[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.]
[Emet-Selch was already hard, but Mettaton swore he felt the rush of arousal that pulsed through him at the combination of slick semen pressed to his lips, mixed with the hardness he was forced to ride over. A cock they both saw fit to set him atop, as the robot envisioned their mutual pleasure at stuffing him full, enough that Emet-Selch would comfortably sit in his lap.
Comfort mattered, after all, because Mettaton valued Emet-Selch's well-being. And... even if it were technically possible for the stubborn Ascian to find relief in being stretched too far, too dry, Mettaton wouldn't enjoy an encounter that wasn't made appropriately slippery. Even that growl couldn't convince him of that, though he couldn't help it:]
God, you're so hot. [Mettaton nearly growls back, stooping in to take Emet-Selch in another kiss: this one more heated than the last, with teeth to answer the smaller man's bite.] All you have to do is keep doing what you're doing, and you'll have me hard enough to fuck in no time, sweetheart.
[Emet-Selch knew the drill. With the robot made totally rigid, and beneath Emet-Selch as he is, he wouldn't be able to even stop him from maneuvering over his lap and seating himself on his cock- and from there, Mettaton would be helpless in the face of pleasure, incapable of keeping from toppling him back and stealing him up.
With a heated sigh, Mettaton wraps his husband up tight in his arm, though he doesn't keep him so restrained that he couldn't move- because the way Emet-Selch was slipping forward, settling his weight deeper onto his root, is enough to have Mettaton groan.]
Though you know... Ha. It won't take much.
[He'd be a ridiculously easy lay, and Emet-Selch would have no trouble coaxing him into his fullest arousal, erection filled enough to be agonizingly rigid. And though he knew he looked impressive now, he knew he had some stiffness to regain- even though everything the smaller man did encouraged him in that direction, from the sounds on his voice to the eager brightness of his eyes. He doesn't need to try to explain the safety of his ejaculate, because he knew Emet-Selch would swallow it regardless of it all, given that it reminded him of all else he'd ever been able to produce. The tint and glitter is a non-issue- but the robot didn't mind Emet-Selch's ability to complain about it all.
Gripping his ass, squeezing and kneading cheeks, Mettaton urges Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap, kissing at his neck.]
Why don't you... come close, Hades, and tell me what it would take to get me to fuck you. What do you think?
[Emet-Selch would agree that he felt harder, both in response to the semen given to his lips for a taste, and to everything else the other man did. From the near-growl on the robot's own part, and especially to the heat of their next kiss- something that felt nearly sloppy, rough, given the deliberate involvement of teeth- it all sharpened his need. His hips thrust forward, rolling hard against the taller man he was sitting on, in less impatience and more demand. An expectation for Mettaton to get properly and completely erect for him, a fullness warranting of his complete attention- impressive as he already was.
As there was no hope to keep from moaning at the slick way Mettaton's length slid against his body, a tease of his heat, and one he trembled to experience fully. It was exasperating (thrilling) at how firm his lover could remain between climaxes, how reliable his virility was now that he had a proper outlet for it again- and there would be little stopping the mage from encouraging him to his end, over and over.]
What do I think....
[With the order to come closer, he might've complained over how he was close enough already, riding on the robot's root, the mage's own cock nudging against his body. Wrapped up in a winding arm that left him feeling safe, in some softer way. But of course that wasn't enough, there was nothing that was ever enough, for one thing- and they knew exactly how they might be closer still. For all that he was in Mettaton's lap, he could be there more... securely, with more than his legs stretched around his body.
But comfort did matter- to some degree. To the degree where it still seemed valuable to bother with some sort of preparation at all, but not so far where he would defer full penetration at all due to the lack of real lubrication. He was hard; he hadn't been fucked by Mettaton in ages, and there was plenty of their ejaculate around. That all added up to being good enough.
With one arm bracing himself around the idol's body, the other, already messy hand, scoops up more semen onto his fingers, coating them properly in glittery slickness. An attractive substance, somehow (and the reminder of the taste of it at his lips felt stronger, and he swallows unconsciously), but he doesn't let himself be distracted by it.
Without waiting to be told, or for Mettaton to take that initiative, he brings his arm behind himself, to trace a cloudy finger around his entrance, smearing tight muscle with their seed. Automatically his breath hitches, body twitching at the sensation, the suggestiveness of what he was doing- but he doesn't delay long before beginning to work a single digit inside himself.]
Must I- do everything for you? Mettaton. [He exhales it heavily against Mettaton's neck, before pressing his face there. Kisses him; his breath was already leaving silicone damp.] You'll be ready as soon as I am.
[...Already, it was a reminder that come wasn't a real replacement for lube, no matter how glittery- but it was slick and it was something, and for all his wanting, he knew how to untense, how to make this as easy a process as possible for himself. Anticipation and arousal helped a great deal, and it would be difficult for him to have any more of either of those things.]
[Mettaton giggles. Emet-Selch earns a kiss: when he nudges into his neck, Mettaton smooches his hair. But as soon as Emet-Selch threatens that he'd be ready as soon as he was...]
Ohhhh...!
[He knew what was happening. Emet-Selch was hiking himself up, arm slung around MTT as he uses glittery, sticky fingers, probing his entrance, prodding increasingly slick muscle and coating it with his seed, from his cock. It's been... too long since he's been able to provide. Too long since he's been able to demonstrate himself in this way so erotic, and Mettaton shudders, back arching as though attempting to lean into the pleasure his husband felt.
Emet-Selch had already slipped further over his cock, forcing his member to lay against his abdomen. And how sizable he looked, even juxtaposed against Emet-Selch's upward-arching cock, slick and ready... Looking down, he shudders to behold the sight of Emet-Selch positively thick- and himself, ready to be made rigid once more. His cock wouldn't say so nicely against his abdomen when fully filled, he knew.
And there were plenty of reasons to find himself filling, from the sound of Emet-Selch's voice to the way he took such forward initiative. Even though Mettaton would've been next to prepare the smaller man, it was even more arousing to feel Emet-Selch do it himself out of haste, the need to fill himself up with urgency spurring MTT into filling, heady enough to warrant a groan. He squeezes his prize, snugging Emet-Selch close while he prepares himself, imagining the sight, the feeling of that finger against his entrance, a digit slick enough to begin something in preparation for more. The way he twitches and tenses, thighs taut just enough to keep him poised for fingering, Mettaton soaks in every facet of the Ascian's preparation, though his gaze returns to Emet-Selch's face: the glow of his eyes, and the flush of his lips.]
You should know... how tempting you are like this. [He nearly pants, squirming beneath the other man. With Emet-Selch buried once more into his neck, the robot shifts, his hips rocking in answer to the swing of Emet-Selch's.] I think you're right. Ah... You'll have me ready shortly.
[He really would be hard before he knew it. If he had a brain, it might leave him light-headed to be made so rapidly aroused, and so quickly after exertion. But as he is, he was quick to recover, and with his temperament, even quicker to be tempted. Were he the one aching for relief as badly as Emet was, the robot knew he would be shifting them around, crowding out his lover's fingers- and the thought alone has his breath hitch, jerking against Emet-Selch's crotch with a groan.
...How could he be made so hard, so quick? Part of it was his own imagination, his own perception. But the other parts were so much more, from Emet-Selch's actions that kept him alert and entranced, to the sensations of heat settled over his lap, the pressure of weight over his thighs, and the firmness of Emet-Selch's erection, plus his body laying heavily over his swiftly firming cock.]
You're... fingering- ah... I want to... [He pants, thrusting. He wanted them both to be ready and soon, but he similarly enjoyed this moment, the feeling of Emet-Selch readying himself for something thicker.] Tell me... how you imagine I'll feel, spreading you.
[Mettaton's reaction to what he was doing was everything he could've hoped for, and he smiles briefly against his neck, before his lips part for another moan, soft and low.
He would have enjoyed it, had Mettaton gotten there first- and Emet-Selch assumed such a direction had been immanent, given the way their desires seemed to align. The intimacy of the robot preparing him with his own come, produced not just for this purpose, but something they could both appreciate making use of- would he have been able to last through that? His erection felt like it throbbed, aching and hot, reflecting the mage's swiftened pulse.
Like this, Emet-Selch had better control over the sensation, could avoid toying with himself any more than he wanted to- but instead, he had the redirected pleasure of knowing Mettaton was observing him. That he could tell exactly what he was up to and why, which was a strange thrill in itself, even though this was hardly the first time, and even if Mettaton couldn't actually see him do it. Not directly. (They really needed to invest in some more mirrors.)
The unavoidable catch to his breath, the deliberate spread of his legs and shivering tension in his thighs, the position of his arm and flushed concentration to his manner- every corresponding indication was there. None of it he attempts to hide.
Where Mettaton thrust, his body tries to thrust back, to grind against him. Groaning a rough note, he couldn't help the way he tensed up around his own finger, imagining that it was a cock instead. It didn't hurt, at least, not with a lone digit spreading semen, even when he has it pressed past the knuckles, as deep as he could reach. Which was nothing at all compared to how deep Mettaton could go, and a quick glance down to the swell of his cock was an unnecessary but arousing reminder of it. But there was not only length but especially girth to prepare for- something that his own finger was hardly even a tease of.
And yet, even this he had to adjust to. Something so modest was still an insertion, and he wanted to give to Mettaton something that was a comfortably tight fit- as comfortable as he had the patience for, anyway....
So he thrusts that finger inside of himself, eyes mostly closed as he nuzzled at Mettaton's jaw, his pulse pounding.]
How... you're always hotter than I remember. Each... and every time. And you'll feel my warmth right back, surrounding you. While you're thicker than I- than I....
[His words are interrupted as his thoughts encourage his hand to make good on what he was imagining, which was how his body would be made to stretch around a full erection. It's not rushed, exactly, he doesn't force it immediately deep, but spends these next moments tugging firmly, slickly, at his entrance with two fingers, the slightly greater presence inside himself an inspiration.
Bringing his head up, he kisses at Mettaton's jaw, trailing nearly to his lips, before leaning back just enough to look out his eye, to watch his husband's own expression, his own hazy and flushed. Desperate... but enjoying this both, the anticipation that filled him, and the thick cock he was pressed to filling on its own, with a stiffness he didn't think he was imagining.
He still manages a frown, a show of dismay.]
--Whatever force endowed you did not take my comfort into account. [He complains... even as they knew from experience that he loved Mettaton's size, his shape- everything about him. And what he was eager to ride, what he was preparing himself for was strikingly similar to what Mettaton had chosen for himself, in the past. A thickness they both found fitting... and which did fit, no matter how much Emet-Selch might protest it.] But I imagine you'll find me--
[Even that show of contrariness isn't something he can maintain for long, not when he works his fingers deeper, coaxing his body to accept them with small, contained thrusts. He'd wanted this... to be doing this for him, to be looking forward to servicing Mettaton's erection by fitting it deep in his body, to feel themselves joined. He ached, with more than his cock- but that too, as a part of his fantasy, to find climax once more with Mettaton filling him out, in the other man's arms, each of them caught up in the other's heat. His gaze falls to the side, voice nearly mumbled.]
