any sort of sexual mess between, that there was something nostalgic about it. A strange thing for him to miss, but there it was.
(There were still things to regain. Mettaton's senses of smell and taste, as it was a small regret still that the robot couldn't experience their coupling in those particular ways. But in comparison to what they had regained, it was a minor detail- something to add when they had the choice.)
Despite their conversations, grief-stricken and hindered by flowers, that he knew very well that Mettaton was hurt by how he'd acted, the Ascian didn't think of it as having undermined his lover's confidence in himself. Whether it was denial or ignorance, turning away from something that was left him feeling worse about his own behavior, he thought of it as a pain more straightforward, akin to the loneliness he felt for himself.
And which had already been soothed immeasurably by what they'd done, and by the promise of what more they could do. In grasps that each of them could feel in their entirety, to the appreciation of the heat their bodies could collect when flush (and the contrasting coolness of the open air).
It was hard to shift any closer, but they both tried, the mage conscious of his lover's own shudders, both of them left exposed to each other. Raw and wanting, needs that they soothed and showed best through sex, it seemed- and all that went with it, such as embraces like this. Words too, which felt easier to find when they were surrounded by the signs of their particular intimacy.
A small noise comes from his throat as Mettaton kisses his neck. Naturally, he gives it to him, hair falling to the side as he tilts his head.]
I'll follow you, wherever your life or chance takes you. I've managed it this far, haven't I?
[If not consciously or deliberately; there hadn't been any choice to make, when he'd found himself here, in Mettaton's wake. Nor did he recall them being separated before being brought here. But if he had any power, any choice- how could he take any other path? If there was a way to feel not utterly alone, without giving in to rebirth and the true end of this life, it would be in Mettaton's persistent company.
And... he wanted that. To see Mettaton's happiness, to aid or encourage his ambitions (to criticise and complain), to provide whatever support was called for. To find some version of his own happiness with him... the closest thing to a normal life that he could still have.
And his desire for it all was most readily expressed bodily, in the shift of bodies and hitch of breaths. The quivers of tension that already wished to gather in him, even if he still needed time to recover. Mettaton's arousal was inescapable and appealing, and he wanted to encourage it, to feel it, and to give his lover all of his own responses in return. Exhaling another small, pleased noise, he leans into his touch.]
I love you... after all.
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Luckily, a prominent chunk of what they were missing has been dealt withhhhh right now, and Mettaton could feel the pressure with which Emet-Selch was squeezed to his chest. He could sigh breathlessly, as though his chest's been compressed of air, but he adored the pressure. He pets over his neck, and kisses ardently his neck, appreciative of its offering- and of the specific sensation of Emet-Selch's voice against his lips. They part, and Mettaton takes more of a mouthful of a kiss, though he doesn't deliberately try to apply any suction, given his lack of damp. He loves the sensation all the same, and wants to express that.
(Eventually, saliva would have to be a wish. Have to be. If his body could produce ejaculate somehow, it would have to produce saliva... and he wanted to better kiss and mark up his husband.)]
Hades... [His voice is soft and warm, lips moving against his neck. ] I love you too- and believe in you, dear. Ever reliable, you are.
[Even when he came to this world, he had spent his evenings with the fierce belief that his lover would arrive here to join him... even if he lost his memories, even if he couldn't remember him. Mettaton had plans for that situation, should it ever arise- and he was ready for anything. He was even ready to wait months... but he was also determined to find him, should he not manifest.
But he also got through lonely evenings with him close to his heart. With the belief that he would show up and rejoin him. So that he could lean upon him; so that he could watch Emet-Selch in those quiet moments, where the smaller man lived between seconds without the pressure of duty save for the support he was as his husband. To watch him meet his beaming with a small smile of his own, and to share instants with him. And...
To share this. Explorations of each other, when they were all that mattered in the world- Mettaton sighs, kissing Emet-Selch some more as he leans into him. Smiling against his neck, he encourages Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- slipping him closer to his cock, so that they didn't merely touch, but sidled against each other's lengths, roots firmly riding against one another. Mettaton nearly groans, slowly and shortly rolling his hips with want.]
Mmm... Why don't you... see what else this body of mine has to offer? Some... closer examination.
[Though he quite enjoyed the feeling of Emet-Selch on his lap. He wouldn't mind having this exercised some more... but he also wouldn't mind it to be groped, pressed in other ways- sat on, kissed, swallowed, teased, he wanted it all, and squirms with every imagining, with the present sensation of Emet-Selch heavied in his lap, legs spread around his hips. He can't help it when he shifts him even closer, forcing the mage to settle more firmly against his root.]
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What else... what else did you have in mind?
[He felt amenable to anything he could think of- as what way was there that he wouldn't want his husband, now that he could see him to the heights of his pleasure? Whether it was stroked off by his hand or against any other part of his body, or taken into his mouth again (though that would serve to remove the come he'd thoughtfully let slick against Mettaton's length), or fit into his body elsewhere.... Impaled on his length, whether sitting on his lap, spread around him, or pressed down and mounted- there was too much he could want.
And his thoughts did center somewhat around Mettaton's cock, though he chooses not to blame or judge himself for that. Appreciating the rest of his lover's body went with it, anyway... from his thighs and hips, to the firmness of the chest jutting into his (not uncommonly would he be left with the imprint of dials to skin), and to his face, which he couldn't get enough of kissing.
So it's a kiss that he searches out now, encouraging Mettaton to turn to face him, to let him take his lips with his own (saliva, yes... outside of the careful way the robot had to kiss his body without hurting him unintentionally, he's reminded of that missing element again; it was still something he'd ask Mettaton over before wishing it into being, just in case the other man would prefer to skip the unglamorousness of drooling). Soft to start with, repeated brushes of them together, but with an insistence that couldn't help but increase. And with it, small matching rolls of his hips, stroking their lengths together. Hands at Mettaton's back to help anchor himself, his breath is a touch shaky as he barely interrupts a kiss in order to speak.]
In what way would you prefer my inspection?
[By taking him inside, in hand? In getting down on eye-level once more, and inevitably seek to lap him clean? He sighs heavily, heatedly, the sound paired with a push of his body, working to stimulate Mettaton's cock with his own. He was in the mood to be accommodating- which carried its own sense of neediness with it, an ache that had gone mostly unfulfilled these past months to... serve. To be something other than the contrary mess he always was.]
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...His own thoughts are centered around his cock. It was hard for it to be anything but the case, as he was hard, and he felt that delicious ache that felt so familiar...
That notice felt inspiring all on its own, and Mettaton gasps, groaning against Emet-Selch's lips- and reactively jolting his hips at the feeling of him grinding into his root, pushing himself against his cock. God it struck him, then, how heavily, unrelenting it felt to be aroused; he couldn't be blamed for losing inhibition like this, for making a scene and demanding his lover's touch. Everything felt so vivid that he feels compelled to share, lips parting reluctantly from Emet-Selch's.]
