Chapter 2: Carrot & Stick

The evening following the prize draw for the 'Roboyfriend for a Weekend' contest (a massive hit, by the way—those ratings were simply through theroof!) a brief text exchange took place between Mettaton and the winner. It was unexpectedly bold of the mystery man to suggest a specific time to meet that Friday, but perhaps this monster's employer wasn't the type to let him leave work early.

There was simply no need for his tone to be so blunt though!

'Hi. It'll need to be after 6, sorry.'

Hopefully it was just one of those miscommunications so typical of text chatting; Mettaton absolutely despised uptight and prickly people, so he hoped this in no way reflected his date's real attitude. Nobody wanted to see doom and gloom on the stage of life! Regardless of any reservations he kept his reply sweet and cheerful. Surely they were just nervous to be meeting such a huge celebrity-the only true celebrity, in fact-and Mettaton couldn't exactly begrudge that.

'No problem, darling. I look forward to it! Xx'

There was no further reply after that, which was more than fine by him. As much as he certainly appreciated his fans, the robot felt no need to let any of them too close. Feeling utterly untouchable had turned out to be quite the thrill for him after his fame skyrocketed—alongside being an object of desire and envy for the entire monster population—and while others might see it as quite a lonely existence, his public persona was something strangely detached from his real self. That part of him loved being set apart from (and more importantly above) everyone else.

Either way, he fully intended on living up to the persona during their date. It was all a publicity stunt, after all.

During the average citizen's sleeping hours was one of the few times Mettaton was truly able to be alone, free of cameras and clamouring fans, during which he spent most of his time in the small but classy mansion he called home. It was located not far from the MTT Resort, and from the front balcony he could easily see the luminous signs and flashing lights of the hotel and its surrounding shops and buildings; MTT Studios could also be seen a little further beyond, and that was the hub of the recent influx of quality entertainment into everyday Underground life.

All thanks to him, of course!

And with it's expanding urban centre Hotland was starting to look just like Hollywood—or any other human city, for that matter. At this rate, integrating with them should be a breeze!

Self-congratulatory monologuing aside, Mettaton had no urgent errands and little need to let this body enter sleep mode (a suitable power outlet in every room of the house was the greatest idea ever); so the robotic star settled down in his pinkest, fluffiest robe, with the eternal heap of fan mail on the writing desk playing his companion for that night's performance. Signing with hearts and kisses everywhere after shining words of encouragement, and with lots of exclamation points for good measure, Mettaton's replies easily kept him busy until dawn.

Let it never be said that he didn't truly care, deep down.

The next morning found his schedule relatively free, for a change—besides a signing he had penned in more towards noon, but that was only two hours out of the whole day—and, since he was already up... Why not pay his least favourite employee a friendly visit?

Burgerpants could be seen slouching over the counter through the building's glass facade when the owner of MTT Burger arrived, staring mindlessly up at the television as always. Normally that would be the aforementioned owner's cue to burst into the scene and ruin the cat's day... but for some reason Mettaton couldn't put his finger on, a more underhanded approach sounded more appealing. So he entered through the back entrance, which lay some ways down one of the many alleyways branching off the resort plaza, and he was pleased to find it was early enough that the streets were fairly empty—thus screaming fan-free.

Mettaton strolled down the corridor and past the door that led to the kitchen—and by extension, the fast food restaurant itself—but when he passed the cloakroom-turned-staff room he halted as his sensory receptors picked up on a... rather pungent smell.

That little worm! He'd been smoking that awful grass on his property... again!

The robot opened the door and stepped into the tiny closet of a room, which was certainly too small for him to ever sit comfortably with legs so long—not that he would ever want to, but he supposed it was at least suitable for Burgerpants, who was rather adept at being varying degrees ofsquat.

Sure enough, when Mettaton rummaged through his employee's jacket he found the half-smoked blunt that had obviously been stubbed out in there, probably minutes before his shift started; there was a smudgy, black smear of ash on the wall that was firm evidence of the crime. His lips screwed in distaste for the habit, and he dropped the butt before grinding it into the floor with his boot. It was in the next moment, as he'd turned towards the noticeboard, that he spotted the sticky note he'd left there the other day—more importantly, the way it covered his visage on the poster, and was now scrawled all over with decidedly uglier writing than his own.

