[While every sound of need, each shiver, the trembling of Mettaton's legs- all of it serving to heighten his own anticipation, the throbbing of his arousal- he didn't feel at all impatient either. There was too much to fascinate him at each stage; every sound, every breath, the hardness of Mettaton's own cock and nearness of his body, the strength of the heat surrounding his finger. The thought of that same warmth engulfing his erection has him swallowing a moan, hips ineffectually shifting underneath his lover's body, yearning to be a part of him.
Though they close for a few seconds as he works through a shudder, his eyes open enough to glance down as he takes a breath, Emet-Selch noticing when Mettaton places a hand over his heart. What was it like to suddenly have a pulse, he wondered. A completely unfamiliar sensation... and how many of those Mettaton seemed to be achieving in these short few months. In these shorter few hours, and he felt oddly touched at being able to watch and feel his reactions, to provoke some of them, to generally be a part of it. Feelings that lead him to devote further attention towards kissing his neck, gentle for the moment, if too open-mouthed and wet to be anything like chaste.
For all of the Ascian's own experience, much of this was new to him as well. Not any individual act, which were all entirely familiar, but all of the attached emotions. His degree of comfort and openness of response. Before, he'd tended to view sex with a generalized indifference; a pleasant enough thing, to be sure, but while occasionally distracting, it did little for him in any kind of sustained way. Having complete contempt for any of his partners hadn't helped, on top of being fatally sentimental. And with detachment at the fore, no one able to engage with or even aware of his actual self... there had been no space for involvement. He'd always thought himself restrained by nature, but was coming to learn in Mettaton's presence that he'd just gone unprovoked.
And here he was now, aching and invested. Desperate for him, both soul and and body. Emet-Selch didn't think he could find this with anyone else. Not like this- not to this degree.
He swallows again, closing his eyes. Rests lips against damp skin. Breathes in his lover's nearness.
At the tensing around his finger, he neither presses deeper nor retreats, only rubbing slowly within him, though the Ascian assumes the response is borne more from an unfamiliarity with the sensation or simple eagerness, rather than discomfort. The constant moving on Mettaton's part serves to further lead to that conclusion- and while the idol always seemed to be moving in some way as his default, it was made that much more endearing now. Excitement that couldn't be contained, the positive sort of agitation.
Taking that into account, he begins to move his finger with a smooth, even gesture as soon as he senses any measure of relaxing- at least, as evenly as he can, considering the slight jostling provided by Mettaton's body. He pushes as deeply as he can reach before sliding part of the way out, unhurried, despite the arousal pulsing through his blood. It's without any pause or hesitation that on one of those drags inward, a second finger joins the first, not quite as cold at this point, and warming quickly.]
no subject
Though they close for a few seconds as he works through a shudder, his eyes open enough to glance down as he takes a breath, Emet-Selch noticing when Mettaton places a hand over his heart. What was it like to suddenly have a pulse, he wondered. A completely unfamiliar sensation... and how many of those Mettaton seemed to be achieving in these short few months. In these shorter few hours, and he felt oddly touched at being able to watch and feel his reactions, to provoke some of them, to generally be a part of it. Feelings that lead him to devote further attention towards kissing his neck, gentle for the moment, if too open-mouthed and wet to be anything like chaste.
For all of the Ascian's own experience, much of this was new to him as well. Not any individual act, which were all entirely familiar, but all of the attached emotions. His degree of comfort and openness of response. Before, he'd tended to view sex with a generalized indifference; a pleasant enough thing, to be sure, but while occasionally distracting, it did little for him in any kind of sustained way. Having complete contempt for any of his partners hadn't helped, on top of being fatally sentimental. And with detachment at the fore, no one able to engage with or even aware of his actual self... there had been no space for involvement. He'd always thought himself restrained by nature, but was coming to learn in Mettaton's presence that he'd just gone unprovoked.
And here he was now, aching and invested. Desperate for him, both soul and and body. Emet-Selch didn't think he could find this with anyone else. Not like this- not to this degree.
He swallows again, closing his eyes. Rests lips against damp skin. Breathes in his lover's nearness.
At the tensing around his finger, he neither presses deeper nor retreats, only rubbing slowly within him, though the Ascian assumes the response is borne more from an unfamiliarity with the sensation or simple eagerness, rather than discomfort. The constant moving on Mettaton's part serves to further lead to that conclusion- and while the idol always seemed to be moving in some way as his default, it was made that much more endearing now. Excitement that couldn't be contained, the positive sort of agitation.
Taking that into account, he begins to move his finger with a smooth, even gesture as soon as he senses any measure of relaxing- at least, as evenly as he can, considering the slight jostling provided by Mettaton's body. He pushes as deeply as he can reach before sliding part of the way out, unhurried, despite the arousal pulsing through his blood. It's without any pause or hesitation that on one of those drags inward, a second finger joins the first, not quite as cold at this point, and warming quickly.]