I want to tell you just how I feel. And see if it compels you in any direction of curiosity... because darling. This body must be different from the way it was. And yet...
[His sigh is shuddered, a hiccup made more of static in his head than it was of any bodily impact. Mettaton moves his hand away from the back of the Ascian's skull and instead, returns to his tattooed hip, where he clutches onto him, thumb placed squarely in the dip of his hip. A perfect spot to grasp him, he thought with continued, aching arousal, feeling particularly at home with the smaller man straddling his hips.
Fundamentally, this body had to be different because he is no longer a Puca. A monster he is, but not of Aefenglom's definition of it. He is a robot; there is nothing about his body that is organic any longer, save for his very soul and the magic that is dumbed down as much as anybody's. ...And yet.]
I feel... So heavy, Hades, oh... Already, it's... so much pressure.
[His voice is higher for this confession, as he wriggles beneath Emet-Selch's weight, jerking his hips some more for continued contact. It didn't feel dissimilar from the way fluid had been able to be produced by his hybrid organic body... the way that veins had grown and travelled throughout his figure, a new coolant system that sought its relief in broad ears and in erotic release. He nuzzles Emet-Selch next, lips together with his.]
It feels like that ache that doesn't abate. Just like it... without the relief of a pulse. Hades... won't you squeeze me somehow? Maybe... your fingers, to start- ah... [Even though in reality, he wanted... anything. Everything. All of it, at some point. His lips, his throat, his ass, his grip- his body to spill upon, all of it was coveted by him, and he shifts atop the bed in expression of this.]
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(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]
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But all of that was for Emet-Selch alone.
If he had the ears for it they'd perk at Emet-Selch's grumbling, the awareness that he had been pricked by something (other than his cock). He'd have to examine that later, once they weren't so busy enjoying the notion and sensation of Mettaton exposing his feelings. He would've shared it anyway, but he felt particularly pleased to share his feelings and let Emet-Selch live through his experience vicariously- because he could tell his husband was enjoying his enjoyment, and felt touched not just for that, but for the fact that he wished for it at all. He deserved to know his feelings.
The mage is quick to take action, to obey as desired- and Mettaton gasps preemptively, even before his hand has a chance to wrap around his length. Fingertips send sparks through his body, each enough to blank his mind, as he shudders and shifts, rocking his hips side to side in anticipation- and groaning, hard and sharp, when he wraps his fingers around his girth. His entire package is cupped, and Mettaton nearly whines, before exhaling in satisfaction to imagine how Emet-Selch would perceive his pleasure, and enjoy his size. The way he can wrap around his cock, and stroke over his cock using the slickness of semen. His own lips part, and he gasps, body stuttering as much as his vocals do.]
Oh- ohh-- Like...
[Like this, indeed. Pressure is combatted by pressure; Mettaton's thighs shift under Emet-Selch, squeezing closer before spreading farther apart, though it does nothing to keep Emet-Selch's from their spread about his hips. Mettaton can't fight the grip his husband has on him, nor does he want to when it's exactly what he wanted, but the thrill of having his hands otherwise occupied while someone else had his girth encircled, pumping him independent of his own actions, is something he's acutely aware of; the feeling of being jerked, admired, and squeezed was sharp and shocking, and immensely arousing.
Akin to the feeling of having missed something, but being far too distracted to feel any sorrow over it, especially when that thing was happening right now. Mettaton instead felt exalted and completely righted.]
Yes, this... Hades...
[Emet-Selch's shifted to look low, and MTT felt anything but self-conscious. At the same time, it sent a deep, heady weight through his body to know he was being looked at... a firming of that pressure, an ache that intensifies and fills him out. He bites his lower lip, nuzzling the side of the mage's face.]
Mmm... And when you look at me, [he begins, exhaling enough heat that he could feel it bounced back at him. It was nothing to sneeze at, how warm he could get, his internal temperature something that sought relief now in, well, release.] I feel it like a grip all its own. Yes, l adore your touch... but, oh... Even this, knowing you're getting a good look at me... Ha. As if I could get any more pronounced for you. If I could get stiffer... my body's trying, just to impress.
[That, he could tell. He could feel that battle of pressure, the tension of Emet-Selch's squeezing touch rivaled by the fullness he felt in his erection. Any softness that he had yet to finish filling out is well-filled by this point, his body rising to the challenge of giving Emet-Selch the perfect form to squeeze, giving only far enough to be clenched around- but that tip of his remains soft, giving far enough to be squeezed around, to betray the rigidity of his overall length.
An exhale of heat is paired with a sweet, melodic note of a moan while the robot kneads his hip. Both hands move to either side of him and grip him there, though the side without a mark flirts to squeeze idly at Emet-Selch's ass. (That he still has some pants to remove all the way is a truth, but at least he's stripped for him mostly.)]
Do you like what you see in me? How about what you feel...?
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Mm... if you were any stiffer, I think something might tear.
[A comment paired with a tighter grip around Mettaton's base- one that he slowly lets drag upward until he's around the neck of his cock. A grip to 'test' that stiffness, that core of rigidity that he knew would be perfect to sit on, or be pushed down his throat. It wouldn't give way, with just enough softness around to be squeezable, to be comfortable to take.
All with the even softer, bulbous head, which he devotes a few moments of particular attention to, kneading it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the slit.]
Hard enough to be worth my time... [--No, he couldn't even pretend that it was even in question. He loved this too much, and the man whose cock he now held.] You already impress.
[That his grip was made smooth by his own semen was more arousing than it should have been, but also not unexpectedly so. Humming lowly, breathlessly, he unhands his hold on Mettaton's cock with a parting squeeze around the glans- all to take his own cock in hand. A single, slow grasp up his length has his breath catch, his body to tense- enjoyably, if sharply sensitive. But he wasn't distracted, and it's after that lone pass that he lets go of himself again, having scooped up some of the come that had dribbled there.
And with his fingers additionally slick, his hand returns to Mettaton's erection as if pulled there. Firm, but not so tight as to hurt him, he makes a satisfied noise at the slicker attribute of his grip, and the greater cloudiness to mark that improved glide. There would've been little chance of convincing him to not take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. Though he wasn't literally devouring him, his actions spoke of someone starved all the same.
Tilting his head briefly to kiss Mettaton's jaw, his gaze returns downward as if similarly pulled there, drawn to witness every pump of his fist, and to admire the thickness he had the privilege of tending to. An attractive sight between his own spread legs (his own cock ignored again now that he'd gotten what he wanted from it), the way Mettaton's kept trying to spread underneath him amused... as what could either of them do but want to be a display? And if Mettaton wanted to show himself off, he'd reward him with every bit of his attention. Whether it was his eyes on him, or his hand, or whatever part of his body that was called on, he would match it.
