[Oh, how those ears would spring again. Instead his body tenses, alertness manifesting in the tighter curl around his nude figure, the tops of white silicone thighs pressed against Emet-Selch's skin. They'd committed far enough that one way or another Mettaton would fit his cock inside of Emet-Selch's body for the sake of the intimacy of it, but of course any sign of Emet-Selch wanting him would coax Mettaton into a proper erection. When Mettaton scoops him close, Emet-Selch's only amenable, leaning into him- and the idol sighs in his pleasure of it, nuzzling the man underneath him.
His name, moaned like that... is enough to guarantee a proper filling, he thinks in all ways other than words. Mettaton groans right back, pressing Emet-Selch down with his upper body while still keeping his hips free, permitting him the continued arching into his thrusts. All combined with the sensation of pressing him down into the mattress, which gives Mettaton a rush to feel in combination with that sound that slips past his lips. Emet-Selch's fingertips dig into MTT's back, pressing into metal and demanding he stay. The potential for blame, if he didn't enjoy himself- that only pulls from him a lower groan, a firmer thrust.]
You... won't have a thing to worry about blaming me for, then... Hades.
[As usual: robots can't be breathless. Yet Mettaton sounds that way, unable to grasp for his voice; when he does, it's an airy rendition of it. It's shaping up to be an engagement far, far more productive than clinical, as even when Emet-Selch tenses in pain, Mettaton knows for fact that the rest of him enjoys every bit of this. Psychologically, he knew that pleasure could do wonders.
Thicker and stiffer he gets with each push, as it wasn't very comfortable to him, either. Come wasn't the best of lubricants... and it wasn't as though it was dry even now, but it wasn't slippery enough. Slipping Emet-Selch over his shaft's made into an easier affair with the Ascian participating, and Mettaton grips onto Emet-Selch's shoulders, using him as leverage to press deeper. And indeed, Emet-Selch slips further down his girth, their cravings for each other making it that bit easier to perform.]
Would you... let those fingers of yours wander to the sides of my chest? [A curiosity: Mettaton kisses the corner of Emet-Selch's lips, feeling a strange intensity coursing through him at any accidental touch of his tattoo. But he smiles, kissing him firmer, longer.] You have such an attractive grip, when you're losing yourself to me... Mmm.
[A stiffer, fuller insertion didn't exactly make things any easier on the mage's part, but he would want nothing less. (Though the solidity of Mettaton wasn't the worst thing to happen, in a purely practical sense, as he assumed that a softer cock would require more force to be pushed deep, while something appropriately firm was literally made for this purpose.) It meant that his lover was taking some pleasure in this, at least physically, and hadn't that been the greatest thing lacking, in the months leading up to this? Why Emet-Selch couldn't bring himself to react as he usually did to Mettaton, because his husband's duller senses wouldn't experience it with him....
So he embraces every bit of it now, as Mettaton coaxed their bodies together, and Emet-Selch did what he could to meet and receive him. He could guess that this wasn't the most delightful of sensations either for the robot, and that they wouldn't make a habit of fucking like this once they obtained an actual source of lubrication... but he found himself relieved that his husband could visibly (and audibly) become reasonably aroused by it still.
And that could dizzy him (along with his more genuine breathlessness, as he either forgets to take in air, or loses the chance through kisses, or expends it on sounds of his own). Altogether it... helped, and if he wasn't enjoying himself by now, it was near enough to make little difference.
Even if it wasn't the same kind of enjoyment as he'd been having before, when he'd been painfully erect, and lost to a different sort of desperate madness. But the more he sank into this (and the more Mettaton sank into him, however uncomfortably), the more pleasure there was. The more arousal there was, as it wasn't as though his body had been made exhausted of its potential for it.
But he wasn't really thinking of that, beyond an understanding that he... liked this, with less reluctance in each moment. Even if his body couldn't give in as readily to being entered like this, it mattered less even as it hurt more. Nearly every twinge of pain was followed by a firmer, decided roll of his hips upward, in defiance of his own limitations. And where his gasps weren't wholly free of signs of hurt, they demonstrated even more pleasure than that, warmth increasing each time Mettaton groaned with him, and with each bit more of his girth he felt pressed deep.
Mettaton's request draws a smaller sound from him- assent, probably. Though he'd mostly forgotten about their dragon bites in the wake of all else they'd been through and were doing, he doesn't question what his lover was asking for. His back felt the most natural to grasp onto, but there were other places he could reach, and none that he was opposed to touching. So his hands slip to his sides and drag upwards, the tips of his fingers firm against metal- but nowhere near as firm as what he was stroking.
Where Mettaton didn't need breath to speak, and didn't have to be hindered either by the act of kissing unless he wished to be, Emet-Selch had to operate under both of those constraints. Especially when he'd rather snap Mettaton's lips up in another kiss, forever caught up in answering, leaning for each one the taller man gives him. The scrape of his fingers tries to pull him closer somehow.]
If- you want that, then keep- what you're doing....
[It's mumbled with middling coherence, but it's all Mettaton's going to get, so long as Emet-Selch had his lips to claim.]
[(Indeed, if this remained a clinical transaction with an objective to reach, it wouldn't have been easy. Mettaton could've remained stiff enough but it would've been difficult for a full, satisfying insertion.
The nature of insertion, however, is enough to rile him up... And with his husband, increasingly pliant and goading him on, Mettaton was bound to get into it.)
It wasn't bad. It was easier than when they were in the house of mirrors, especially the more erect he got; trying to use spit at that time was... something. This was a material slicker, and there was plenty of it, thanks especially to Mettaton's abnormally productive releases. As he found himself stiffer, he could only become moreso with the eagerness of their bodies and the sensation of filling Emet-Selch out, and of the deliberate welcoming the Ascian willed out of his body for MTT's insertion. That he liked this was mirrored: Mettaton liked it, too, and he went from reluctance to eagerness readily.
He knew it was hurting Emet-Selch. But where his gasps weren't free from pain, neither did they seem separate from pleasure.
Neither of them consciously thought about their dragon bites, but each time he incidentally found his arm brushing over his side, Mettaton couldn't help but feel something sharp—but not unpleasant, which fueled this request. Even though he adored the feeling of fingers raking and pressing direly into his back, he was compelled to ask for this—and his request fulfilled jars him, causing him to gasp for sound, for thought.]
Ah...! Ohhh...!
[This close to its partnering tattoo, it was as good as an erogenous zone. A touch intimate, the circular markings linked the two lovers and did much to enhance the pleasure between them. Mettaton squirms under the rake of fingers that urge him close, a firm, harsh thrust of his hips the answer to his own hardening ache.
And though he hears Emet-Selch and comprehends him, it felt as though he spoke directly into his mind, hearing occupied with the sound of his own moaning as he curls hard around Emet-Selch, stuffing him deep. His thrusts aren't the sort that draw back and push in as they might enjoy, more cyclical and deliberate, small lengths of himself pulled then pushed to (as gradually as he can) ease Emet-Selch around him. But his thrusts, spirited as they are, plunge that bit deeper, that bit more uncontrollably, as he answers Emet-Selch's answer with a kiss more hot than damp.
But damp all the same, with how involved Emet-Selch's made to be. And Mettaton takes advantage of that, kissing him hard, interrupting his speech with a low, heady groan. Shifting his hands away from Emet-Selch's shoulders, Mettaton decides to grip him by the hips—not because of the marking there, but because he wanted to impress upon the smaller man that he had him well in hand, and would fill him. Nearly a growl, possessive and low, slips between their lips in the midst of a kiss as Mettaton wraps his fingers around Emet-Selch's hips, drawing the Ascian close and holding him steady for his gradual penetration.]
Oh, I'll... I'll keep doing you, is what I'm doing.
[Obvious. But he's impassioned, voice low and husky. The monster shifts his knees closer, forcing Emet-Selch into an even tighter curl as he rocks his hips—as he forces him into riding down his shaft, practically down to the root.]
[Emet-Selch did find himself briefly comparing it to their experience in the house of mirrors, the only other time they'd gone completely without lubrication. That had hurt more; he'd also been more sharply aroused (and emotionally disturbed, but in a different direction from now), so it had somewhat balanced out. Mettaton's thrusts had been rougher, harder on him, as he'd pinned the smaller man against a wall, as he'd had no frame of reference as to what that insertion was supposed to be like- and Emet-Selch hadn't bothered to explain until afterward.
This wasn't as difficult as that; as copious as Mettaton's drool had been then (mixed with the mage's blood), his semen was even moreso (mixed with the mage's semen). And this time, Emet-Selch had prepared himself somewhat (rather than telling the robot to have at it, and... having him do just that).
This hurt; this was horniness and other neediness prevailing over sense. He would be sore afterward. But it was also increasingly good.
And what unintentionally helped too, was the reaction he got while dragging his hands down the robot's sides. The way his partner nearly jolted, moved as though it were his cock being electrified, causes his own body to twitch, to jerk up into his length. It was something sensitive- and in the heat of the moment, he couldn't distinguish between what Mettaton was feeling, and what he was feeling too, or whether he was just that taken by his lover's reaction to being scratched that way.
Whatever the cause, it was good, it got him harder, as his body responded to all this stimulus in the most natural way it knew: by filling out his cock.
A prime factor in that hardening, though, was the way Mettaton filled him out, in reliable pushes that gave him as much chance as he could to adapt. (Far more than he would've given himself, and where he still would have chosen that outcome if he thought about it- he's not thinking of it now, given in to what they had like this. The familiarity and comfort of being laid down, Mettaton wrapped around him as much as he could, securing him against his hips.) And even if the deeper he went, the more he stretched him, and the more it hurt- the more it inevitably aroused him too. Both in the consciousness of what they were doing, the erotic truth of Mettaton fitting him with his cock, but the way it rubbed him wasn't entirely about the rawness.
Crying out against his lips, it's made breathless and partially swallowed by the way their lips continued to meet. Ardor and kisses that he struggles to meet, though it's effort clumsier, damper now, as he nearly pants against him. A warm shiver courses through him to hear Mettaton growling, his body instinctively excited by the sound, and by the way the taller man mounted him with it.]
