[He should have figured that even if Emet-Selch was intending to hand over the control to him, he would try to press into him on his own accord, intentional or not. Drawn to each other, needing to be as close as their bodies will allow, Mettaton only stutters in response to feeling him press into his body some more, dazzled by his addition. On a drawn-out, shuddering breath, he can only give him a sigh of approval, carried on a note of warmth as he leans in again to kiss his Bonded. The desire to not only take his breath away, but this time, to leave them both breathless. A novelty, and one Mettaton craves, at that.
He's felt Emet-Selch's love for him only growing more and more, less restraint placed upon it over the course of this single night. His own, too, only blossoms. His compassion deepens, his hope for him shines brilliantly, his love is deep and sticky and fills him up. It's such a powerful emotion that feels as though he's not only connected with his soul, but taken it as his own, a connection unmistakable that he would be able to feel always. That immense, powerful spirit of his is Mettaton's to adore, to keep, to know. Though the robot doesn't actively consider it in this moment, in the haunts of his mind, he wonders if he'll always, always have the impression of his soul lingering in his heart. (And if it would suspend upon his extra-dimensional death.)
With Emet-Selch's hands pressing upon his thighs now, Mettaton returns his own arms to wrap around his lover's shoulders, a method of bracing himself for greater control while expending some of the affection he harbors for him.
But he has his method of pleasuring the both of them all set, he thinks. The gradual rocking of his hips, letting Emet-Selch sink into him by degrees, but he's not sure how he could will himself to go from empty, to full, to empty again. Not right now. So filling himself up is his focus, his body not only entirely new to him but new to this. All sensation takes on a degree of newness with tissue and muscle, giving and forgiving. Mettaton presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's for a moment, exhaling as he rocks hips back and forth as he focuses not only at the gradual filling of his body, but how pleasurable it is to feel groups of muscles contract while he's so wanting, arousal hard enough to ache. After having just found this fulfilling position, it takes him by complete surprise to feel his lover's slick fingers take to his cock. He first slips into the sensation with a protracted groan, the desire to thrust, or to be taken. Second, he bolts upright.]
Ah—!
[In his surprise, he both relaxes, and tightens. Relaxes his muscles enough for Emet-Selch's length to plunge deeper, then clamps down around him. A moment of discomfort for Mettaton, but one immediately relinquished at the sheer pleasure of having his pulsing arousal toyed with. The gain is greater than the cost.
His breathing shallows and he looks down to see his lover's fingers gliding so easily up the shaft, only to squeeze him just under the head. Mettaton bites down on his lower lip, thighs tensing as he fights to moan on air he lacks. Finally, he finds himself pulling off of the Ascian's arousal, only to drop himself back down upon it. That forces him to inhale, at least. But only to the end of letting it back out in a broken moan, overwhelmed, to his increasing pleasure.
Who needs plans when he can be blinded by stimulation? Mettaton's not sure what he was trying to do anymore. He decides to do whatever feels good. Right now, he brings his lips to Emet-Selch's to take his lover back into a sloppy kiss, working his legs so that he bobs up and down upon his Bonded's length all while he stuffs himself fuller and fuller with his cock come each downward thrust. On top of it all is the attention the Ascian pays to his cock, the memory of his fingers squeezing around the girth of it. How is he supposed to take this? Mettaton's mind all but blanks as he works some more on taking both of their breaths away: by slipping a tongue between his lips, by finding himself moaning into his kiss as he finally finds it in him to slide up and down on his erection, by being taken so thoroughly by the sensation of even his own cock being tended to. He can't help each attempted exhale being accompanied by notes of pleasure, and he doesn't even realize he's making them.]
no subject
He's felt Emet-Selch's love for him only growing more and more, less restraint placed upon it over the course of this single night. His own, too, only blossoms. His compassion deepens, his hope for him shines brilliantly, his love is deep and sticky and fills him up. It's such a powerful emotion that feels as though he's not only connected with his soul, but taken it as his own, a connection unmistakable that he would be able to feel always. That immense, powerful spirit of his is Mettaton's to adore, to keep, to know. Though the robot doesn't actively consider it in this moment, in the haunts of his mind, he wonders if he'll always, always have the impression of his soul lingering in his heart. (And if it would suspend upon his extra-dimensional death.)
With Emet-Selch's hands pressing upon his thighs now, Mettaton returns his own arms to wrap around his lover's shoulders, a method of bracing himself for greater control while expending some of the affection he harbors for him.
But he has his method of pleasuring the both of them all set, he thinks. The gradual rocking of his hips, letting Emet-Selch sink into him by degrees, but he's not sure how he could will himself to go from empty, to full, to empty again. Not right now. So filling himself up is his focus, his body not only entirely new to him but new to this. All sensation takes on a degree of newness with tissue and muscle, giving and forgiving. Mettaton presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's for a moment, exhaling as he rocks hips back and forth as he focuses not only at the gradual filling of his body, but how pleasurable it is to feel groups of muscles contract while he's so wanting, arousal hard enough to ache. After having just found this fulfilling position, it takes him by complete surprise to feel his lover's slick fingers take to his cock. He first slips into the sensation with a protracted groan, the desire to thrust, or to be taken. Second, he bolts upright.]
Ah—!
[In his surprise, he both relaxes, and tightens. Relaxes his muscles enough for Emet-Selch's length to plunge deeper, then clamps down around him. A moment of discomfort for Mettaton, but one immediately relinquished at the sheer pleasure of having his pulsing arousal toyed with. The gain is greater than the cost.
His breathing shallows and he looks down to see his lover's fingers gliding so easily up the shaft, only to squeeze him just under the head. Mettaton bites down on his lower lip, thighs tensing as he fights to moan on air he lacks. Finally, he finds himself pulling off of the Ascian's arousal, only to drop himself back down upon it. That forces him to inhale, at least. But only to the end of letting it back out in a broken moan, overwhelmed, to his increasing pleasure.
Who needs plans when he can be blinded by stimulation? Mettaton's not sure what he was trying to do anymore. He decides to do whatever feels good. Right now, he brings his lips to Emet-Selch's to take his lover back into a sloppy kiss, working his legs so that he bobs up and down upon his Bonded's length all while he stuffs himself fuller and fuller with his cock come each downward thrust. On top of it all is the attention the Ascian pays to his cock, the memory of his fingers squeezing around the girth of it. How is he supposed to take this? Mettaton's mind all but blanks as he works some more on taking both of their breaths away: by slipping a tongue between his lips, by finding himself moaning into his kiss as he finally finds it in him to slide up and down on his erection, by being taken so thoroughly by the sensation of even his own cock being tended to. He can't help each attempted exhale being accompanied by notes of pleasure, and he doesn't even realize he's making them.]