Chapter Text
It all started with Clint Eastwood.
His aesthetics were the complete opposite of Hapstablook’s, pink, frivolous, glorious, glamorous, downright fabulous style; but they were still utterly enamored with Mr. Eastwood. Blooky had found some old human movies, and who was Hapstablook to turn down free entertainment? Movie night was to be at Hapstablook’s house (Obviously), as…their cousin’s house was quite barren.
Hapstablook watched “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” and found all of that within their transparent self. Something about Clint Eastwood’s masculine imposing frame and sensual smile peeking from beneath his hat, hiding the rest of his handsome face; it resonated deeply with Hapstablook. He yearned to have that kind of power. So much so they wished for a new body, they’d done so before; but never at this carnal level. They were never happy with their body, it sucked to be a ghost. It sucked to exist. What was the point?
Why would Hapstablook live on, if he served no greater purpose; had no achievements? Would he ever find love, or go on a grand adventure like in human movies?
Oh, to hold Clint Eastwood, to be swept to his side while he pulls off yet another crazy stunt. Hapstablook could only dream of that kind of power, the ability to attract others as they were attracted to Clint Eastwood. How silly.
Truly, it was silly of Hapstablook to think the dream would never come true. Of course it would, Hapstablook- now Mettaton, made it happen. (With the help of Dr. Alphys.) He would be over the moon, if there was one in the underground. With his new robotic forms, he could fly about, sing, dance, all that jazz. While Mettaton truly did love his old, boxy self; it was restrictive, and not even as fabulous as his current self.
Most importantly, Mettaton could interact with the world properly. He could touch, feel, smell, taste others, and they could do the same. The first touch was his own, exploring his own body. It was absurd how many options for genitals Alphys gave him, but Mettaton didn’t find it bothersome. While the option of having a vagina was welcomed, he opted to masturbate with a penis. What he did find bothersome was how average his size was.
Among many things Blooky found in the garbage dump, porn was one. That movie night was remembered for all the wrong reasons, and it was immediately disposed of; but the images of it were still burned in Hapstablook’s head and Blooky decided to focus on music after that. Humans were such odd creatures, having the need to redistribute such a personal act, was what Hapstablook thought. Mettaton thought, who wouldn’t want to see my smoking hot body in action?
Problem was, the actors in the videos were much more physically endowed. Another problem was that to solve this, Mettaton would have to tell Alphys about his dilemma. He had his limits, despite his constant ignorance of social cues. Mettaton did whatever he wanted, and that involved not sleeping around. He couldn’t give his body away to just anyone, not after he’d worked so hard for it. So, he never brought it up to Alphys, besides- the rest of his manly, yet beautifully rambunctious form made up for it.
Mettaton let out a huff of air, annoyed at himself for getting distracted during his first sexual experience. He slowly began to pump his pink, glittery, silicone cock, which leaked fluid of the same color.
Alphys was very concise with the inner workings of his system and explained his physical capabilities, in all but this one. She had turned red, and said “I-I’ll leave it to you!” Without an instruction manual, Mettaton used his other hand to fondle each new, shiny metal part. He found that touching the pink heart on his torso provided the most pleasurable of results. Mettaton slipped into the joy of the newfound sensation of pleasure; languidly pressing against his heart, while frantically tugging at his cock.
“A-ah…” Mettaton sounded just like the ladies in the pornos. No. He sounded better. The thought of the videos hardly turned him on, not the actors or all the blatantly fake noises they made. His mind absentmindedly focused only on the pleasure, going on autopilot. “Fuck! C-Clint!”
Clint? Mettaton gasped, thinking of his first idol. He replayed Clint’s voice in his head, perhaps imagining it deeper than it actually was; taller and more muscular. A pathetic sigh left Mettaton, feeling his orgasm near.
“Oh..oh..Clint…” muttered Mettaton, shutting his eyes tight in pure ecstasy. He writhed without thinking, back arched and wires short-circuiting as a sparkly, translucent sheen started to spill all over his sheets. “Haah…I’m just-fuck!” A tremor took over Mettaton, as his system crashed under the force of his impeding orgasm.
Then it faded as quickly as it came, and Mettaton felt his system become shaky, almost fuzzy; but not painful. He opened his eyes just to close them seconds later as he began to reboot. For however long it took, Mettaton lay there, waking up in a hazy, self cock-blocked daze.
He tucked his genitals away, immensely disappointed, maybe in himself; just a tad in Alphys. How would he ever please anyone else in bed?! What if he finished before his partner, and they had to wait for him to reboot? How embarrassing!
“No,” Mettaton said to himself. “They should be pleased just at the sight of me!” He reminded himself, and went to get his charger; his new form took up far too much energy. So what if he had to charge himself more than usual, and couldn’t have a human equivalent of an orgasm? He was Mettaton, the best (and only) entertainer of the underground!
Besides, he wasn’t that particularly attracted to any monster; so it would only serve to be an awkward moment for him and Alphys. He could live without it, Mettaton had for years.