Keep- keep going, Mettaton--
[It's less demand and more of a plea, whispered in a tight voice near his lips, which he continues trying to kiss- even as his own keep parting to vocalize less coherently than that, with soft groans and cries. Gasps from sharper twinges of pain, as his body took more and more of a hard, thick cock- but sounds that trailed off into shaky, outright moans. It was entirely removed from how clinical it had been to start, and far more than he thought was achievable, from the way his legs lock around him, to how he scrapes his hands down the robot's sides, tensely groping and holding on. If not the most desperate he'd ever been, he was committed- and openly affected.]
[This tattoo is the strangest-placed and -sourced direct line to his cock. When it was Emet-Selch handling him, their bodies close, the sensation of his fingertips grazing over his sides or gripping onto him for dear life have him arching his back, squirming and writhing against Emet-Selch's body with all of his energetic over-sensitivity. And the more he was touched, the more he was dragged against Emet-Selch, the deeper and more pronounced his thrusts. He was helpless to stop himself, and though the drag of muscle 'round his girth wasn't silky smooth... it felt good to be embedded in him, bodies connected through their effort.
Gripping down on Emet-Selch's hips, he draws the smaller man close enough to his hips that any space he had left to cover of his erection was readily patched. His length is pressed deep, right down to the root. The sound of Emet-Selch's voice urged him there, a need to... soothe, perhaps, that tightness of voice by filling out the tightness of body. He would not only keep going, but make good on settling Emet-Selch down on his root—effectively and totally penetrating him.]
Ah... For you...
[For him, he'd not only fit him in this blissful, if intense in many directions, union. He'd also keep going. Gripping firmly his hips, Mettaton would be sinking claws into skin if he had them as his grasp steels, holding Emet-Selch steady to be worked down with that thick cock he finally fit.
They were both committed to this end, and Mettaton's voice is a rumble of a groan as he mounts him tight, continuing to swing his hips, pressing him back against the mattress. Short, full kneading, rolling his tip deep inside of Emet-Selch, the sensation of erotic pleasure after months with out quickly blinds him, as Mettaton's groans soon join with Emet-Selch's moans. Just as he promised, he can't stop himself: he's really getting into it, even as he sympathizes with the hurt Emet-Selch's enduring, and even as he feels some of that drag for himself. It felt too good, and he felt too spirited to let it get him down anymore.
With the two of them busy giving voice to their vocalizations, kisses are even sloppier and less coordinated than before. Mettaton gives the Ascian a firm thrust to emphasize how he's buried down to the root, before moaning at the contact, at the acknowledgement that they were finally joined.
Soft and low, his voice wouldn't be audible to anyone beyond Emet-Selch.]
This... is more than I could have wished for, Hades...
[Even the circumstance, because Emet-Selch is alive and real and not an idealized version of a man he's married to. He is responsive and reactive, and even if they came to blows, even if their mood had soured, Mettaton adored the place they found themselves in now because of their journey. And the wish Emet-Selch had made... Mettaton felt grateful for it, even though he knew they would've both wished for it together.
But he wanted Emet-Selch to experience the joy he got out of this vivid sensation. Of being gripped, touched, and then given a spot for him to slip his cock, warm and tight; Mettaton shudders tightly, a squeak of a moan escaping his throat as he's crushed by the overwhelming and sudden realization that he was feeling, vivid and arousing. From pain to pleasure to the simple contact of their bodies, the man beneath him warm and soft and giving... His body shudders, as he both collapses and curls around Emet-Selch.]
You've made a mess of me, god...
[And with this amount of sensitivity, the heavy weight of arousal between this thighs... release would not be difficult to find from here. But he gives Emet-Selch a softer kiss, brief against the corner of his lips out of appreciation.]
[And with Mettaton's grasp on his hips, Emet-Selch's own tattoo is occasionally brushed, grazed- and with it, his thoughts turn to static. It was far sharper than anything he would've expected from this contact, despite the suggestive appeal of Mettaton holding onto him this way, securing him down to the mattress and fucking him as he'd dreamt of. But this was another entire reason to be aroused, and unavoidably so.
So his body can't help but writhe, bucking up into Mettaton cock even as he was finally buried all the way down to the root. Grinding himself onto the robot's lap, his thighs on either side of him tremble, while more invisibly muscle tenses around him. Lips parted, he's out of breath enough for any sound he makes to be choked into nothing, but he's still provoked into making them. The satisfaction he had, in knowing he held the whole of his husband's cock, could sit flush to his lap even if it hurt himself to do- he had no words for it, nothing beyond a rush of gratitude, relief, and adoration.
And what went perfectly with it was the softness he felt in response to his lover's words, an understanding that he'd given him something equally treasured. A pleasure reflected bodily, yes, but the emotional impact that went with it, this sharing of experiences. Of sensations, of moods both good and poor- of this time spent reaching for each other's company, and taking their bodies along the way.
He nuzzles, whispers his name, makes effort after effort to kiss him even when most of them are lost to sounds or breaths. From digging in, one of his hands manages to stroke more gently down Mettaton's side, affection writ plain in each touch. He loved him; he reveled in every moan Mettaton graced him with, and that the way he moved spoke of a man who really had gotten into this. That they could enjoy this together after all was more than he thought possible....
He tries for a hum when Mettaton speaks of being a mess, but it turns into something closer to a groan.]
You're not- not enough of one- not yet....
[He whispers it near his lips, in a voice as tight as his body felt. But not with agony or displeasure, even though he could tell that this all hurt, and would continue to hurt him. That Mettaton was surely bruising him with his fingers is barely noticed, beyond the pleasurable ache it gave him, the mage already squirming into every push of their bodies, as though he could drive him any deeper.
Nothing but Mettaton's release would do, and he was sure now that the robot would be able to reach it, was interested enough to manage it. Not that Emet-Selch thought that it would be very much of a mess at all, given that it would be neatly contained and delivered deep inside him. A sensation he'd gone without since he'd arrived here, and one that he realized he missed nearly as much as this. A flood of heat even hotter than his erection; swallowing him once had merely left him aching for more of it, however he could get it.]
[Impossibility really didn't exist, not between them. That's not a takeaway, so much as something MTT had been sure of to start, long before. Even segueing from a soured mood back to an affectionate and hungry one was never out of the question, even if in the sinkhole of the moment it felt like it. Nothing was impossible between them. They could do so much when united...
And united they were, Mettaton acknowledges with a shudder of delight. With Emet-Selch panting and squirming, slamming himself down forcefully against the robot's lap, how could he do anything but cry out in ecstasy? He looks down at him with his eye wide, mesmerized by the sight of Emet-Selch caught in his thrall. Had he another arm he's sure he'd stroke his face, cup his cheek, draw digits along the softness of his skin... but instead, his fingers dig into his hips, gripping onto his mate as he drags himself firmly along his body in short, deep, and full strokes.
It wasn't the slickest combination they've ever had... but the pure delight of being together at all couldn't be overlooked, a precious thing they'd wanted for months on end. His lips part, but instead of any response (he'd only registered his voice as static, to start), Mettaton moans again, arching his back and giving himself over to grinding into Emet-Selch.
No... he wouldn't be much of a mess. And that notion itself brings him to growl, curling around the mage again as he mashes their lips together.]
Then m... make me, make me one, Hades...
[His voice itself is a groan, nearly veering into a whine as his cock fills, a pressure swimming low, hard and deep in his body without reprieve. With no pulse, and seemingly no fluid, it felt so strangely impossible to feel so needing of release... And if his new anatomy didn't factor in veins or 'blood' or anything needed to fuel an erection or even an orgasm, there must be something magical at play. He wished he could communicate in words how he felt, with his thighs burning, hyper-aware of his own cock and the heat he occupied—but what better way to tell Emet-Selch than to show him, to leave him achingly hot and full of his release?
He'd already wanted that outcome. But with it front and center in his mind, the robotic monster groans, drawing Emet-Selch up by the hips to better penetrate him, as if he needed that.]
Stay... Give me you- Ahh, Hades, I'm going to, f-first... You let me first...!!
[Emet-Selch hasn't made any indication that he was about to come, but even still, Mettaton makes the rules. He comes first, no matter what, and he makes that clear with a tighter grip on his hips, a gasp and jerk at the sensation of being handled, his body fondled, his cock squeezed around. Inundated helplessly by sensation as he is, who was the one really in control here when MTT could barely think straight with it all?]
[He shivers at being growled at, the sound wholly exciting rather than threatening, as went with any other signs of his husband's more animalistic habits. There wasn't room or time for decorum in their sex, even if they'd begun more slowly and without much in the way of their normal wanting. How swiftly that had changed, and so completely that it left him breathless and stricken to feel it. They really were prone to one another... heart and body both.
And Mettaton would be made more of a (literal) mess if he had anything to say about it, though it would be from the Ascian's come instead. He'd already finished once between them, and though that had been somewhat obscured by the robot's more copious and glittery load, it was assuredly there. And he more assuredly was willing to add to it, to leave his own mark on his mate's body in this base way.
But not yet, no matter the thrill that ran through him at the thought. There wasn't any chance of Emet-Selch defying him, even if he'd wanted to; though he felt surprisingly full, a throb that matched the soreness of his body as he was rubbed deep, he wasn't at the point where bursting felt immanent. Part of him remained mostly surprised that he'd gotten hard at all, given their starting point. Not impossible, of course, though his faith in those areas wasn't as complete; his own trust had more to do with being relentlessly stubborn, rather than anything necessarily pleasurable or pleasant.
But here they were, fucking as though their lives depended on it, every grind of their bodies together a reason to gasp, to tighten up. To writhe harder to meet it, as though he could squeeze and drag Mettaton's release from him, coax it out through the tightness and plea of his body. An appeal for him to let go, to give him that slickness they lacked (even if it would be too late to spare him the discomfort).]
Then- then come or I'll- I'll surpass you--
[He wouldn't, not now; he couldn't, more relevantly, unless Mettaton managed to hold out for much longer than this. The desperation he felt was one he recognized as a yearning for his lover's own release, to witness and feel him at that peak once more. He'd done it already in his mouth and his hand, but each time left him wanting to take him from additional angles. Other ways and means, as what did seeing Mettaton climax do for him but leave him wanting to see more?