[He knew that no matter how they got around to preparing Emet-Selch, it would've been an intimate affair. But there was an advantage to letting Emet-Selch do it, he would've thought with greater clarity if he had that. And that was that he knew he would've been exploratory, testing the heat of his body with his fingertips, tugging at muscle and crooning over the tension he could exert. Would Emet-Selch be able to last through all of Mettaton's fondling, his enthusiastic petting and stroking?
Perhaps it was for the best. Especially because no matter which way they approached the task, MTT was still being aroused... though it may be rousing in two different directions. With Emet-Selch nuzzling him, kissing his neck and panting against silicone, the robot nearly groans, growls, as his legs shift and his hips jerk, becoming swiftly full- and covetous of the space Emet-Selch had occupied, enough that his squirming jostles the smaller man above him, as Mettaton curls with the unconscious intent to prod him with his cock.]
You want to talk about my heat...
[Yet Emet-Selch is an obviously warm body in the waiting, an aspect to their sex that he hadn't as much experience with. With that prize waiting for him, the idol all but whines, his silky voice high yet breathless as it peters out as soon as he feels lips against his jaw.
He was intensely aroused, and insanely quick. The only way he knows what Emet-Selch's doing is by the sensation of muscles moving in his arm, and Mettaton could imagine all of the intricate slips of his fingers, all of the gentle pulls and slick rubs and the fullness he could never imitate, but was all too aware of. Mettaton's voice hitches in the midst of a groan, tipping his head to permit Emet-Selch a trail of kisses that served only to intensify his ache. His every ache, including the same ones he felt with Emet-Selch that reached deep and gripped their hearts.
He knew this wasn't too big for Emet-Selch. He knew it was just right, that the Ascian enjoyed riding something thick. And to hear him complain, before following up with the acceptance of accommodation, only inspires the imagining of his entrance stretched about a thick, full root- a sight in his mind's eye that is enough to have Mettaton moaning some more, squirming in his anticipation.]
No matter what you say, dearest, I... I know what you find preferential to comfort. [He turns his head enough to kiss Emet-Selch's cheek.] Pleasure, of course. And you...
[... Have a thing for something thick, he wants to say. But overeager as he's increasingly becoming, he squirms; he thrusts, as if his body sought to declare its readiness without words. With one hand he spreads Emet-Selch some more, and the arm he has trapping him, wrapped around his body, tugs him deeper unto his lap.]
Won't you... Ohh, Hades... Tell me, how thick you're anticipating me. [And how thick he's preparing himself, to that end. Emet-Selch would only be able to do so much, but he knew they'd work him into comfort eventually, even if it took patience. And practice. Mettaton grinds his root against Emet-Selch's crotch, greedily collecting him, dragging his weight over his root.] And how you know it'll feel, to take me...?
[It was nearly that he whined with him, feeling as though their arousals were joined- but weren't they, in a way, always fed off of each other's? Even when their souls weren't directly linked (something he would forever miss), to see their lover in rising (and peaking) pleasure was one of the most inciting things of all.
It was a limitation of his body only that took Emet-Selch longer to show off his wanting, but he felt as though he'd been swollen for some time now. Where bringing him to climax could've served to encourage Mettaton back into a completely engorged state (Rather than the... partially? mostly? firmed condition that seemed to be his default; could the robot ever be completely flaccid? It would make his new condition of Pants Wearing somewhat difficult, if not.), this was a time where he had to wait, no matter how he yearned for touch, for relief. Not that Mettaton would keep him waiting long; he knew that from experience. No, it was his own body once again that required more time.
But he still didn't feel quite frustrated either, as the pain (and expectation) of a rigid cock was worth enduring, was a pleasure in its own right. But by the same token he sorely wanted to proceed, even if it meant being made more sore than he otherwise might have been. And while he works his fingers as deep as they could go, spreading them and what slickness he could give himself, it was a slower process than he would have liked.
He still finds it in him to huff at Mettaton's reply, though he nudges into the kiss to his cheek anyway. He could guess what else his lover might've said about him, and appreciated it not being directly called out....
Of course, his preference lied most of all in Mettaton; anyone else's thickness wouldn't do.]
How thick. [He repeats, tilting his head to seek out the other man's lips again. Another attempt of a kiss.] How thick can you give me? All that and- more, until you've filled me out completely.
[...He could probably use more time, even another finger, especially as their lubrication situation wasn't ideal. But it was growing more difficult to wait, and harder to judge his own readiness with anything like objectivity. He... could take him, he thought, with only a reasonable amount of trouble. And with Mettaton spreading him, grinding his erection against his body, how was he meant to resist?
But he tries for a few moments longer, unable to keep from whining though, soft and keen as he pushes back into his own hand, into the thrust of fingers that couldn't begin to satisfy him.]
How- do you think you'll feel? Fit- fitted tight inside of me? Tell me how much- how much you want this.
[The more the seconds stretch on, the more MTT wanted Emet-Selch stretched instead, and soon. It wasn't impatience but anticipation, as the injustice of their months spent without sex was starting to wear, as though it already hadn't. It wasn't right! They wanted their bodily union, and with no avenue for it, the two of them had been left with swollen hearts and an ache that they each saw in each other's eyes... but that they longed to relieve with the stroke of a cock, the filling and emptying of their bodies. This is how they're made to express themselves.
Emet-Selch wanted him thick, and it spurs him toward a heavier arousal, it felt like. His body, shaped this way by the power of Emet-Selch's prayer, responded to him and him alone- and were he privy to the notion that it was Mettaton Emet-Selch thought himself most swayed by (and he'd agree, this wasn't news to him), he'd have to sweetly and softly concur that Emet-Selch himself is a special man- and uniquely capable of arousing Mettaton in a way unlike any other. His responses, his willingness to offer himself up, his servitude- all of it combined to leave Mettaton willing and wanting to pounce, to ravish him and hear his voice soar.
It... felt like enough time to be reasonably prepared, MTT thought. How much time did it take to prep with something that was only relatively similar to lubricant? Emet-Selch whines, and Mettaton answers with a similarly keening note, nudging the smaller man with the underside of his root in short, small thrusts. He wanted to take over the duties of his fingers as they stretched and spread...
With a sigh partnered with a kiss to his cheek, Mettaton's voice hitches, the closest he could get to a gasp for air.]
Doesn't this feel like a temptation enough, size-wise? [Is he not thick enough for something to promise a fuller filling? Mettaton squirms, thighs positively aching.] I'm giving you the promise of my size... and you, the promise of- of such warmth, unlike anything I've experienced in this body...
[It was the first thing he looked forward to: his lover's warmth, and his specifically. Sure, sure, other bodies were warm- but he wanted Emet-Selch, and he wanted him stretched and tight around his girth, slipping gradually down his length until he was agonizingly settled around his root. Mettaton imagined that sight like a dream, moaning with a closed eye as he envisions Emet-Selch suggestively hiding a thick cock, stuck to his lover's lap and secured in his spot. Aside from his nudity, it would only be obvious by the flush of his nude body, and the upright length between them that would be painfully swollen...
Mettaton shifts again, pulling Emet-Selch even closer. That's because he's maneuvering himself, arching his back first, then squirming just enough to force Emet-Selch over his lap- until his cock springs up, let to curve along Emet-Selch's backside, between spread cheeks and against slicked fingers. Mettaton growls, though it's mostly a moan: even though he was deeply wanting of penetration, he was still patient enough to wait for Emet-Selch to ready himself. After all, he did say MTT would be ready only as soon as Emet-Selch was, and he agreed with that]
Hades... Don't you think? That... That this will satisfy? How do you feel?
[In all truth, at the end of the day, Mettaton didn't want to do something Emet-Selch would regret. ...If the smaller man was willing to endure pain, he was willing, too. He knew their appetite, and the gentle rolls of his hips are firm, controlled: he demonstrates that he could be with a deliberate pace, enough that any lack of preparation should be able to be worked through with kneading force.]
[Mettaton was more than a temptation, but someone that had already drawn him in, captured him down to his core, where he had no desire left but to claim all he was offering. There were a lot of things he loved about this, but notable amongst them was this anticipated sharing of warmth. Warmth that Mettaton would be able to feel, both around his cock and pressed to his body, anywhere that they touched. They'd had tastes of it so far, of the heat each of them could produce, but this was inviting it further, literally deep, in a way that they just hadn't been able to perform in months.
It was a wonder that they were as relatively restrained as they were, Emet-Selch distantly mused. He was trying to prepare himself at all; Mettaton hadn't dragged his hand out of the way and replaced it with himself. The shift of their bodies, the slip of the robot's erection to the mage's backside was more than a hint of his wants, however- of his promise, both in heat and size, of something that could fill the smaller man when he'd been so empty. Moaning after him, Emet-Selch's hips jerk back- even if his own hand was in the way, and they weren't aligned properly. He swallows.]
You'll... know how I feel, soon enough.
[Physically, emotionally; in both he felt hot. Desperate but... controlled, yes; he decided this would be good enough, that he'd given his body enough time. It had better be, because it's moments later that his fingers are pulled hastily from himself, without even the farewell of a tease. What was there for him to tease (especially when Mettaton couldn't watch him), when he had what he actually wanted nudging against his ass? Their patience had been remarkable already, he thought....
His feelings felt as taut as his body, and hopefully rawer- though he expected and accepted this wouldn't be entirely comfortable. Not at first, and not afterward, if his body ended up as well-rubbed as he wanted it to be.
But he was more than willing, and knew that Mettaton was similarly interested, even if the less-slick entry wouldn't be as easy for him either. Nudging the side of his face against his (nearly a scenting gesture- not that Emet-Selch had ever possessed those instincts, but it felt like something they just did, regardless), the mage then sits up properly, onto his knees. Bracing himself with one hand at Mettaton's shoulder, the other- newly liberated from fingering himself- feels behind him for the other man's erection.
Still somewhat slick, and already hotter than remembered, and thicker even to feel than to see (and that was already plentily thick), it was too tempting to not squeeze up his shaft, to fondle the swollen tip while imagining how it would feel stretching him. But it's a delay that barely counts as one, because why imagine it when he could have it? Guiding his tip to the right place, even as he expects it, the sharp draw of breath was inescapable, and his heart beat fast enough to dizzy him.
And having the plush tip against his entrance was too much to consider resisting, and with Mettaton's erection held steady (and the other man more than rigid enough to be worth sitting on), he rolls his hips back, onto him. With a forced breath he keeps from tensing up to start with- and with more patience than he thought he had left, he keeps from pressing down hard, from driving Mettaton inside completely.
But just the act of kneading them both has him cry out, if softly, and his body to shudder. They were so close, and every second now when they weren't combined was torture- it's too soon, probably, but yearning has him act without thought, and firm kneading gives way to harder jerks of his hips. Forcing himself downward, he doesn't stop until the full swell of the head was pushed inside of him. Yet being made to stretch over something suddenly so thick has him choke on a gasp, and his whole body to tremble, huddling as close to Mettaton as he could with a sharper whine. Unwillingly he tenses up; it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. Wasn't even unpleasant, probably. Emet-Selch wasn't analyzing it that far.]
M... Mettaton- I- you're....