A smirk crept over his lips when he read the response, including those that hadn't been very effectively scribbled out.

How very bold, he thought to himself as he turned and left.

'Burgerpants, darling~' purred Mettaton down the mic, watching with relish the small screens in his office as his employee nearly jumped out of his fur from several angles all at once. Okay, maybe he'd set the PA speaker volume just a little too high...

No. Never too high.

Burgerpants looked fearfully at the nearest camera lens, and Mettaton's neon pink irises flicked to the corresponding screen in turn. Mustering his most intimidating yet seductive tone, the robot continued:

'I want you here in my office... right now.'

The LED sign above the door outside switched suddenly to 'be back soon' as the shutters lowered ominously, cutting off any chance for protest and sealing the fry cook's fate.

He could practically see the Adam's apple bobbing in Burgerpants' futile attempts to swallow back his fear and panic, and it took him a few moments just to get moving. Soon enough though, that unmistakeable shuffle made its way from the screen connecting to the kitchen's camera over to the corridor's; then, after a predictable period of inactivity—which Mettaton knew would be down to stressed fidgeting and muttering reassurances to himself under his breath, having rehearsed this scene so many times now—came an uncertain knock.

"Come in!~" said the robot with his usual, sinister level of cheeriness, and when the door reluctantly cracked open it was with far too narrow a gap for Burgerpants to slither through... yet still he tried, and ended up half-in, half-out of the room.

As if that would protect him.

With one hand he gestured over to a chair in front of him—which incidentally had one heeled boot resting on the back thereof while the robot sat casually on his desk. Burgerpants looked at the chair as though it was rigged to explode, then back up at his boss, but only a few seconds of enduring the glower made him rethink his hesitation with an unintelligible stream of 'oh... right... yeah... ok then'.

The usual fussing.

Closing the door behind him—he'd learned to do that much, at least—the cat-like monster waited pointlessly in case Mettaton deigned to move his boot before muttering another subdued 'oh... okay' and sitting rigidly down.

It was clear how uncomfortably aware Burgerpants was that, if only he were to look up, he'd have an impossibly perfect view of the robot's mile-long legs—made all the more irresistible to the eye by the patent pink boots that hugged every curve to around halfway up his plush thighs—but he was trying his damnedest to keep his eyes trained on his own lap.

"I know you want to look, Burgerpants," he sneered, leaning back to further show off his body and hooking his leg around the back of the chair in order to drag it just that little bit closer. Crumbling as soon as he was permitted, the cat's hazel eyes flitted hungrily over his every tantalisingly displayed feature before settling with stunned disbelief between his thighs. Granted, Mettaton pulled his employee closer knowing fine well the eyeful he would get. Those latex pants, which were basically a second skin they were so tight, really did outline everything.

"Oh dear~" he said lowly, breathily despite having none, his one visible eye's iris softening to a dusky pink as it focused pointedly on the slight stirring in Burgerpants' jeans. "You'd best not spill anywhere you shouldn't, my dear..."

"F-fuck!" Groaned the other in abject humiliation, and tugged the hem of his shirt down. Mettaton giggled faux-coyly at the sheer futility of it.

"Do you like what you see, Burgerpants?" The trembling and gawking answered his question perfectly before he'd even asked—not that he was intending on getting any sort of verbal response anyway. "Of course you do. That's why I called you here in the first place."

Burgerpants' expression twisted in slight confusion.

"Wait... what d'you-Agh! F-FUCK!!" He spluttered as Mettaton suddenly lifted his leg then brought his platform soled boot down on the visible bulge—pressing firmly, but not enough to cause any real damage (probably). "Sh-shit..!"

"The poster, you insect! Your clever little message?"

Burgerpants only gripped the seat of the chair with an expression torn between pain, fear, and arousal, his claws audibly scraping at the wood in desperation. Mettaton's foot pushed down a little harder, earning a panicked gurgle of a yelp.

"W-wHOA, boss! Please, c-calm down!" Amber eyes implored pathetically, but Mettaton didn't let up, and glared down at him with the same wicked little smile he always wore when he tormented his employee thus. And on this particular occasion the smile was accented with a twinkle of the eyes that said 'this isn't some scary-realistic BDSM wet dream, bitch. This is real.'

