[Mark after mark left all over his chest, each sound and shift and writhe another sort of pleasure to soak in. Something psychological to be converted into heat that courses through his muscles, But Emet-Selch's noises give him a different kind of pleasure, one that pools in his abdomen and feels like it only hardens in his cock, further neediness, an itch he needs to rub out. But he won't. Not out of any sense of patience, but the sense of anticipation instead.
Sucking a new mark so close to his nipple, Mettaton idly realizes what he's doing here. And that idle thought quickly turns into one arresting. In this brand new body, temporary though it may be, he's indulging in such carnal pleasures of flesh and blood with his beloved, a man who he's grown so desperately attached to over the months. Months that feel much longer and much shorter simultaneously: shorter because the experience with the Rathmores feels entirely too recent, and longer because of the Ascian and how fond he's become of him. How could he know someone this well in so short a time, and have him know him in return like this? Every conversation, every contact, every meeting of eyes and lips and fingers, so much of it is recorded somewhere precious in Mettaton's mind. Their vulnerability is staggering, he thinks, as he pulls away from skin to kiss at his newest red-purple mark.
He pays mind to how hard Emet-Selch breathes, kisses drifting over his chest until he reaches the side less touched, where he takes his nipple into a mouth hot beyond necessity and sucks again, harder and with firmer strokes of tongue. Letting him pop free, he flicks that nub with his tongue before mouthing him with his lips, something like a sloppy kiss. How much this feels like indulging in his Bonded's body to his inorganic heart's content overwhelms the robot, who remains awestruck by how soft and warm and receptive bodies like these are to the passion of sex. He couldn't get enough of this — specifically, Emet-Selch.
And he drifts slightly, takes unmarred skin between teeth and bites a bruise into him this time, switching so easily between tender to ravenous, the memory of Emet-Selch's furious kissing on the mind. And he hums into his latest claim, sucking hard enough for it to hurt his own mouth.
The idol pushes back somewhat, thumbs stroking the insides of Emet-Selch's wrists as he beholds the marks made on his lover's chest. Not nearly as many as his neck and shoulders, but the very sight has his eyes take on a cloudy sheen, cock absolutely throbbing with each beat of his heart. Emet-Selch's neck drips with blood both clotting and dried, upper body covered in reds and purples. It's hard to see a spot on his shoulder that doesn't have some manner of bruise, focused or extended otherwise, and even his lip is swollen with a cut so enticing that Mettaton licks at his own lips to keep from drooling. His chest is peppered in color, Mettaton appearing to take a special focus around each nipple: bruises, mostly, but a bite mark here and there that never sunk deep enough to break skin. Taken by the sight, the monster sighs, purely in love with the man whose visage he refocuses upon to the best of his ability.]
Oh... Already, I'm sure these will please you for time to come. I won't forget this look...
[Hungry for that punctured lip of his Bonded, Mettaton leans in to recapture it, to rebreak any healing that could've possibly taken place between Emet-Selch's gasps and writhes: blood flows anew, and Mettaton shivers, moans into the kiss, feels for how his blood itself feels molten hot. Next, he thinks, he absolutely needs to take his thighs and his abdomen. He decides it here: he'll suck Emet-Selch off once, then take to his recovering body thereafter with his own pounding arousal. The thought is delicious: Mettaton shudders again, this one full-bodied and harsh against the Ascian's lips.]
no subject
Sucking a new mark so close to his nipple, Mettaton idly realizes what he's doing here. And that idle thought quickly turns into one arresting. In this brand new body, temporary though it may be, he's indulging in such carnal pleasures of flesh and blood with his beloved, a man who he's grown so desperately attached to over the months. Months that feel much longer and much shorter simultaneously: shorter because the experience with the Rathmores feels entirely too recent, and longer because of the Ascian and how fond he's become of him. How could he know someone this well in so short a time, and have him know him in return like this? Every conversation, every contact, every meeting of eyes and lips and fingers, so much of it is recorded somewhere precious in Mettaton's mind. Their vulnerability is staggering, he thinks, as he pulls away from skin to kiss at his newest red-purple mark.
He pays mind to how hard Emet-Selch breathes, kisses drifting over his chest until he reaches the side less touched, where he takes his nipple into a mouth hot beyond necessity and sucks again, harder and with firmer strokes of tongue. Letting him pop free, he flicks that nub with his tongue before mouthing him with his lips, something like a sloppy kiss. How much this feels like indulging in his Bonded's body to his inorganic heart's content overwhelms the robot, who remains awestruck by how soft and warm and receptive bodies like these are to the passion of sex. He couldn't get enough of this — specifically, Emet-Selch.
And he drifts slightly, takes unmarred skin between teeth and bites a bruise into him this time, switching so easily between tender to ravenous, the memory of Emet-Selch's furious kissing on the mind. And he hums into his latest claim, sucking hard enough for it to hurt his own mouth.
The idol pushes back somewhat, thumbs stroking the insides of Emet-Selch's wrists as he beholds the marks made on his lover's chest. Not nearly as many as his neck and shoulders, but the very sight has his eyes take on a cloudy sheen, cock absolutely throbbing with each beat of his heart. Emet-Selch's neck drips with blood both clotting and dried, upper body covered in reds and purples. It's hard to see a spot on his shoulder that doesn't have some manner of bruise, focused or extended otherwise, and even his lip is swollen with a cut so enticing that Mettaton licks at his own lips to keep from drooling. His chest is peppered in color, Mettaton appearing to take a special focus around each nipple: bruises, mostly, but a bite mark here and there that never sunk deep enough to break skin. Taken by the sight, the monster sighs, purely in love with the man whose visage he refocuses upon to the best of his ability.]
Oh... Already, I'm sure these will please you for time to come. I won't forget this look...
[Hungry for that punctured lip of his Bonded, Mettaton leans in to recapture it, to rebreak any healing that could've possibly taken place between Emet-Selch's gasps and writhes: blood flows anew, and Mettaton shivers, moans into the kiss, feels for how his blood itself feels molten hot. Next, he thinks, he absolutely needs to take his thighs and his abdomen. He decides it here: he'll suck Emet-Selch off once, then take to his recovering body thereafter with his own pounding arousal. The thought is delicious: Mettaton shudders again, this one full-bodied and harsh against the Ascian's lips.]