(The grip to his ass, though it first provokes a moan from him, is also an exasperating reminder of the fabric that remained stuck on one of his legs. Would he ever get a chance to remove it...)]
You're a vision. [He murmurs, a near-groan in his voice.] Every part of you.
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[He's also thinking instead about what might tear on himself, apparently, or at least to start. It's hard to do anything else, especially when the mage grips him at the base and pumps him, slow and steady... Testing his structure, from the hardness of his core (which he readily anticipates that Emet-Selch is appraising for its sturdiness, to slip down his throat and properly fill him out) to the plush give of how squeezable he was (which he dreamed of being squeezed, Emet-Selch let to groan as the fullness of his tip was pressed just past his entrance for him to clench around).
Syncing up with the moment Emet-Selch slips up his length, pinching the glans reverently. Mettaton shudders, sinking into Emet-Selch's touch.]
Hard enough to keep you full, I'd hope. ...Ah. But not to hurt you, I see...
[Too hard and he might hurt Emet-Selch? (Or tear him... No. Mettaton did not want something like that to happen.) When he thought about preserving his husband, it made sense to not want to give him too much stiffness or size... Which was just fine. As far as Mettaton was aware, this was his cock now, and this was how he would present to his husband. So far, it seemed appropriately sized- stiff enough and big enough for Emet-Selch to consider him worth his time, which Mettaton takes as a compliment rather than a true sentiment of judgement.
Enjoying thoroughly his slow, deliberate touch, savoring his appreciation, Mettaton hums an inquisitive noise that almost veers into a whine when his hand departs. He pulls back just enough to look between them, and gasps at the sight of his lover's gip at the base of his softened cock. A good slick slip up its length later (and deliciously, Mettaton thought- he'd salivate, and that realization nearly has him laugh) and he was well-coated, any surplus of come added to his hand.
Which is wrapped right back around Mettaton's length. He realizes then what Emet-Selch was doing. Instead of putting on a show for him, Emet-Selch was just making him even more sticky with his release, and Mettaton melts some more under his touch with a groan. He tilts into Emet-Selch's kiss, eyelids heavying, letting himself be overwhelmed by the pleasure of his touch.]
Ah... Yes, I... I can tell you enjoy it... Ohh...
[He was obviously rapt, attentive and present, giving Mettaton all of his attention. The robot feel so soft for him even while he presents so hard, his erection standing alert no matter how firmly the Ascian strokes him over with seed-sticky fingers. It only brought him to greater hardness it felt like, as Mettaton groans in tandem with his lover, thrusting shortly into his grasp. Steadying Emet-Selch upon his lap by his hips, Mettaton nuzzles him, cheek to cheek.]
I love you, Hades. No matter how hard I get... I can't help but feel so lovesick for you, sweetheart. [Turning, he fixes him with a properly woozy smile, overcome with his love for him. That was some way of expressing how soft he felt despite everything, as his lips part for a gasp, as Emet-Selch fondles the thickness of his erection.] I hope you see how I feel, too. This body of mine... is made to make my feelings for you obvious.
[And now, it was made even more prone to expression. This was one avenue where Mettaton couldn't control how he felt- and he loved it for that, quite shamelessly, as his legs spread and he rolls his hips, tensing up so that he's in full presentation.]
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There was, presumably, some sort of max limit when it came to what Emet-Selch could take, that all the lube in the world wouldn't persuade his body to fit, but they weren't at that point. What Mettaton had been bestown matched both of their preferences, he believed... and while he would've appreciated any sort of length on his lover's part so long as it functioned, it was unavoidably true that he enjoyed being full.
And he trusted that Mettaton wouldn't tear anything himself either, of course- that his body's unusual composition would hold, no matter how aroused he grew, how much he was permitted to swell.]
You know what I like to see in you, and when you're as full as this--
[During the brief time when the robot wasn't being touched, he was nearly polite in his reaction, Emet-Selch thought. A small hint of a protest, but appreciation too, of the sight of the mage giving a stroke to his own cock in front of him- an incidental show. One short-lived when the real star was at hand, and now in his hand again, free to pump Mettaton's cock with rapt, quickening interest.
(An interest which, inevitably, encouraged his own body to react. A reaction that he felt should have been there ever since his own release, as climaxing in front of Mettaton was reason enough to be hard... but only now was he starting to catch up. If not properly erect, he wasn't soft now either, and every stroke over Mettaton's erection was a reason to fill.)
A touch out of breath, he pushes his cheek back to Mettaton's.]
Even were I entirely blind, I could see it. Your... your feelings.
[Not that either of them would want him blinded (it had never surprised him that blindfolds had never played a part in their sex), considering how effective it was on Mettaton to be seen. Seen... like this, in a form he was comfortable with, and now once more able to express himself through the medium of a hard, upright cock, swollen with fluid(?). Even when Emet-Selch looks up again to catch his eye, his expression, his hand carried on stroking him, squeezing him, a viewing through touch. Memorizing him from thick root to soft tip, a rigidity so full that his own body couldn't help but shift in place, legs spreading a degree more around him in unconscious and automatic wanting.]
I love you. [A softer murmur, his own heart aching with each beat, a heaviness that felt as if it could drown him, afflicted by something as terrible and vulnerable as love.] And I love... this. And I want to see you- I want to watch as you come.
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He sighs, smiling against his cheek.]
I know you'd know, even blind... You didn't seem to struggle when you were before.
[Emet-Selch had lost half his vision, and even for a bit there, the full of it. But he never stopped using his hands, reading the robot like braille for evidence of the love he felt: the heat of his body, the eagerness of his every jerk and twitch, and of course all other signs he could show, as previously mentioned. Especially the presentation of his arousal: a vulnerability, a way to express his desire for closeness.
It felt like he was being read right now. The mage grips him firmly at the base, steadily rising up his shaft and groping him along the way- and the intensity of it makes Mettaton bubble over with a moan, as though the pressure of his touch was enough to force him into a pleasurable utterance. Softly, of course, as he's touched and heated through by his profession of love, and aroused some more when Emet-Selch's legs reflexively spread.
He glances down between them: at the fingers that slick up his shaft and appreciate his tip, and at the thighs belonging to his husband, framing their bodies. Which included Emet-Selch's cock, softened but filling. How could he help swallowing, groaning a note of desire for him?]
Ohhhh...
[He wanted to watch Emet-Selch's fingers wrapped around his swollen erection, slickly pumping him until he could barely see straight, until more of his semen was let to burst- and all over again, MTT knew he'd be quickly roused to greater heights of desire. After all, if Emet-Selch had him make such a mess, that would be... more lubricant for them, and an enticing mess to watch his lover tidy up.
The anticipation of what could follow, as well as the sight before him now, the warmth of their passion between them, has the robot glancing up, fixing his attention on Emet-Selch's face.]