[His thoughts are no more coherent than his words, and he leans for him, head nudging against him with a smaller, pleading sound.]
[Without language they agree that this should suffice, if not the most optimal of preparations. But in a world that was bizarrely without lubricant, it would have to suffice. Atop that, Emet-Selch is dangerously aroused... and Mettaton was quickly hurdling in that direction. It made it much easier to think with their cocks, and to prioritize getting Emet-Selch where he could lose himself to bliss.
As soon as the tip of his still-filling erection is aligned with the help of Emet-Selch's guidance, Mettaton lets go of his ass. But that's just to brace himself against his hip, fingers wrapped around his brand-new tattoo that connected them if not spiritually (and did it? it warranted testing, or patience), bodily. He could even feel it in its way, an electric current that came of two people bound together, as though these markings linked up the energy that coursed through their bodies most of all. He answers that nuzzle against his cheek with an answering nudge, metal paneling against warm, soft skin that gave pronouncedly against him. He would salivate if he could, he knew... There's something about this tender figure that has him starving, nearly envious for its softness but similarly pleased at just experiencing it.
Even though he was still filling, god was he erect, firm already. But still filling indeed, and he could just feel that push of pressure swim deep in his body, an agonizing ache that he'd agree felt torturous, as soon as Emet-Selch pumps his length, from base to tip. And from there, Mettaton jerks and shudders to feel Emet-Selch knead him against his entrance, trying his very best to keep his hips from stuffing his length inside. He babbles, fingers twitching against skin.]
You're, y-you're, [It's static. Even his voice is impacted, skipping slightly. He may have his very own voice, none of it regulated by any robotic device, but the body itself is the interference it needs to sound like a skipping record.] Give me, give me--!
[He doesn't realize what he's saying, how positively greedy he sounds. But despite his words MTT is mostly polite, his hips restrained, thighs taut with inertia and desire restricted to his heart, giving Emet-Selch time and space to determine the pace that his body should receive a thick intrusion. If Emet-Selch had the good sense for it, why, it could've even been a smooth insertion mostly painless, he's being so good.
But of course, neither of them are anything less than frantic and overheated. The sound of Emet-Selch's voice is music, and Mettaton nuzzles him hard as the Ascian sits himself, skillfully relaxing just enough to take the bulbous swell of his tip until he's fitted over his glans completely. Mettaton's back arches, his breath, his voice, lost.]
I...! Ohhhhhh, yeees, H... Hades!!
[Euphoric, Mettaton idly kneads at his hip, where his other hand braces the top of Emet-Selch's back, cuddling him close to his body. Trembling still, he only shimmies his hips from side-to-side, testing the tension around his tip and shifting in ecstasy. The small nudge to his face is met with a responding nudge.
Yes... somehow, Mettaton could feel the physical sensation Emet-Selch endured. Not quite as though it were his own... but it was there, the edges of pain and pleasure twisted together in some kind of harmony. It doesn't alarm him for any reason: Emet-Selch could handle this, for one. But he knew similarly that this was required of them. They need this contact, this depth, and at any cost.
(That they might be able to feel each other through the magic of this tattoo doesn't exactly settle in, in any coherent way. He felt some of Emet-Selch's experience, but not overmuch; it felt normal, if anything.)
Utter heat envelopes his tip. He needed more of it, and he grips his hip, tension in his wrist to slam the smaller man down on his lap. Of course he doesn't listen to these baser instincts, too in love with the smaller man to move him if he knew it meant hurting him, guaranteed. Instead, Mettaton continues to slowly gyrate his hips, a circular working of slick, hot muscle. He smiles against his cheek, hopelessly in love.]
Y... You've done it, dearest. You've... Oh, I have you, I need more...
[An apt summary of Mettaton's feelings. He had him; he wanted more, always.]
[Hands clutch his hips, one unadorned, and one newly inscribed- and sensitive still, as the Ascian writhes sharply in place as it's handled, a near-voiceless keen escaping his lips. It didn't hurt to be touched there, but it was reactive, and given his current awkward position, perched over another man's cock, partly inside him already- it causes his muscles to seize up again. Which probably hurt; he does nothing to escape what he was taking. That it was caused by Mettaton touching his tattoo escapes him entirely, as he'd forgotten that it was there at all.
But his eyes squeeze shut, breath coming in a shallower pant, his hand clawing at the robot's shoulder. His other hand whips upward to mirror it on his opposite shoulder, now that he no longer needed to align Mettaton's erection with him- but it's an act mostly unconscious, reflexive, needing to brace himself most of all with his legs spread and condition compromised. Though he felt the sound of his own heart might deafen him, Mettaton's cries reached louder than that, sound he willingly drowns in. More than ever, it felt like he'd reached him--
Mettaton was being so polite, that he would be surprised about it in a calmer moment. And while the Ascian was well aware, even fixated on his lover's response, he doesn't have the capacity to think about the way Mettaton hadn't thrusted, hadn't dragged him down with the strength he knew he possessed. He was allowed, for the moment, to take the yet-filling erection at his own pace. But what choice of pace was there?
Emet-Selch had the head of Mettaton's cock lodged in his body, with the rest of his length to follow, as quickly as possible, whatever it did to them in the process: that was all he knew.
So after that brief, trembling pause, his body clenched tight around the full glans of him, he tries to lower himself. Intensity, most of all, rushes through him, as every hard jerk of his hips sent sensation through him, sharp enough to stun him, but not to stop him. Mettaton wanted more, demanded it- which was the only thing worth hearing, worth listening.
It was definitely too much to take as quickly as this, even with his best attempts at preparation, and their use of drying come in place of lube. If he'd been slower, it might have well been possible to do with minimal discomfort, his body coaxed into the sort of pliability that required time to achieve. But he wasn't thinking of what could've been, only the sound his lover made at being held only this deep, and the need to take him the rest of the way.
As it really was a need, something that couldn't be argued with, that reflected what he'd missed so horribly these months. And what did their old intimacy and passions express but his longing for closeness and company? The feeling of being a little less alone, if only for moments at a time.
So it hurt. Not as much as it could have, but enough that it would've normally been worth slowing down, to give him more time and especially more lube. But with Mettaton's hips slowly moving, he had to move more, forcing more of his shaft into him, until he was buried nearly halfway deep. It dragged more as it went on, as in his insistence he tenses more than he otherwise would have, but it doesn't stop him. Clinging to Mettaton's body, he nuzzles helplessly against his cheek, unable to speak, only to whine again, soft and sharply.]
[Emet-Selch is erect and determined, and MTT sees it clear as day, with dazed awe. And with moans to boot, as he slides his way stubbornly down his cock, enveloping him in muscle that seizes and tightens erratically.
What comes of having fucked a lot is experience with different sensations, Mettaton's discovered. Even though this feeling of heat, processed by this specific body of his, was enough to swallow him in delight, the uniqueness of sensation dizzying... he recognized the tension as Emet-Selch slips down fractions of an inch at a time. To him, it doesn't hurt; his erection is made up of a rigid core, and already he is full, thick, and ready. However, come isn't a perfect lubricant, not even his, despite its seemingly otherworldly composition (and was it too much to ask for, for a robot to ejaculate a lubricant-like substance?? maybe Emet-Selch just needed more!). And as his husband silently cries out, awash in intensity, Mettaton finds himself bombarded by so much the same; his own voice sings, loud enough to eclipse the silence in his pleasure.
There's no worry or much in the way of real thought to this, when Mettaton feels Emet-Selch nuzzling him quietly. His whine is soft most of all... and Mettaton finds himself doting on the smaller man, admiring his determination in spite of the challenges. But there was something more than that, in the way that tense thighs forced him into a tense body, into a tense squeeze around his cock- as the smaller man could've done with lingering around just the tip of him for a bit longer, couldn't he? But there was a reason he couldn't, and between the lines, the idol understood it. Mettaton hugs him tight, nearly lifting him just to block him from sinking any lower.]
Oh, darling... You're... fabulous, ah...
[How did it feel to be truly together? There wasn't any time for patience with this reward ahead of them, a togetherness brought by being properly pinioned atop his cock, to have his erection sheathed by his warm body, and to know that they were experiencing each other in this intimate way. Of course he wanted more, a deeper plunge; Mettaton recognized Emet-Selch's efforts, and the affection he felt from him reached so far that it left him raw, tender.
Arm unwinding just enough to grasp his shoulder, Mettaton twists, kisses his ear, and presses their chests together. He stops Emet-Selch, holding him tight to his body- all before shifting, folding his legs up and beneath him, as his robotic strengths works to keep Emet-Selch stable. He knew the smaller man would tense some more, but that wasn't much different from what he was doing now.
In a silky voice, he smiles close to his ear.]
Let me... take care of you, Hades. You are tense. [Which was something to avoid, but understandable all the same. He clicks his tongue.] I want you... Ahh... on your back.
[A movement swift and decisive, so as not to stretch it out- and to prevent Emet-Selch's maintained tension when he should be adjusting to this stretch. Taking it at a moderated pace wasn't doable as they are... but there were ways to help guide Emet-Selch into pliant softness by robbing him of things to do, by making his singular task receiving him.
Swinging the Ascian against the bedsheets, Mettaton presses into him lovingly, kissing up his jaw, brushing their lips together with a sharp exhale. And from there, he asserts his weight, he shifts his thighs, and he grips Emet-Selch's hips: the smaller man would rest with his ass against Mettaton's lap, as he curled around him, settled deep between his thighs. And as they are, Mettaton draws back just slightly- where he gives Emet-Selch short, but rhythmic thrusts, a change to adjust shallowly to this thick intrusion. Speaking close to the corner of his lips, Mettaton first lifts enough to make eye contact, violet bright despite its darkness.]
I can't have you doing everything for me, as you said b... before...
[Eyes closed, blocking out everything but the need to move lower, to obtain what they both wanted in its entirety, no matter how much it hurt him to do- the tightness of the embrace Mettaton put him in was at first a comfort. A way of steadying him, even encouragement, supporting him while his body was wracked with intermittent clenching that he couldn't properly control. (Experience, of course, told him to slow down or stop what he was doing; all the familiarity in the world couldn't prevent him from tensing completely in response to pain like this, and desperation like this.)
But it's soon enough that he realizes that it was an embrace so tight that it kept him from moving lower. If anything, it was a hug that lifted him slightly from the erection he was claiming by hard-fought degrees. Not immediately understanding it was intentional, given Mettaton's praise and evident pleasure in what he was doing, he pushes at his body, trying to get him to release him.]
Let- Mettaton, you're--
[In case his squirming wasn't clear enough, he tries to inform the taller man that his affection, though loved, wasn't helping him to impale himself fully on his cock. Voice as tight as his body, it's not very complete as a statement- but he's not thinking of that or much else, trusting that his intent would make it through regardless.
But while Mettaton unwinds his arm somewhat, it's not for the sake of letting him go- and it's then that Emet-Selch realizes that he was being actively stopped. Mettaton's words further confirm it, and for a moment he freezes- before writhing more desperately against his chest, not responding to his attention except to fight it, twitching away from it, but unable to escape being manhandled entirely away from his position atop the other man. Snarling in his panic, it turns into something closer to a whine, sharper still as his hands claw at him, as though he could scrape himself back to where he wanted to be.]
