[It was interesting how things that would normally be expected or routine became newly enticing all on their own, by virtue of circumstance. The give of skin and underlying muscle, the sound of breathing, the slight shift of Mettaton's chest with each exhalation, the thrum of a pulse underneath his lips: all basic signs of life became sensations worth particular enjoyment, largely in part because of Mettaton's own pleasure in it. In seeing him achieve something so wanted, Emet-Selch hums against his throat in satisfaction. It was the same feeling he'd had when the idol had first demonstrated a partial transformation to him, now only greater, and he still found it a bit strange to take so much pleasure in seeing someone else's happiness. A vicariously experienced positivity? Or just- caring for the welfare of someone important to him.
But the physical pleasure of it was nothing for him to discount either, noticing as well how more closely their bodies matched, the softness of the chest pressed to his, and Emet-Selch shivers again at the thought of having their bodies fully entwined like this. Flush and giving and excessively warm; he bites at Mettaton's neck to stave off a moan. Drawing back just enough to observe the mark he'd successfully left behind has his breathing catch anew- and then is caught again by the thrust of hips against his, the sudden pang of need leaving him shuddering, aching deeply for him. His eyes close again as he licks over the bruise he'd left behind, breath heavy as he trails to another spot on his neck, closing in on it with lips and teeth and pressure. Spurred on further by the sound of Mettaton's voice, unsurprised but still- rather touched to hear that the idol shared in his desire to leave some manner of reminder upon his skin. For all that it would only last as long as the transformation did, but- Emet-Selch didn't want to think about that.
They would both know that it had been there, for all that such demonstrations of possession weren't necessary to start.
And he had no doubt that Mettaton would be eager to return the favor, the thought of taking those marks from him again, now that they were no longer in a dream and would linger appropriately, has him biting harder again. Yes: a visual sort of claim that they could share in for a time, and he ached for his imagining of it.
But with such access to his lover's throat, Emet-Selch was disinclined to leave it yet, leaving a damp line over heated and vulnerable skin as he mouthed across it. Moaning softly against his skin at the blatant desire from the other man, the way they were rubbing their erections against one another, separated by only a few pieces of inconvenient fabric. Even with the constriction that he felt around his own, there was more a sense of anticipation rather than frustration. The knowledge of how soon and how easily they could press to one another, skin against skin, leaves his legs feeling almost weak. There was- so much that he wanted, something that he was still unused to feeling. There had been duty and naught else, but now--
To look forward to something so much- to want something so dearly. To want someone so dear to him: it has his breath trembling, hands kneading a slow path along his lover's spine, feeling as though he had to learn his body all over again, but not at all minding the prospect.]
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But the physical pleasure of it was nothing for him to discount either, noticing as well how more closely their bodies matched, the softness of the chest pressed to his, and Emet-Selch shivers again at the thought of having their bodies fully entwined like this. Flush and giving and excessively warm; he bites at Mettaton's neck to stave off a moan. Drawing back just enough to observe the mark he'd successfully left behind has his breathing catch anew- and then is caught again by the thrust of hips against his, the sudden pang of need leaving him shuddering, aching deeply for him. His eyes close again as he licks over the bruise he'd left behind, breath heavy as he trails to another spot on his neck, closing in on it with lips and teeth and pressure. Spurred on further by the sound of Mettaton's voice, unsurprised but still- rather touched to hear that the idol shared in his desire to leave some manner of reminder upon his skin. For all that it would only last as long as the transformation did, but- Emet-Selch didn't want to think about that.
They would both know that it had been there, for all that such demonstrations of possession weren't necessary to start.
And he had no doubt that Mettaton would be eager to return the favor, the thought of taking those marks from him again, now that they were no longer in a dream and would linger appropriately, has him biting harder again. Yes: a visual sort of claim that they could share in for a time, and he ached for his imagining of it.
But with such access to his lover's throat, Emet-Selch was disinclined to leave it yet, leaving a damp line over heated and vulnerable skin as he mouthed across it. Moaning softly against his skin at the blatant desire from the other man, the way they were rubbing their erections against one another, separated by only a few pieces of inconvenient fabric. Even with the constriction that he felt around his own, there was more a sense of anticipation rather than frustration. The knowledge of how soon and how easily they could press to one another, skin against skin, leaves his legs feeling almost weak. There was- so much that he wanted, something that he was still unused to feeling. There had been duty and naught else, but now--
To look forward to something so much- to want something so dearly. To want someone so dear to him: it has his breath trembling, hands kneading a slow path along his lover's spine, feeling as though he had to learn his body all over again, but not at all minding the prospect.]