I love this... [He whispers this with such heavy reverence, pulling Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- enough that the root of his cock is nearly nudged against the other man.] I do too, dear. I want... That, and everything else about you. Hades...
[This is the way he's meant to express himself when it came to his love. Mettaton always had this sensual side to him, but to be in a relationship with another person... he was always bound to be intense, pasionate so long as it was a meaningful relationship. And this was precisely the way he wanted to show Emet-Selch how he felt about him, and what he did to him, for him, and with him.
He loved every expression and sound and touch Emet-Selch gave, and wanted to express how much it affected him. And what better way than to present himself, to press between spread thighs and thrust into the fingers that massaged his length? MTT grips firmly Emet-Selch's hips, pressing him firmly onto his lap- and the suggestion of that position, hovering right before his erect length, is inspiring all on its own. Mettaton sighs, groaning past a smile.]
I want to watch how much of a mess I make you... and, darling. [He settles into this, knowing that this is where he'd leave his next load: as a mess for his lover to bear... as well as himself. Because:] I want to watch you stroke me into spilling... so that I know that I'm nice and slick, enough for you to taste me, or sit on me...
[If there was no lubricant here, couldn't they... make do?]
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I remember a certain amount of struggling, and all due to your help....
[He couldn't help but mutter it, recalling most of all the frustration of the experience, of not only being unable to navigate properly without help, but Mettaton using his disability against him. Throwing his voice... trying to dress him in gods knows what... being an absolute menace, both during and outside of sex. Emet-Selch was absolutely convinced that the robot had moved things around just to (literally) trip him up.
A firmer squeeze to Mettaton's tip is the recompense to remembered displeasure- though he had no excuses for the way he stroked repeatedly over the slit, while imagining what Mettaton would look like with milky come dripping from it.
--As all of that disgruntlement parts easily to what they were doing, experiencing together. The neediness they could show one another, the responsivity- as every time they reached for their lover's body, it was the same as reaching for more than that. A request for company, for security, and if they showed it best through hardened cocks and breathless cries, why was that a problem? Emet-Selch could tell his husband was a passionate sort at his core, and understandably touch-starved; given the closeness of their hearts, what better way was there for them to bond?
They loved this. He could hear it in Mettaton's voice even before he spoke, as their eyes met, his body tugged closer. But he could still move his hand- and he doesn't stop, couldn't stop when they both adored this sensation. And they would still be able to look between their bodies- though that doesn't keep him from taking a brief kiss from him first, a brush and press of their lips. And when Mettaton suggests what he wants to follow, how could he do anything but shiver, attention keen, and body rocking into his.]
I want to taste you, take you- everything--
[He'd had a taste of him before, but when had that ever been enough? But like this, when he was practically made to ride up against Mettaton's root, could feel his length arching up against his body, where his hand still worked, slickly pumping him- it was no great leap to take to imagining how little shifting it would take to align their bodies properly. To take him inside, to sit on him while joined--
Not that his body had been prepared at all- and not that the existing amount of come would be enough to do so, especially as it was already 'in use'. And... not that semen was an effective replacement for purpose-made lubrication either. It worked well enough for what they were doing now, a handjob made more congenial with the addition of something slick (and an especially erotic choice, at that), but for full-on penetration....
--Well, they'd make do. They'd made do with worse (i.e., essentially nothing beyond some of Mettaton's copious amount of saliva (mixed with the Ascian's blood)), and while that hadn't been remotely comfortable or something to attempt repeating, they wouldn't need to. A plentiful amount of semen and a bit of unworking would have to be enough. It would just mean he got sore much quicker, probably....
Not that Mettaton had even come yet- and nor was that an experience to discount. This sight, ongoing and impending was worth anticipating, his heart quick as his own cock continued to fill, visibly turned on already from what he was doing, what he was seeing and looking forward to. The sight of his husband in full climax, both of them watching his ejaculation as it was milked from him- he shudders hard, legs tensing on either side of him as Mettaton holds him tighter to his body, securing him.
...Of course, the idea of cleaning him too was immensely attractive. More so than it should have been, to nuzzle and lick at him, lap up the mess he'd made, all to inspire him to leave another one spattered across skin. Because what would his actions do, other than inspire Mettaton towards another erection? Another fullness that would need relieved, a pressure that he would eagerly soothe with mouth and hands. He moans again, soft and deep, glancing low, at the incessant, insistent working of his fist, the milky glaze over both hand and cock, and the obscene thickness edged against his body.]
Make us slick- leave me a mess worth remembering- I'll take every part of you, Mettaton--
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[Mettaton doesn't overtly blame his "helpfulness" on being a Puca, but a lot of it was that. But even under the layers of that, he is a ghost, a monster- and what good monster wouldn't be inclined toward setting his husband up for a puzzling experience to be sorted blind? And what good Mettaton wouldn't set his husband up for grand success- that is, looking as prone and accessible to him as possible? He was helping. If Emet-Selch had tripped, it had ever been intentional- and there had always been some properly placed surface, cushioned and all, for him to lay upon for MTT to predate upon him.
Practically writhing under his touch, Mettaton arches his back again, still trying to jut his hips up and into the mage's touch when his tip is fondled, compressed- and he doesn't hold back the moan that couples with the very sensitive slit as he's toyed with. There is anticipation and expectation paired with the way his lover touches him, and it does anything but daunt the flashy robot who thrives on performance and expectation. Groaning at the heat and heaviness he felt, he knew that Emet-Selch was dreaming of a productive release as he fondled the tip of him, and he felt nothing short of excited to impress.
The quick jerking over his cock is a sentence for small death, but so too was the way Emet-Selch looks at him would be the real seal for his end. His luminous eyes settle low, watching as his fingers slip and slide over the slickness of his length, fingers slipping up and over the swollen tip before stroking low to the base. With lips parted, gaze bleary in his overcome, it's writing on the walls: any climax he reaches now , as Emet-Selch strokes him off with his fingers, would serve to pave the way for another productive round.
He couldn't be exasperated by that. It's not in his nature, first of all... but it only served to arouse him deeper, to bring him closer to the brink with greater haste. His own cock was framed perfectly by thighs, and greater enhanced, its fullness supple beneath the Ascian's fingers. Obscene indeed, and Mettaton moans, soft and high.]
Hades...! Oh, you're too good...
[It wasn't just the way he touched him, but the involvement of their coupling that was most arousing. If Emet wasn't invested in him for the long haul, leaning for him and watching him with those beautiful, citrine eyes with heavy regard, it wouldn't be so arousing. Emet-Selch is captivated, and Mettaton is captivated in turn.
It's quick that beads over with precome. And... indeed, clear as anything, though milky and creamy, it glimmers and glitters in pinks. But he might need to finish his orgasm for it to become clearer.]
