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Asgore mastered the use of the Polaroid camera first.
She discovered evidence of his study upon her chest of drawers in the form of a small stack of photographs. She highly approved of learning, and practice, and of putting what one has learned to good use. Toriel gathered the stack of photographs with a hum of amusement. What had he taken pictures of?
She chuckled softly at the first, examined her husband's squinting eye, and smiled faintly. Those beneath the first were done with more skill, and the timer function.
There was Asgore smiling, waving at the camera. There he was smirking in a way that made her soul flutter, just a bit.
The next one showed his shirt half undone over his beautifully fuzzy physique, clawed fingers at work on the next button.
Goodness... it was oddly warm in the room, all of a sudden.
The next one revealed muscular biceps, and his shirt hanging from his elbows, magnificent pectorals revealed fully.
Toriel fanned herself gently with the earlier pictures, and shifted another into that stack- the first dozen slipped from her suddenly open fingers.
Asgore had presented his other side to the camera before removing his trousers. He had not bothered to photograph himself halfway through the process. Toriel gasped softly at the sight of King Fluffybuns' fluffy buns.
"Asgore," she whispers, half shocked, half in desire.
"Yes, beloved?"
Toriel slapped the photographs, face down, to her chest of drawers. Her hands flew upward to catch the squeak escaping her muzzle. She dared not turn around.
"Tori?" he murmured close to her ear, so close that his breath stirred the fur of her neck, and the bass rumble of his voice stirred... other things. "What were you looking at, my dear?"
She choked on her laughter, her disbelief... and then coughed a bit to clear her throat. He asked as if he did not know. He must have been joking.
"Ah. You, Gorey." Her voice was remarkably steady, if she did say so herself. "Specifically you, in progressive states of dishabille..."
"Ah." His hands came to rest lightly upon her shoulders and she shuddered. He had always had such marvelous control over his strength, and such delight in his ability to drive her mad with slow caress after caress until she pushed him back into the cushions and took what she wanted-
"Was there," he murmured, drawing her ear over her shoulder with one finger, making her breath catch, "a moment which held your particular interest?"
"I-" her voice broke. That would not do. Not at all. She tried again. "I do not know, dear. I did not have enough time to study-" she had to stop, and breathe, and tilt her head to follow the slide of his claw, "every picture."
He hummed. She was close- very, very close- to turning around and ending the game. Her bed was just on the other side of the room. But it was not very often that they played this way, and she thought his ingenuity with the camera deserved a reward.
"You have my sincerest apologies," and his fingers skimmed the strap of her tunic, dipping beneath the edge, over her shoulder blade, "for the... intrusion. Where did I interrupt you?"
There was laughter in his voice. She should be annoyed at it, but she so loved a good joke. Moreover she realized that he left the pictures for her, then waited to see her reaction. He had moved to interrupt just as she began to grow flustered. He had done this not to embarrass her, but to entice her.
She adored the gesture, and laughed lowly, with the edge of a purr in it.
"You were not wearing pants, Gorey."
"Mmm." His lips pressed to the curve of her cheek, and the corner of her mouth. "I am not, still."
She wouldn't look. She would not. She reached backward, skimming a hand over one gloriously nude hip, shifting her weight into him, as he kissed down her neck.
She smiled, and her eyes slid closed.
"Scandalous."