And it would arouse him endlessly to witness, to feel him let go, when he'd gone without for months. And when he's tugged harder yet to Mettaton's hips, kissed no less fiercely even as their bodies continued to be slammed together, insistence and determination making up for any physical lack of readiness, he clenches tight around him, pants against the other man's lips. It was damp enough now, their kiss, and hot enough that the only thing that could beat it was where their bodies were properly joined. Even so, he pleads for more, to be scalded properly inside a body already raw, the cries he makes against him wordless but wanting.]
[Could they each blame themselves for going at each other with wild abandon despite their recently-downward spiral? After all, they'd been deprived for months. There was no amount of disagreement that would keep them from going at each other, in the end, and this was proof of that. Just as there was no situational decorum that would truly prevent them from finding some way to sate their lust for each other, either... They've proven that, too.
As soon as he demands that Emet-Selch wait his turn, he knew that no matter how he threatened him, he would obey. To say he'd surpass him was a lie, but it still provokes a more prominent growl out of the monster, kissing him with vicious affection as he humps Emet-Selch into the mattress. Emet-Selch squeezes him between his legs, but similarly clenches around his cock, and that growl evolves into a low, husky moan as he trembles, thrusting short and deep into his bonded lover.
If Emet-Selch wanted more of his heat, he couldn't even begin to warn him for it. Which was good, then, that he commanded it of him; Mettaton's lips part, but he only moans, unable to speak.
Heat pools hard enough to dizzy him right before he finds it searing him pleasantly, spilling from his body enough to dig fingertips into skin. Shuddering, gasping, MTT remains close to Emet-Selch's lips while he stutters a cry, thrusting deep to leave his mate full of his release. An inexorable release that he knew Emet-Selch would have no choice but to receive, and he realizes sickly he'd have it no other way right now than for him to lay back and take his cock and all the heat he had to give. (Maybe he did want the control; later, though, he'd understand that this wasn't the way to have gotten it, nor did he not want to have Emet-Selch sitting on him, fucking himself on his lap, which was undeniably, terribly, and overwhelmingly attractive. Worthy of a wet dream...)
Full, thick, his release spurts hot from the very tip of him, deposited cleanly in his husband and out of sight. Mettaton grinds himself against Emet-Selch, the root of him the only bit of his cock even visible at all. If Emet-Selch wanted to be scalded, this would do it, this would outdo all other heat between them, a plentiful load that would rival an organic being's output. As though pent up for months—as he has been.
Slamming into Emet-Selch isn't quite as vigorous as it's been in their past, where he'd draw his length in broad strokes, but it's no less feverish for what it is. It's deep and short, barely withdrawing now that he was lodged inside, as he leaves Emet-Selch slick and fuller for it. Curling into his husband, the robot grips onto him for dear life right back, even as his climax eventually fades.
The pleasure of having done it, however, doesn't, and Mettaton's grip remains strong, his thrusts ardent and adoring. His pants sound like syllables of Emet-Selch's name, a mishmash of sound all intended to be for him in the end. And all the while, he smiles against his lips, dizzied and stunned by their sex.]
[He thought his 'threat' might lead to this manner of response, and he's thrilled deeply to feel it come true. Goading Mettaton into growls; encouraging his passion, even though the robot hardly held back on it at all anyway- it was exactly what he wanted.
It wasn't the same sort of maddened thrusting that he might have usually felt on Mettaton's part. But then, there wasn't much glide to speak of, and while his body might somewhat adapt to his lover's size, neither of them could do anything about the lack of lubrication. So a series of kneading pushes like this, where the robot barely removed himself from his body at all- that might have been kindest in the end, rather than rubbing him rawer yet.
It felt like the right choice regardless, as his body irregularly tenses around Mettaton's girth, due to twinges of pain and pleasure both. He hadn't been filled in months, Mettaton hadn't been able to fill him in months; was it a surprise that they couldn't bear to go without that sensation for even a moment, now that they'd regained it? Not that Emet-Selch is thinking about it like that, only moaning wordlessly as he takes him, as he's pushed and worked inescapably into the mattress.
No warning was required, when he feels Mettaton's climax begin, when the note of his cries change, when even the beat of his thrusts seemed to express what was happening, a form of tension that existed without muscle, somehow. Most of all, Emet-Selch was privy to his lover's heat, as the first dribble of it turned into a torrent. Hot enough that it felt like it might scald him after all, as each spurt is shot deep, inside a body that had no hope of matching him for temperatures.
(It truly was inescapable. Not dwelling on it in any detail, he's aware of it mostly as a familiar, much-loved part of their sex. Giving control over to Mettaton, being helpless but to rapturously receive him, to be taken and used as his lover decided- he did love that. Even if this hadn't been the best way to get there, not at all. (But was it really control, if Emet-Selch only acquiesced and adapted without resentment if it was something that he wanted anyway? Usually their hearts aligned and there was no issue- but on this occasion their wills had clashed in a more unpleasant way. (Rather than an exciting way, where Emet-Selch struggled for the pleasure of being overcome.)))
He squirms hard in place, writhing as he struggles to meet him still, as even if it wasn't entirely comfortable to take something that hot, he adored it too much to not wish to wring every bit of it from him. An output that felt like it could outdo any organic creature when it came to amount as well... which remained a satisfying aspect of their union, and satisfying again that his wish had restored that part of his husband's natural virility. (As natural as a robot shooting thick glittery semen could be. It was Mettaton's natural.)
Mettaton had no breath to lose, no lungs to do their best to keep up with his activity, but Emet-Selch could hear him panting nonetheless. A result of affect that always moved him, that felt as real as anything- as he trusted his husband wouldn't pretend in something like this, that sentiment and sensation could cause a robot to be overwhelmed too. And Emet-Selch loved him for it, was grateful to him for it, for going through with their sex after all, and leaving him with all of this. His body trembling and scalded but full, holding the whole of Mettaton's length and a load of his seed, possessing one another down to the root.
Kissing and nuzzling back, he's more 'genuinely' breathless, and has little more success in whispering his lover's name. Stroking with tense fingers at his side with one hand, the other had found its way to the robot's back once more, to grip tight across metal there. Even as Mettaton's climax seemed to slow, his own tension remained, his own pleasure remained, an affection that could burn him just as effectively as robotic seed.]
[Whether learned or innate it was Mettaton's response, to vocalize in sounds that were as good as panting, gasps to demonstrate his overwhelm. And Emet-Selch clung to him in such a way that made him feel totally secured. Had he been the flighty person he'd wondered he might be in Emet-Selch's clutches, to be clung to might've been uncomfortable, unwanted... But with their precise chemistry, he wouldn't want anything different, not ever. Feeling him tight against his body and writhing in time with each movement was a treat, and he felt touched to be granted that sight and feeling of Emet-Selch so lively and enamored.
Softer feelings to accompany such a base combining, as Mettaton barely removes himself from Emet-Selch's body while stirring himself deep. And with every spurt of seed Emet-Selch was that bit slicker... too late, of course, given that he'd already be raw.
But in the moment he had much to give, and Emet-Selch was evidently overeager to take. He squeezes 'round his erection in a way that felt as though demanding, and the idol grins madly to give all he had, collapsing close to the soft body beneath him. It's no small wonder that Emet-Selch sounds considerably breathless as he attempts to capture his lips in a kiss. By considerably breathless, Mettaton knew it was because he really did need the breath, while he did not... but it was all the same to him, these signs of affect.
Emet-Selch's hand departs from his sensitive side, but he feels next the warmth of his arm wrapped around his torso instead. With a short tremble he curls, collapses, comes apart as he slackens in his lover's arms, a low, shaky groan the sound that accompanies his final good thrust, whatever heat he presently had to give squeezed from his cock. Against Emet-Selch's lips, Mettaton's part, and he nuzzles him sweetly.]
H... Hades...
[His name needs to be said, an answer to the times Emet-Selch uttered his name between moans. He squirms his way between thighs, and stuffs himself down to the root, not wanting to surrender his spot just because he'd finished his orgasm.]
[It was likely that he'd be less able to tolerate 'comfortably' (as he was already uncomfortable, underneath the arousal and overall distraction, his fascination over the sensation of thick heat filling him) the robot lingering for as long as he often did. But there was no rush at all, to feel him withdraw. To the absolute contrary; if Mettaton had tried, the mage would resist with everything he could muster.
As he was still erect himself, after all, and he could imagine no better way at the moment, than to find relief with the other man still inside him.
But he's not at the point of needing to beg for that either, for permission or assistance- nor is he thinking much about it. It was a warm ache, a quick throb that he knew was arousal and very physical wanting, but it was easy enough to not concentrate on, when he had all of Mettaton's own responses to climax to witness and take. Clutching, kneading at his body as the robot collapses in his arms, his hold adjusts again to wrap around him as much as he could.
To trap him there; to keep him from escaping. Even if Mettaton could, if he chose to, robotic strength more potent than anything that Emet-Selch possessed, the mage latches tight. It was an attempt at restriction he wouldn't think to ease; it was a request in its unconscious way, to not be left. There were a number of reasons why he might be moved to cling so tightly to him, but the want to keep him at his side might be greatest of all.
Shivering, he groans into Mettaton's nuzzles, answering them with no less ardor, especially at the sound of his name, the effort it must have taken to say it as clearly as that. And to express further the pleasure he must have just experienced. It was a rush in its own right, to feel his lover undone in this way, and sharply appealing.
Appealing too, was the way he kept himself lodged tight, pushed close so that they were as flush as could be, Mettaton stuffed completely into a body that welcomed him (if not without some quarreling, some rawness). Even if he weren't hard, it would've appealed terribly, and Emet-Selch kisses him as firmly as he could, with swollen, damp lips.]
You gave so much... I can feel it.
[And it eased more in him than he thought it would, to have that reassurance, that very tangible sensation.]
[And likewise, MTT would eventually know better than to linger overlong. But there wasn't any rush: he'd only just climaxed, and his body but tingled all over, any sense he possessed firing off to make even the air a pressure satisfyingly overcoming. If he closed his eye, he could only squirm with delight at the sensitivity of Emet-Selch wrapped around his cock, and the sensation of his body pressed against his own. He felt it all so vividly, and everything was all so warm, so cold...
