[The only rush they have is the tempo of their own need: as far as Mettaton's concerned, this could last and last. This is their present. All they have to do is focus on their bodies and the enjoyment they could encourage in one another. But there's a dimension added to it all, the deeper their bond runs: even sitting before Emet-Selch, Mettaton reflects upon their history together. It heats him up, and he twists his fingers into his hair some more, feeling the way silky strands slide and curl around digits. Even though he's learned so much about Emet-Selch's form and the depths to his feelings and cravings, it never stops him from finding him more and more enticing to indulge in. To indulge in return. Is there anything more pleasant than seeing his Bonded be so fulfilled, than to do it while he, too, reaches unknown levels of pleasure?
Hearing Emet-Selch succumb to such deep-seated want, a situation yet to occur and beyond them both, piques Mettaton's interest and excitement, has his breath stutter in sympathy. A shorter moan, a greater ache, and a full-body shudder flooding him with even more heat.
Mettaton knew that he was getting aroused and suspected the same of Emet-Selch, but it never fails to intensify his own feelings for the other man when he actually feels it. Though it's so carnal and driven by passion, there's so much unprecedented sentiment behind every touch and every taste they have for each other that it sets him to a further ache, an ache that comes from his chest and yet pulses in his ever-hardening arousal. Lip taken by Emet-Selch, he pays attention to every sensation of heat and pressure, every texture of firm and soft, and the feeling of his lover's fingers digging into his thighs. He could live off of touches to his legs, he decides. It's delightful, and he gives Emet-Selch a firm rub against his cock as if to express his approval for all he does in this moment.
Breaking away from his lips for just a moment, MTT exhales against his Bonded, pressing his forehead against his in order to pull himself together.]
Hades... Hah... [He swallows, but it's not quick enough: head tilted down like this, he drools. He withdraws his unoccupied hand to wipe it up quickly. It's not something he's quite gotten accustomed to, all of these organic processes.] I hope you feel how much I want you.
[That arm he withdrew slides back around his lover's shoulders, taking him into something of an embrace as he leans forward, shifting his body to press into him. He adjusts his weight atop the other man. Part-way riding up onto Emet-Selch's arousal with his body, still frotting against him with short pushes of his hips, his cock is nestled up against the side of Emet-Selch's and given a firm, pleasant pressure against the base of it with the contact. Mettaton exhales, a light sigh that carries a note of deep pleasure, continuing to shift his hips in short strokes to encourage Emet-Selch to want him more, to sate his own desires for the sensation of Emet-Selch's erection. How he wants to appreciate that thickness and heat, how he wants to suck him, to stuff him full of his arousal, to feel the heat of his mouth, to just rub against his body... And, increasingly, to sit upon his length, to have him sink so deeply into him. The suggestion of it, straddling his hips, is encouragement in that direction. It has Mettaton shivering anew.
He kisses the corner of his lips, then drifts toward his ear, voice dipping lower and softer. For all of his control, a note of longing decorates his tone, a heaviness he can't disguise.]
no subject
Hearing Emet-Selch succumb to such deep-seated want, a situation yet to occur and beyond them both, piques Mettaton's interest and excitement, has his breath stutter in sympathy. A shorter moan, a greater ache, and a full-body shudder flooding him with even more heat.
Mettaton knew that he was getting aroused and suspected the same of Emet-Selch, but it never fails to intensify his own feelings for the other man when he actually feels it. Though it's so carnal and driven by passion, there's so much unprecedented sentiment behind every touch and every taste they have for each other that it sets him to a further ache, an ache that comes from his chest and yet pulses in his ever-hardening arousal. Lip taken by Emet-Selch, he pays attention to every sensation of heat and pressure, every texture of firm and soft, and the feeling of his lover's fingers digging into his thighs. He could live off of touches to his legs, he decides. It's delightful, and he gives Emet-Selch a firm rub against his cock as if to express his approval for all he does in this moment.
Breaking away from his lips for just a moment, MTT exhales against his Bonded, pressing his forehead against his in order to pull himself together.]
Hades... Hah... [He swallows, but it's not quick enough: head tilted down like this, he drools. He withdraws his unoccupied hand to wipe it up quickly. It's not something he's quite gotten accustomed to, all of these organic processes.] I hope you feel how much I want you.
[That arm he withdrew slides back around his lover's shoulders, taking him into something of an embrace as he leans forward, shifting his body to press into him. He adjusts his weight atop the other man. Part-way riding up onto Emet-Selch's arousal with his body, still frotting against him with short pushes of his hips, his cock is nestled up against the side of Emet-Selch's and given a firm, pleasant pressure against the base of it with the contact. Mettaton exhales, a light sigh that carries a note of deep pleasure, continuing to shift his hips in short strokes to encourage Emet-Selch to want him more, to sate his own desires for the sensation of Emet-Selch's erection. How he wants to appreciate that thickness and heat, how he wants to suck him, to stuff him full of his arousal, to feel the heat of his mouth, to just rub against his body... And, increasingly, to sit upon his length, to have him sink so deeply into him. The suggestion of it, straddling his hips, is encouragement in that direction. It has Mettaton shivering anew.
He kisses the corner of his lips, then drifts toward his ear, voice dipping lower and softer. For all of his control, a note of longing decorates his tone, a heaviness he can't disguise.]
Or should... I tell you? How I want...