[Though Emet-Selch attempts to use the break from their kiss in order to collect himself, or at least, to collect some air, Mettaton wasn't making it remotely easy for him. Every sound, every hint of skin was a distraction- though did it really count as such, when all of his attention was tied up in his lover's presence, and his own reaction to him?
Rubbing his forehead just a little against his, he manages to breathe, if shakily, taking stock of all he was feeling, and all that he had felt. The small, sharp pains whenever he moved his neck, serving to remind him of the marks that lay there, the memory of those bites. The memory of Mettaton's cock filling him, a feeling he could recall with each tensing of his hips, and even when he was still. Not pain, but an ache regardless.
That alone would've been enough to arouse him, he thought, considering how each encounter only led to further desires- for more of the same, for more of something else, each experience fostering further wants rather than reducing them. The more they had of each other, the more they wanted- as there was always something more to learn, or to view from a different angle, or to be reminded of. A reassurance that left his pulse even faster, and his cock achingly stiff.
Though it tries to be even, pitched lower and with enough breath behind it, there's an edge of strain to the Ascian's voice regardless. Of desire controlled but immense, eyes closed as he leans his forehead back against Mettaton's for the moment.]
...It would be a hard thing to miss.
[Hard in multiple ways, even, the press of their erections alongside one another only the most explicit expression of that want. But it was clear in every other gesture as well, from the touch of arms and hands, to the echo of his lips that he could still feel, the hint of damp that remained on his own. Each shudder that passed between them, as though spurred on by the awareness of the other's lust, and the longing to increase it further.
It was something of a cycle again. In response to pleasure, Mettaton shifts forward, his length nestled so enticingly against the Ascian's, a firm pressure at the base that's rubbed with each movement of his hips. In response to that, Emet-Selch's hands grab onto the other man's thighs with more urgency, a moan caught in his throat, as though needing to hold onto something in the wake of the pulse of arousal. A kneading grasp of leg, fingers trailing along the crease where limb met the rest of his body, to stroke and fondle downward, along his inner thigh. Actions to only encourage more shifts on Mettaton's part, more attention to their cocks, more grasps and shivers and pleasured exhalations.
And just one want was never enough, was it? Mettaton's voice so low to his ear, words meant for him alone, has his breathing quiet, not wanting to miss a syllable, a note of it. Attuned to not only the words, but every other aspect of it, able to feel the layers of his want. Recognize them reflected in himself. Anticipation so heavy he could taste it, a flavor that was coincidentally quite similar to that of the idol's mouth. He swallows back a sigh, leaning his head against his.]
no subject
Rubbing his forehead just a little against his, he manages to breathe, if shakily, taking stock of all he was feeling, and all that he had felt. The small, sharp pains whenever he moved his neck, serving to remind him of the marks that lay there, the memory of those bites. The memory of Mettaton's cock filling him, a feeling he could recall with each tensing of his hips, and even when he was still. Not pain, but an ache regardless.
That alone would've been enough to arouse him, he thought, considering how each encounter only led to further desires- for more of the same, for more of something else, each experience fostering further wants rather than reducing them. The more they had of each other, the more they wanted- as there was always something more to learn, or to view from a different angle, or to be reminded of. A reassurance that left his pulse even faster, and his cock achingly stiff.
Though it tries to be even, pitched lower and with enough breath behind it, there's an edge of strain to the Ascian's voice regardless. Of desire controlled but immense, eyes closed as he leans his forehead back against Mettaton's for the moment.]
...It would be a hard thing to miss.
[Hard in multiple ways, even, the press of their erections alongside one another only the most explicit expression of that want. But it was clear in every other gesture as well, from the touch of arms and hands, to the echo of his lips that he could still feel, the hint of damp that remained on his own. Each shudder that passed between them, as though spurred on by the awareness of the other's lust, and the longing to increase it further.
It was something of a cycle again. In response to pleasure, Mettaton shifts forward, his length nestled so enticingly against the Ascian's, a firm pressure at the base that's rubbed with each movement of his hips. In response to that, Emet-Selch's hands grab onto the other man's thighs with more urgency, a moan caught in his throat, as though needing to hold onto something in the wake of the pulse of arousal. A kneading grasp of leg, fingers trailing along the crease where limb met the rest of his body, to stroke and fondle downward, along his inner thigh. Actions to only encourage more shifts on Mettaton's part, more attention to their cocks, more grasps and shivers and pleasured exhalations.
And just one want was never enough, was it? Mettaton's voice so low to his ear, words meant for him alone, has his breathing quiet, not wanting to miss a syllable, a note of it. Attuned to not only the words, but every other aspect of it, able to feel the layers of his want. Recognize them reflected in himself. Anticipation so heavy he could taste it, a flavor that was coincidentally quite similar to that of the idol's mouth. He swallows back a sigh, leaning his head against his.]
But... feel free to inform me of it all.