Hades, take me... ah...! [Mettaton isn't regarding that too far, though, as he grips his lover's hips, thrusting into his touch with obvious ardor.]
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Even though Emet-Selch is paying very, very close attention to his lover's erection in rapt expectation of what seemed soon to emerge from it, the suggestive milky leak of precome is met with a groan of pleasure, rather than confusion. Mettaton's cock was also pink; though he noticed that this drip of fluid glittered, he thinks absolutely nothing of it. His heart was racing as though he were the one approaching climax, for all that he was still in the process of hardening fully. All he could tell, all that mattered was that his husband was close, and that he was desperate to guide him there.]
Come- come for me- Mettaton...!
[Though he couldn't 'command' it from his husband in the way Mettaton could and did for him, the control over the mage's climax having become some expected part of their sex- it doesn't keep him from requesting it. Pleading for it, as though the lean of his body and quickness of his breath didn't demonstrate his interest. He would have kissed him, nuzzled him in additional shows of encouragement (and because he loved him- and in moments of high passion like this, it was easiest to show affection with more complete abandon) if it wouldn't have meant looking away from between their legs. And how could he do that when Mettaton was so close, and risk missing the proper start of his climax?
Tensed, curved towards him as much as he could, Emet-Selch was focused. Taking what beaded up from the tip of the other man's cock, he adds it to what he was already using to jerk him off with. If it added a faint shimmer to Mettaton's girth, he doesn't think anything of that either, noticing more the heat that drip of come portended to the rest of his husband's release with a rush of pleasure.
Swallowing, his wrist moves with quick flicks, focusing his attention especially towards the head of Mettaton's cock, squeezing him that bit harder there. Matching Mettaton's thrusts as much as he could, drawn into his pace (even though he was the one with the hand wrapped around an erection), he scarcely blinked, lest he miss a moment of it.
Not only of what would soon be his orgasm, but all of this leading up to it, the indelible pleasure of having his husband's arousal at hand again, hard and interested, with the scent of their sex around them, and Mettaton's cries in his ears. This... intimacy, this love that felt made for them. He never wanted it to end- but then, even a climax wouldn't be an end, given how inspiring they found the experience, how readily provoked they were into more.]
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Emet-Selch's enthusiasm met his own fever, and Mettaton groans brightly, losing himself to his lover's touch with abandon. He trusted him entirely with the duty of handling his body and his pleasure when he let himself go, and the robot grips onto his hips while he lets his head loll, body jerking and seizing at the sound of Emet-Selch's request.
It's the same phrasing they use for each other, that much was true. But the fact is that they each registered the demand in different ways. Where Emet-Selch sees it as a needy plea, a way to relieve his own frantic pulse, it was to the end of Mettaton's pleasure that he lived through. And when MTT demanded orgasm out of his husband, it was a demand because he wasn't to do it without; Mettaton enjoyed exerting that control over his husband, and ravished him with adoration over his ability to obey without a hitch. To watch the satisfaction Emet-Selch found in his obedience... to exert that control over his husband, and find it ultimately pleasurable to them both—it was a mutually satisfactory exchange.
The sound of Emet-Selch's voice would cause those rabbit ears he no longer has to bounce to high attention, before succumbing to the splay of gravity, as Mettaton moans nice and loud, his voice singing out and cutting through the air. Even without those kisses he's encouraged toward release, the mage's posture indicating his interest, swirling a thumb over the head of his cock to slick him over with- with heat, utter heat that Mettaton could feel. His own heat, and the robot hiccups, overcome with the desire to share his observation.
But unable to form it into words, as he succumbs to the sensation of his lover's palm stroking over his cock in perfect time with the jolting of his thrusts. So tense and pent-up is his climax that it comes in spurts, gushing past the slit and even spattering Emet-Selch in his lean. It was more than obvious even in his release that Mettaton agreed: this was no end to their encounter, but just a point of delight in the midst of what's otherwise a session of intimacy, a deepening of their already tight-knit bond. If anything, Mettaton spills over with the exciting notion that this was a provocation of its own, as he lets go, spilling over for his husband to watch.
... As sure as anything, Mettaton leaves his seed for Emet-Selch to slick over his cock, and for it to paint his lover's fingers, his body. And while all else was the same as it's ever been, that pink silicone cock produces a sticky, pink-tinged ejaculate, completely riddled with glitter. Mettaton is a real man.
Even as his actual ejaculation comes to an end, his cock producing as much as it could for this round, the robot still thrusts into Emet-Selch's touch with a hiss, a groan, a full-bodied shudder. One hand shifts up to grasp onto Emet-Selch's waist desperately, as though continuing to secure his mate in his lap where he wanted him. But all the while he's torn between watching himself as he thrusts into Emet-Selch's grip, and on the Ascian's features, transfixed by his focus.]
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Oh... oh, Mettaton....
[His voice is just as soft as his moan had been, something awed at the performance taking place under him, that he couldn't have pulled his gaze from even if he'd wanted to. Oblivious to Mettaton's observance of him, with his focus caught up entirely in every jerk and cry the robot was making, and the sticky mess that went with it, shot all over between them, impressively productive. He loved this.
And loved how reluctantly it seemed to come to a temporary end, with Mettaton continuing to jerk in his grasp, even when the spurts of fluid slowed to a drip. A lower, instinctively-soothing noise forms in his throat at the continuing convulsions underneath him, even when the robot's climax seemed otherwise 'complete'. Emet-Selch's pumps of him slow, while his heart continues to race, affected by all he saw, all he rode out with him, in an effort to ease him down from those heights.
Beyond the bliss that he could nearly feel himself, body tensing sympathetically (and cock hardening more than that, for all that he wasn't the one being touched), it was unmistakable now that something was... off, about Mettaton's semen. Different. The hint of pink couldn't be explained away by being on the backdrop of the robot's erection, not when it was spattered across his body. Even the glow of Mettaton's waist didn't explain it, as he was used to seeing things against that light. But more notable than the slight coloring change was the thorough and explicit glittering. His hand finally stills against yet-rigid silicone. He even lets go of him in order to better observe this, to touch what had hit his own body.
There was no question of 'was that normal'. It was not. It wasn't normal for anyone- not even Mettaton, given all their prior times together. Emet-Selch was... quite familiar with his husband's ejaculate. And up until this point it had been normal (as normal as an ejaculating robot could be).
(Was that safe to ingest? He sure had already swallowed a load of this, which had kept him from seeing what he was taking... and he hadn't tasted (nor felt underneath his fingers now) any textural difference. It wasn't rough (thankfully, or else Mettaton's experience of climax might have been somewhat uncomfortable, as infinite sharp-edged specks were expelled with great force from him....), but the presence of what absolutely looked to be glitter in his husband's come was not what he'd expected to face today.)
