[Though he can't help but cry out into the kiss at the stronger, slicker stroking of his cock, it's not enough to have him try to break it. Even when his breath turns panting, it can't keep Emet-Selch from his lips, not sure whether he was trying to devour him or be devoured. Perhaps both.
The sound of his name echoes in his ears the same way that Mettaton's moaning and gasps do, and he feels as though he could lose himself to the sounds alone. He felt dizzy from it. Or was it the lack of air? Another case of 'probably both'. It still hurt, in the same way all strong feelings did, but there was a measure of comfort applied at the same time, faint and fragile, but there. Though it did nothing to ease the sense of desperation, it didn't need to, only served to enhance that absurd, impossible warmth that he felt for the other man.]
Mettaton....
[It's all he can manage between pants, between kisses, tone low and deep and breaking at the end into a sharper whine. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, he couldn't feel Mettaton in the way he wanted him. But for now there was this- his voice, the gliding of his hand as he stroked and pulled at his cock, the way he looked at him, everything that was passing between the Bond--
It's enough for his breathing to take on a more feverish pitch, twitching as he tries to press his cock up into Mettaton's hand, from the way his thighs tightened around his. He wanted to say how much he needed this, needed him, but there weren't words, nor breath to spare on it. There was only the sharper nips of his lips and tongue, drags of teeth and swallowed moans, desperate for some measure of relief. From isolation, from need; it was much the same, in the end.]
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The sound of his name echoes in his ears the same way that Mettaton's moaning and gasps do, and he feels as though he could lose himself to the sounds alone. He felt dizzy from it. Or was it the lack of air? Another case of 'probably both'. It still hurt, in the same way all strong feelings did, but there was a measure of comfort applied at the same time, faint and fragile, but there. Though it did nothing to ease the sense of desperation, it didn't need to, only served to enhance that absurd, impossible warmth that he felt for the other man.]
Mettaton....
[It's all he can manage between pants, between kisses, tone low and deep and breaking at the end into a sharper whine. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, he couldn't feel Mettaton in the way he wanted him. But for now there was this- his voice, the gliding of his hand as he stroked and pulled at his cock, the way he looked at him, everything that was passing between the Bond--
It's enough for his breathing to take on a more feverish pitch, twitching as he tries to press his cock up into Mettaton's hand, from the way his thighs tightened around his. He wanted to say how much he needed this, needed him, but there weren't words, nor breath to spare on it. There was only the sharper nips of his lips and tongue, drags of teeth and swallowed moans, desperate for some measure of relief. From isolation, from need; it was much the same, in the end.]