[It's certainly an easy thing to lose his breath in Mettaton's presence. A voluntary suffocation, something Emet-Selch had never realized he could be prone to. Would there be any long-term health effects from being regularly prevented air? Surely not- and if so, he wouldn't regret a moment of it. Nor would he refrain from taking every opportunity he could to do the same to Mettaton: any time he happened to be in possession of lungs, the air within was his to claim.
As was the rest of him, and Mettaton's new form was indecently congenial when it came to demonstrating that claim, the Ascian barely swallowing back further moans when he feels the head of his cock stuffed ever more deeply. But even when it came to claim and possessiveness, it was tied up throughout with love and affection, protectiveness and caring, the desire to remain beside. How could either of them ever forget this, when their souls were joined, their bodies merged? Their intentions aligned, attentions combined, a fostering of excessiveness that had a strangely positive result. Intensive, invasive, and genuine, a composition that was more than any individual part. When Mettaton's cheek is against his, Emet-Selch leans back into it for the moment, in a gesture of simple fondness, that feeling in particular becoming the predominate one for so long as the contact lasted.
Mettaton's response to the hold on his cock was doubly gratifying. First, because of his Bonded's clear pleasure and surprise, the jolt to his body, the way he cried out despite the lack of air. And then, the way the Ascian can feel his own cock sink deeper, so snugly into that heat, a sensation that already has him groaning in satisfaction- only to have that pressure clench around him, choking off that sound with a tenser shiver. His hand around Mettaton's cock briefly tightens alongside it, thoughts scattered as the rush of that sensation runs through him. Almost too intense, really, in his heightened state, but that much more delectable for it, and the next sound he manages is more outright pleasured, if no more easily expressed.
Giving brief, firm kisses between each other's moans, his hand around Mettaton's arousal continues moving again, at first unconsciously, and then deliberately trying to time his strokes to match the rocking of his lover's hips. As though the idol was both thrusting and being penetrated at the same time. Even so, his hold tends to tighten closer to the head, occasionally rubbing a thumb over the very tip, before pulling his hand downward once more. Or his thumb will draw a line along the underside, from the base upward, dragging firm over the ridge. Just stroking over him like this, manipulating his hardness in his fingers, leaves the Ascian with ever more desires for it- to be fucked by him again, to suck him off until completion, to take his come that way as well- there was always more to want, which contrarily left him that much more enticed for all that he currently had. The way his lover's cock felt in his hand, the shape and stiffness of it was its own distinct pleasure, especially coupled with every sound and movement on Mettaton's part.
Most riveting at all, though, was the continued tight pressure around his own erection, the heat that dragged over much of his length, the endless rubbing welcoming him deeper. The way Mettaton's body gives way to him, squeezes and strokes him with each roll of hips, and he moans with ever more regularity at the sensation. Or tries to, on whatever air Emet-Selch managed to collect. His free arm clutches and kneads at Mettaton's thigh, helping to drag him lower, harder onto his cock with each roll downwards- though sometimes it only amounts to a tensing of fingers, digging in at the harder pulses of arousal, the pangs of want that leave him panting.
Even then, all he has ears for are the sounds coming from Mettaton, his voice sounding ever more lovely in its incoherence, noises that escape between their kiss. Lips parted to him, damply pressed to his Bonded's, he sometimes tries to suck at his tongue, but mostly gasps around it, his own stroking back at it.]
no subject
As was the rest of him, and Mettaton's new form was indecently congenial when it came to demonstrating that claim, the Ascian barely swallowing back further moans when he feels the head of his cock stuffed ever more deeply. But even when it came to claim and possessiveness, it was tied up throughout with love and affection, protectiveness and caring, the desire to remain beside. How could either of them ever forget this, when their souls were joined, their bodies merged? Their intentions aligned, attentions combined, a fostering of excessiveness that had a strangely positive result. Intensive, invasive, and genuine, a composition that was more than any individual part. When Mettaton's cheek is against his, Emet-Selch leans back into it for the moment, in a gesture of simple fondness, that feeling in particular becoming the predominate one for so long as the contact lasted.
Mettaton's response to the hold on his cock was doubly gratifying. First, because of his Bonded's clear pleasure and surprise, the jolt to his body, the way he cried out despite the lack of air. And then, the way the Ascian can feel his own cock sink deeper, so snugly into that heat, a sensation that already has him groaning in satisfaction- only to have that pressure clench around him, choking off that sound with a tenser shiver. His hand around Mettaton's cock briefly tightens alongside it, thoughts scattered as the rush of that sensation runs through him. Almost too intense, really, in his heightened state, but that much more delectable for it, and the next sound he manages is more outright pleasured, if no more easily expressed.
Giving brief, firm kisses between each other's moans, his hand around Mettaton's arousal continues moving again, at first unconsciously, and then deliberately trying to time his strokes to match the rocking of his lover's hips. As though the idol was both thrusting and being penetrated at the same time. Even so, his hold tends to tighten closer to the head, occasionally rubbing a thumb over the very tip, before pulling his hand downward once more. Or his thumb will draw a line along the underside, from the base upward, dragging firm over the ridge. Just stroking over him like this, manipulating his hardness in his fingers, leaves the Ascian with ever more desires for it- to be fucked by him again, to suck him off until completion, to take his come that way as well- there was always more to want, which contrarily left him that much more enticed for all that he currently had. The way his lover's cock felt in his hand, the shape and stiffness of it was its own distinct pleasure, especially coupled with every sound and movement on Mettaton's part.
Most riveting at all, though, was the continued tight pressure around his own erection, the heat that dragged over much of his length, the endless rubbing welcoming him deeper. The way Mettaton's body gives way to him, squeezes and strokes him with each roll of hips, and he moans with ever more regularity at the sensation. Or tries to, on whatever air Emet-Selch managed to collect. His free arm clutches and kneads at Mettaton's thigh, helping to drag him lower, harder onto his cock with each roll downwards- though sometimes it only amounts to a tensing of fingers, digging in at the harder pulses of arousal, the pangs of want that leave him panting.
Even then, all he has ears for are the sounds coming from Mettaton, his voice sounding ever more lovely in its incoherence, noises that escape between their kiss. Lips parted to him, damply pressed to his Bonded's, he sometimes tries to suck at his tongue, but mostly gasps around it, his own stroking back at it.]