[There was a lot of want to express, and with more limited means to do so, Emet-Selch presses that much harder into their kiss, licking and biting at him, sucking at his lip and tongue as though trying to devour him in turn. With other outlets restricted, he would focus the entirety of his need for him into this: the wet heat of their mouths, their mingled moans and rubbing cocks.
But then Mettaton moved, leaving their erections unstroked and their lips unoccupied (or rather, occupied by the lesser task of breathing). Chest heaving, he writhed fitfully between gasps, expression unguarded and clearly longing. Not only for the press of his body and taste of his mouth, but for Mettaton himself. For every part of him, every aspect- to have him in some intrinsic, absolute way.
But from losing the heat of Mettaton's body, to losing the drag of his erection against his, these were bleak times for the Ascian's cock. An ache so quickly inspired and then left hard and cold and wanting. But it was the kind of frustration he was looking for, for all that his hips twitched uselessly upward, his body yearning for his lover's cock with a fixation that still exasperated and surprised him a bit. To desire him so fiercely.... But how could he drown sufficiently, if he were rubbed off so easily?
Another kiss, however brief, served not as a balm, but a few seconds more of expressing how starved he was for him. Mettaton's gasps seemed to steal his own air, somehow, a process further aided by the sight of his face, and especially from every touch between swollen lips. When the puca's head dips lower, the Ascian's eyes attempt to stay on him for a time, for all that most of what he could see was dark hair and movement. But his mind can fill in the blanks when he feels warmth and wetness over his chest, and occasional suction. Damp places left to cool in Mettaton's wake, a path of attachment and claim, an impression of his presence left behind, even when there wasn't a bruise to show it.
His eyes close again, head relaxing back against the bed when Mettaton reaches a nipple. A low sigh that was three-quarters of the way to a moan escapes his lips, as his body attempts to lean upwards, into that attention. His muscles tighten with a shiver, arms still tensed, fighting Mettaton's grip with no actual desire to escape it. Breathing elevated, his exhalation carries another near-moan with it when the idol moves to more giving pastures on his chest, the heat of his mouth turning into clear pressure. Even without being able to see it for himself, he knows well enough how the skin must've turned underneath his treatment, body trembling between breaths as the suction turns into a lick, a softer, wetter swipe over sore skin.
His senses felt inundated, unable to focus on only one aspect of affairs. His body felt alert, oversensitive to each place Mettaton decided to press his mouth to, the slight tease of his bangs whenever they brushed across skin. The scent of sex and blood would've been overwhelming in itself, and he shuddered again at remembering how his lover's come remained spattered onto him. And inside of him, for that matter; both satisfying in different ways, and with Mettaton leaving marks on his chest, that would be another place not left bereft of his possession.]
no subject
But then Mettaton moved, leaving their erections unstroked and their lips unoccupied (or rather, occupied by the lesser task of breathing). Chest heaving, he writhed fitfully between gasps, expression unguarded and clearly longing. Not only for the press of his body and taste of his mouth, but for Mettaton himself. For every part of him, every aspect- to have him in some intrinsic, absolute way.
But from losing the heat of Mettaton's body, to losing the drag of his erection against his, these were bleak times for the Ascian's cock. An ache so quickly inspired and then left hard and cold and wanting. But it was the kind of frustration he was looking for, for all that his hips twitched uselessly upward, his body yearning for his lover's cock with a fixation that still exasperated and surprised him a bit. To desire him so fiercely.... But how could he drown sufficiently, if he were rubbed off so easily?
Another kiss, however brief, served not as a balm, but a few seconds more of expressing how starved he was for him. Mettaton's gasps seemed to steal his own air, somehow, a process further aided by the sight of his face, and especially from every touch between swollen lips. When the puca's head dips lower, the Ascian's eyes attempt to stay on him for a time, for all that most of what he could see was dark hair and movement. But his mind can fill in the blanks when he feels warmth and wetness over his chest, and occasional suction. Damp places left to cool in Mettaton's wake, a path of attachment and claim, an impression of his presence left behind, even when there wasn't a bruise to show it.
His eyes close again, head relaxing back against the bed when Mettaton reaches a nipple. A low sigh that was three-quarters of the way to a moan escapes his lips, as his body attempts to lean upwards, into that attention. His muscles tighten with a shiver, arms still tensed, fighting Mettaton's grip with no actual desire to escape it. Breathing elevated, his exhalation carries another near-moan with it when the idol moves to more giving pastures on his chest, the heat of his mouth turning into clear pressure. Even without being able to see it for himself, he knows well enough how the skin must've turned underneath his treatment, body trembling between breaths as the suction turns into a lick, a softer, wetter swipe over sore skin.
His senses felt inundated, unable to focus on only one aspect of affairs. His body felt alert, oversensitive to each place Mettaton decided to press his mouth to, the slight tease of his bangs whenever they brushed across skin. The scent of sex and blood would've been overwhelming in itself, and he shuddered again at remembering how his lover's come remained spattered onto him. And inside of him, for that matter; both satisfying in different ways, and with Mettaton leaving marks on his chest, that would be another place not left bereft of his possession.]