[To feel love from a bite, a kiss, from any gesture they chose to impart to one another, no matter how gentle or rough- was an experience he still felt very weak to. That actions could be so laden down by it.... In an abstract sense it didn't strike him as impossible, perhaps not even unusual for some people. But it's something he'd never thought to receive himself, never thought he was capable of expressing. Though he'd found Mettaton attractive early enough on, despite their opposed views, and the idol's oft' irritating persona, that didn't explain how provocative he found him. Yet very quickly the Ascian had been able to relax with Mettaton, had responses of greater openness and strength enticed from him. Though he'd considered the time he'd recognized his love for the other man to be the point of no return, he wondered if it had happened even earlier....
To not feel alone was a difficult thing, a thing Emet-Selch despaired over. A thing that wasn't solved by an evening's company, wasn't solved by a kind word or a touch. He was a void of misery that nothing could influence, and nothing could budge. And yet. And yet, this had an effect... something he could somehow feel in the midst of the tragedy of all else. But not anyone's company would do, only this had worked, only him- someone who he could trust and adore, who wouldn't leave, who wouldn't forget him, he promised--
They both... had a lot to catch up on.
Taking each kiss as deeply as he could, the weight of his own love weighed Emet-Selch down more than even the vice-like grip over his wrists, but it was there and unmistakable for anything else. And he could only marvel in his continued observation of Mettaton's version of the emotion, so different yet still recognizable- as well as how they could both express their variations on a feeling through contact. That they could meet so effectively this way, despite how different they were.
It's a reverie that has him swallowing heavily, and shivering faintly as Mettaton moves lower on his body once more. But there's a moment's surprise when an incidental brush against his cock turns into a suck over the tip of it, a soft, needy sound startled out of him, eyes opening, head tilting up to get a glimpse of it- only in time to see Mettaton sliding off from him, moving onward.
An action that has his body twitching up in protest, as though it could force additional suction despite Mettaton having drifted over to his hip instead. An effective tease, and how susceptible he was to it- though feeling the pressure of his lover's mouth applied to the soft parts around his hip was an equally effective consolation. Though he couldn't see the results of his work very well like this, he could feel them, the areas around his erection especially sensitive to such treatment. Either because they were genuinely more sensitive, or whether they only felt as such because of how close he knew Mettaton was to his cock, Emet-Selch didn't know. It also didn't matter, not when his Bonded kept nudging against his length, in scraps of contact he refused to believe were accidental.
But each brush sent a corresponding wave of arousal through him, enough to disrupt his breathing, hot skin against equally hot skin, aching and tender. The muscles in his abdomen tense hard from the feeling of a wet tongue swiping over it, over skin made newly tender and bruised, and even moreso by the hint of contact against his cock.
A hint that became... almost more than a suggestion, as Mettaton's face finally turns, to breathe and focus on his length specifically. But there he pauses, as if waiting, and Emet-Selch looks down at him, the man's parted lips hovering so close to the tip of his erection. The tension in his hips indicates a desire to thrust, one that he bites his own bitten lip in order to restrain- before deciding, why? Why hold back when his mouth was so inviting and so there for the taking--
It's not much of a decision in the end, really; his hips jerk sharply upwards even before his mind has really accepted this course of action. But there's immediate satisfaction, crying out as he pushes the ridge of the head past Mettaton's lips, feels the prize of heat and wet around it, his noise turned into a protracted moan. It's barely that he's able to keep watching at all.]
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To not feel alone was a difficult thing, a thing Emet-Selch despaired over. A thing that wasn't solved by an evening's company, wasn't solved by a kind word or a touch. He was a void of misery that nothing could influence, and nothing could budge. And yet. And yet, this had an effect... something he could somehow feel in the midst of the tragedy of all else. But not anyone's company would do, only this had worked, only him- someone who he could trust and adore, who wouldn't leave, who wouldn't forget him, he promised--
They both... had a lot to catch up on.
Taking each kiss as deeply as he could, the weight of his own love weighed Emet-Selch down more than even the vice-like grip over his wrists, but it was there and unmistakable for anything else. And he could only marvel in his continued observation of Mettaton's version of the emotion, so different yet still recognizable- as well as how they could both express their variations on a feeling through contact. That they could meet so effectively this way, despite how different they were.
It's a reverie that has him swallowing heavily, and shivering faintly as Mettaton moves lower on his body once more. But there's a moment's surprise when an incidental brush against his cock turns into a suck over the tip of it, a soft, needy sound startled out of him, eyes opening, head tilting up to get a glimpse of it- only in time to see Mettaton sliding off from him, moving onward.
An action that has his body twitching up in protest, as though it could force additional suction despite Mettaton having drifted over to his hip instead. An effective tease, and how susceptible he was to it- though feeling the pressure of his lover's mouth applied to the soft parts around his hip was an equally effective consolation. Though he couldn't see the results of his work very well like this, he could feel them, the areas around his erection especially sensitive to such treatment. Either because they were genuinely more sensitive, or whether they only felt as such because of how close he knew Mettaton was to his cock, Emet-Selch didn't know. It also didn't matter, not when his Bonded kept nudging against his length, in scraps of contact he refused to believe were accidental.
But each brush sent a corresponding wave of arousal through him, enough to disrupt his breathing, hot skin against equally hot skin, aching and tender. The muscles in his abdomen tense hard from the feeling of a wet tongue swiping over it, over skin made newly tender and bruised, and even moreso by the hint of contact against his cock.
A hint that became... almost more than a suggestion, as Mettaton's face finally turns, to breathe and focus on his length specifically. But there he pauses, as if waiting, and Emet-Selch looks down at him, the man's parted lips hovering so close to the tip of his erection. The tension in his hips indicates a desire to thrust, one that he bites his own bitten lip in order to restrain- before deciding, why? Why hold back when his mouth was so inviting and so there for the taking--
It's not much of a decision in the end, really; his hips jerk sharply upwards even before his mind has really accepted this course of action. But there's immediate satisfaction, crying out as he pushes the ridge of the head past Mettaton's lips, feels the prize of heat and wet around it, his noise turned into a protracted moan. It's barely that he's able to keep watching at all.]