Stop it! I was--
[Of course he tenses; any jostling of the cock he had partially buried within him would have him tensing, but he writhes more than that, the protest in the sound he makes as desperate as it was hurt. Frustrated, he fights him, snaps at his lips when Mettaton tries to kiss him, and as he realizes he was being trapped on his back, he hooks his legs around him, and attempts to force him closer, to give him the rest of himself.
Too upset to even try not to tense, he continues trying to arch his back, to buck his hips- to do anything to force the taller man's erection deeper, these more modest thrusts nothing at all like what he was after. When their eyes meet, his are open again, vividly bright and irrationally furious, betrayed.]
I was managing.
[He spits it out, doing absolutely nothing to make this any easier on himself.]
[He should have expected that this would've been Emet-Selch's reaction, but for some reason he doesn't. Not in the moment. But Emet-Selch's possessiveness reached far, far enough that interruption at taking his robotic husband, even when posed by the robot himself for any reason, would not be tolerated. Even as he sets him down, he doesn't quite register his writhing; even as Emet-Selch snaps at him with his teeth, he doesn't register that, either.
Especially when the way he links his legs around his hips is... horribly, terribly erotic. Mettaton can't help the way he moans, and the way his moan intensifies when Emet-Selch exerts pressure, fighting the 'gradual and safe' method he has in mind, all of the best intentions of sparing Emet-Selch lasting pain.
...And this is apparently consulting Emet-Selch on the position change, to which Emet-Selch has fierce disagreement. Mettaton blinks widely at him, still smiling- before his vision's glazed over and he groans, feeling the way the smaller man attempts to reclaim the length of his shaft he's lost. Mettaton's arms wobble, succumbing to Emet-Selch's grip.]
Hades, oh--
[To be buried deep and connected entirely to Emet-Selch is a sirensong hard to resist. Especially when he was decided, stubbornly clawing for their deepest connection despite the pain Mettaton could tell he was in, and when he declares it to be managing. The right thing to do was probably to hold his ground and remind Emet-Selch that they couldn't keep fucking if his body were hurt, taking a girth too much for him to handle. But... what was the right thing, if it went against Emet-Selch's will?
And he was aggressively persuasive. Mettaton can't help it when his thrusts firm up, when he curls deep over his husband with the want to mate him- easily convinced as he is, it doesn't take much for him to be as deep as Emet-Selch had him, but this time with the work of his own thrusting. There's no more holding Emet-Selch back anymore from what he wished to claim of him, the attempt something that came from a Mettaton moments before whose sanity rather than insatiability worked with his heart- where now, his insatiability left him lovestruck and wanting.
But he manages some words, foreheads close together.]
You were... Oh, you're a cassanova, sweetheart... [Wwwwhich is to say that even this show of ferocity, a determination to claim the cock he was sitting on, is a convincing argument that the pain was worth the gain. Mettaton strokes himself firmly on taut muscle, though he keeps eye contact with the bright eyes of the Ascian before him.] You took half of me in almost one go... Can't I give you the rest?
[On his terms, yes. But it was clear that Mettaton wasn't trapping him enough to keep him from moving his hips, even if he had the other man pinned. The brightness in the idol's gaze is a maddening thirst, a smile that won't leave the corners of his lips. He could pin Emet-Selch back, and, like this, stroke him into fullness. Emet-Selch's assertion was greater reassurance that this was not only wanted, but required... and even MTT knew it was, even should pain be a feature.]
[Mettaton moans, and Emet-Selch still snarls between pants, feeling that his long-coveted solace was being denied him. That he was reacting with anger towards the same person he was desiring so terribly, for the cruelty of preventing him from hurting himself further- that was irrelevant. The anger was there, and the more he fought and failed to take back what he was after, the hotter it grew.
Mettaton taking his fury with good humor, of course, did nothing to ease it. To maneuver him onto his back with casual ease, smiling and looking at him as if everything was well, deciding for them both what he was willing to take- insulted. That he was still being fucked at all wasn't consolation, and the usual comfort he found in this position was entirely missing, as he hadn't wanted to be there.
(So he'd desired earlier to give everything to Mettaton, to devote everything to him- that was, in its way, still in play. Operational. Emet-Selch was going to take his cock, and he was doing to do so on his lap to his own detriment. This was his devotion and he'd fight Mettaton to achieve it.
Except he'd failed in this too, Mettaton's responses as good as mockery in his ears.)]
You'll have to. [He snaps back at him, his tenseness as much about agitation as discomfort- though there was plenty of both.] We would have been joined by now, if you hadn't interfered.
[But if it was going to be on Mettaton's terms, he wasn't going to help at all, his body seemed to indicate. Though his legs remain tight around him, he gives up fighting him- stops trying to force himself onto his length. His fit had been intense enough to tire him, for one thing; he could also feel it wasn't getting him anywhere.
From staring at him with the same unmoving anger as before, he turns his head to the side, demonstrably away from him as he felt his body worked to the same depth that he already had. Incessant rocking that he doesn't relax any more for, impatient in a way that had nothing to do with the want for release.]
I should have... when I still had the chance....
[It's muttered, barely audible, speaking more to himself than to Mettaton. If he'd known the other man was going to take it upon himself to change their position, he would've driven him down to the root before he had a chance to stop him. Even if it might've damaged him; even if it would've hurt, more than it did already. He was spiteful and needy, in ways beyond what his cock was asking for- as arousal was barely even a thought at this point, a background irritation, for all that it had helped to drive him to this point.]
[Emet-Selch often did enjoy this position... and the more the moment's disagreement dawns on Mettaton, with spite and continued frustration, right down to the way that Emet-Selch quits participating and even turns away, the more Mettaton realizes he'd really insulted Emet-Selch. There'd be moments later when the naturally-dominating and authoritative idol would realize just what he should have stopped to do (ask, as was often the issue, when Mettaton thought he understood the language of their bodies perfectly), but he's met with a frigid curtain that belies a heated core of anger.
And not of the heated kind. Yes, he knew Emet-Selch's devotion- but there was something different in its key. It rattles Mettaton; it interrupts his momentum.]
... I don't want you to injure yourself, darling. [His voice is easier; softer than his moans, more intimate in pitch.] I know some of it is inevitable... A bit of discomfort, for excellent gain. But I...
[He reaches out to him, brushing at long, white hair. They would've been joined by now; they could've been hasty, and Emet-Selch could've been seated on his root. But here they are, half-way together, with much left to go and much more than than between them, too much unsaid (especially on Mettaton's part, who acted before asking).
Mettaton soaks in that warmth of their bodies, the chill of Emet-Selch's heat into agitation rather than arousal. He wanted Emet-Selch's satisfaction too... and without thinking, he'd interrupted it. The satisfaction of claiming what's rightfully his, and from continuing to work them both into a mess: yes, Emet-Selch had been more than capable, even when Mettaton had felt he could somehow do better at keeping the smaller man more comfortable, to the same end. He traces his cheek, craning his upper body enough to try to watch his face.]
Hey... Hades. Would you grant me the chance to try again? To ask you... if you were alright like that, instead of... trying to keep from hurting you? And maybe, to find a way to keep you as comfortable as we can?
[He knew Emet-Selch's devotion. They wanted closeness; this was counterproductive to it, everything Mettaton did, because they were a couple who acted irrationally, who combined passionately- and Mettaton had been the one to step out of line, concerned too far about the day where Emet-Selch got too hurt, when their actions had repercussions more than they already have. His finger's trail along his jaw; his attenton is bright, if soft, erection stuffed just where Emet-Selch had left off.]
[His look narrows further, but the mage still refrains from regarding him. He'd injure himself if he wished to, if he felt it was worth it. And if Mettaton admitted that pain was a guarantee, then what did it matter that the Ascian was willing to take the next step into risking injury?
It's only when his hair is touched that his gaze snaps back to him, and though Emet-Selch doesn't flinch from it, he doesn't appear at all soothed by it either. He knew Mettaton had likely only been trying to look out for him, but he didn't want to be looked out for.]
It's a bit late to ask, isn't it? At what point do we return to? What's left to try again?
[With his momentum disrupted, even if he were put back on top, it was hard for him to imagine going at it in the same way as before. He'd finish taking him all the way... and then just sit there, unsatisfied and uncompromising but grimly successful. Not that he thought Mettaton would go so far as to change their positioning- and it would feel its own sort of mockery if he did, as though he were no more than a doll being patronizingly indulged.
--Which was different from wanting him to pull off or stop, even if climax were no longer a sought-after priority. He'd waited months for this; he'd been alone for far longer than that. But the thought of enjoying anything was far from him, the smaller man willing to spite everything because he'd been interrupted.]
...I would have preferred injury. [Staring for a moment longer, his gaze slips to the side again, expression turning into something more stoic, guarded.] Go at whatever pace you prefer. The pain is inevitable. I wouldn't have started this if it mattered.
[So he assumed he'd be hurt by their coupling. They didn't have real lubrication, and with Mettaton's considerable size, he knew an unpleasant amount of drag was inevitable. So why do more than the barest amount of mitigation? Even so- it had been only when he'd had the tip of his cock against him that he'd realized that he wasn't willing to wait, despite the consequence it meant for himself.
And yet, now waiting he was, for moments that stretched on for too long, while his body was only half-full, stretched and barely adapting to what he contained. For all that prior desperation, he makes no appeal towards convincing Mettaton to give him the rest, as it was clear their paces were unaligned. Disgruntled where Mettaton was soft, he clings to agitation and upset- more reliable companions than any others he'd made in his life.]
[It was a bit late to ask now that the moment passed. But Mettaton asked at all; he realizes he should have from the start, now that he's done it. He contemplates this; he nods, agreeing with Emet-Selch for his own failure to do better over an issue they've been dealing with often in their recent history.
Body-altering magic or no, it seemed this was a common thread: Mettaton charging ahead with all of his optimism and enthusiasm, trying for something he idealized; Emet-Selch not on the same page, in another (often more agonizing, despairing) zone.
That it had to become clearer to him in this moment isn't something Mettaton rues, though he settles closer to Emet-Selch, watching as the other man turns away and puts up his guard. Selfishness could be his own turn; Emet-Selch was even enabling it, telling him to do as he liked. He could be entirely self-indulging, while Emet-Selch caved into misery. Spite was easy, and so was ignorance.
Mettaton quiets, gaze clear and fixed, his own erection taking less of a precedence. What mattered to each of them was closeness; what mattered most of all was the companionship of their sex. It could be achieved by depth, but also by vulnerability. Mettaton had known all along that vulnerability could've been achieved even before he had the anatomy to have penetrative sex with... Emet-Selch had been reluctant to try. It wounded him. It still wounds him. In this way, a wounded heart matches with a wounded body.
He reaches for Emet-Selch's face, longing to keep him company alongside agitation, upset. He could say a great many things: that it wasn't all about his preference (his actions said otherwise, he realizes), that he wanted to avoid injury (it was unavoidable without proper lubricant, and Emet-Selch could heal besides), that preserving his body still mattered to Mettaton, but not as much as their intimacy did. He could tell that closeness was imporant to Emet-Selch at any cost, and yet his impulse was to... stop him, to come at another angle, to relieve him from the tension of supporting himself in case it offered the barest bit of ease.