...He wanted to comment on it. He needed to comment on it, and the transfixed way he stared at what was dripping down his hand, which strung between his fingers with glimmering cloudiness indicated that he was somewhat at a loss. Aroused, definitely, affected by the existence of what he was handling, this very tangible residue of his lover's ability to climax, to share in pleasure with him- but nonplussed as well.
His lips part, but he can't quite find the words to comment on it yet, when he looks back up to Mettaton's face. Going in for a kiss instead, he pulls him into it with his other, yet-clean hand, taking his lips for several ardent, loving presses. Unexpected qualities of this result aside (and the consequences for him and all of their things should this glitter be as impossible to remove as glitter usually was, having not occurred to him yet), he was relieved. Pleased. Painfully in love with the man whose cock he returns to gently holding, both of them sticky with seed.]
Mettaton... [He whispers it against his lips.] I love you.
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Amazing.
Mettaton doesn't notice Emet-Selch's withdrawal, at least because he was being so thoroughly tended to. His entire orgasm has Emet-Selch wrapped up in him, or with fingers wrapped 'round him, from the start of his spilling to the moments even beyond it, when Mettaton continued to stroke himself, oversensitive and loving it, against his lover's touch. The sound of his moan, so soft and reverent, rings in his head; he feels dizzied by it, as though deprived of air and left stunned, and his smile is dazed after a productive release.
Emet-Selch examines; Mettaton shudders, wobbly and overcome. And as soon as the mage thinks better of commenting on it for now, after better taking a look at his lover's seed and realizing he wasn't seeing things, Mettaton nearly falls into his kiss with a simmering, if dazed passion.
His love requires no thought or concentration, and he lets himself float, a sticky hand returning to his cock as Emet-Selch pulls him in and kisses him, one kiss after another after another... Mettaton shudders a sigh, a note soft and warm his hummed reply, as he nuzzles their noses and lips together at his confession.]
I... I love you too, sweetheart... Ohhhh...
[And his hands grapple their way up Emet-Selch's hips, up his waist, where the robot tugs the smaller man close. Sighing heavily against his lips, he's sloppy when he kisses him; he's uncoordinated when he drifts toward his jaw and up to his ear with kisses, sloppy even, with what saliva he could take. But hot, too, his body producing high temperatures in his ecstasy.
His hips do still, but his thighs shift some more, wanting even when something of a refractory period had to settle. He was far more focused on showing his love, and already-slack, too-long arms wrap some more around the Ascian's body as Mettaton attempts to take hold of him with all his heart. He sighs, pressing as flush to him as he can, cheek to cheek before he nuzzles him some more.]
My love, I... I've craved you like this...
[He smiles, eyes as clear as they are deep, dark. Vulnerable, he'd wanted the same from Emet-Selch... but they could never quite meet in these sorts of moments, where overcome and exertion met with the intimacy of pleasure, of release, and of baring their all to one another. Mettaton couldn't do it, and Emet-Selch was reluctant to offer, each for their own reasons... but here they are, engaged and in love all along.]
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--But all that had been rectified, even if it didn't erase what they'd lived through before. Legs spread around Mettaton's body, held close onto the taller man's lap, each of their cocks had been on display to one another, and were brushed together as it was. They were sticky with each other's releases, one fresher and hotter than the previous, but Emet-Selch couldn't prevent the tight shiver that coursed through him at the awareness that he was holding a mix of their semen against Mettaton's length.
(He also couldn't forget the new and unusual nature of Mettaton's come, considering how vividly he remembered his climax, the way it had been shot from the other man onto his body, the way it oozed hot and thick over his hand. And one every surface it landed, it shimmered....
But he's not distracted by that aspect, even as he was puzzled over it. It didn't detract whatsoever from the experience, from the greater and far more important feeling of carrying Mettaton through his release, of witnessing every part of it.)
There's kisses, and the sweet nudge of noses. And more kisses to follow as they took what they could of the side of each other's faces- and if the hint of saliva he felt left behind on his cheek was technically his own, the mage enjoyed it all the same. They would share in what each of them were capable of producing- and he didn't need to look down to visualize the mess they were already sharing between their legs.
Where Mettaton's thighs shift, his own tense, as if securing his place where he was- or just being inclined to tense considering the pressure that gathered in his lower body. The instinct to thrust, the continued want for the man he was sitting on- he didn't need a hard cock for the latter, but it was a common manifestation of it. Exhaling a soft groan, he nuzzles back to him.]
I've felt the same. Both to have you... and to show you....
[They belonged wholly to one another, from their souls to their bodies, to memories and expressions. But demonstrating, offering it- making good on those commitments- had felt impossible. And so they both felt lonelier in its absence, even when they shared a bed that only one of them could sleep in. That much might remain true, but with what they could use their bed for now... their time in each other's company wouldn't have to feel so distant.
(How long before the bed, too, would need replaced? Though they had been gentle with it thus far.)
With his clean hand, he cups the other side of Mettaton's face, strokes his cheek with his thumb. Reverence remained in his touch, just as it had been when he'd stroked his erection, or beheld him in the fullness of arousal.]
You're stunning, like this.
[Mettaton was stunning always, beautiful always- but exposed as he was, vulnerable and loving, it felt like every trait was enhanced, somehow. Or maybe he was merely weaker to it.]
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--Indeed, it had been rectified. Mettaton hoped he wouldn't ever have to go through it again, which included sparing Emet-Selch the grief.
Mettaton sighs, and sighs again, stricken with a silly grin on his face. Possessed and given a show, Emet-Selch a unique but steadfast performer, one earnest and eager to please, Mettaton imagined that his ability to stun should be partly attributed to his husband's loveliness. One of his arms snakes around Emet-Selch's waist to wrap about him, all the way until he could cup his cheek, could draw back and gaze into his eyes with shameless affection. They cup each other's cheeks like this, gazing softly into each other and seeing much more than anyone else ever could.
He shudders, squirming closer to Emet-Selch. (He's already on his lap, how can they squirm closer...)]
Stunning, in my post-climax? Even without the flush... I hope I'm showing you all of the heart I put into that.
[He winks, but it's too playful to be anything intentionally vain, as much as it is confident and pleased to show this side of himself to Emet-Selch. He may not be able to sweat or blush, but he could envision himself, lively and still aroused despite his recent orgasm. Lively, aroused, and comfortable most of all, guided along by the capable and inviting touch of Emet-Selch, who fit him like a glove in ways more than the sexual kind.
Mettaton smooths a thumb over Emet-Selch's cheek, soaking in the softness around his eyes, and the openness of his heart, as though he could see his very soul even now. ...If there's anything he could see, it was the way Emet-Selch's arousal was coming back around after being momentarily relieved. A quick glance between them has Mettaton licking his lips at the sight of him, before flitting back to meet Emet-Selch's gaze.]
