[Into their kiss Mettaton groans again. It goes beyond the taste of blood or magic, but the taste of Emet-Selch, his lover and his Bonded and his friend, and all else he could imagine. He closes his eyes as he presses into his lips, enjoying the feeling of his Bondmate squirming and twitching beneath. He would have to stay put, and express all of that want through their kiss, through sound, through helpless squirming. Drown willingly in him. Mettaton's fingers grip tighter on his wrists, pressing his weight into his arms, too. There are no half-measures to be found here.
Every last sensation Mettaton detects in this body is once again cherished. The sensation of air cold against slightly damp skin, flushed in his heat, is completely new, as is the feeling of lingering come stuck between them, their sex a heady, stimulating scent that fuels blissful intoxication further yet. For the moment, Mettaton helplessly grinds into Emet-Selch, wanton neediness compelling him to shamelessly rub his cock into his Bonded's with another slip of a moan into his mouth. He sucks on his lip, his tongue, and drinks him in completely, the delicacy of heat and sweat and come all a contributing factor that brings him to shudder severely. But he refuses to weaken his grip: Emet-Selch would remain under him, subject to his whims.
He stills his hips and shifts back onto his knees, delaying his and Emet-Selch's direct avenue of pleasure if not for the overarching desires Mettaton has in store: he can't get himself too riled up if he wants to outlast Emet-Selch, for all he'll still permit himself the ability to lose himself in his lover. When he pulls away from this kiss, he gasps for air: Mettaton hadn't even realized just how lightheaded he was getting. He gazes down upon the Ascian with a hazy, drunken look, his own lip swollen from kissing so fiercely and features still marked up with his lover. He presses one last kiss between gasps to his lips, taking a moment to exclusively lick Emet-Selch's lips with a pleasant hum on a smooth voice.
With one final look spared for Emet-Selch, Mettaton licks his lips of blood before dipping down. Down further, down to Emet-Selch's chest, where he runs his tongue along skin. Kisses follow, deliberate and loving: Mettaton considers all this body's been for him, such an intimate window into something he's long coveted, somebody he's grown to adore so deeply, a body loved by himself so dearly. A body to express upon, to reach his Bonded in all ways. Each kiss is open-mouthed. For all that he's not biting carnivorously into flesh, that same level of fever is present regardless. There's a persistent ache to each one, a craving insatiable and immeasurable.
He drags his mouth, hot and wet, over his nipple, lightly teasing him between teeth before switching back to tongue. He swirls it around before kissing him, open-mouthed and passionate, providing him suction with more flicks of tongue. Shifting to a supple area of his chest, he takes even that between his lips and sucks a mark into him, all part of a plan to mark him up anywhere that strikes his fancy. He sucks hard before tonguing his work proudly, taking visual stock that he's marked him before moving along to another spot.
They both might be aching for direct gratification, but Mettaton has desires he needs to fulfill. Desires that leave him to further craving of his Bonded, desires he knows will, in the long term, give them both something to always remember. How could either of them forget the view of Emet-Selch's body after Mettaton takes him so thoroughly?]
no subject
Every last sensation Mettaton detects in this body is once again cherished. The sensation of air cold against slightly damp skin, flushed in his heat, is completely new, as is the feeling of lingering come stuck between them, their sex a heady, stimulating scent that fuels blissful intoxication further yet. For the moment, Mettaton helplessly grinds into Emet-Selch, wanton neediness compelling him to shamelessly rub his cock into his Bonded's with another slip of a moan into his mouth. He sucks on his lip, his tongue, and drinks him in completely, the delicacy of heat and sweat and come all a contributing factor that brings him to shudder severely. But he refuses to weaken his grip: Emet-Selch would remain under him, subject to his whims.
He stills his hips and shifts back onto his knees, delaying his and Emet-Selch's direct avenue of pleasure if not for the overarching desires Mettaton has in store: he can't get himself too riled up if he wants to outlast Emet-Selch, for all he'll still permit himself the ability to lose himself in his lover. When he pulls away from this kiss, he gasps for air: Mettaton hadn't even realized just how lightheaded he was getting. He gazes down upon the Ascian with a hazy, drunken look, his own lip swollen from kissing so fiercely and features still marked up with his lover. He presses one last kiss between gasps to his lips, taking a moment to exclusively lick Emet-Selch's lips with a pleasant hum on a smooth voice.
With one final look spared for Emet-Selch, Mettaton licks his lips of blood before dipping down. Down further, down to Emet-Selch's chest, where he runs his tongue along skin. Kisses follow, deliberate and loving: Mettaton considers all this body's been for him, such an intimate window into something he's long coveted, somebody he's grown to adore so deeply, a body loved by himself so dearly. A body to express upon, to reach his Bonded in all ways. Each kiss is open-mouthed. For all that he's not biting carnivorously into flesh, that same level of fever is present regardless. There's a persistent ache to each one, a craving insatiable and immeasurable.
He drags his mouth, hot and wet, over his nipple, lightly teasing him between teeth before switching back to tongue. He swirls it around before kissing him, open-mouthed and passionate, providing him suction with more flicks of tongue. Shifting to a supple area of his chest, he takes even that between his lips and sucks a mark into him, all part of a plan to mark him up anywhere that strikes his fancy. He sucks hard before tonguing his work proudly, taking visual stock that he's marked him before moving along to another spot.
They both might be aching for direct gratification, but Mettaton has desires he needs to fulfill. Desires that leave him to further craving of his Bonded, desires he knows will, in the long term, give them both something to always remember. How could either of them forget the view of Emet-Selch's body after Mettaton takes him so thoroughly?]