Mettaton presses his palm to Emet-Selch's cheek. The metal of his ring is a prominent sensation like this, against actual, warm skin. Against Emet-Selch. ...He could feel another ring around his cock, and that Emet-Selch's body was scarcely adjusting to his girth. He could sigh; why were inconveniences so stacked against them...]
No... I couldn't undo my rashness. [Nor did he expect to try again in regards to undoing his actions, but rather, the ability to ask.] I'm sorry, Hades. For not consulting you, about my thoughts.
[He wanted their closeness too. They both wanted that most of all. Sometimes, closeness came most of all in vulnerability; Mettaton's not often the sort to admit wrong, but when he knew there was wrong to admit, he would admit it freely to the man he loves.
This time, he remains where he is, not moving any more.]
[Emet-Selch had come to believe that intimacy and vulnerability- if not impossible in their prior bodily configurations, too bitter a thing to consider. But it increasingly seemed as though 'fixing' that problem didn't fix anything at all; the problem now wasn't a lack of lubrication.
And while he should have known as much, it felt especially bitter to realize, to experience. They would always be like this. Whatever they did, something would break down between them. And this time they'd been expecting different things, he guessed... and he didn't adapt when Mettaton decided on what course they should take. And rather than give in, Emet-Selch would spite them both, the penalty for trying to look after him when he was determined to wound himself.
Mettaton touches his face; he twitches, displeased, not in the mood to accept kindness and unwilling to face his lover's regrets. The show of it only left him feeling worse, somewhere between guilt and resentment.]
Stop that. [Comes the quick, sharp reply, eyes briefly flashing to him before closing entirely. He doesn't clarify what the 'that' is, whether it was his apologies, his being reasonable in the aftermath while the Ascian wasn't prepared to be, or anything else.] At least finish what you started, I'm not becoming any less sore.
[Or rather, it would only grow more noticeable the less aroused he became, and where he hadn't been thinking of it at the time, he was conscious of it now. While he'd been stuffing him inside himself, it had hurt, in a way that he knew it wasn't supposed to, but he had been stiff enough to counter it, the pleasure greatly increasing his tolerance. But now, though he hadn't yet gone soft, he could tell that fullness was depleting as rapidly as it could.
Of course, he knew he wasn't presenting Mettaton with a very appealing prospect: fucking a tense, upset man who was bound to be hurt by it. Nor did he know how to change things or fix that, to give in and deny his nature for long enough to convince him to continue. It wasn't dutiful, the way Emet-Selch regarded him or this; he wanted this combination still, if in a way entirely removed from the pleasure of sex. He missed him. Too much to tolerate going slowly, it seemed.
Aware of the irony of his reaction bringing things to a halt instead, it doesn't do anything to make him feel any better about the situation, his upset something that could feed on itself, indefinitely.]
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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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Comfort mattered, after all, because Mettaton valued Emet-Selch's well-being. And... even if it were technically possible for the stubborn Ascian to find relief in being stretched too far, too dry, Mettaton wouldn't enjoy an encounter that wasn't made appropriately slippery. Even that growl couldn't convince him of that, though he couldn't help it:]
God, you're so hot. [Mettaton nearly growls back, stooping in to take Emet-Selch in another kiss: this one more heated than the last, with teeth to answer the smaller man's bite.] All you have to do is keep doing what you're doing, and you'll have me hard enough to fuck in no time, sweetheart.
[Emet-Selch knew the drill. With the robot made totally rigid, and beneath Emet-Selch as he is, he wouldn't be able to even stop him from maneuvering over his lap and seating himself on his cock- and from there, Mettaton would be helpless in the face of pleasure, incapable of keeping from toppling him back and stealing him up.
With a heated sigh, Mettaton wraps his husband up tight in his arm, though he doesn't keep him so restrained that he couldn't move- because the way Emet-Selch was slipping forward, settling his weight deeper onto his root, is enough to have Mettaton groan.]
Though you know... Ha. It won't take much.
[He'd be a ridiculously easy lay, and Emet-Selch would have no trouble coaxing him into his fullest arousal, erection filled enough to be agonizingly rigid. And though he knew he looked impressive now, he knew he had some stiffness to regain- even though everything the smaller man did encouraged him in that direction, from the sounds on his voice to the eager brightness of his eyes. He doesn't need to try to explain the safety of his ejaculate, because he knew Emet-Selch would swallow it regardless of it all, given that it reminded him of all else he'd ever been able to produce. The tint and glitter is a non-issue- but the robot didn't mind Emet-Selch's ability to complain about it all.
Gripping his ass, squeezing and kneading cheeks, Mettaton urges Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap, kissing at his neck.]
Why don't you... come close, Hades, and tell me what it would take to get me to fuck you. What do you think?
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As there was no hope to keep from moaning at the slick way Mettaton's length slid against his body, a tease of his heat, and one he trembled to experience fully. It was exasperating (thrilling) at how firm his lover could remain between climaxes, how reliable his virility was now that he had a proper outlet for it again- and there would be little stopping the mage from encouraging him to his end, over and over.]
What do I think....
[With the order to come closer, he might've complained over how he was close enough already, riding on the robot's root, the mage's own cock nudging against his body. Wrapped up in a winding arm that left him feeling safe, in some softer way. But of course that wasn't enough, there was nothing that was ever enough, for one thing- and they knew exactly how they might be closer still. For all that he was in Mettaton's lap, he could be there more... securely, with more than his legs stretched around his body.
But comfort did matter- to some degree. To the degree where it still seemed valuable to bother with some sort of preparation at all, but not so far where he would defer full penetration at all due to the lack of real lubrication. He was hard; he hadn't been fucked by Mettaton in ages, and there was plenty of their ejaculate around. That all added up to being good enough.
With one arm bracing himself around the idol's body, the other, already messy hand, scoops up more semen onto his fingers, coating them properly in glittery slickness. An attractive substance, somehow (and the reminder of the taste of it at his lips felt stronger, and he swallows unconsciously), but he doesn't let himself be distracted by it.
Without waiting to be told, or for Mettaton to take that initiative, he brings his arm behind himself, to trace a cloudy finger around his entrance, smearing tight muscle with their seed. Automatically his breath hitches, body twitching at the sensation, the suggestiveness of what he was doing- but he doesn't delay long before beginning to work a single digit inside himself.]
Must I- do everything for you? Mettaton. [He exhales it heavily against Mettaton's neck, before pressing his face there. Kisses him; his breath was already leaving silicone damp.] You'll be ready as soon as I am.
[...Already, it was a reminder that come wasn't a real replacement for lube, no matter how glittery- but it was slick and it was something, and for all his wanting, he knew how to untense, how to make this as easy a process as possible for himself. Anticipation and arousal helped a great deal, and it would be difficult for him to have any more of either of those things.]
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Ohhhh...!
[He knew what was happening. Emet-Selch was hiking himself up, arm slung around MTT as he uses glittery, sticky fingers, probing his entrance, prodding increasingly slick muscle and coating it with his seed, from his cock. It's been... too long since he's been able to provide. Too long since he's been able to demonstrate himself in this way so erotic, and Mettaton shudders, back arching as though attempting to lean into the pleasure his husband felt.
Emet-Selch had already slipped further over his cock, forcing his member to lay against his abdomen. And how sizable he looked, even juxtaposed against Emet-Selch's upward-arching cock, slick and ready... Looking down, he shudders to behold the sight of Emet-Selch positively thick- and himself, ready to be made rigid once more. His cock wouldn't say so nicely against his abdomen when fully filled, he knew.
And there were plenty of reasons to find himself filling, from the sound of Emet-Selch's voice to the way he took such forward initiative. Even though Mettaton would've been next to prepare the smaller man, it was even more arousing to feel Emet-Selch do it himself out of haste, the need to fill himself up with urgency spurring MTT into filling, heady enough to warrant a groan. He squeezes his prize, snugging Emet-Selch close while he prepares himself, imagining the sight, the feeling of that finger against his entrance, a digit slick enough to begin something in preparation for more. The way he twitches and tenses, thighs taut just enough to keep him poised for fingering, Mettaton soaks in every facet of the Ascian's preparation, though his gaze returns to Emet-Selch's face: the glow of his eyes, and the flush of his lips.]
You should know... how tempting you are like this. [He nearly pants, squirming beneath the other man. With Emet-Selch buried once more into his neck, the robot shifts, his hips rocking in answer to the swing of Emet-Selch's.] I think you're right. Ah... You'll have me ready shortly.
[He really would be hard before he knew it. If he had a brain, it might leave him light-headed to be made so rapidly aroused, and so quickly after exertion. But as he is, he was quick to recover, and with his temperament, even quicker to be tempted. Were he the one aching for relief as badly as Emet was, the robot knew he would be shifting them around, crowding out his lover's fingers- and the thought alone has his breath hitch, jerking against Emet-Selch's crotch with a groan.
...How could he be made so hard, so quick? Part of it was his own imagination, his own perception. But the other parts were so much more, from Emet-Selch's actions that kept him alert and entranced, to the sensations of heat settled over his lap, the pressure of weight over his thighs, and the firmness of Emet-Selch's erection, plus his body laying heavily over his swiftly firming cock.]
You're... fingering- ah... I want to... [He pants, thrusting. He wanted them both to be ready and soon, but he similarly enjoyed this moment, the feeling of Emet-Selch readying himself for something thicker.] Tell me... how you imagine I'll feel, spreading you.
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He would have enjoyed it, had Mettaton gotten there first- and Emet-Selch assumed such a direction had been immanent, given the way their desires seemed to align. The intimacy of the robot preparing him with his own come, produced not just for this purpose, but something they could both appreciate making use of- would he have been able to last through that? His erection felt like it throbbed, aching and hot, reflecting the mage's swiftened pulse.
Like this, Emet-Selch had better control over the sensation, could avoid toying with himself any more than he wanted to- but instead, he had the redirected pleasure of knowing Mettaton was observing him. That he could tell exactly what he was up to and why, which was a strange thrill in itself, even though this was hardly the first time, and even if Mettaton couldn't actually see him do it. Not directly. (They really needed to invest in some more mirrors.)
The unavoidable catch to his breath, the deliberate spread of his legs and shivering tension in his thighs, the position of his arm and flushed concentration to his manner- every corresponding indication was there. None of it he attempts to hide.
Where Mettaton thrust, his body tries to thrust back, to grind against him. Groaning a rough note, he couldn't help the way he tensed up around his own finger, imagining that it was a cock instead. It didn't hurt, at least, not with a lone digit spreading semen, even when he has it pressed past the knuckles, as deep as he could reach. Which was nothing at all compared to how deep Mettaton could go, and a quick glance down to the swell of his cock was an unnecessary but arousing reminder of it. But there was not only length but especially girth to prepare for- something that his own finger was hardly even a tease of.
And yet, even this he had to adjust to. Something so modest was still an insertion, and he wanted to give to Mettaton something that was a comfortably tight fit- as comfortable as he had the patience for, anyway....
