[For a moment, Mettaton's fingers leave Emet-Selch's arousal and he halts their kissing, the air between them heavy as he anticipates resuming. He lets his fingertips trace from the base of his cock up his abdomen, his midriff, brushing over his chest before lifting his hand off of his neck, bringing his thumb to rest against his own lips. He meets Emet-Selch eye-to-eye, the demand for him to watch ever present in his piercing gaze beneath thick lashes.
With his thumb against his lips, he finally parts them, treating his digit to the same eagerness as though it's the suggestion of suckling on his cock. He glances upon it, dazed the way he'd look if it were Emet-Selch pushing past his lips, letting his tongue lap sensually across its tip, his lips dragging across as he takes his own thumb into his mouth. It's not all for show, truth be told, though he makes one out of it: it's short-lived, a demonstration of what the Ascian could have if he craved it of the star. But when Mettaton pulls his thumb out from between his lips with a soft smack, his thumb is glistening slick with his thick saliva. He smirks; his hand moves south as his other gives Emet-Selch a possessive squeeze, remaining precisely where it was before.
If Emet-Selch had any questions about Mettaton's motives, they should be lost by now: the Puca's fingers wrap about his shaft, but his thumb, slick and sticky, glides more readily over the head of his cock. His smile drips with his confidence and adoration, fawning with his eyes over Emet-Selch's neck, his lips, the quality of his stare like it's all a mile marker signaling his eventual undoing for his consumption. His thumb presses with more firmness than before, a hard line from the top, cresting over the tip, and down toward the bottom of his erection, then circling over it as before. His thumb glides along him easily now and where he's warm in touch, if he were to cease, he'd be left cold and wet in his wake.
With his other hand, Mettaton reaches further down, brushing those fingertips against his inner thigh as a teasing suggestion. He gives him another firm squeeze and this time doesn't let go of his ass, shifting his thigh against Emet-Selch's cock just so that he's forced to spread his legs around him. He draws close to his lips again, brushing against the Ascian's with a pleasurable hum, wanting him so much but having a million ways he could take him. His need is as heavy between them as his expectation is, and he seems moments away from capturing him in a deep, unending kiss.]
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With his thumb against his lips, he finally parts them, treating his digit to the same eagerness as though it's the suggestion of suckling on his cock. He glances upon it, dazed the way he'd look if it were Emet-Selch pushing past his lips, letting his tongue lap sensually across its tip, his lips dragging across as he takes his own thumb into his mouth. It's not all for show, truth be told, though he makes one out of it: it's short-lived, a demonstration of what the Ascian could have if he craved it of the star. But when Mettaton pulls his thumb out from between his lips with a soft smack, his thumb is glistening slick with his thick saliva. He smirks; his hand moves south as his other gives Emet-Selch a possessive squeeze, remaining precisely where it was before.
If Emet-Selch had any questions about Mettaton's motives, they should be lost by now: the Puca's fingers wrap about his shaft, but his thumb, slick and sticky, glides more readily over the head of his cock. His smile drips with his confidence and adoration, fawning with his eyes over Emet-Selch's neck, his lips, the quality of his stare like it's all a mile marker signaling his eventual undoing for his consumption. His thumb presses with more firmness than before, a hard line from the top, cresting over the tip, and down toward the bottom of his erection, then circling over it as before. His thumb glides along him easily now and where he's warm in touch, if he were to cease, he'd be left cold and wet in his wake.
With his other hand, Mettaton reaches further down, brushing those fingertips against his inner thigh as a teasing suggestion. He gives him another firm squeeze and this time doesn't let go of his ass, shifting his thigh against Emet-Selch's cock just so that he's forced to spread his legs around him. He draws close to his lips again, brushing against the Ascian's with a pleasurable hum, wanting him so much but having a million ways he could take him. His need is as heavy between them as his expectation is, and he seems moments away from capturing him in a deep, unending kiss.]