[As if he thought he'd crested that feeling of satisfaction before, Emet-Selch's full-bodied response is entirely too erotic. He squirms, forcing his thighs together around Emet-Selch's length, which only startles him into stuttering against the other man's throat. His figure writhing beneath his weight is intoxicating, and Mettaton's hands drift down to anchor his thumbs against Emet-Selch's hips, fingers digging into the soft tissue as far behind as he can manage with his back pressed against the bed.
To take more of his Bonded, and to give as much in return... Mettaton takes greater control of Emet-Selch's pleasure, curving his back just enough to give Emet-Selch some freedom to thrust against the twitching of his thighs. He deiberately loosens and exerts pressure between his legs in unpredictable rhythm. This is his chance to move, though it's short-lived. It's not long before the robot comes back down upon him to take away that freedom, pinning him into place with more intent than ever, pressing his trembling thighs together with a hiss. It's only natural that by this point, his body, wanting as he is, is wracked with unintentional response: for each twitch and each sound given by Emet-Selch, his body responds with immediacy, systematic in his feedback.
Mettaton moves from sucking and biting at his neck to kissing him deeply, flicking his tongue out to signal his desires before sliding between his lips. He controls him utterly from above him. If he could render him truly breathless all over again, he feels certain that he'd lose his mind to oblivion. Already, with the Ascian panting, he's off to a good start. One of his hands drift from his hips to thread into this hair, starting from that shock of white and pushing back, mussing it up worse than before.
Time for dreadful feelings, which Mettaton views as anything but. His adoration for the Ascian is immense, his desire to see his mind blown immeasurable. His behavior is flippant, usually, but when the Puca pulls him in, closer and closer, the depths of Emet-Selch's sentiment never fail to surprise Mettaton. He's terribly vulnerable like this, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He sighs by noise into their kiss, overwhelmed and content. Mettaton could drown in the satisfaction his Bonded brings him, or he could see himself drowning in his sentiment, and he'd be content either way. Neither daunt him. As always, he can be vulnerable to his heart's content beneath Mettaton's weight. He welcomes it.
When he pulls back to give Emet-Selch a moment for air, he gives him only enough before coming back down upon him with a moan in his throat, nipping at his lower lip and lifting again, then treating him to yet another kiss, three of varying intensity in a row.]
no subject
To take more of his Bonded, and to give as much in return... Mettaton takes greater control of Emet-Selch's pleasure, curving his back just enough to give Emet-Selch some freedom to thrust against the twitching of his thighs. He deiberately loosens and exerts pressure between his legs in unpredictable rhythm. This is his chance to move, though it's short-lived. It's not long before the robot comes back down upon him to take away that freedom, pinning him into place with more intent than ever, pressing his trembling thighs together with a hiss. It's only natural that by this point, his body, wanting as he is, is wracked with unintentional response: for each twitch and each sound given by Emet-Selch, his body responds with immediacy, systematic in his feedback.
Mettaton moves from sucking and biting at his neck to kissing him deeply, flicking his tongue out to signal his desires before sliding between his lips. He controls him utterly from above him. If he could render him truly breathless all over again, he feels certain that he'd lose his mind to oblivion. Already, with the Ascian panting, he's off to a good start. One of his hands drift from his hips to thread into this hair, starting from that shock of white and pushing back, mussing it up worse than before.
Time for dreadful feelings, which Mettaton views as anything but. His adoration for the Ascian is immense, his desire to see his mind blown immeasurable. His behavior is flippant, usually, but when the Puca pulls him in, closer and closer, the depths of Emet-Selch's sentiment never fail to surprise Mettaton. He's terribly vulnerable like this, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He sighs by noise into their kiss, overwhelmed and content. Mettaton could drown in the satisfaction his Bonded brings him, or he could see himself drowning in his sentiment, and he'd be content either way. Neither daunt him. As always, he can be vulnerable to his heart's content beneath Mettaton's weight. He welcomes it.
When he pulls back to give Emet-Selch a moment for air, he gives him only enough before coming back down upon him with a moan in his throat, nipping at his lower lip and lifting again, then treating him to yet another kiss, three of varying intensity in a row.]