So he thrusts that finger inside of himself, eyes mostly closed as he nuzzled at Mettaton's jaw, his pulse pounding.]
How... you're always hotter than I remember. Each... and every time. And you'll feel my warmth right back, surrounding you. While you're thicker than I- than I....
[His words are interrupted as his thoughts encourage his hand to make good on what he was imagining, which was how his body would be made to stretch around a full erection. It's not rushed, exactly, he doesn't force it immediately deep, but spends these next moments tugging firmly, slickly, at his entrance with two fingers, the slightly greater presence inside himself an inspiration.
Bringing his head up, he kisses at Mettaton's jaw, trailing nearly to his lips, before leaning back just enough to look out his eye, to watch his husband's own expression, his own hazy and flushed. Desperate... but enjoying this both, the anticipation that filled him, and the thick cock he was pressed to filling on its own, with a stiffness he didn't think he was imagining.
He still manages a frown, a show of dismay.]
--Whatever force endowed you did not take my comfort into account. [He complains... even as they knew from experience that he loved Mettaton's size, his shape- everything about him. And what he was eager to ride, what he was preparing himself for was strikingly similar to what Mettaton had chosen for himself, in the past. A thickness they both found fitting... and which did fit, no matter how much Emet-Selch might protest it.] But I imagine you'll find me--
[Even that show of contrariness isn't something he can maintain for long, not when he works his fingers deeper, coaxing his body to accept them with small, contained thrusts. He'd wanted this... to be doing this for him, to be looking forward to servicing Mettaton's erection by fitting it deep in his body, to feel themselves joined. He ached, with more than his cock- but that too, as a part of his fantasy, to find climax once more with Mettaton filling him out, in the other man's arms, each of them caught up in the other's heat. His gaze falls to the side, voice nearly mumbled.]
...Accommodating.
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Perhaps it was for the best. Especially because no matter which way they approached the task, MTT was still being aroused... though it may be rousing in two different directions. With Emet-Selch nuzzling him, kissing his neck and panting against silicone, the robot nearly groans, growls, as his legs shift and his hips jerk, becoming swiftly full- and covetous of the space Emet-Selch had occupied, enough that his squirming jostles the smaller man above him, as Mettaton curls with the unconscious intent to prod him with his cock.]
You want to talk about my heat...
[Yet Emet-Selch is an obviously warm body in the waiting, an aspect to their sex that he hadn't as much experience with. With that prize waiting for him, the idol all but whines, his silky voice high yet breathless as it peters out as soon as he feels lips against his jaw.
He was intensely aroused, and insanely quick. The only way he knows what Emet-Selch's doing is by the sensation of muscles moving in his arm, and Mettaton could imagine all of the intricate slips of his fingers, all of the gentle pulls and slick rubs and the fullness he could never imitate, but was all too aware of. Mettaton's voice hitches in the midst of a groan, tipping his head to permit Emet-Selch a trail of kisses that served only to intensify his ache. His every ache, including the same ones he felt with Emet-Selch that reached deep and gripped their hearts.
He knew this wasn't too big for Emet-Selch. He knew it was just right, that the Ascian enjoyed riding something thick. And to hear him complain, before following up with the acceptance of accommodation, only inspires the imagining of his entrance stretched about a thick, full root- a sight in his mind's eye that is enough to have Mettaton moaning some more, squirming in his anticipation.]
No matter what you say, dearest, I... I know what you find preferential to comfort. [He turns his head enough to kiss Emet-Selch's cheek.] Pleasure, of course. And you...
[... Have a thing for something thick, he wants to say. But overeager as he's increasingly becoming, he squirms; he thrusts, as if his body sought to declare its readiness without words. With one hand he spreads Emet-Selch some more, and the arm he has trapping him, wrapped around his body, tugs him deeper unto his lap.]
Won't you... Ohh, Hades... Tell me, how thick you're anticipating me. [And how thick he's preparing himself, to that end. Emet-Selch would only be able to do so much, but he knew they'd work him into comfort eventually, even if it took patience. And practice. Mettaton grinds his root against Emet-Selch's crotch, greedily collecting him, dragging his weight over his root.] And how you know it'll feel, to take me...?
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It was a limitation of his body only that took Emet-Selch longer to show off his wanting, but he felt as though he'd been swollen for some time now. Where bringing him to climax could've served to encourage Mettaton back into a completely engorged state (Rather than the... partially? mostly? firmed condition that seemed to be his default; could the robot ever be completely flaccid? It would make his new condition of Pants Wearing somewhat difficult, if not.), this was a time where he had to wait, no matter how he yearned for touch, for relief. Not that Mettaton would keep him waiting long; he knew that from experience. No, it was his own body once again that required more time.
But he still didn't feel quite frustrated either, as the pain (and expectation) of a rigid cock was worth enduring, was a pleasure in its own right. But by the same token he sorely wanted to proceed, even if it meant being made more sore than he otherwise might have been. And while he works his fingers as deep as they could go, spreading them and what slickness he could give himself, it was a slower process than he would have liked.
He still finds it in him to huff at Mettaton's reply, though he nudges into the kiss to his cheek anyway. He could guess what else his lover might've said about him, and appreciated it not being directly called out....
Of course, his preference lied most of all in Mettaton; anyone else's thickness wouldn't do.]
How thick. [He repeats, tilting his head to seek out the other man's lips again. Another attempt of a kiss.] How thick can you give me? All that and- more, until you've filled me out completely.
[...He could probably use more time, even another finger, especially as their lubrication situation wasn't ideal. But it was growing more difficult to wait, and harder to judge his own readiness with anything like objectivity. He... could take him, he thought, with only a reasonable amount of trouble. And with Mettaton spreading him, grinding his erection against his body, how was he meant to resist?
But he tries for a few moments longer, unable to keep from whining though, soft and keen as he pushes back into his own hand, into the thrust of fingers that couldn't begin to satisfy him.]
How- do you think you'll feel? Fit- fitted tight inside of me? Tell me how much- how much you want this.
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Emet-Selch wanted him thick, and it spurs him toward a heavier arousal, it felt like. His body, shaped this way by the power of Emet-Selch's prayer, responded to him and him alone- and were he privy to the notion that it was Mettaton Emet-Selch thought himself most swayed by (and he'd agree, this wasn't news to him), he'd have to sweetly and softly concur that Emet-Selch himself is a special man- and uniquely capable of arousing Mettaton in a way unlike any other. His responses, his willingness to offer himself up, his servitude- all of it combined to leave Mettaton willing and wanting to pounce, to ravish him and hear his voice soar.
It... felt like enough time to be reasonably prepared, MTT thought. How much time did it take to prep with something that was only relatively similar to lubricant? Emet-Selch whines, and Mettaton answers with a similarly keening note, nudging the smaller man with the underside of his root in short, small thrusts. He wanted to take over the duties of his fingers as they stretched and spread...
With a sigh partnered with a kiss to his cheek, Mettaton's voice hitches, the closest he could get to a gasp for air.]
Doesn't this feel like a temptation enough, size-wise? [Is he not thick enough for something to promise a fuller filling? Mettaton squirms, thighs positively aching.] I'm giving you the promise of my size... and you, the promise of- of such warmth, unlike anything I've experienced in this body...
[It was the first thing he looked forward to: his lover's warmth, and his specifically. Sure, sure, other bodies were warm- but he wanted Emet-Selch, and he wanted him stretched and tight around his girth, slipping gradually down his length until he was agonizingly settled around his root. Mettaton imagined that sight like a dream, moaning with a closed eye as he envisions Emet-Selch suggestively hiding a thick cock, stuck to his lover's lap and secured in his spot. Aside from his nudity, it would only be obvious by the flush of his nude body, and the upright length between them that would be painfully swollen...
Mettaton shifts again, pulling Emet-Selch even closer. That's because he's maneuvering himself, arching his back first, then squirming just enough to force Emet-Selch over his lap- until his cock springs up, let to curve along Emet-Selch's backside, between spread cheeks and against slicked fingers. Mettaton growls, though it's mostly a moan: even though he was deeply wanting of penetration, he was still patient enough to wait for Emet-Selch to ready himself. After all, he did say MTT would be ready only as soon as Emet-Selch was, and he agreed with that]
Hades... Don't you think? That... That this will satisfy? How do you feel?
[In all truth, at the end of the day, Mettaton didn't want to do something Emet-Selch would regret. ...If the smaller man was willing to endure pain, he was willing, too. He knew their appetite, and the gentle rolls of his hips are firm, controlled: he demonstrates that he could be with a deliberate pace, enough that any lack of preparation should be able to be worked through with kneading force.]
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It was a wonder that they were as relatively restrained as they were, Emet-Selch distantly mused. He was trying to prepare himself at all; Mettaton hadn't dragged his hand out of the way and replaced it with himself. The shift of their bodies, the slip of the robot's erection to the mage's backside was more than a hint of his wants, however- of his promise, both in heat and size, of something that could fill the smaller man when he'd been so empty. Moaning after him, Emet-Selch's hips jerk back- even if his own hand was in the way, and they weren't aligned properly. He swallows.]
You'll... know how I feel, soon enough.
[Physically, emotionally; in both he felt hot. Desperate but... controlled, yes; he decided this would be good enough, that he'd given his body enough time. It had better be, because it's moments later that his fingers are pulled hastily from himself, without even the farewell of a tease. What was there for him to tease (especially when Mettaton couldn't watch him), when he had what he actually wanted nudging against his ass? Their patience had been remarkable already, he thought....
His feelings felt as taut as his body, and hopefully rawer- though he expected and accepted this wouldn't be entirely comfortable. Not at first, and not afterward, if his body ended up as well-rubbed as he wanted it to be.
But he was more than willing, and knew that Mettaton was similarly interested, even if the less-slick entry wouldn't be as easy for him either. Nudging the side of his face against his (nearly a scenting gesture- not that Emet-Selch had ever possessed those instincts, but it felt like something they just did, regardless), the mage then sits up properly, onto his knees. Bracing himself with one hand at Mettaton's shoulder, the other- newly liberated from fingering himself- feels behind him for the other man's erection.
Still somewhat slick, and already hotter than remembered, and thicker even to feel than to see (and that was already plentily thick), it was too tempting to not squeeze up his shaft, to fondle the swollen tip while imagining how it would feel stretching him. But it's a delay that barely counts as one, because why imagine it when he could have it? Guiding his tip to the right place, even as he expects it, the sharp draw of breath was inescapable, and his heart beat fast enough to dizzy him.
And having the plush tip against his entrance was too much to consider resisting, and with Mettaton's erection held steady (and the other man more than rigid enough to be worth sitting on), he rolls his hips back, onto him. With a forced breath he keeps from tensing up to start with- and with more patience than he thought he had left, he keeps from pressing down hard, from driving Mettaton inside completely.