And warmth that reaches his heart as Emet-Selch wraps himself around his body. He was being caught, and Mettaton not only didn't mind, but encouraged it. He smiles, an airy giggle as he blissfully pushes into his grasp, encouraging this entrapment of his body. He wouldn't be using his robotic strength this time, when he wanted to badly to let Emet-Selch claim him as his prize. His lips part around the mage's moan, wishing to swallow up his voice as he trembles, succumbing to his embrace as wholly as he could—even crushing him into the mattress in the process.]
I can't help myself. You provoke a lot out of me.
[His voice is pitched soft, a gentle utterance against lips that needed to be kissed. And he does, closing that bit of distance to lock lips, an interruption of Emet-Selch's capacity for breath—all replaced with a low, nearly predatory hum. That he'd still be hungry for him even after his recent orgasm should be expected, he thought. He is easily provoked by him, after all.
The most he does, though, is stuff himself deep inside of Emet-Selch and wriggle his hips, showing off the depth and heat he's achieved. His release left behind, his manner is proud while he tugs the smaller man against his crotch once more before moving his hands, fingers dragging up his sides on their way to his shoulders. With a sigh, Mettaton cuddles Emet-Selch firmly.]
Do you like this? All of... this, that you've given me.
[From the fullness of his cock, the rigidness of it, the size, the load he could provide—and everything else, from the supple silicone that made up his hips, to his newfound ability to feel temperature. Mettaton himself? Obviously spellbound, impressed and in love with it all as he shudders close to Emet-Selch's body.]
[Mettaton was his prize, and he felt no shame in expressing that feeling in the way he held him, in the way he clutched at his body and demanded his nearness. His company and his touch, and every one of his expressions.
That there was the consequence of being secured himself, kept so snug against the mattress that he was compressed into it, that was a pleasure too. There usually was, in being restricted, restrained, unable to move from his taller mate's grasp. Though he disliked the way he'd gotten here, Emet-Selch was entirely taken by his place underneath the other man now, and would be resentful instead to lose it.
Not that he thought there was any chance of him losing much of anything, when everything about his husband's behavior (and their extensive history together), spoke of a maintained interest, no matter his recent climax. Which could have set his heart speeding if it weren't already quick, his body already alight with its own interest. He shivered nonetheless, not fighting the way his lips, his breath were each captured by the monster- and his attention with it, his focus centered utterly on Mettaton.
And his body remained understandably responsive to him, reactive to that press of hips, the breathless noise he makes one of simple wanting. A twitch of his body upward is its own request, and a showing that he would take everything Mettaton had to give, no matter how thick he was. But gods, that depth, that heat....
The stiff cock he had nudging up against the other man was one direct way of showing off that Emet-Selch liked this. Not that he needed an erection to do that, or to enjoy himself, but it was a means he had no control over either.]
Can't you tell?
[He echoes his sigh- or tries to, so near his lips, as his body shifts and tries to stretch underneath him. It amounts mostly to squeezing the idol with his limbs (and inevitably around his cock), before relenting. Despite continuing to be pent up, aroused and wanting and unrelieved, some other part of him was relaxed. It was no particular surprise; he had Mettaton's length fully inside of him, had felt him come just like this. Something that had been missing from their lives had been righted (if not without some pain, but that was a minor detail ultimately). Everything... worked, and he had the proof inside him that his lover could know the pleasure that he deserved.
(Taste (and saliva) and smell would still have to be recovered, but though he missed knowing that Mettaton could experience him in those ways, it wasn't as bitter of a miss as his lack of sensation had been.)]
...I love it.
[That Mettaton would know both his warmth and his softness, reflected and given over to him along the whole length of his body, and even inside him- it made him feel that little bit less alone.]
[He's wrapped around the robot in more ways than just arms clutching him in an embrace, MTT thinks with amused affection. Too recently they weren't in agreement about positions... and now, it felt like the most natural thing all over again. Mettaton knew this wasn't just a body that belonged to Emet-Selch, but that the man would be fiercely protective of his position. There was no reason to fight this, given that he was already as much in pain as he'd be for now. No matter how further excited or provoked MTT could get, even he would feel too raw to go a full 'nother round.
But he was still basking in the feeling right now, and his body was eager to remain excitable as ever. Emet-Selch's still hard, a truth he knew too vividly... He could only feel it against his body, and Mettaton hums as he attempts to press deeper between Emet-Selch's legs, just to feel that bulge of heat.
... The reality that Mettaton would be just like this, unable to disguise his arousal, was a tantalizing thing. He shuddered right back to consider it, while Emet-Selch stretches against his body- arching his back, and indeed squeezing tight around his cock. Mettaton gasps again, a breath expelled against the smaller man's lips.]
... I'm so glad. So... pleased.
[His voice itself is honey, words nearly slurred together in his relaxed overcome. Even though he was warmly aroused, the sort that accompanied his ejaculation, he felt comfortably possessed and possessive- and proud of the man he called his husband, stubborn and determined and dedicated as he is. The affection he felt for Emet-Selch left him feeling so, so vulnerable... and he loved it, as he takes him into a softer kiss.
A brush of lips, a sweet taste of each other's heat. Their sentiments warm, and bodies warmer, their very hearts embodied by both. Sex between them was no mere physical affair, so much of their selves tangled up in every touch and look... Mettaton curls around Emet-Selch, his kisses lingering and steady- enough to rob him of breath, and enough to give him a chance just to reclaim it and surrender it again.]
I can feel it all. How hot I am inside of you... And oh, H... How soft you are, around me.
[... It didn't help that Mettaton was so often hard more than anything else. Made of metal, sure, but also terribly excitable, enough that his body remained provoked and ready to be fucked, to give his husband the pleasure he sought.]
[Some part of him recognized that it would be difficult for them to continue fucking like this past their current round. (It was the sore part of him.) Even though he'd been willing- demanding to be hurt in order to be full, that state had been achieved. Not in the way he'd originally thought it would, but which had brought pleasure regardless. While he still hoped to see his own release, to mark Mettaton again in this obvious way, he understood that they were both raw. Rawness that would only get worse, and something they could at least attempt to avoid.
(Especially as he knew they'd be lured into sex as a constant thing, and keeping the damage manageable would be a line they'd have to tred carefully. He wasn't satisfied at being fucked like this once- but he was reassured enough by it in the moment to not demand more of it for now. Just holding him this way was something to savor.)
That Mettaton would remain aroused though, would be provoked anyway, Emet-Selch could sigh over it. Affectionate and exasperated both (and attracted not least, his own cock throbbing at the idea of knowing of his lover's interest in him), he moans instead, soft and low, to follow the robot's reply. Of course he'd react to being clenched around, to being held somewhere snug and warm, and so recently made significantly hotter by the addition of semen.
No less important, though, were the emotional appeals made, the willingness to be vulnerable in the ways of wanting and weakness. Not without difficulties... but that was how they'd always been together, and he felt as though he could melt into a kiss as soft as this. As gentle as this, even when they felt as strongly as they did.
Reluctantly, he takes the opportunity for breath he was given; quick moments, that he just as willingly gives back, in favor of more affection to share. And even if Mettaton couldn't taste him (and that hint of come between them had mostly faded, but he didn't think he was imagining it), there was another pleasure in remembering that he could at least feel the heat in their kiss, the warmth of their lips together- and with it, the softness of his own.
Softness that his own body had plenty of, and when it meant he could meld and give way to Mettaton's firmness, it felt the perfect match.]
I said that I would be... accommodating.
[Even if he had to fight to do it... even if it hurt. But for as giving as his body was in most places, he felt especially hard in one way- and with the way Mettaton pushed closer to him (inspiring of a gasp, a squirm into his arms), he knew his lover was aware of it.]
But- won't you help, to see me off a- another time?
[Raw as they are and would continue to be made, he knew that it didn't make much sense to remain lodged inside of Emet-Selch's body except for the fact that he was still aroused. If Emet-Selch had come already, Mettaton would know better than to stay where he was... even if he'd probably wait until Emet-Selch requested that he depart anyway.
Which he's doing the opposite of, much to Mettaton's overall relief. He sighs, squishing Emet-Selch into the mattress with a firm application of his weight to exhibit Emet-Selch's softness some more—and giving him more of what has Emet-Selch gasping, squirming. Mettaton squirms himself, writhing into Emet-Selch's touch, squeezing the smaller man beneath him.]
Won't I. You know as well as I do... I'm a slave to you, like this.
[Sexually speaking, he really could be enticed into a lot of things. If Emet-Selch claimed that his libido was more wild than his own, Mettaton could only agree to it... He loved every touch of Emet-Selch's—and he knew already what would set him apart from all others. His emotional charge, the intent behind every press of fingers or every mash of their bodies... Mettaton was truly addicted.
Fitting himself deep with a wiggle of his hips, Mettaton sighs against lips, imagining the taste of their come between them with each kiss. He thought he could still remember the way it tasted, the way it provoked him... He knew it would be there to tease him, and even the thought of it has him kissing hungrily, a low sound pressed between their lips.
Of course, in the process of all this movement, Mettaton readily presses against Emet-Selch's upright cock—and adores the rigidity there, enough to groan, to stuff himself down to the root with greater insistence. To make clear his feeling, he sighs against the smaller man's lips, eye half-lidded.]
I couldn't leave you hard like this, and do... nothing. I have to feel you come around me...
[Unconscious and immediate is the way he groans as he's pushed harder into the bed- and Mettaton, harder into his body at the same time. It grew harder to squirm this way, while being so restricted, but every bit of motion was worth fighting for. Even if Mettaton couldn't pound into him as on old occasions, the memory and imagining of it in itself was a powerful source of arousal. And when it could be paired with the very real sensation of his lover's cock within him, it wasn't even frustrating that he couldn't have that specific thing.
Emet-Selch wouldn't claim that Mettaton had a wilder libido... but he would complain about it, even when it ever incited him to keep up to whatever degree his body was capable of. Which was plenty, at the moment, given that he'd only climaxed once so far. The rawness of his body was an unrelated issue, and so long as he remained aroused it was endurable.