And you're handsome, my Hades. Handsome and capable... And so, so enticing to me. I'm only showing you what I've wanted to show you each day, from the bottom of my heart... because you're too effective on me.
[That one hand he still has on his hip? Yeah, that turns into a butt squeeze. A good one, at that, that nearly spreads his cheeks, a low rumble of a purr in Mettaton's throat. He just came, but he still wanted his lover.]
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Nudging into the hand against his face, he exhales a soft note. Where Mettaton couldn't flush, he'd do it for him, his body more easily given towards showing traits like that. But Emet-Selch didn't need to see his lover's body turn colors for him to recognize his affect, his involvement.
Though he'd found the gold eye Mettaton had possessed as a puca charming (a coincidental and small way that they matched), it was no surprise that he could lose himself just as easily to the robot's original violet. Another favorable color... and one that suited him. Something so deep shouldn't feel as bright as it did, but he chalked it up to his husband's inherent liveliness. An energy exhausting on a good day, and something he could always complain about; and what did he love more than having a reason to complain?
Though he can't do worse than sigh at Mettaton's playfulness, something more clearly fond, attached, than anything else.]
Were you showing me anything less, I would have to be offended.
[They couldn't scoot much closer than this, though Emet-Selch noted that they both tried to. But with the root of his erection nudged against Mettaton's, there wasn't any further they could go. Not unless the mage was sitting on him more... penetratively, which has his own cock throb harder to consider. Even so, he knew Mettaton had just climaxed, and as firm as his length seemed inclined to remain between releases, there was fullness to regain. Even if they were both aroused....
As there was no question of that, as they looked into each other's eyes, soaked in this moment that was solidly in the midst of their sex. His other hand still pets gently along Mettaton's cock in a gesture that was as affectionate as it was sexual. Though he felt a certain pride at being so effective on the robot, he was just as surely grateful for it, that Mettaton would be this open to him.
While inclined to nuzzle into the touch to his face, his breath catches instead when his ass is squeezed, gripped enough to be a suggestion in its own right, and his muscles tense underneath his grip. Pleasantly, wantingly- as makeshift semen-based lube was sounding increasingly more reasonable when he wanted to be fucked.
Huffing a sound of exasperation at his own neediness, the way his legs twitched around Mettaton's body, he glances between them as well, to both the explicit residue of their coupling, and the evidence of their continued interest. Eyes returning to the taller man's face, he doesn't resist the want to lean in enough to brush their lips together again. (Just remembering the way Mettaton had recently licked at his has him shiver, as though everything the other man did was suggestive, attractive... provocative.)]
If I'm enticing, then keep showing me. I haven't seen enough. Not... nearly enough.
[But when it came to things he'd seen- he finally has to comment:]
And while I'd love another sample for comparison... have you noticed anything different, in your come?
[Like it being pink and full of glitter.]
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But knowing how much it mattered to his lover that he remain a robot of a mostly infallible structure, plus weighing the considerations that might come with becoming a human, was what persuaded him into considering other avenues. He could keep what made him so uniquely himself, while still regaining important things- and already, more than that.
He's set, and he has his husband. Here he is, pressing into his fingers, and Mettaton feels heartsick and hungry all at once, heated just as much as Emet-Selch flushes, and his eyelid droops that bit more in his lust. ...It's insane, that he just came and is already hungry for more, that niggling sensation of an itch that felt like an emptiness that begged for fullness; and from there, a fullness that begged for emptiness. It never abated, it felt like... And neither did his adoration for Emet-Selch, as jewel-like eyes keep his focus, an amber so lovely Mettaton thought he might treasure it as dearly as he ever had his Puca's Share. Put these on offer for him, and he'd overturn the world.
They could scoot closer. And Mettaton nearly urges Emet-Selch there, licking his lips again- but Emet-Selch's muscles tense so pleasantly, and he could nearly feel their wants align. He wanted to fuck, and Emet-Selch wanted fucked... Wordless, he believes this to be the case, and that violet of his gaze sharpens that much, deepens that bit darker.
But he smiles, eager and excited- and sighs, madly in love. Emet-Selch kisses him nearly, and as soon as the Ascian finishes speaking... Mettaton closes it, sealing the deal.
Has he noticed anything different... Wait, let me kiss you, read Mettaton's actions, and he nudges himself into Emet-Selch's lips to insist on a quick kiss. But he doesn't make it too deep before sighing as he lets the other man glance to his face, and Mettaton... looks down.]
Hmm...
[... Light filters in through the windows, hazy and warm. It bounces on surfaces light, an ambient glow in the room for their lovemaking, leaving nothing to the imagination. And in their laps is evidence of Mettaton's ejaculation, a pink-tinged fluid that sparkled, as though infused with glitter... And fortunately not glitter, as shards of plastic wouldn't feel good for anyone. But sparkly nonetheless, and Mettaton reaches between their bodies to bring a scoop of it onto his finger.
Testing it before their eyes with his hand that formerly groped Emet-Selch's ass, he tacks his fingers against it before spreading them, letting a string of semen rope between them. And though he's smiling dangerously at the beauty of his own come (lordt), he's just as quick to fixate just as darkly on Emet-Selch... before bringing his digits to his own lips.
Hazily, slowly, he draws that plentiful scoop of seed along his lip. Tongue out to taste, to take on some of the burden of come, he sighs heat enough to reach the Ascian, before smacking his lips, glittery seed let to stain silicone. And from there, he sighs again with a slow, long blink, before answering with... nearly a pout to his voice, and one for performance too.]
It's a suitable look for me, don't you agree? However. I can't tell, darling... You'll have to help me. Does it taste as lovely as it looks?
[Does it taste like him? he suggestively asks, a small curve of a smile on glistening, painted lips, milky and painted and so kissable- if semen-covered was worth kissing.]
What's different... and what's not? I want to hear your thoughts.
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They were... absurdly desirous of one another. And while he'd known that to be the case, he didn't think he was imagining how raw, how sharp it felt now, in the way they gazed upon each other. Despite what they'd done already, they felt desperate for a fuck, he thought- the rounds behind them having done nothing but stoke their want.
But there could be a glimmer of patience. He had asked a question, after all- even if it was mostly a commentary on this unexpected aspect. Besides, it was a commentary, a consideration worth arousal in its own right, as the aftermath of their sex often was. What was a mess but an inspiration to create more of one, to make it truly worthwhile to be left smeared sticky and exhausted, bodies emptied of seed as much as they could be (his own, at least... though he wondered whether Mettaton's productivity would be the same as he remembered).
Together, they glance down towards their cocks again, the pinkish-milky mess an unsubtle decoration, glittering visibly in the ambient light. Even had they only Mettaton's waist to go on, it would've been clear that something was strange... and with the sun not yet near setting, there was plenty more light where that came from, enough to illuminate them properly, if not harshly.
