[Kissing was ever more haphazard and damp, but that was alright. Intent mattered more than coordination, and any time their lips actually met served as a bonus to their efforts. And once started, it took little effort for Emet-Selch to match the movements of his hand with that of Mettaton's hips. It felt only natural, as though the only way he could respond to that rocking pressure around his length was by echoing it in his hand. The sensation under his fingers was slick and firm and hot, traits he knew his own erection possessed as it glided and rubbed along the interior of Mettaton's body. When he felt himself squeezed with particular energy, his hand tightened as well, pulling at him in long, heavy drags along the fullness of his length.
When Mettaton shifts upward, nearly pulling off of his cock entirely, Emet-Selch shivers, his erection feeling so chilled when not inside his lover's body, cold and slick and untouched. The sharp tensing around the head of his cock was some distraction though, and his hips twitch and tremble in response. But then Mettaton was bracing himself on him, and his pulse managed to somehow leap further when his Bonded begins pressing down again, with an intent that leaves him trembling in expectation. Of pleasure both current and impending.
Smooth, inexorable. A slide downward inch by inch, that he couldn't escape from: a feeling of both taking him and being taken, which was only fitting, Emet-Selch thought. How satisfied he was in that moment, despite his frenetic pulse and shaky breathing, despite the blinding ache in his cock- at having Mettaton sitting flush in his lap like this, legs spread around him, both of their composures a distant memory, fully in love and fully aware of it. He swallows thickly then at the sight of it, losing himself to the imagery of deep violet eyes and flushed skin, taut muscles and the rock of his body. The pride in Mettaton's face at taking the whole of his girth. The tightness of muscles that the Ascian couldn't see, but only feel, clenching around his erection as though to hold him there, as though to wring from him every noise, every cry and shudder.
Even the grip on Mettaton's cock trembles, then tightens, slowing with a rubbing grip around the head, thumb pressing into the slit with a steady pressure as the idol pauses in his lap, as though they were both taking stock of the sensations they were giving one another. The fullness, the constriction- both searingly hot. And when Mettaton continues moving--]
Ah-- M... Mettaton, I...
[The way he could feel the head of his cock rubbing Mettaton so intimately and repeatedly has his eyes fall shut again, body huddling as close as he could to him, breath a mindless panting. Still trying to thrust up into him, the movement of his wrist quickening to match each stroke, smooth and firm and incessant. He could barely hear his own sounds over those of Mettaton's, which were far more interesting regardless. Every gasp and pant, each pleased noise whenever the drag of his cock was particularly satisfying, he was enraptured by it all.]
I... I love you, please- please stay....
[He's not entirely aware of anything he says, but there's a brokenness to his voice that's not wholly from a lack of oxygen, briefly pressing his face to Mettaton's neck as he pants, nuzzling with a determination.]
no subject
When Mettaton shifts upward, nearly pulling off of his cock entirely, Emet-Selch shivers, his erection feeling so chilled when not inside his lover's body, cold and slick and untouched. The sharp tensing around the head of his cock was some distraction though, and his hips twitch and tremble in response. But then Mettaton was bracing himself on him, and his pulse managed to somehow leap further when his Bonded begins pressing down again, with an intent that leaves him trembling in expectation. Of pleasure both current and impending.
Smooth, inexorable. A slide downward inch by inch, that he couldn't escape from: a feeling of both taking him and being taken, which was only fitting, Emet-Selch thought. How satisfied he was in that moment, despite his frenetic pulse and shaky breathing, despite the blinding ache in his cock- at having Mettaton sitting flush in his lap like this, legs spread around him, both of their composures a distant memory, fully in love and fully aware of it. He swallows thickly then at the sight of it, losing himself to the imagery of deep violet eyes and flushed skin, taut muscles and the rock of his body. The pride in Mettaton's face at taking the whole of his girth. The tightness of muscles that the Ascian couldn't see, but only feel, clenching around his erection as though to hold him there, as though to wring from him every noise, every cry and shudder.
Even the grip on Mettaton's cock trembles, then tightens, slowing with a rubbing grip around the head, thumb pressing into the slit with a steady pressure as the idol pauses in his lap, as though they were both taking stock of the sensations they were giving one another. The fullness, the constriction- both searingly hot. And when Mettaton continues moving--]
Ah-- M... Mettaton, I...
[The way he could feel the head of his cock rubbing Mettaton so intimately and repeatedly has his eyes fall shut again, body huddling as close as he could to him, breath a mindless panting. Still trying to thrust up into him, the movement of his wrist quickening to match each stroke, smooth and firm and incessant. He could barely hear his own sounds over those of Mettaton's, which were far more interesting regardless. Every gasp and pant, each pleased noise whenever the drag of his cock was particularly satisfying, he was enraptured by it all.]
I... I love you, please- please stay....
[He's not entirely aware of anything he says, but there's a brokenness to his voice that's not wholly from a lack of oxygen, briefly pressing his face to Mettaton's neck as he pants, nuzzling with a determination.]