More than that, it was worthwhile because it came with the comfort of being full, of having something ground into him so inescapably to have him gasping. Writhing gets him nowhere but feeling that much more impaled, so he writhes more.]
I can feel it. [He whispers; there was little chance of him doing more than that, between hitches of breath and strokes of lips together.] Your dedication to this... to me.
[And he treasured both of those things in him. And he expected, of course, for Mettaton to remain hard enough past release, whether it was due to the composition of his body or some inherent Mettatonness. Hard enough to keep him feeling stuffed, to be an extra thrill to be wrapped around (even if he enjoyed no less the process of feeling him get as soft as he ever did, before hardening up again while still in his body). Hard enough to work him into his own completion.
Though the mage felt that he was plentily firm himself, swollen enough to impress, and something that he increasingly wanted relief from. There was only so much he could thrust, could push and rub his erection to Mettaton's unforgiving body, but he claims what direct stimulation he could manage. Milky precome leaks from him, renewing a little of the slickness that existed between their bodies, and with each beat of his heart he throbbed.
Breath quick against Mettaton's lips, it grew harder to kiss him when every push, every tense of his own body interrupted him with another sound he couldn't keep from making. It was even harder to collect himself enough to reply in words as he tries to knead himself on his length, a feeling irresistible.]
[If they were with the proper lubricant there wasn't any doubt that MTT would fulfill his desires and pound him hard into the mattress. It's what he wants too, even while he's basking in the afterglow of orgasm, and the way he curls around Emet-Selch's form is evidence of it.
Yet with his upper body he presses; with every thrust, he pushes against him, Emet-Selch's cock gliding slickly against glass. Mettaton exhales shakily against the other man's lips, body so tense that an unknowing onlooker might guess that he was searching for his own release as well. And each time he feels Emet-Selch grinding into his lap, squeezing around the tip of his cock and pressing into it to take the edge off, Mettaton can't help but moan against his cheek while Emet-Selch speaks his plea.
A reward: imitating the exact rolls of Emet-Selch's hips, the way he fought for movement just so that he could press even harder against the robot, Mettaton tries to knead Emet-Selch down hard into the bed, rubbing firmly into his lover's body, curving with each thrust. A low, guttural groan escapes his throat and he grips down on Emet-Selch, sinking deep between his legs.]
Hades... Ah... [He kisses him sloppily, as sloppy as he can without saliva.] Come for me, my dearest! Let me feel you come undone...!
[And let him feel him tense and squeeze, sensations he's spurred toward such great anticipation of that Mettaton wasn't sure he'd be able to simply... not sport another erection after this. The way the memory pools low and hard and sudden would dizzy him if he had blood to sink into his cock, and the overall warmth that hugs his cock, the limbs that wrap around him with maddened need... Mettaton groans against skin, similarly too sloppy to manage any coordinated kisses.
He feels still the heat of his ejaculate, and that groan veers low, possessive, tension alight in his body as he all but pounds Emet-Selch into the mattress. Since drawing out and pushing in wasn't viable, though, the robot kneads himself in place, strokes becoming that bit more robust given the seed he can use to glide along with. But ultimately he presses deeper, stuffing himself so fully that he can feel the weight of his balls squeezed against Emet-Selch's body—a much-desired outcome, to be completely impaled. Mettaton couldn't deny the lust it filled him with to claim Emet-Selch, and to feel him leak liberally against his front, as though milked by the thick cock he has to squeeze around.]
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His name, moaned like that... is enough to guarantee a proper filling, he thinks in all ways other than words. Mettaton groans right back, pressing Emet-Selch down with his upper body while still keeping his hips free, permitting him the continued arching into his thrusts. All combined with the sensation of pressing him down into the mattress, which gives Mettaton a rush to feel in combination with that sound that slips past his lips. Emet-Selch's fingertips dig into MTT's back, pressing into metal and demanding he stay. The potential for blame, if he didn't enjoy himself- that only pulls from him a lower groan, a firmer thrust.]
You... won't have a thing to worry about blaming me for, then... Hades.
[As usual: robots can't be breathless. Yet Mettaton sounds that way, unable to grasp for his voice; when he does, it's an airy rendition of it. It's shaping up to be an engagement far, far more productive than clinical, as even when Emet-Selch tenses in pain, Mettaton knows for fact that the rest of him enjoys every bit of this. Psychologically, he knew that pleasure could do wonders.
Thicker and stiffer he gets with each push, as it wasn't very comfortable to him, either. Come wasn't the best of lubricants... and it wasn't as though it was dry even now, but it wasn't slippery enough. Slipping Emet-Selch over his shaft's made into an easier affair with the Ascian participating, and Mettaton grips onto Emet-Selch's shoulders, using him as leverage to press deeper. And indeed, Emet-Selch slips further down his girth, their cravings for each other making it that bit easier to perform.]
Would you... let those fingers of yours wander to the sides of my chest? [A curiosity: Mettaton kisses the corner of Emet-Selch's lips, feeling a strange intensity coursing through him at any accidental touch of his tattoo. But he smiles, kissing him firmer, longer.] You have such an attractive grip, when you're losing yourself to me... Mmm.
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So he embraces every bit of it now, as Mettaton coaxed their bodies together, and Emet-Selch did what he could to meet and receive him. He could guess that this wasn't the most delightful of sensations either for the robot, and that they wouldn't make a habit of fucking like this once they obtained an actual source of lubrication... but he found himself relieved that his husband could visibly (and audibly) become reasonably aroused by it still.
And that could dizzy him (along with his more genuine breathlessness, as he either forgets to take in air, or loses the chance through kisses, or expends it on sounds of his own). Altogether it... helped, and if he wasn't enjoying himself by now, it was near enough to make little difference.
Even if it wasn't the same kind of enjoyment as he'd been having before, when he'd been painfully erect, and lost to a different sort of desperate madness. But the more he sank into this (and the more Mettaton sank into him, however uncomfortably), the more pleasure there was. The more arousal there was, as it wasn't as though his body had been made exhausted of its potential for it.
But he wasn't really thinking of that, beyond an understanding that he... liked this, with less reluctance in each moment. Even if his body couldn't give in as readily to being entered like this, it mattered less even as it hurt more. Nearly every twinge of pain was followed by a firmer, decided roll of his hips upward, in defiance of his own limitations. And where his gasps weren't wholly free of signs of hurt, they demonstrated even more pleasure than that, warmth increasing each time Mettaton groaned with him, and with each bit more of his girth he felt pressed deep.
Mettaton's request draws a smaller sound from him- assent, probably. Though he'd mostly forgotten about their dragon bites in the wake of all else they'd been through and were doing, he doesn't question what his lover was asking for. His back felt the most natural to grasp onto, but there were other places he could reach, and none that he was opposed to touching. So his hands slip to his sides and drag upwards, the tips of his fingers firm against metal- but nowhere near as firm as what he was stroking.
Where Mettaton didn't need breath to speak, and didn't have to be hindered either by the act of kissing unless he wished to be, Emet-Selch had to operate under both of those constraints. Especially when he'd rather snap Mettaton's lips up in another kiss, forever caught up in answering, leaning for each one the taller man gives him. The scrape of his fingers tries to pull him closer somehow.]
If- you want that, then keep- what you're doing....
[It's mumbled with middling coherence, but it's all Mettaton's going to get, so long as Emet-Selch had his lips to claim.]
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The nature of insertion, however, is enough to rile him up... And with his husband, increasingly pliant and goading him on, Mettaton was bound to get into it.)
It wasn't bad. It was easier than when they were in the house of mirrors, especially the more erect he got; trying to use spit at that time was... something. This was a material slicker, and there was plenty of it, thanks especially to Mettaton's abnormally productive releases. As he found himself stiffer, he could only become moreso with the eagerness of their bodies and the sensation of filling Emet-Selch out, and of the deliberate welcoming the Ascian willed out of his body for MTT's insertion. That he liked this was mirrored: Mettaton liked it, too, and he went from reluctance to eagerness readily.
He knew it was hurting Emet-Selch. But where his gasps weren't free from pain, neither did they seem separate from pleasure.
Neither of them consciously thought about their dragon bites, but each time he incidentally found his arm brushing over his side, Mettaton couldn't help but feel something sharp—but not unpleasant, which fueled this request. Even though he adored the feeling of fingers raking and pressing direly into his back, he was compelled to ask for this—and his request fulfilled jars him, causing him to gasp for sound, for thought.]
Ah...! Ohhh...!
[This close to its partnering tattoo, it was as good as an erogenous zone. A touch intimate, the circular markings linked the two lovers and did much to enhance the pleasure between them. Mettaton squirms under the rake of fingers that urge him close, a firm, harsh thrust of his hips the answer to his own hardening ache.
And though he hears Emet-Selch and comprehends him, it felt as though he spoke directly into his mind, hearing occupied with the sound of his own moaning as he curls hard around Emet-Selch, stuffing him deep. His thrusts aren't the sort that draw back and push in as they might enjoy, more cyclical and deliberate, small lengths of himself pulled then pushed to (as gradually as he can) ease Emet-Selch around him. But his thrusts, spirited as they are, plunge that bit deeper, that bit more uncontrollably, as he answers Emet-Selch's answer with a kiss more hot than damp.
But damp all the same, with how involved Emet-Selch's made to be. And Mettaton takes advantage of that, kissing him hard, interrupting his speech with a low, heady groan. Shifting his hands away from Emet-Selch's shoulders, Mettaton decides to grip him by the hips—not because of the marking there, but because he wanted to impress upon the smaller man that he had him well in hand, and would fill him. Nearly a growl, possessive and low, slips between their lips in the midst of a kiss as Mettaton wraps his fingers around Emet-Selch's hips, drawing the Ascian close and holding him steady for his gradual penetration.]
Oh, I'll... I'll keep doing you, is what I'm doing.
[Obvious. But he's impassioned, voice low and husky. The monster shifts his knees closer, forcing Emet-Selch into an even tighter curl as he rocks his hips—as he forces him into riding down his shaft, practically down to the root.]
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This wasn't as difficult as that; as copious as Mettaton's drool had been then (mixed with the mage's blood), his semen was even moreso (mixed with the mage's semen). And this time, Emet-Selch had prepared himself somewhat (rather than telling the robot to have at it, and... having him do just that).
