[From wanting to press into Mettaton's hand, the Ascian instead holds carefully, deliberately still. Insomuch as he could, at least, the faint tremble occasionally seizing him was beyond his control. It wasn't out of any desire to hold back, or restrain himself, but to better focus on each stroke of Mettaton's hand along his cock, the way individual fingers felt as they slid over his length. In particular the puca's thumb, of course, with each pass of it around the head of his cock feeling as though it punctuated the sharpness of his breath. He groans softly from the combination of it all, his body wanting to curl around him, to erase all distances between them.
Of course, his chest still heaved with his struggled breaths, gasps for air between ever-deeper kisses. The feeling of Mettaton's teeth in his lip remained even when he leaves it, the taste of him lingering to the point where he couldn't distinguish it from his own either. To blur themselves, blend the experience as far as possible; Emet-Selch shuddered at the thought, even as his tongue slid back against Mettaton's. His hand buries itself in the puca's hair, helping to keep him close. That was one way to not feel alone, wasn't it?
The path Mettaton's hand takes has his muscles beneath it tensing, tightening ever more the closer it moves towards the inside of his thigh. Each touch felt like it claimed that bit more of him, taking possession of his body inch by inch, until there was naught left of it. But what was physical form to an Ascian? Emet-Selch knew the other's touch ran far deeper than that, dug into more insubstantial concepts.
And if Mettaton had accepted him to such a degree, how could the Ascian desire anything but the same? To possess every part of him, from metal and fur, to frustratingly invisible soul, to memory and self.
To know the whole of someone was an impossible dream, perhaps- just as absurd as a complete blending of bodies. But hadn't they already confirmed, that for entities such as themselves, to go ever wanting was only a blessing?]
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Of course, his chest still heaved with his struggled breaths, gasps for air between ever-deeper kisses. The feeling of Mettaton's teeth in his lip remained even when he leaves it, the taste of him lingering to the point where he couldn't distinguish it from his own either. To blur themselves, blend the experience as far as possible; Emet-Selch shuddered at the thought, even as his tongue slid back against Mettaton's. His hand buries itself in the puca's hair, helping to keep him close. That was one way to not feel alone, wasn't it?
The path Mettaton's hand takes has his muscles beneath it tensing, tightening ever more the closer it moves towards the inside of his thigh. Each touch felt like it claimed that bit more of him, taking possession of his body inch by inch, until there was naught left of it. But what was physical form to an Ascian? Emet-Selch knew the other's touch ran far deeper than that, dug into more insubstantial concepts.
And if Mettaton had accepted him to such a degree, how could the Ascian desire anything but the same? To possess every part of him, from metal and fur, to frustratingly invisible soul, to memory and self.
To know the whole of someone was an impossible dream, perhaps- just as absurd as a complete blending of bodies. But hadn't they already confirmed, that for entities such as themselves, to go ever wanting was only a blessing?]