[How could Mettaton make it easy when he wants Emet-Selch to deliver his desires through his desperation? Desperation finds a way, and he has faith that if he has cravings to voice, he'll fight to make them known. It's the liveliness of the ordeal, after all.
And does he deliver. Mettaton's a step ahead in processing his words, as if he can read his mind before he can even finish the thought, and by the time the word remember escapes from Emet-Selch's lips, the idol's already further unshackling from his basest desires. The desire to overwhelm and mark. His imagination paints such vivid pictures of Emet-Selch in their near future: dripping with his come, gasping for air, body bitten and kissed to excess, exhausted in a way quite unlike anything else atop his bed, in his arms, golden eyes scarcely able to focus and body trembling from exertion.
For Mettaton to fantasize about the future while he's so thoroughly enjoying the present... An odd mix, but one so fulfilling. A goal. Teeth clenched, he moans from deep in his throat at all he thinks and feels.
And his thrusts firm up. Each draw back is half of his cock, and each push in is a complete filling of him with the addition of a further rub, the head pushed as deeply as he can manage as he shoves his hips into Emet-Selchs body. It's not a frenzied, careless sort of thrust, but one with an odd amount of deliberation, each push into Emet-Selch's body accompanied by the complete tensing of Mettaton's abdomen as he curves into his lover's body.
The thought of doing him until the Ascian was forced to feel the echo of him after the fact is too tantalizing not to aim for, at any cost. The Puca quite clearly wants this prize: he's not just hungry for him, he's starved, a life of wanting with a culmination of feeling to outshine all else.
And he gasps, sighs of pleasure accompanying each thrust as the deliberate, passionate rhythm proves hypnotizing. His thrusts grow less pushy as he adjusts to find what he finds most pleasurable and, upon finding a rhythm where he's constantly moving at the same speed, Mettaton moans loud and broken. Deep, even thrusts, there isn't a moment where he's not dragging the tip of his cock against the body of his Bonded, so deeply.]
Hades, ohhh, y-you—
[He considers just how pleasurable the squeeze of his lover's body is, and how enticing he looks beneath him. It's too much for Mettaton to handle, mind swimming.
And his eyes alight to reflect just how starved for his Bonded he truly is. The desire to lose his mind entices him, and he lunges for Emet-Selch's neck again, sinking his teeth into his shoulder in perfect time with a good, full sinking of his cock, one with a shudder of his hips even as he's pushed in to the base of it. His is a graphic display of passion, and Emet-Selch, his Bonded, gets front row seats to the sheer amount of urgent desire he feels for him, body and soul.
Drawing blood, Mettaton cries out into the taste of it, head spinning, addiction well established. To everything his Bonded has to offer him, all of it is his. Funny, how even as he sucks and bites and tongues and kisses his beloved, prone beneath him, he fantasizes about the taste of his mouth and of filling his mouth with his come, more ways to taste his Bonded. He wants it all.]
no subject
And does he deliver. Mettaton's a step ahead in processing his words, as if he can read his mind before he can even finish the thought, and by the time the word remember escapes from Emet-Selch's lips, the idol's already further unshackling from his basest desires. The desire to overwhelm and mark. His imagination paints such vivid pictures of Emet-Selch in their near future: dripping with his come, gasping for air, body bitten and kissed to excess, exhausted in a way quite unlike anything else atop his bed, in his arms, golden eyes scarcely able to focus and body trembling from exertion.
For Mettaton to fantasize about the future while he's so thoroughly enjoying the present... An odd mix, but one so fulfilling. A goal. Teeth clenched, he moans from deep in his throat at all he thinks and feels.
And his thrusts firm up. Each draw back is half of his cock, and each push in is a complete filling of him with the addition of a further rub, the head pushed as deeply as he can manage as he shoves his hips into Emet-Selchs body. It's not a frenzied, careless sort of thrust, but one with an odd amount of deliberation, each push into Emet-Selch's body accompanied by the complete tensing of Mettaton's abdomen as he curves into his lover's body.
The thought of doing him until the Ascian was forced to feel the echo of him after the fact is too tantalizing not to aim for, at any cost. The Puca quite clearly wants this prize: he's not just hungry for him, he's starved, a life of wanting with a culmination of feeling to outshine all else.
And he gasps, sighs of pleasure accompanying each thrust as the deliberate, passionate rhythm proves hypnotizing. His thrusts grow less pushy as he adjusts to find what he finds most pleasurable and, upon finding a rhythm where he's constantly moving at the same speed, Mettaton moans loud and broken. Deep, even thrusts, there isn't a moment where he's not dragging the tip of his cock against the body of his Bonded, so deeply.]
Hades, ohhh, y-you—
[He considers just how pleasurable the squeeze of his lover's body is, and how enticing he looks beneath him. It's too much for Mettaton to handle, mind swimming.
And his eyes alight to reflect just how starved for his Bonded he truly is. The desire to lose his mind entices him, and he lunges for Emet-Selch's neck again, sinking his teeth into his shoulder in perfect time with a good, full sinking of his cock, one with a shudder of his hips even as he's pushed in to the base of it. His is a graphic display of passion, and Emet-Selch, his Bonded, gets front row seats to the sheer amount of urgent desire he feels for him, body and soul.
Drawing blood, Mettaton cries out into the taste of it, head spinning, addiction well established. To everything his Bonded has to offer him, all of it is his. Funny, how even as he sucks and bites and tongues and kisses his beloved, prone beneath him, he fantasizes about the taste of his mouth and of filling his mouth with his come, more ways to taste his Bonded. He wants it all.]