"Maaaaaybe I will-" he replied in a sweet, sing-song voice. "-IF you tell me just how much you want me~."

"Ugh, oh... fuck. Please, boss, don't do thi-" A twisting motion of the foot, as though Burgerpants' dick was the joint he'd crushed into the floor earlier like the worthless trash it was, made the fry cook wisely reconsider with an agonised wince. "-Nggh! Oh god oh god fuck fuck fuck...ALRIGHT already! I-" He swallowed thickly. "-I want you. So fucking bad, okay? I wanna touch you all over and... and bury my dick right inside you and fuck you totally senseless... I want it so much it-AGH!-drives me crazy! Is that good enough? Huh?"

Donning an expression of pure triumph, Mettaton's lips parted, bearing the shadow of a thoroughly evil grin. Finally he removed his boot from Burgerpants' crotch, eliciting a relieved but shuddering gasp from the poor thing, then stood up.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" the robot purred softly and moved closer until his powerful legs were astride the hapless monster in a wide stance. If only he could see the filthy little beast's horrified expression at having the object of his wildest fantasies dangling right in front of him, so close yetso very unattainable…

With a firm grasp on the scruff of his employee's neck, Mettaton pulled his face closer, until he could feel the press of muzzle through the thin fabric which was the only thing stopping him from being pretty much eaten out.

Mettaton knew fine well—and always had known, from the moment they met—how much Burgerpants coveted him. Both the original and the latest model. The proof was in his mouth opening with the softest of pleasured groans, the way his muscles noticeably melted like butter under his touch. Of course the sensation of warm, shaking breath (and the tip of a tongue that had no room to wander) against his own junk was titillating for Mettaton too, but only in a certain sense. The difference was that he had the control... which, after seeing that brazen note prior to this, he felt necessary to reiterate.

Carrot and stick, that's all. As if he'd ever stoop to fucking such a repugnant little slug.

Taking things a step further, Mettaton slid his body downwards, fluid and sexy as a trained lap dancer though the upper hand was definitely his to enjoy. He straddled Burgerpants with a slow downward grind of his hips, to which the latter's paw-like hands shot up to grasp the soft, synthetic flesh of the robot's curvy hips with a strained mewl. But before thoughts of how very hard that bulge was (or how it also made him instantly wet) could take any form worth noticing, Mettaton abruptly seized both fur-coated wrists and twisted Burgerpants' arms back—painfully, if the yelping was any indication.

"Nnnnnghhhh oh god, fucking hell, why're you doing this to me, man?" The cat wailed angrily—but despite looking and sounding pretty furious, it also sounded like he could start sobbing at any moment. Their faces were so close the glassy glaze across the monster's eyes was strikingly obvious.

Served him right for touching what didn't belong to him.

"What the fuck did I ever do to you, Mettaton?"

The robot smiled away several silent moments, simply savouring a punishment well-doled, though he at least relinquished the pressure on Burgerpants' arms after a point. Even though his motions had ceased and they were both clothes, he could still feel the throbbing of hard cock pushing up against him, and his bubblegum gaze shot down briefly before meeting the other's with mocking delight.

"Disgusting~" Mettaton said abruptly and, without further elaboration, stood up with effortless grace.

"Uh, sorry but, seriously what the fuck... why..."

"I just want you to do your job properly," the robot cut in with a light shrug, "and for you to stop doing things like smoking and making smart comments on company time. You're neither smart nor funny, darling, and you'd better remember it."

His expression grew dark, and it was clear by Burgerpants' evasive glance at the floor that he dared not argue further.

"Now get out of my office. Can't you see there are waiting customers, you vile little thing?~"

Burgerpants' eyes snapped over to the screens as Mettaton gestured towards them, and sure enough there was a small line forming (as there had been for a good ten minutes by that point). It was beyond pleasing to know that he'd been the centre of attention to the extent that this dumb animal didn't even realise he'd opened the shutters again—he'd done that before even letting the little wretch into his office!—and now he got the extra pleasure of seeing Burgerpants scramble to his feet with much loud cursing as he attempted to hobble awkwardly away with a raging boner.

Truly, it was the cherry on top of the cake.

Certainly worth his own need for a good fucking, that's for certain.

