[Half-dragged, half-shifting until he's mostly on top of Mettaton, Emet-Selch is barely aware of having done so until afterward, desirous only of some impossible feat of closeness. Or possessiveness. He'd never considered himself a particularly possessive person. Perhaps he'd just never come across much of anyone he wanted to possess. His people held a different sort of importance, and everyone else was... not.
And even this wasn't a possessiveness in all things, only wanting a claim to something soul-deep and scarring. Something to ensure that one couldn't be forgotten, even when separated by time and world. That even if neither could take the other's soul, that an imprint of it would be left regardless, some mark that they'd never be able to see, at least here. It didn't encompass everything that he wanted, but it was an appealing thought.
Every writhe and shift on Mettaton's part has Emet-Selch clinging tighter, both with his body and with his soul, reveling in the ability to sense him in two ways. Reveling in being able to sense souls at all, and even though it couldn't replace sight, it was its own intoxicating experience. He wondered if the soul echoed the body's twitches, or if it was the other way around....
He couldn't bear the thought of being apart from him now. Just the idea of being unable to feel his lover's soul fluttering against his own sets him aching, with anticipated grief. He would certainly be especially lonely later, but that was the price of moments like this, of being bound closer than reason would permit.
Gasping around his tongue, he presses his own against it, before giving in and providing a scrape of teeth instead on its retreat from his mouth. The Ascian's back arches up into Mettaton's hands, while his hips rub into his legs, stroking his cock firmly against him. A sensation that leaves him moaning into further kisses, and shivering more at each sound he heard from the other man, each squirm and press, the mix of panic and desire for more.
Repeatedly pressing his lips to Mettaton's face, in small needy touches that barely qualify as kisses, his breathing is shallow and quick. It's all deeply affectionate, despite the darkness and mutual danger. It was an insane balance to strike, and he was a little in awe of it, in what it provoked in him- at what it reduced him to.]
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And even this wasn't a possessiveness in all things, only wanting a claim to something soul-deep and scarring. Something to ensure that one couldn't be forgotten, even when separated by time and world. That even if neither could take the other's soul, that an imprint of it would be left regardless, some mark that they'd never be able to see, at least here. It didn't encompass everything that he wanted, but it was an appealing thought.
Every writhe and shift on Mettaton's part has Emet-Selch clinging tighter, both with his body and with his soul, reveling in the ability to sense him in two ways. Reveling in being able to sense souls at all, and even though it couldn't replace sight, it was its own intoxicating experience. He wondered if the soul echoed the body's twitches, or if it was the other way around....
He couldn't bear the thought of being apart from him now. Just the idea of being unable to feel his lover's soul fluttering against his own sets him aching, with anticipated grief. He would certainly be especially lonely later, but that was the price of moments like this, of being bound closer than reason would permit.
Gasping around his tongue, he presses his own against it, before giving in and providing a scrape of teeth instead on its retreat from his mouth. The Ascian's back arches up into Mettaton's hands, while his hips rub into his legs, stroking his cock firmly against him. A sensation that leaves him moaning into further kisses, and shivering more at each sound he heard from the other man, each squirm and press, the mix of panic and desire for more.
Repeatedly pressing his lips to Mettaton's face, in small needy touches that barely qualify as kisses, his breathing is shallow and quick. It's all deeply affectionate, despite the darkness and mutual danger. It was an insane balance to strike, and he was a little in awe of it, in what it provoked in him- at what it reduced him to.]