This hurt; this was horniness and other neediness prevailing over sense. He would be sore afterward. But it was also increasingly good.
And what unintentionally helped too, was the reaction he got while dragging his hands down the robot's sides. The way his partner nearly jolted, moved as though it were his cock being electrified, causes his own body to twitch, to jerk up into his length. It was something sensitive- and in the heat of the moment, he couldn't distinguish between what Mettaton was feeling, and what he was feeling too, or whether he was just that taken by his lover's reaction to being scratched that way.
Whatever the cause, it was good, it got him harder, as his body responded to all this stimulus in the most natural way it knew: by filling out his cock.
A prime factor in that hardening, though, was the way Mettaton filled him out, in reliable pushes that gave him as much chance as he could to adapt. (Far more than he would've given himself, and where he still would have chosen that outcome if he thought about it- he's not thinking of it now, given in to what they had like this. The familiarity and comfort of being laid down, Mettaton wrapped around him as much as he could, securing him against his hips.) And even if the deeper he went, the more he stretched him, and the more it hurt- the more it inevitably aroused him too. Both in the consciousness of what they were doing, the erotic truth of Mettaton fitting him with his cock, but the way it rubbed him wasn't entirely about the rawness.
Crying out against his lips, it's made breathless and partially swallowed by the way their lips continued to meet. Ardor and kisses that he struggles to meet, though it's effort clumsier, damper now, as he nearly pants against him. A warm shiver courses through him to hear Mettaton growling, his body instinctively excited by the sound, and by the way the taller man mounted him with it.]
Keep- keep going, Mettaton--
[It's less demand and more of a plea, whispered in a tight voice near his lips, which he continues trying to kiss- even as his own keep parting to vocalize less coherently than that, with soft groans and cries. Gasps from sharper twinges of pain, as his body took more and more of a hard, thick cock- but sounds that trailed off into shaky, outright moans. It was entirely removed from how clinical it had been to start, and far more than he thought was achievable, from the way his legs lock around him, to how he scrapes his hands down the robot's sides, tensely groping and holding on. If not the most desperate he'd ever been, he was committed- and openly affected.]
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Gripping down on Emet-Selch's hips, he draws the smaller man close enough to his hips that any space he had left to cover of his erection was readily patched. His length is pressed deep, right down to the root. The sound of Emet-Selch's voice urged him there, a need to... soothe, perhaps, that tightness of voice by filling out the tightness of body. He would not only keep going, but make good on settling Emet-Selch down on his root—effectively and totally penetrating him.]
Ah... For you...
[For him, he'd not only fit him in this blissful, if intense in many directions, union. He'd also keep going. Gripping firmly his hips, Mettaton would be sinking claws into skin if he had them as his grasp steels, holding Emet-Selch steady to be worked down with that thick cock he finally fit.
They were both committed to this end, and Mettaton's voice is a rumble of a groan as he mounts him tight, continuing to swing his hips, pressing him back against the mattress. Short, full kneading, rolling his tip deep inside of Emet-Selch, the sensation of erotic pleasure after months with out quickly blinds him, as Mettaton's groans soon join with Emet-Selch's moans. Just as he promised, he can't stop himself: he's really getting into it, even as he sympathizes with the hurt Emet-Selch's enduring, and even as he feels some of that drag for himself. It felt too good, and he felt too spirited to let it get him down anymore.
With the two of them busy giving voice to their vocalizations, kisses are even sloppier and less coordinated than before. Mettaton gives the Ascian a firm thrust to emphasize how he's buried down to the root, before moaning at the contact, at the acknowledgement that they were finally joined.
Soft and low, his voice wouldn't be audible to anyone beyond Emet-Selch.]
This... is more than I could have wished for, Hades...
[Even the circumstance, because Emet-Selch is alive and real and not an idealized version of a man he's married to. He is responsive and reactive, and even if they came to blows, even if their mood had soured, Mettaton adored the place they found themselves in now because of their journey. And the wish Emet-Selch had made... Mettaton felt grateful for it, even though he knew they would've both wished for it together.
But he wanted Emet-Selch to experience the joy he got out of this vivid sensation. Of being gripped, touched, and then given a spot for him to slip his cock, warm and tight; Mettaton shudders tightly, a squeak of a moan escaping his throat as he's crushed by the overwhelming and sudden realization that he was feeling, vivid and arousing. From pain to pleasure to the simple contact of their bodies, the man beneath him warm and soft and giving... His body shudders, as he both collapses and curls around Emet-Selch.]
You've made a mess of me, god...
[And with this amount of sensitivity, the heavy weight of arousal between this thighs... release would not be difficult to find from here. But he gives Emet-Selch a softer kiss, brief against the corner of his lips out of appreciation.]
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So his body can't help but writhe, bucking up into Mettaton cock even as he was finally buried all the way down to the root. Grinding himself onto the robot's lap, his thighs on either side of him tremble, while more invisibly muscle tenses around him. Lips parted, he's out of breath enough for any sound he makes to be choked into nothing, but he's still provoked into making them. The satisfaction he had, in knowing he held the whole of his husband's cock, could sit flush to his lap even if it hurt himself to do- he had no words for it, nothing beyond a rush of gratitude, relief, and adoration.
And what went perfectly with it was the softness he felt in response to his lover's words, an understanding that he'd given him something equally treasured. A pleasure reflected bodily, yes, but the emotional impact that went with it, this sharing of experiences. Of sensations, of moods both good and poor- of this time spent reaching for each other's company, and taking their bodies along the way.
He nuzzles, whispers his name, makes effort after effort to kiss him even when most of them are lost to sounds or breaths. From digging in, one of his hands manages to stroke more gently down Mettaton's side, affection writ plain in each touch. He loved him; he reveled in every moan Mettaton graced him with, and that the way he moved spoke of a man who really had gotten into this. That they could enjoy this together after all was more than he thought possible....
He tries for a hum when Mettaton speaks of being a mess, but it turns into something closer to a groan.]
You're not- not enough of one- not yet....
[He whispers it near his lips, in a voice as tight as his body felt. But not with agony or displeasure, even though he could tell that this all hurt, and would continue to hurt him. That Mettaton was surely bruising him with his fingers is barely noticed, beyond the pleasurable ache it gave him, the mage already squirming into every push of their bodies, as though he could drive him any deeper.
Nothing but Mettaton's release would do, and he was sure now that the robot would be able to reach it, was interested enough to manage it. Not that Emet-Selch thought that it would be very much of a mess at all, given that it would be neatly contained and delivered deep inside him. A sensation he'd gone without since he'd arrived here, and one that he realized he missed nearly as much as this. A flood of heat even hotter than his erection; swallowing him once had merely left him aching for more of it, however he could get it.]
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And united they were, Mettaton acknowledges with a shudder of delight. With Emet-Selch panting and squirming, slamming himself down forcefully against the robot's lap, how could he do anything but cry out in ecstasy? He looks down at him with his eye wide, mesmerized by the sight of Emet-Selch caught in his thrall. Had he another arm he's sure he'd stroke his face, cup his cheek, draw digits along the softness of his skin... but instead, his fingers dig into his hips, gripping onto his mate as he drags himself firmly along his body in short, deep, and full strokes.
It wasn't the slickest combination they've ever had... but the pure delight of being together at all couldn't be overlooked, a precious thing they'd wanted for months on end. His lips part, but instead of any response (he'd only registered his voice as static, to start), Mettaton moans again, arching his back and giving himself over to grinding into Emet-Selch.
No... he wouldn't be much of a mess. And that notion itself brings him to growl, curling around the mage again as he mashes their lips together.]
Then m... make me, make me one, Hades...
[His voice itself is a groan, nearly veering into a whine as his cock fills, a pressure swimming low, hard and deep in his body without reprieve. With no pulse, and seemingly no fluid, it felt so strangely impossible to feel so needing of release... And if his new anatomy didn't factor in veins or 'blood' or anything needed to fuel an erection or even an orgasm, there must be something magical at play. He wished he could communicate in words how he felt, with his thighs burning, hyper-aware of his own cock and the heat he occupied—but what better way to tell Emet-Selch than to show him, to leave him achingly hot and full of his release?
He'd already wanted that outcome. But with it front and center in his mind, the robotic monster groans, drawing Emet-Selch up by the hips to better penetrate him, as if he needed that.]
Stay... Give me you- Ahh, Hades, I'm going to, f-first... You let me first...!!
[Emet-Selch hasn't made any indication that he was about to come, but even still, Mettaton makes the rules. He comes first, no matter what, and he makes that clear with a tighter grip on his hips, a gasp and jerk at the sensation of being handled, his body fondled, his cock squeezed around. Inundated helplessly by sensation as he is, who was the one really in control here when MTT could barely think straight with it all?]
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And Mettaton would be made more of a (literal) mess if he had anything to say about it, though it would be from the Ascian's come instead. He'd already finished once between them, and though that had been somewhat obscured by the robot's more copious and glittery load, it was assuredly there. And he more assuredly was willing to add to it, to leave his own mark on his mate's body in this base way.
But not yet, no matter the thrill that ran through him at the thought. There wasn't any chance of Emet-Selch defying him, even if he'd wanted to; though he felt surprisingly full, a throb that matched the soreness of his body as he was rubbed deep, he wasn't at the point where bursting felt immanent. Part of him remained mostly surprised that he'd gotten hard at all, given their starting point. Not impossible, of course, though his faith in those areas wasn't as complete; his own trust had more to do with being relentlessly stubborn, rather than anything necessarily pleasurable or pleasant.
But here they were, fucking as though their lives depended on it, every grind of their bodies together a reason to gasp, to tighten up. To writhe harder to meet it, as though he could squeeze and drag Mettaton's release from him, coax it out through the tightness and plea of his body. An appeal for him to let go, to give him that slickness they lacked (even if it would be too late to spare him the discomfort).]
Then- then come or I'll- I'll surpass you--
[He wouldn't, not now; he couldn't, more relevantly, unless Mettaton managed to hold out for much longer than this. The desperation he felt was one he recognized as a yearning for his lover's own release, to witness and feel him at that peak once more. He'd done it already in his mouth and his hand, but each time left him wanting to take him from additional angles. Other ways and means, as what did seeing Mettaton climax do for him but leave him wanting to see more?