Though it was only ever spoken of in hushed tones, Mettaton was known on occasion to allow a crew member-or even a lucky fan—to indulge him in activities of a physical nature. In this particular instance it was a rather strapping monster of a serpentine appearance who'd been present at the signing; very tall, very broad and oh, so rippling!

It'd proven impossible for the robot not to give him heart eyes as he took the bestselling CD from his large hands and marked it with his elegant autograph; all it took was an extra scrap of paper—the small script instructing the stranger to hang about after the end of the event—for him to wind up sprawled on his desk back at MTT Burger (the only private place he could get to both quickly and unseen at such short notice) while clawed hands ravenously tore open his leg coverings.

"Oooohhhhh, oh darling! Oh, yes!~" the robot cried musically as his handsome fan's long jaw unhinged to clamp over his entire groin and ass, allowing a thick, sinewy tongue to force its way inside of his arousal-slick hole. He squirmed in delight, the pleasure causing his synthesised voice to glitch and skip in the midst of his pleasured moans.

The monster's teeth were sharp and pressed into him—not enough to break his resilient 'skin', but enough for the sensitive receptors there to pick up on a deliciously subtle stinging sensation that drove him wild. Mettaton whimpered in disappointment when the skilled tongue slid out of him, but purred in renewed bliss as it lapped at him from the back all the way to the front—over and over and over—until the robot arched his back and writhed in his mounting ecstasy, legs open brazenly wide to get the most sensation possible as the orgasm reached its peak.

The first one, that is.

He wanted to see what other special talents this impromptu partner had, and as the latter drew up to his full, towering height Mettaton pulled his knees up nearly to his chest, hands reaching around to grab his thighs and stretch his pink-dripping hole invitingly wider. The monster unbuttoned his pants and pulled out—oh my!—two huge, glistening, generously ridged cocks, which were eyed by the star with ravenous lust before his plush hips were seized and his expectant, needy body pulled roughly closer. It took several forceful thrusts and soul-shattering moans of euphoria before he was fully impaled, but the sensation of being stretched gradually wider and wider, until he almost feared he'd be pushed over his limit...

Overwhelmingly beautiful.

The entire act from then on was a blur of sheer rapture, with Mettaton reaching climax many times and in so many positions he couldn't keep count. Once the two were finally spent, he insisted on a quick selfie—'to immortalise the amazing memory, darling, what if mine was somehow corrupted?'—then showed the monster the way out with a wink and a cutely blown kiss.

Of course, he had other plans for the picture he took… but it was nice to seem sentimental.

After the day's events, Mettaton's body was exhausted. He had to flip his switch just to get himself home, though his obvious hurrying didn't seem to deter anyone from trying to grab his attention as he wheeled through MTT Resort. Of course he tried to oblige as many fans as he could with waves and sweet words, but in the end he flew for the last stretch and immediately plugged in once he'd made it back.

This body couldn't exactly feel the way the other one did—which was what made life all the richer since the Pandora's Box of physical sensations and pleasures had been opened to him—but even without his sense of touch, the memory of how good it'd felt to be ravaged stayed stuck in his abstract psyche.

Mettaton loved his original build, microwave or calculator or whatever his fans endearingly likened it to, but since being able to truly experience all things physical he'd become rather an addict. Once the kinks were all ironed out with the Ex model, he'd happily only revert back for certain shows... or if he needed to defend himself.

However, it was increasingly difficult to get Alphys to just focus on refining Ex that little bit more—it still had an unfinished face, for crying out loud—rather than fawning over Undyne or watching endless anime or guzzling gallons of the instant noodle and soda slurry she subsisted on. Couldn't she see how much he needed this? It was enough to put him off trying to be a good friend, sometimes... but Mettaton halted himself in that train of thought before it ventured anywhere too depressing.

He certainly didn't like to pay mind to notions that induced anything even remotely akin to guilt.

In the end, his evening was mostly spent recharging and writing out more fan mail responses as per—in addition to maintaining his online communities and blogs—but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but hypothesise about his date that weekend. In the buzz and excitement of filming the live prize draw he couldn't quite recollect what this 'Danny' sounded like, but after today's events he definitely hoped he would be something like the monster he'd had fun with earlier.

Notes:

Thanks very much for reading! And if anyone's still confused about BP's real name being Danny, it's a reference to Cats Don't Dance. Because Mettaton as Darla Dimple is perfect?