[Every single time he hears Emet-Selch gasp, only to manage some kind of verbal response, it fills Mettaton with a heat so strong that he shivers, a contradictory response. His thighs tremble, leaving him tenuously above the tip of Emet-Selch's arousal upon unsteady legs, an idea that has him thrilled, heart pounding, even though it isn't as though losing his will to remain propped up wold mean that he'd penetrate him. (But it could once he took any length of him inside, he imagines; and he can barely do it, not having experienced the sensation at all. He's anticipatory.)
Mettaton bites at his lower lip as a noise of both satisfaction and untempered need escapes his throat, a bit more needy than he imagined it would sound on his smooth voice. He sucks in a breath, closing his eyes for a fleeting moment as he takes in the sensation, the suggestion of what's to come, the sound of Emet-Selch's voice and the sensation of his erection twitching into him, and he can feel his own cock, completely visible before his Bonded, throbbing with need.
Another moment dedicated toward unprecedented sensation. All of this... how could he have experienced it anywhere else? With anyone else? Were he to sleep with someone else, sure, he'd be unrestrained. But could they match him as Emet-Selch does? They'd never be him.
Then, he opens his eyes to watch Emet-Selch reach for lube, warm and melty and deeply in love. Their usual swing from heated, fervent, carnal passion to aching, blissful affection, and he finds that one of his hands has trailed to press over his own heart to feel it beat against his fingers. And how hard it does, under the weight of exertion and romance. He zones out a bit as Emet-Selch squeezes lube onto his fingers, even as he watches him with a smile, and regains his full awareness as Emet-Selch's reaching for their bodies again.
More anticipation: and why shouldn't Emet-Selch wish to prepare him first, cold as it is? Mettaton relishes the threat, then gasps at the reality of cold slickness applied to his entrance. His eyes blow wide and his smile brightens at the complete novelty of it all, the attention paid to his body. He's overwhelmingly eager.]
Ah—!
[Leaning forward farther, his throat would easily meet Emet-Selch's lips. The pressure is strange, he's unaccustomed to what this should feel like entirely... And it only gets stranger when he slips a finger inside of him. Mettaton exhales. Cherishes the newness of it, the coldness of it that sets his feverish body shivering.]
H-Hades...
[He tenses severely around Emet-Selch's single digit before any kind of relaxing can take place. Even then, he's one to keep shifting, tensing erratically, moving — how could he bring himself to stay still with all of this heat building in him? He leans pleasurably into Emet-Selch's kiss.]
no subject
Mettaton bites at his lower lip as a noise of both satisfaction and untempered need escapes his throat, a bit more needy than he imagined it would sound on his smooth voice. He sucks in a breath, closing his eyes for a fleeting moment as he takes in the sensation, the suggestion of what's to come, the sound of Emet-Selch's voice and the sensation of his erection twitching into him, and he can feel his own cock, completely visible before his Bonded, throbbing with need.
Another moment dedicated toward unprecedented sensation. All of this... how could he have experienced it anywhere else? With anyone else? Were he to sleep with someone else, sure, he'd be unrestrained. But could they match him as Emet-Selch does? They'd never be him.
Then, he opens his eyes to watch Emet-Selch reach for lube, warm and melty and deeply in love. Their usual swing from heated, fervent, carnal passion to aching, blissful affection, and he finds that one of his hands has trailed to press over his own heart to feel it beat against his fingers. And how hard it does, under the weight of exertion and romance. He zones out a bit as Emet-Selch squeezes lube onto his fingers, even as he watches him with a smile, and regains his full awareness as Emet-Selch's reaching for their bodies again.
More anticipation: and why shouldn't Emet-Selch wish to prepare him first, cold as it is? Mettaton relishes the threat, then gasps at the reality of cold slickness applied to his entrance. His eyes blow wide and his smile brightens at the complete novelty of it all, the attention paid to his body. He's overwhelmingly eager.]
Ah—!
[Leaning forward farther, his throat would easily meet Emet-Selch's lips. The pressure is strange, he's unaccustomed to what this should feel like entirely... And it only gets stranger when he slips a finger inside of him. Mettaton exhales. Cherishes the newness of it, the coldness of it that sets his feverish body shivering.]
H-Hades...
[He tenses severely around Emet-Selch's single digit before any kind of relaxing can take place. Even then, he's one to keep shifting, tensing erratically, moving — how could he bring himself to stay still with all of this heat building in him? He leans pleasurably into Emet-Selch's kiss.]