He can't help the paused breath, to watch Mettaton take up a sizable smear of his own come onto his fingers. There was no looking away from him, as the other man toys with it, letting it string suggestively between fingers, a tease of its consistency.
Shuddering, he swallows reflexively as Mettaton paints his lips in glittery ejaculate. A lipstick that suited him- yes, he would agree with that completely. If it were less thickly applied, would it serve as an innocent-seeming lip gloss... but it was hard to imagine it ever looking anything other than obscene. And as it was, it was unashamedly sexual, and his own body felt particularly hot just to watch this simple show of it. Mettaton's voice itself felt like a caress down his body, and the way he looked at him was irresistible.
...Though he'd already taken him in his mouth, felt him ejaculate against his tongue, Emet-Selch makes his own show of considering his lover's face as though the answer lay there. Leaning up, he slowly brings their lips together, forcing back the moan that wished to blossom at the explicit texture of his husband's semen sticky between their mouths. Willingly decorating them both with it, he slips his tongue into the other man's mouth to get a better taste of him there- as he knew Mettaton had left another smear of seed there, to be claimed. He would lap it up from any part of him just as devotedly- but he would also let messes remain, for their appeal.
Barely breaking the kiss, it makes a slightly wetter sound than usual, given what was likely to string between their lips, he doesn't move far in order to answer.]
...It suits you. [He finally agrees, in a low rumble.] And it tastes like you.
[Which meant he loved it, because it was Mettaton's. It was his pleasure, tangible- and nothing to take for granted, especially now.]
It's just as I remember it.... [And if that was a strange thing to feel sentimental about, he doesn't question it; they had the ability to have sex again as they wished, and this was proof of it. He still manages a sigh; it's closer to a groan, as he nudges their noses together.] Outside of its obnoxious color.
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His answer did lie on his face. Or, against his face. His tongue. Emet-Selch tastes his lips in a kiss that deepens, and Mettaton can't help but lean into it, humming and drawing the smaller man close, winding him up in his embrace. But even that wasn't responsible for Emet-Selch's lack of distance, he knew. Emet-Selch was only drawing back so far because he enjoyed all of this, from the proximity to the intimacy to the feeling of being trapped in his arms.
The only answer Emet-Selch gets is a deepening kiss and a hum, as he draws him in. Emet-Selch talks against his lips, but Mettaton takes him in again, catching his lower lip and sucking upon it, leaving it swollen, leaving him eager for more. He could taste the slow appreciation... and wanted to set fire to it, as he ever did.]
But doesn't its new qualities remind you of me, too? [A simple query, as Mettaton grins against his lips.] You won't be able to mistake it, darling. When you're made a mess of... you'll see both of our efforts, and make note when it's the both of us mixed.
[But he wouldn't be able to mistake it even before, as his memory was too good to fail recalling who climaxed when, where. Milky seed before was a product of them both... but the robot was looking forward to showing his man just how much of it was him- and in addition, how much of it was Emet-Selch.
Of course it was sentimental. They'd wanted this fiercely, and now... it was something they could share in together. Mettaton kisses him slowly, tongue smoothing over Emet-Selch's slick lip before returning that nudge of noses for the third time. But it's then that his fingers are presented before them both, as he'd discreetly slipped low and scooped up another fingerful of seed- which he slicks over Emet-Selch's lip, encouraging him to taste him.
And just encouraging him to do the arousing task of enjoying him. Mettaton sighs and even groans, hips rolling slow at the notion that he was slipping Emet-Selch an intimate taste of himself. But he similarly forces the Ascian to slip forward. And that meant settling firmly onto the root of his own cock, Emet-Selch's balls nudged against a sticky shaft... and soon, he nearly groans to consider the smaller man settling deeper onto his lap, breathless and shifting in his eagerness.]
Hades, mmm... You'll tend to me, won't you? [Front his fingers... to the erection he knew he'd be quick to develop.]
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Breath caught from it, he hadn't recovered when Mettaton finally releases him, where he could feel his smile against mutually damp lips, his words delivered the same way. And he wasn't about to try and interrupt the kiss that followed, something soft and loving, his lips feeling more sensitive to him somehow. The most Emet-Selch could do to finally comment at first was a huff- one that was interrupted too as the robot suddenly had another scoop of come at his fingers, and took to spreading it over the Ascian's lips instead.
And when Mettaton drags him forward, forcing him to ride harder on the root of the robot's cock, it was hopeless to avoid a moan. Shuddering, his body jerks, his own cock rigid and aching, his erection an obvious sign of his enjoyment. And with lips parted, the taste of semen awash over them and his tongue, he couldn't quite manage to swallow back another groan.
It was an oddly attractive thought. To see, explicitly, where each of them had marked one another (and what a primitive thing to find attractive, to take pleasure in marking and being marked by their mate with something as base as semen), and how thoroughly. Even if it was true enough that Emet-Selch had no trouble remembering where each of them had climaxed, even during sessions that grew long, and obscenely plentiful, it wasn't unattractive to imagine having a visual reminder. To see glitter pooling or dripping from him, and be reminded at a glance as to who had done this. (And when it came to stains left to dry on the bed or his clothes, he would know exactly who to blame. (It would always be Mettaton. (Even if it was the mage's how else would it have gotten there, if not for Mettaton's provocation?)))
It appealed to possessiveness. And of course, when their seed gathered together- where Mettaton's would become more clouded, pale and milky, while his own would take on an unsubtle shimmer and hint of pink... he already knew he would love that. He loved it already on the mess of their cocks, as they'd taken turns jerking each other off, with their come left to make a deliberate mess in their laps.
A lap he was riding suggestively hard into, the size of the girth against his body giving an impression of how deeply it could reach. And it was hard for him to imagine wanting something more in these moments.]
Its new qualities, yes. [When he finally manages to speak again, rather than moan, or make any other sort of noise of blatant pleasure, it carries the show of a disgruntled note.] Obnoxious in design... and possibly dangerous to my health. What, exactly, are you having me swallow....
[Was this Ascian-safe glitter? Not that he was remotely concerned, or would do anything other than what he was doing, which was slowly licking it up from his own lips. Claiming it for himself- and given the shaky breath that followed, it was something he took pleasure in doing. (He'd also never been concerned when he'd been lapping up the come of a shapeshifting puca- something that had been the result of his lover's new magical prowess, and his understanding of the appropriate biological systems. And given Mettaton's occasionally-shaky grasp of things- especially when it came to what was safe for organic beings to consume- some retroactive caution might have been wise. But it had never occurred to him.)]
But if you want tended- do you think we have enough? ['Lubrication.' He glances down towards what remained between them, dripped down shafts and glazing their balls, what decorated abdomens and touched thighs.] Before you have me swallow it all down... what will it take to get you to fuck me?
[The last is delivered in something close to a growl, as he leans in to bite at Mettaton's lower lip, glitter apparent between them.]
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