———
Not in a million years, did humanity expect monsters to appear from underground one day. The government, and the many conspiracy theorists online predicted aliens from outer space, or zombie outbreaks- not this. The oddest part was that the monsters wanted peace, despite the apparent history of humans destroying and sealing the monsters underground.
It had been six months, and humanity was slowly adapting. Sure, it was a shock to everyone, but the topic of the monster’s very existence had begun simmering down; in turn, something worse happened. Segregation. Of course, humans would be afraid of monsters; even if majority of them were adorable, like the temmies. The monsters only added to the hostile political climate. Thank god they didn’t appear a hundred years earlier though, it would’ve been much worse.
Schools were slowly being integrated, but parents threatened to take their kids out, companies only hired humans, people went out of their way to shame or avoid monsters for even existing in public. The sight of it all disheartened you, your hope in humanity was already fading, but this only accelerated it.
You went out of your way to wave at monsters, because you knew the hurt of discrimination; but compared to them, you had it easy. A monster’s simple existence was debated, you could lie your way out of it, but they couldn’t.
The only topic that wasn’t so heated when it came to monsters was Mettaton. It helped a great deal that he was a robot, something humans were already familiar with- another overwhelming factor was that, well…he was hot. Seriously. Whoever made him must’ve used one hand in the process.
You didn’t consider yourself to be an avid fan, but you did follow Mettaton on his socials and occasionally watched his show if it was airing. He showed quite an average side to monsters, despite his flamboyant behavior; the cooking segments, game shows, and fan calls all proved that monsters liked entertainment. They weren’t one-dimensional killing machines, sometimes all they wanted was to try out Mettaton’s latest recipe.
So there was that. A raging culture war, a shared love for a sexy robot, and self-proclaimed furries and monster fuckers who had truly won in life. Your friend happened to be one, and was enamored with some guy who sold “Nice Cream”. She would purposely go to his cart, buy ice cream, and strike up a long, long conversation.
“Hey, can we go to the park?”
At your friend’s request, you couldn’t help but smile. “You just want to flirt with the Nice Cream guy.”
“Duh.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do while you do that?”
“Like, go talk to other people?”
“Then what’s the point of us going to the park together?”
“Forget it!” Your friend said, reaching for the remote, flipping through the channels.
“See if Mettaton’s on,” You said absentmindedly, stretching out your legs.
“Oh! Did you know he’s hosting a dating show? Why don’t you apply to be a contestant? He’s like, so hot.” Your friend said, finally finding his channel.
You scoffed. “Really? There’s no way I’d get picked though.” Your eyes drifted to Mettaton dancing onscreen, doing impossibly hard moves effortlessly.
“Come on, it wouldn’t hurt to try!” She insisted, pulling up the website on her phone.
“Why don’t you apply if you think he’s so hot?”
“Hello? Nice Cream guy!” Your friend said in an annoyed tone. “Are you saying Mettaton isn’t hot?”
“No shit he’s sexy.” You replied immediately. “But you know…even if I do get on the show that doesn’t mean he’ll fall for me. Besides, reality dating shows never work out.”
“It’d be totally fun! And like, you could at least get a hookup out of it, right?” Your friend suggested, and you realized she was right.
“I guess. That wouldn’t be too bad.” How wonderful! You get your virginity taken away from a robot.
“So are you applying or not?”
“Give me the phone.”
———
Dreams do come true, as corny as it sounds. You were one of three to be selected on Mettaton’s dating show. One of three. There must’ve been thousands of applicants, but you got chosen. What an ego boost.
“Oh my god!!!” Your friend had screamed over the phone after you sent her a screenshot of the email. “That’s like, insane! Aren’t you glad I made you do it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got you to thank.” You said sheepishly. Although this was an opportunity of a lifetime, it worried you. Thousands of people would be watching your every move; and in the era of social media, one wrong move could ruin your life.
“You have to look perfect! Have you picked out what you’re going to wear? And don’t say those frumpy, like baggy clothes you always wear. You’re super cute, so wear something cute.” Your friend prattled on in your ear, knowing full well you hadn’t worn feminine clothing in a while.
“Why should I? That’s not my authentic self.”
The silence on the other end was loud, like your friend was in shock at what you just said. “Um…you’re going to debut on national television wearing clothes from the men’s thrift section? Come on! You can borrow something from me, just like credit me later, kay?”
Deep down, you knew she was right. Your family would make comments about it, and so would the internet. It had been a while since you wore feminine clothes and makeup; it felt like a spotlight was on you wherever you went, and men saw you as a potential date. Weak. Incompetent. Trying too hard. You hated it.
But damn, it would be embarrassing to turn up in your usual attire in front of Mettaton of all people. (or rather monsters?)
You let out a sigh, wishing you were able to socially transition. That would make everything so much easier. Too bad, so sad right? “Fine. I’ll pick out something tomorrow, I have to be on set in a week.”
“Ohmigod, you’re going to look adorable!” Your friend squealed through the phone, and your heart broke into two. She probably would accept you coming out as a trans man, as she was your best friend; but just the embarrassment, the acknowledgment that something was fundamentally wrong with your body was too humiliating to admit.
“I’ll come over then. See you.” You hung up.