[The slide of tongue and grip of claws was enough on its own to keep his captured attention solely on the man in his arms. A fixation that Emet-Selch expects returned, and seems to receive, taking in the attention with a rush of emotional warmth joining the physical. The mutual wanting that was apparent in each bit of contact, no matter how small or teasing. And why shouldn't they have all of one another? It wasn't a matter of right or desire, but simple mechanical possibility. And with Mettaton's ability with the potential to bridge that divide- success was the only permitted outcome.
But it was still something of a startle, when the tracing of fingers across the firmness of metal became the differing firmness of skin. A solidity that yields to the reflexive tensing of his hands, a brief clutching at Mettaton's face and chest. At a skin too warm, perhaps, but not unpleasantly so; a fever that matched the idol's own nature.
If Mettaton hadn't broken the kiss from his own reaction, Emet-Selch would've been forced to in his stead, eyes flashing open again to stare, fascinating himself over everything he could see at this close distance. What he could make out of his face and upper torso, meeting his gaze when the idol's own eyes reopen. He'd found out that a puca's eyes were yellow; this darker violet then was Mettaton's original- or rather, his intended color, that detail standing out even amongst the overwhelming rest of him. And while he liked the gold in itself (a small point they had in common), he would admit that purple, perhaps, suited him better....
Unwilling (and once he's pulled closer again, unable) to get a full look at him yet, sensation would have to do in its place, but sensation was more than enough. His chest was pressed to the heat and texture of skin, something far easier to meld himself to. His Bonded's arms provide a similar sensation, and he shivers at his awareness of it. His own arms end up dropping to wrap around Mettaton in turn, smoothing quickly along the expanse of his back, getting an impression of muscle that just- hadn't been there before. The sign of organic strength rather than that from a machine. And of course, the clear feeling of the idol's erection pressing against his body, a hardness that has his own pulse leap, hips grinding back against him, taking an obvious pleasure at having that obvious sign of his lover's desire for him pressed to his body. Though his own was still clothed, the shape and increasing stiffness of it is more than evident as he shifts, to rub it against Mettaton's exposed cock.]
See? There-- [Breathless again for a moment, he brushes a brief kiss to his Bonded's lips. His voice is low, satisfaction- perhaps even excitement- writ into it.] There was no chance of failure.
[His breath becomes a shuddering sigh, as he dips his head to press lips along the idol's throat, learning and tasting this new texture of him, enticed by what he could feel of a pulse underneath skin. And, on curiosity, his mouth closes around a patch of his neck, wondering if he could suck a mark onto him for once.]
no subject
But it was still something of a startle, when the tracing of fingers across the firmness of metal became the differing firmness of skin. A solidity that yields to the reflexive tensing of his hands, a brief clutching at Mettaton's face and chest. At a skin too warm, perhaps, but not unpleasantly so; a fever that matched the idol's own nature.
If Mettaton hadn't broken the kiss from his own reaction, Emet-Selch would've been forced to in his stead, eyes flashing open again to stare, fascinating himself over everything he could see at this close distance. What he could make out of his face and upper torso, meeting his gaze when the idol's own eyes reopen. He'd found out that a puca's eyes were yellow; this darker violet then was Mettaton's original- or rather, his intended color, that detail standing out even amongst the overwhelming rest of him. And while he liked the gold in itself (a small point they had in common), he would admit that purple, perhaps, suited him better....
Unwilling (and once he's pulled closer again, unable) to get a full look at him yet, sensation would have to do in its place, but sensation was more than enough. His chest was pressed to the heat and texture of skin, something far easier to meld himself to. His Bonded's arms provide a similar sensation, and he shivers at his awareness of it. His own arms end up dropping to wrap around Mettaton in turn, smoothing quickly along the expanse of his back, getting an impression of muscle that just- hadn't been there before. The sign of organic strength rather than that from a machine. And of course, the clear feeling of the idol's erection pressing against his body, a hardness that has his own pulse leap, hips grinding back against him, taking an obvious pleasure at having that obvious sign of his lover's desire for him pressed to his body. Though his own was still clothed, the shape and increasing stiffness of it is more than evident as he shifts, to rub it against Mettaton's exposed cock.]
See? There-- [Breathless again for a moment, he brushes a brief kiss to his Bonded's lips. His voice is low, satisfaction- perhaps even excitement- writ into it.] There was no chance of failure.
[His breath becomes a shuddering sigh, as he dips his head to press lips along the idol's throat, learning and tasting this new texture of him, enticed by what he could feel of a pulse underneath skin. And, on curiosity, his mouth closes around a patch of his neck, wondering if he could suck a mark onto him for once.]