But just the act of kneading them both has him cry out, if softly, and his body to shudder. They were so close, and every second now when they weren't combined was torture- it's too soon, probably, but yearning has him act without thought, and firm kneading gives way to harder jerks of his hips. Forcing himself downward, he doesn't stop until the full swell of the head was pushed inside of him. Yet being made to stretch over something suddenly so thick has him choke on a gasp, and his whole body to tremble, huddling as close to Mettaton as he could with a sharper whine. Unwillingly he tenses up; it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. Wasn't even unpleasant, probably. Emet-Selch wasn't analyzing it that far.]
M... Mettaton- I- you're....
[His thoughts are no more coherent than his words, and he leans for him, head nudging against him with a smaller, pleading sound.]
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As soon as the tip of his still-filling erection is aligned with the help of Emet-Selch's guidance, Mettaton lets go of his ass. But that's just to brace himself against his hip, fingers wrapped around his brand-new tattoo that connected them if not spiritually (and did it? it warranted testing, or patience), bodily. He could even feel it in its way, an electric current that came of two people bound together, as though these markings linked up the energy that coursed through their bodies most of all. He answers that nuzzle against his cheek with an answering nudge, metal paneling against warm, soft skin that gave pronouncedly against him. He would salivate if he could, he knew... There's something about this tender figure that has him starving, nearly envious for its softness but similarly pleased at just experiencing it.
Even though he was still filling, god was he erect, firm already. But still filling indeed, and he could just feel that push of pressure swim deep in his body, an agonizing ache that he'd agree felt torturous, as soon as Emet-Selch pumps his length, from base to tip. And from there, Mettaton jerks and shudders to feel Emet-Selch knead him against his entrance, trying his very best to keep his hips from stuffing his length inside. He babbles, fingers twitching against skin.]
You're, y-you're, [It's static. Even his voice is impacted, skipping slightly. He may have his very own voice, none of it regulated by any robotic device, but the body itself is the interference it needs to sound like a skipping record.] Give me, give me--!
[He doesn't realize what he's saying, how positively greedy he sounds. But despite his words MTT is mostly polite, his hips restrained, thighs taut with inertia and desire restricted to his heart, giving Emet-Selch time and space to determine the pace that his body should receive a thick intrusion. If Emet-Selch had the good sense for it, why, it could've even been a smooth insertion mostly painless, he's being so good.
But of course, neither of them are anything less than frantic and overheated. The sound of Emet-Selch's voice is music, and Mettaton nuzzles him hard as the Ascian sits himself, skillfully relaxing just enough to take the bulbous swell of his tip until he's fitted over his glans completely. Mettaton's back arches, his breath, his voice, lost.]
I...! Ohhhhhh, yeees, H... Hades!!
[Euphoric, Mettaton idly kneads at his hip, where his other hand braces the top of Emet-Selch's back, cuddling him close to his body. Trembling still, he only shimmies his hips from side-to-side, testing the tension around his tip and shifting in ecstasy. The small nudge to his face is met with a responding nudge.
Yes... somehow, Mettaton could feel the physical sensation Emet-Selch endured. Not quite as though it were his own... but it was there, the edges of pain and pleasure twisted together in some kind of harmony. It doesn't alarm him for any reason: Emet-Selch could handle this, for one. But he knew similarly that this was required of them. They need this contact, this depth, and at any cost.
(That they might be able to feel each other through the magic of this tattoo doesn't exactly settle in, in any coherent way. He felt some of Emet-Selch's experience, but not overmuch; it felt normal, if anything.)
Utter heat envelopes his tip. He needed more of it, and he grips his hip, tension in his wrist to slam the smaller man down on his lap. Of course he doesn't listen to these baser instincts, too in love with the smaller man to move him if he knew it meant hurting him, guaranteed. Instead, Mettaton continues to slowly gyrate his hips, a circular working of slick, hot muscle. He smiles against his cheek, hopelessly in love.]
Y... You've done it, dearest. You've... Oh, I have you, I need more...
[An apt summary of Mettaton's feelings. He had him; he wanted more, always.]
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But his eyes squeeze shut, breath coming in a shallower pant, his hand clawing at the robot's shoulder. His other hand whips upward to mirror it on his opposite shoulder, now that he no longer needed to align Mettaton's erection with him- but it's an act mostly unconscious, reflexive, needing to brace himself most of all with his legs spread and condition compromised. Though he felt the sound of his own heart might deafen him, Mettaton's cries reached louder than that, sound he willingly drowns in. More than ever, it felt like he'd reached him--
Mettaton was being so polite, that he would be surprised about it in a calmer moment. And while the Ascian was well aware, even fixated on his lover's response, he doesn't have the capacity to think about the way Mettaton hadn't thrusted, hadn't dragged him down with the strength he knew he possessed. He was allowed, for the moment, to take the yet-filling erection at his own pace. But what choice of pace was there?
Emet-Selch had the head of Mettaton's cock lodged in his body, with the rest of his length to follow, as quickly as possible, whatever it did to them in the process: that was all he knew.
So after that brief, trembling pause, his body clenched tight around the full glans of him, he tries to lower himself. Intensity, most of all, rushes through him, as every hard jerk of his hips sent sensation through him, sharp enough to stun him, but not to stop him. Mettaton wanted more, demanded it- which was the only thing worth hearing, worth listening.
It was definitely too much to take as quickly as this, even with his best attempts at preparation, and their use of drying come in place of lube. If he'd been slower, it might have well been possible to do with minimal discomfort, his body coaxed into the sort of pliability that required time to achieve. But he wasn't thinking of what could've been, only the sound his lover made at being held only this deep, and the need to take him the rest of the way.
As it really was a need, something that couldn't be argued with, that reflected what he'd missed so horribly these months. And what did their old intimacy and passions express but his longing for closeness and company? The feeling of being a little less alone, if only for moments at a time.
So it hurt. Not as much as it could have, but enough that it would've normally been worth slowing down, to give him more time and especially more lube. But with Mettaton's hips slowly moving, he had to move more, forcing more of his shaft into him, until he was buried nearly halfway deep. It dragged more as it went on, as in his insistence he tenses more than he otherwise would have, but it doesn't stop him. Clinging to Mettaton's body, he nuzzles helplessly against his cheek, unable to speak, only to whine again, soft and sharply.]
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What comes of having fucked a lot is experience with different sensations, Mettaton's discovered. Even though this feeling of heat, processed by this specific body of his, was enough to swallow him in delight, the uniqueness of sensation dizzying... he recognized the tension as Emet-Selch slips down fractions of an inch at a time. To him, it doesn't hurt; his erection is made up of a rigid core, and already he is full, thick, and ready. However, come isn't a perfect lubricant, not even his, despite its seemingly otherworldly composition (and was it too much to ask for, for a robot to ejaculate a lubricant-like substance?? maybe Emet-Selch just needed more!). And as his husband silently cries out, awash in intensity, Mettaton finds himself bombarded by so much the same; his own voice sings, loud enough to eclipse the silence in his pleasure.
There's no worry or much in the way of real thought to this, when Mettaton feels Emet-Selch nuzzling him quietly. His whine is soft most of all... and Mettaton finds himself doting on the smaller man, admiring his determination in spite of the challenges. But there was something more than that, in the way that tense thighs forced him into a tense body, into a tense squeeze around his cock- as the smaller man could've done with lingering around just the tip of him for a bit longer, couldn't he? But there was a reason he couldn't, and between the lines, the idol understood it. Mettaton hugs him tight, nearly lifting him just to block him from sinking any lower.]
Oh, darling... You're... fabulous, ah...
[How did it feel to be truly together? There wasn't any time for patience with this reward ahead of them, a togetherness brought by being properly pinioned atop his cock, to have his erection sheathed by his warm body, and to know that they were experiencing each other in this intimate way. Of course he wanted more, a deeper plunge; Mettaton recognized Emet-Selch's efforts, and the affection he felt from him reached so far that it left him raw, tender.
Arm unwinding just enough to grasp his shoulder, Mettaton twists, kisses his ear, and presses their chests together. He stops Emet-Selch, holding him tight to his body- all before shifting, folding his legs up and beneath him, as his robotic strengths works to keep Emet-Selch stable. He knew the smaller man would tense some more, but that wasn't much different from what he was doing now.
In a silky voice, he smiles close to his ear.]
Let me... take care of you, Hades. You are tense. [Which was something to avoid, but understandable all the same. He clicks his tongue.] I want you... Ahh... on your back.
[A movement swift and decisive, so as not to stretch it out- and to prevent Emet-Selch's maintained tension when he should be adjusting to this stretch. Taking it at a moderated pace wasn't doable as they are... but there were ways to help guide Emet-Selch into pliant softness by robbing him of things to do, by making his singular task receiving him.
Swinging the Ascian against the bedsheets, Mettaton presses into him lovingly, kissing up his jaw, brushing their lips together with a sharp exhale. And from there, he asserts his weight, he shifts his thighs, and he grips Emet-Selch's hips: the smaller man would rest with his ass against Mettaton's lap, as he curled around him, settled deep between his thighs. And as they are, Mettaton draws back just slightly- where he gives Emet-Selch short, but rhythmic thrusts, a change to adjust shallowly to this thick intrusion. Speaking close to the corner of his lips, Mettaton first lifts enough to make eye contact, violet bright despite its darkness.]
I can't have you doing everything for me, as you said b... before...
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But it's soon enough that he realizes that it was an embrace so tight that it kept him from moving lower. If anything, it was a hug that lifted him slightly from the erection he was claiming by hard-fought degrees. Not immediately understanding it was intentional, given Mettaton's praise and evident pleasure in what he was doing, he pushes at his body, trying to get him to release him.]
Let- Mettaton, you're--
[In case his squirming wasn't clear enough, he tries to inform the taller man that his affection, though loved, wasn't helping him to impale himself fully on his cock. Voice as tight as his body, it's not very complete as a statement- but he's not thinking of that or much else, trusting that his intent would make it through regardless.
But while Mettaton unwinds his arm somewhat, it's not for the sake of letting him go- and it's then that Emet-Selch realizes that he was being actively stopped. Mettaton's words further confirm it, and for a moment he freezes- before writhing more desperately against his chest, not responding to his attention except to fight it, twitching away from it, but unable to escape being manhandled entirely away from his position atop the other man. Snarling in his panic, it turns into something closer to a whine, sharper still as his hands claw at him, as though he could scrape himself back to where he wanted to be.]
Stop it! I was--
[Of course he tenses; any jostling of the cock he had partially buried within him would have him tensing, but he writhes more than that, the protest in the sound he makes as desperate as it was hurt. Frustrated, he fights him, snaps at his lips when Mettaton tries to kiss him, and as he realizes he was being trapped on his back, he hooks his legs around him, and attempts to force him closer, to give him the rest of himself.
Too upset to even try not to tense, he continues trying to arch his back, to buck his hips- to do anything to force the taller man's erection deeper, these more modest thrusts nothing at all like what he was after. When their eyes meet, his are open again, vividly bright and irrationally furious, betrayed.]
I was managing.
[He spits it out, doing absolutely nothing to make this any easier on himself.]
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Especially when the way he links his legs around his hips is... horribly, terribly erotic. Mettaton can't help the way he moans, and the way his moan intensifies when Emet-Selch exerts pressure, fighting the 'gradual and safe' method he has in mind, all of the best intentions of sparing Emet-Selch lasting pain.