And it would arouse him endlessly to witness, to feel him let go, when he'd gone without for months. And when he's tugged harder yet to Mettaton's hips, kissed no less fiercely even as their bodies continued to be slammed together, insistence and determination making up for any physical lack of readiness, he clenches tight around him, pants against the other man's lips. It was damp enough now, their kiss, and hot enough that the only thing that could beat it was where their bodies were properly joined. Even so, he pleads for more, to be scalded properly inside a body already raw, the cries he makes against him wordless but wanting.]
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[Could they each blame themselves for going at each other with wild abandon despite their recently-downward spiral? After all, they'd been deprived for months. There was no amount of disagreement that would keep them from going at each other, in the end, and this was proof of that. Just as there was no situational decorum that would truly prevent them from finding some way to sate their lust for each other, either... They've proven that, too.
As soon as he demands that Emet-Selch wait his turn, he knew that no matter how he threatened him, he would obey. To say he'd surpass him was a lie, but it still provokes a more prominent growl out of the monster, kissing him with vicious affection as he humps Emet-Selch into the mattress. Emet-Selch squeezes him between his legs, but similarly clenches around his cock, and that growl evolves into a low, husky moan as he trembles, thrusting short and deep into his bonded lover.
If Emet-Selch wanted more of his heat, he couldn't even begin to warn him for it. Which was good, then, that he commanded it of him; Mettaton's lips part, but he only moans, unable to speak.
Heat pools hard enough to dizzy him right before he finds it searing him pleasantly, spilling from his body enough to dig fingertips into skin. Shuddering, gasping, MTT remains close to Emet-Selch's lips while he stutters a cry, thrusting deep to leave his mate full of his release. An inexorable release that he knew Emet-Selch would have no choice but to receive, and he realizes sickly he'd have it no other way right now than for him to lay back and take his cock and all the heat he had to give. (Maybe he did want the control; later, though, he'd understand that this wasn't the way to have gotten it, nor did he not want to have Emet-Selch sitting on him, fucking himself on his lap, which was undeniably, terribly, and overwhelmingly attractive. Worthy of a wet dream...)
Full, thick, his release spurts hot from the very tip of him, deposited cleanly in his husband and out of sight. Mettaton grinds himself against Emet-Selch, the root of him the only bit of his cock even visible at all. If Emet-Selch wanted to be scalded, this would do it, this would outdo all other heat between them, a plentiful load that would rival an organic being's output. As though pent up for months—as he has been.
Slamming into Emet-Selch isn't quite as vigorous as it's been in their past, where he'd draw his length in broad strokes, but it's no less feverish for what it is. It's deep and short, barely withdrawing now that he was lodged inside, as he leaves Emet-Selch slick and fuller for it. Curling into his husband, the robot grips onto him for dear life right back, even as his climax eventually fades.
The pleasure of having done it, however, doesn't, and Mettaton's grip remains strong, his thrusts ardent and adoring. His pants sound like syllables of Emet-Selch's name, a mishmash of sound all intended to be for him in the end. And all the while, he smiles against his lips, dizzied and stunned by their sex.]
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It wasn't the same sort of maddened thrusting that he might have usually felt on Mettaton's part. But then, there wasn't much glide to speak of, and while his body might somewhat adapt to his lover's size, neither of them could do anything about the lack of lubrication. So a series of kneading pushes like this, where the robot barely removed himself from his body at all- that might have been kindest in the end, rather than rubbing him rawer yet.
It felt like the right choice regardless, as his body irregularly tenses around Mettaton's girth, due to twinges of pain and pleasure both. He hadn't been filled in months, Mettaton hadn't been able to fill him in months; was it a surprise that they couldn't bear to go without that sensation for even a moment, now that they'd regained it? Not that Emet-Selch is thinking about it like that, only moaning wordlessly as he takes him, as he's pushed and worked inescapably into the mattress.
No warning was required, when he feels Mettaton's climax begin, when the note of his cries change, when even the beat of his thrusts seemed to express what was happening, a form of tension that existed without muscle, somehow. Most of all, Emet-Selch was privy to his lover's heat, as the first dribble of it turned into a torrent. Hot enough that it felt like it might scald him after all, as each spurt is shot deep, inside a body that had no hope of matching him for temperatures.
(It truly was inescapable. Not dwelling on it in any detail, he's aware of it mostly as a familiar, much-loved part of their sex. Giving control over to Mettaton, being helpless but to rapturously receive him, to be taken and used as his lover decided- he did love that. Even if this hadn't been the best way to get there, not at all. (But was it really control, if Emet-Selch only acquiesced and adapted without resentment if it was something that he wanted anyway? Usually their hearts aligned and there was no issue- but on this occasion their wills had clashed in a more unpleasant way. (Rather than an exciting way, where Emet-Selch struggled for the pleasure of being overcome.)))
He squirms hard in place, writhing as he struggles to meet him still, as even if it wasn't entirely comfortable to take something that hot, he adored it too much to not wish to wring every bit of it from him. An output that felt like it could outdo any organic creature when it came to amount as well... which remained a satisfying aspect of their union, and satisfying again that his wish had restored that part of his husband's natural virility. (As natural as a robot shooting thick glittery semen could be. It was Mettaton's natural.)
Mettaton had no breath to lose, no lungs to do their best to keep up with his activity, but Emet-Selch could hear him panting nonetheless. A result of affect that always moved him, that felt as real as anything- as he trusted his husband wouldn't pretend in something like this, that sentiment and sensation could cause a robot to be overwhelmed too. And Emet-Selch loved him for it, was grateful to him for it, for going through with their sex after all, and leaving him with all of this. His body trembling and scalded but full, holding the whole of Mettaton's length and a load of his seed, possessing one another down to the root.
Kissing and nuzzling back, he's more 'genuinely' breathless, and has little more success in whispering his lover's name. Stroking with tense fingers at his side with one hand, the other had found its way to the robot's back once more, to grip tight across metal there. Even as Mettaton's climax seemed to slow, his own tension remained, his own pleasure remained, an affection that could burn him just as effectively as robotic seed.]
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Softer feelings to accompany such a base combining, as Mettaton barely removes himself from Emet-Selch's body while stirring himself deep. And with every spurt of seed Emet-Selch was that bit slicker... too late, of course, given that he'd already be raw.
But in the moment he had much to give, and Emet-Selch was evidently overeager to take. He squeezes 'round his erection in a way that felt as though demanding, and the idol grins madly to give all he had, collapsing close to the soft body beneath him. It's no small wonder that Emet-Selch sounds considerably breathless as he attempts to capture his lips in a kiss. By considerably breathless, Mettaton knew it was because he really did need the breath, while he did not... but it was all the same to him, these signs of affect.
Emet-Selch's hand departs from his sensitive side, but he feels next the warmth of his arm wrapped around his torso instead. With a short tremble he curls, collapses, comes apart as he slackens in his lover's arms, a low, shaky groan the sound that accompanies his final good thrust, whatever heat he presently had to give squeezed from his cock. Against Emet-Selch's lips, Mettaton's part, and he nuzzles him sweetly.]
H... Hades...
[His name needs to be said, an answer to the times Emet-Selch uttered his name between moans. He squirms his way between thighs, and stuffs himself down to the root, not wanting to surrender his spot just because he'd finished his orgasm.]
Ohhh, you d... you do me in...
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As he was still erect himself, after all, and he could imagine no better way at the moment, than to find relief with the other man still inside him.
But he's not at the point of needing to beg for that either, for permission or assistance- nor is he thinking much about it. It was a warm ache, a quick throb that he knew was arousal and very physical wanting, but it was easy enough to not concentrate on, when he had all of Mettaton's own responses to climax to witness and take. Clutching, kneading at his body as the robot collapses in his arms, his hold adjusts again to wrap around him as much as he could.
To trap him there; to keep him from escaping. Even if Mettaton could, if he chose to, robotic strength more potent than anything that Emet-Selch possessed, the mage latches tight. It was an attempt at restriction he wouldn't think to ease; it was a request in its unconscious way, to not be left. There were a number of reasons why he might be moved to cling so tightly to him, but the want to keep him at his side might be greatest of all.
Shivering, he groans into Mettaton's nuzzles, answering them with no less ardor, especially at the sound of his name, the effort it must have taken to say it as clearly as that. And to express further the pleasure he must have just experienced. It was a rush in its own right, to feel his lover undone in this way, and sharply appealing.
Appealing too, was the way he kept himself lodged tight, pushed close so that they were as flush as could be, Mettaton stuffed completely into a body that welcomed him (if not without some quarreling, some rawness). Even if he weren't hard, it would've appealed terribly, and Emet-Selch kisses him as firmly as he could, with swollen, damp lips.]
You gave so much... I can feel it.
[And it eased more in him than he thought it would, to have that reassurance, that very tangible sensation.]
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And warmth that reaches his heart as Emet-Selch wraps himself around his body. He was being caught, and Mettaton not only didn't mind, but encouraged it. He smiles, an airy giggle as he blissfully pushes into his grasp, encouraging this entrapment of his body. He wouldn't be using his robotic strength this time, when he wanted to badly to let Emet-Selch claim him as his prize. His lips part around the mage's moan, wishing to swallow up his voice as he trembles, succumbing to his embrace as wholly as he could—even crushing him into the mattress in the process.]
I can't help myself. You provoke a lot out of me.
[His voice is pitched soft, a gentle utterance against lips that needed to be kissed. And he does, closing that bit of distance to lock lips, an interruption of Emet-Selch's capacity for breath—all replaced with a low, nearly predatory hum. That he'd still be hungry for him even after his recent orgasm should be expected, he thought. He is easily provoked by him, after all.
The most he does, though, is stuff himself deep inside of Emet-Selch and wriggle his hips, showing off the depth and heat he's achieved. His release left behind, his manner is proud while he tugs the smaller man against his crotch once more before moving his hands, fingers dragging up his sides on their way to his shoulders. With a sigh, Mettaton cuddles Emet-Selch firmly.]
Do you like this? All of... this, that you've given me.
