[A small sacrifice that seemed more insignificant by the minute. What was hypothetical discomfort in the face of all of this? A breathy sound of concurrence doesn't interrupt the Ascian's ministrations; he'd take as much of Mettaton as was offered. What sort of negative consequence could there be from such indulgence? Nothing important.
In most other contexts, being ordered to do much of anything would've grated on him, but in this, there's not even the thought of questioning it. He shudders. The sucking of the idol's throat turns into a sharp, hard bite, a grinding of teeth into false-skin- as though he could tear it open if he tried. It's certainly harder than what he'd risk on someone with a non-robotic body- though the Ascian isn't much thinking about that. It was a given that Mettaton could take anything Emet-Selch gave him- both soul and body, all of his emotions. He expected it. He trusted him.
There's some slight discomfort in his own jaw as he eases up on one bite, lapping over the area with his tongue between quick breaths. The fingers exploring the various parts of his thighs provide another heady distraction, his muscles twitching uncontrollably underneath them. Sensations which seemed to run directly to his cock, setting him to aching for want of more of him.
As though to distract himself from the distraction, Emet-Selch bites down again, closer towards Mettaton's shoulder, shuddering from the grip, the texture and taste of him in his mouth, ignoring the frustration of not being able to actually bruise him. His fingers dig into the idol's chest, as though seeking purchase there.
But the press of thighs around his erection has the Ascian gasp, a hissed inhalation, losing his grip on the bit of Mettaton between his teeth. And almost immediately bites again, harder, in the same location, with a brief, accompanying sound of annoyance- halfway to a growl. As though irritated by his own body's needs, interfering of his claiming of Mettaton through bite.
But he moans around his new grip, from the feeling of being cupped and held close, his very soul shivering around him, as though wrapping even closer than that. It's something of a damp bite, saliva pooling in his mouth despite occasional efforts to swallow it back- but Emet-Selch doesn't much care what he leaves behind as his teeth grind into him.]
no subject
In most other contexts, being ordered to do much of anything would've grated on him, but in this, there's not even the thought of questioning it. He shudders. The sucking of the idol's throat turns into a sharp, hard bite, a grinding of teeth into false-skin- as though he could tear it open if he tried. It's certainly harder than what he'd risk on someone with a non-robotic body- though the Ascian isn't much thinking about that. It was a given that Mettaton could take anything Emet-Selch gave him- both soul and body, all of his emotions. He expected it. He trusted him.
There's some slight discomfort in his own jaw as he eases up on one bite, lapping over the area with his tongue between quick breaths. The fingers exploring the various parts of his thighs provide another heady distraction, his muscles twitching uncontrollably underneath them. Sensations which seemed to run directly to his cock, setting him to aching for want of more of him.
As though to distract himself from the distraction, Emet-Selch bites down again, closer towards Mettaton's shoulder, shuddering from the grip, the texture and taste of him in his mouth, ignoring the frustration of not being able to actually bruise him. His fingers dig into the idol's chest, as though seeking purchase there.
But the press of thighs around his erection has the Ascian gasp, a hissed inhalation, losing his grip on the bit of Mettaton between his teeth. And almost immediately bites again, harder, in the same location, with a brief, accompanying sound of annoyance- halfway to a growl. As though irritated by his own body's needs, interfering of his claiming of Mettaton through bite.
But he moans around his new grip, from the feeling of being cupped and held close, his very soul shivering around him, as though wrapping even closer than that. It's something of a damp bite, saliva pooling in his mouth despite occasional efforts to swallow it back- but Emet-Selch doesn't much care what he leaves behind as his teeth grind into him.]