...And this is apparently consulting Emet-Selch on the position change, to which Emet-Selch has fierce disagreement. Mettaton blinks widely at him, still smiling- before his vision's glazed over and he groans, feeling the way the smaller man attempts to reclaim the length of his shaft he's lost. Mettaton's arms wobble, succumbing to Emet-Selch's grip.]
Hades, oh--
[To be buried deep and connected entirely to Emet-Selch is a sirensong hard to resist. Especially when he was decided, stubbornly clawing for their deepest connection despite the pain Mettaton could tell he was in, and when he declares it to be managing. The right thing to do was probably to hold his ground and remind Emet-Selch that they couldn't keep fucking if his body were hurt, taking a girth too much for him to handle. But... what was the right thing, if it went against Emet-Selch's will?
And he was aggressively persuasive. Mettaton can't help it when his thrusts firm up, when he curls deep over his husband with the want to mate him- easily convinced as he is, it doesn't take much for him to be as deep as Emet-Selch had him, but this time with the work of his own thrusting. There's no more holding Emet-Selch back anymore from what he wished to claim of him, the attempt something that came from a Mettaton moments before whose sanity rather than insatiability worked with his heart- where now, his insatiability left him lovestruck and wanting.
But he manages some words, foreheads close together.]
You were... Oh, you're a cassanova, sweetheart... [Wwwwhich is to say that even this show of ferocity, a determination to claim the cock he was sitting on, is a convincing argument that the pain was worth the gain. Mettaton strokes himself firmly on taut muscle, though he keeps eye contact with the bright eyes of the Ascian before him.] You took half of me in almost one go... Can't I give you the rest?
[On his terms, yes. But it was clear that Mettaton wasn't trapping him enough to keep him from moving his hips, even if he had the other man pinned. The brightness in the idol's gaze is a maddening thirst, a smile that won't leave the corners of his lips. He could pin Emet-Selch back, and, like this, stroke him into fullness. Emet-Selch's assertion was greater reassurance that this was not only wanted, but required... and even MTT knew it was, even should pain be a feature.]
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Mettaton taking his fury with good humor, of course, did nothing to ease it. To maneuver him onto his back with casual ease, smiling and looking at him as if everything was well, deciding for them both what he was willing to take- insulted. That he was still being fucked at all wasn't consolation, and the usual comfort he found in this position was entirely missing, as he hadn't wanted to be there.
(So he'd desired earlier to give everything to Mettaton, to devote everything to him- that was, in its way, still in play. Operational. Emet-Selch was going to take his cock, and he was doing to do so on his lap to his own detriment. This was his devotion and he'd fight Mettaton to achieve it.
Except he'd failed in this too, Mettaton's responses as good as mockery in his ears.)]
You'll have to. [He snaps back at him, his tenseness as much about agitation as discomfort- though there was plenty of both.] We would have been joined by now, if you hadn't interfered.
[But if it was going to be on Mettaton's terms, he wasn't going to help at all, his body seemed to indicate. Though his legs remain tight around him, he gives up fighting him- stops trying to force himself onto his length. His fit had been intense enough to tire him, for one thing; he could also feel it wasn't getting him anywhere.
From staring at him with the same unmoving anger as before, he turns his head to the side, demonstrably away from him as he felt his body worked to the same depth that he already had. Incessant rocking that he doesn't relax any more for, impatient in a way that had nothing to do with the want for release.]
I should have... when I still had the chance....
[It's muttered, barely audible, speaking more to himself than to Mettaton. If he'd known the other man was going to take it upon himself to change their position, he would've driven him down to the root before he had a chance to stop him. Even if it might've damaged him; even if it would've hurt, more than it did already. He was spiteful and needy, in ways beyond what his cock was asking for- as arousal was barely even a thought at this point, a background irritation, for all that it had helped to drive him to this point.]
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And not of the heated kind. Yes, he knew Emet-Selch's devotion- but there was something different in its key. It rattles Mettaton; it interrupts his momentum.]
... I don't want you to injure yourself, darling. [His voice is easier; softer than his moans, more intimate in pitch.] I know some of it is inevitable... A bit of discomfort, for excellent gain. But I...
[He reaches out to him, brushing at long, white hair. They would've been joined by now; they could've been hasty, and Emet-Selch could've been seated on his root. But here they are, half-way together, with much left to go and much more than than between them, too much unsaid (especially on Mettaton's part, who acted before asking).
Mettaton soaks in that warmth of their bodies, the chill of Emet-Selch's heat into agitation rather than arousal. He wanted Emet-Selch's satisfaction too... and without thinking, he'd interrupted it. The satisfaction of claiming what's rightfully his, and from continuing to work them both into a mess: yes, Emet-Selch had been more than capable, even when Mettaton had felt he could somehow do better at keeping the smaller man more comfortable, to the same end. He traces his cheek, craning his upper body enough to try to watch his face.]
Hey... Hades. Would you grant me the chance to try again? To ask you... if you were alright like that, instead of... trying to keep from hurting you? And maybe, to find a way to keep you as comfortable as we can?
[He knew Emet-Selch's devotion. They wanted closeness; this was counterproductive to it, everything Mettaton did, because they were a couple who acted irrationally, who combined passionately- and Mettaton had been the one to step out of line, concerned too far about the day where Emet-Selch got too hurt, when their actions had repercussions more than they already have. His finger's trail along his jaw; his attenton is bright, if soft, erection stuffed just where Emet-Selch had left off.]
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It's only when his hair is touched that his gaze snaps back to him, and though Emet-Selch doesn't flinch from it, he doesn't appear at all soothed by it either. He knew Mettaton had likely only been trying to look out for him, but he didn't want to be looked out for.]
It's a bit late to ask, isn't it? At what point do we return to? What's left to try again?
[With his momentum disrupted, even if he were put back on top, it was hard for him to imagine going at it in the same way as before. He'd finish taking him all the way... and then just sit there, unsatisfied and uncompromising but grimly successful. Not that he thought Mettaton would go so far as to change their positioning- and it would feel its own sort of mockery if he did, as though he were no more than a doll being patronizingly indulged.
--Which was different from wanting him to pull off or stop, even if climax were no longer a sought-after priority. He'd waited months for this; he'd been alone for far longer than that. But the thought of enjoying anything was far from him, the smaller man willing to spite everything because he'd been interrupted.]
...I would have preferred injury. [Staring for a moment longer, his gaze slips to the side again, expression turning into something more stoic, guarded.] Go at whatever pace you prefer. The pain is inevitable. I wouldn't have started this if it mattered.
[So he assumed he'd be hurt by their coupling. They didn't have real lubrication, and with Mettaton's considerable size, he knew an unpleasant amount of drag was inevitable. So why do more than the barest amount of mitigation? Even so- it had been only when he'd had the tip of his cock against him that he'd realized that he wasn't willing to wait, despite the consequence it meant for himself.
And yet, now waiting he was, for moments that stretched on for too long, while his body was only half-full, stretched and barely adapting to what he contained. For all that prior desperation, he makes no appeal towards convincing Mettaton to give him the rest, as it was clear their paces were unaligned. Disgruntled where Mettaton was soft, he clings to agitation and upset- more reliable companions than any others he'd made in his life.]
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Body-altering magic or no, it seemed this was a common thread: Mettaton charging ahead with all of his optimism and enthusiasm, trying for something he idealized; Emet-Selch not on the same page, in another (often more agonizing, despairing) zone.
That it had to become clearer to him in this moment isn't something Mettaton rues, though he settles closer to Emet-Selch, watching as the other man turns away and puts up his guard. Selfishness could be his own turn; Emet-Selch was even enabling it, telling him to do as he liked. He could be entirely self-indulging, while Emet-Selch caved into misery. Spite was easy, and so was ignorance.
Mettaton quiets, gaze clear and fixed, his own erection taking less of a precedence. What mattered to each of them was closeness; what mattered most of all was the companionship of their sex. It could be achieved by depth, but also by vulnerability. Mettaton had known all along that vulnerability could've been achieved even before he had the anatomy to have penetrative sex with... Emet-Selch had been reluctant to try. It wounded him. It still wounds him. In this way, a wounded heart matches with a wounded body.
He reaches for Emet-Selch's face, longing to keep him company alongside agitation, upset. He could say a great many things: that it wasn't all about his preference (his actions said otherwise, he realizes), that he wanted to avoid injury (it was unavoidable without proper lubricant, and Emet-Selch could heal besides), that preserving his body still mattered to Mettaton, but not as much as their intimacy did. He could tell that closeness was imporant to Emet-Selch at any cost, and yet his impulse was to... stop him, to come at another angle, to relieve him from the tension of supporting himself in case it offered the barest bit of ease.
Mettaton presses his palm to Emet-Selch's cheek. The metal of his ring is a prominent sensation like this, against actual, warm skin. Against Emet-Selch. ...He could feel another ring around his cock, and that Emet-Selch's body was scarcely adjusting to his girth. He could sigh; why were inconveniences so stacked against them...]
No... I couldn't undo my rashness. [Nor did he expect to try again in regards to undoing his actions, but rather, the ability to ask.] I'm sorry, Hades. For not consulting you, about my thoughts.
[He wanted their closeness too. They both wanted that most of all. Sometimes, closeness came most of all in vulnerability; Mettaton's not often the sort to admit wrong, but when he knew there was wrong to admit, he would admit it freely to the man he loves.
This time, he remains where he is, not moving any more.]
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And while he should have known as much, it felt especially bitter to realize, to experience. They would always be like this. Whatever they did, something would break down between them. And this time they'd been expecting different things, he guessed... and he didn't adapt when Mettaton decided on what course they should take. And rather than give in, Emet-Selch would spite them both, the penalty for trying to look after him when he was determined to wound himself.
Mettaton touches his face; he twitches, displeased, not in the mood to accept kindness and unwilling to face his lover's regrets. The show of it only left him feeling worse, somewhere between guilt and resentment.]
Stop that. [Comes the quick, sharp reply, eyes briefly flashing to him before closing entirely. He doesn't clarify what the 'that' is, whether it was his apologies, his being reasonable in the aftermath while the Ascian wasn't prepared to be, or anything else.] At least finish what you started, I'm not becoming any less sore.
[Or rather, it would only grow more noticeable the less aroused he became, and where he hadn't been thinking of it at the time, he was conscious of it now. While he'd been stuffing him inside himself, it had hurt, in a way that he knew it wasn't supposed to, but he had been stiff enough to counter it, the pleasure greatly increasing his tolerance. But now, though he hadn't yet gone soft, he could tell that fullness was depleting as rapidly as it could.
Of course, he knew he wasn't presenting Mettaton with a very appealing prospect: fucking a tense, upset man who was bound to be hurt by it. Nor did he know how to change things or fix that, to give in and deny his nature for long enough to convince him to continue. It wasn't dutiful, the way Emet-Selch regarded him or this; he wanted this combination still, if in a way entirely removed from the pleasure of sex. He missed him. Too much to tolerate going slowly, it seemed.
Aware of the irony of his reaction bringing things to a halt instead, it doesn't do anything to make him feel any better about the situation, his upset something that could feed on itself, indefinitely.]
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