[From the fullness of his cock, the rigidness of it, the size, the load he could provide—and everything else, from the supple silicone that made up his hips, to his newfound ability to feel temperature. Mettaton himself? Obviously spellbound, impressed and in love with it all as he shudders close to Emet-Selch's body.]
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That there was the consequence of being secured himself, kept so snug against the mattress that he was compressed into it, that was a pleasure too. There usually was, in being restricted, restrained, unable to move from his taller mate's grasp. Though he disliked the way he'd gotten here, Emet-Selch was entirely taken by his place underneath the other man now, and would be resentful instead to lose it.
Not that he thought there was any chance of him losing much of anything, when everything about his husband's behavior (and their extensive history together), spoke of a maintained interest, no matter his recent climax. Which could have set his heart speeding if it weren't already quick, his body already alight with its own interest. He shivered nonetheless, not fighting the way his lips, his breath were each captured by the monster- and his attention with it, his focus centered utterly on Mettaton.
And his body remained understandably responsive to him, reactive to that press of hips, the breathless noise he makes one of simple wanting. A twitch of his body upward is its own request, and a showing that he would take everything Mettaton had to give, no matter how thick he was. But gods, that depth, that heat....
The stiff cock he had nudging up against the other man was one direct way of showing off that Emet-Selch liked this. Not that he needed an erection to do that, or to enjoy himself, but it was a means he had no control over either.]
Can't you tell?
[He echoes his sigh- or tries to, so near his lips, as his body shifts and tries to stretch underneath him. It amounts mostly to squeezing the idol with his limbs (and inevitably around his cock), before relenting. Despite continuing to be pent up, aroused and wanting and unrelieved, some other part of him was relaxed. It was no particular surprise; he had Mettaton's length fully inside of him, had felt him come just like this. Something that had been missing from their lives had been righted (if not without some pain, but that was a minor detail ultimately). Everything... worked, and he had the proof inside him that his lover could know the pleasure that he deserved.
(Taste (and saliva) and smell would still have to be recovered, but though he missed knowing that Mettaton could experience him in those ways, it wasn't as bitter of a miss as his lack of sensation had been.)]
...I love it.
[That Mettaton would know both his warmth and his softness, reflected and given over to him along the whole length of his body, and even inside him- it made him feel that little bit less alone.]
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But he was still basking in the feeling right now, and his body was eager to remain excitable as ever. Emet-Selch's still hard, a truth he knew too vividly... He could only feel it against his body, and Mettaton hums as he attempts to press deeper between Emet-Selch's legs, just to feel that bulge of heat.
... The reality that Mettaton would be just like this, unable to disguise his arousal, was a tantalizing thing. He shuddered right back to consider it, while Emet-Selch stretches against his body- arching his back, and indeed squeezing tight around his cock. Mettaton gasps again, a breath expelled against the smaller man's lips.]
... I'm so glad. So... pleased.
[His voice itself is honey, words nearly slurred together in his relaxed overcome. Even though he was warmly aroused, the sort that accompanied his ejaculation, he felt comfortably possessed and possessive- and proud of the man he called his husband, stubborn and determined and dedicated as he is. The affection he felt for Emet-Selch left him feeling so, so vulnerable... and he loved it, as he takes him into a softer kiss.
A brush of lips, a sweet taste of each other's heat. Their sentiments warm, and bodies warmer, their very hearts embodied by both. Sex between them was no mere physical affair, so much of their selves tangled up in every touch and look... Mettaton curls around Emet-Selch, his kisses lingering and steady- enough to rob him of breath, and enough to give him a chance just to reclaim it and surrender it again.]
I can feel it all. How hot I am inside of you... And oh, H... How soft you are, around me.
[... It didn't help that Mettaton was so often hard more than anything else. Made of metal, sure, but also terribly excitable, enough that his body remained provoked and ready to be fucked, to give his husband the pleasure he sought.]
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(Especially as he knew they'd be lured into sex as a constant thing, and keeping the damage manageable would be a line they'd have to tred carefully. He wasn't satisfied at being fucked like this once- but he was reassured enough by it in the moment to not demand more of it for now. Just holding him this way was something to savor.)
That Mettaton would remain aroused though, would be provoked anyway, Emet-Selch could sigh over it. Affectionate and exasperated both (and attracted not least, his own cock throbbing at the idea of knowing of his lover's interest in him), he moans instead, soft and low, to follow the robot's reply. Of course he'd react to being clenched around, to being held somewhere snug and warm, and so recently made significantly hotter by the addition of semen.
No less important, though, were the emotional appeals made, the willingness to be vulnerable in the ways of wanting and weakness. Not without difficulties... but that was how they'd always been together, and he felt as though he could melt into a kiss as soft as this. As gentle as this, even when they felt as strongly as they did.
Reluctantly, he takes the opportunity for breath he was given; quick moments, that he just as willingly gives back, in favor of more affection to share. And even if Mettaton couldn't taste him (and that hint of come between them had mostly faded, but he didn't think he was imagining it), there was another pleasure in remembering that he could at least feel the heat in their kiss, the warmth of their lips together- and with it, the softness of his own.
Softness that his own body had plenty of, and when it meant he could meld and give way to Mettaton's firmness, it felt the perfect match.]
I said that I would be... accommodating.
[Even if he had to fight to do it... even if it hurt. But for as giving as his body was in most places, he felt especially hard in one way- and with the way Mettaton pushed closer to him (inspiring of a gasp, a squirm into his arms), he knew his lover was aware of it.]
But- won't you help, to see me off a- another time?
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Which he's doing the opposite of, much to Mettaton's overall relief. He sighs, squishing Emet-Selch into the mattress with a firm application of his weight to exhibit Emet-Selch's softness some more—and giving him more of what has Emet-Selch gasping, squirming. Mettaton squirms himself, writhing into Emet-Selch's touch, squeezing the smaller man beneath him.]
Won't I. You know as well as I do... I'm a slave to you, like this.
[Sexually speaking, he really could be enticed into a lot of things. If Emet-Selch claimed that his libido was more wild than his own, Mettaton could only agree to it... He loved every touch of Emet-Selch's—and he knew already what would set him apart from all others. His emotional charge, the intent behind every press of fingers or every mash of their bodies... Mettaton was truly addicted.
Fitting himself deep with a wiggle of his hips, Mettaton sighs against lips, imagining the taste of their come between them with each kiss. He thought he could still remember the way it tasted, the way it provoked him... He knew it would be there to tease him, and even the thought of it has him kissing hungrily, a low sound pressed between their lips.
Of course, in the process of all this movement, Mettaton readily presses against Emet-Selch's upright cock—and adores the rigidity there, enough to groan, to stuff himself down to the root with greater insistence. To make clear his feeling, he sighs against the smaller man's lips, eye half-lidded.]
I couldn't leave you hard like this, and do... nothing. I have to feel you come around me...
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Emet-Selch wouldn't claim that Mettaton had a wilder libido... but he would complain about it, even when it ever incited him to keep up to whatever degree his body was capable of. Which was plenty, at the moment, given that he'd only climaxed once so far. The rawness of his body was an unrelated issue, and so long as he remained aroused it was endurable.
More than that, it was worthwhile because it came with the comfort of being full, of having something ground into him so inescapably to have him gasping. Writhing gets him nowhere but feeling that much more impaled, so he writhes more.]
I can feel it. [He whispers; there was little chance of him doing more than that, between hitches of breath and strokes of lips together.] Your dedication to this... to me.
[And he treasured both of those things in him. And he expected, of course, for Mettaton to remain hard enough past release, whether it was due to the composition of his body or some inherent Mettatonness. Hard enough to keep him feeling stuffed, to be an extra thrill to be wrapped around (even if he enjoyed no less the process of feeling him get as soft as he ever did, before hardening up again while still in his body). Hard enough to work him into his own completion.
Though the mage felt that he was plentily firm himself, swollen enough to impress, and something that he increasingly wanted relief from. There was only so much he could thrust, could push and rub his erection to Mettaton's unforgiving body, but he claims what direct stimulation he could manage. Milky precome leaks from him, renewing a little of the slickness that existed between their bodies, and with each beat of his heart he throbbed.
Breath quick against Mettaton's lips, it grew harder to kiss him when every push, every tense of his own body interrupted him with another sound he couldn't keep from making. It was even harder to collect himself enough to reply in words as he tries to knead himself on his length, a feeling irresistible.]
I need- I need to- you....
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Yet with his upper body he presses; with every thrust, he pushes against him, Emet-Selch's cock gliding slickly against glass. Mettaton exhales shakily against the other man's lips, body so tense that an unknowing onlooker might guess that he was searching for his own release as well. And each time he feels Emet-Selch grinding into his lap, squeezing around the tip of his cock and pressing into it to take the edge off, Mettaton can't help but moan against his cheek while Emet-Selch speaks his plea.
A reward: imitating the exact rolls of Emet-Selch's hips, the way he fought for movement just so that he could press even harder against the robot, Mettaton tries to knead Emet-Selch down hard into the bed, rubbing firmly into his lover's body, curving with each thrust. A low, guttural groan escapes his throat and he grips down on Emet-Selch, sinking deep between his legs.]
Hades... Ah... [He kisses him sloppily, as sloppy as he can without saliva.] Come for me, my dearest! Let me feel you come undone...!
[And let him feel him tense and squeeze, sensations he's spurred toward such great anticipation of that Mettaton wasn't sure he'd be able to simply... not sport another erection after this. The way the memory pools low and hard and sudden would dizzy him if he had blood to sink into his cock, and the overall warmth that hugs his cock, the limbs that wrap around him with maddened need... Mettaton groans against skin, similarly too sloppy to manage any coordinated kisses.
He feels still the heat of his ejaculate, and that groan veers low, possessive, tension alight in his body as he all but pounds Emet-Selch into the mattress. Since drawing out and pushing in wasn't viable, though, the robot kneads himself in place, strokes becoming that bit more robust given the seed he can use to glide along with. But ultimately he presses deeper, stuffing himself so fully that he can feel the weight of his balls squeezed against Emet-Selch's body—a much-desired outcome, to be completely impaled. Mettaton couldn't deny the lust it filled him with to claim Emet-Selch, and to feel him leak liberally against his front, as though milked by the thick cock he has to squeeze around.]