[The reward of being sucked upon was of immense relief, and an even more immense stoking of already considerable burning. Small sounds escape with each breath, as his hips continue trying to press upward, to force himself deeper, to take more of his mouth. His eyes close again as his head arches back when Mettaton's tongue glides over the slit, then curls along the underside. Each suck was another pulse of pleasure, a stark increase that Emet-Selch wasn't remotely prepared for, and which he was helpless to keep from attempting to thrust into.
The brief moment when Mettaton slides away from his cock turns the Ascian's breath into an immediate whine- and then a just as immediate groan at the softness of lips against his slit, the way his lover's mouth parted around the glans, sliding him so snugly inside once again. His tongue felt so soft and so wet, and the way it seemed to mold along the underside of the head, stroking him so intimately from ridge to slit was all he could think about, and he was certain that he could be held and rubbed to climax this way, and it wouldn't even be difficult--
But then there was no heat wrapped around him, no suction, only Mettaton's tongue lapping at him, as deeply pleasant a tongue as it was. And even in the midst of his yearning, Emet-Selch felt ever more connected to Mettaton with each lick, each sound and hot breath. That it was the man he loved doing this to him, taking him apart like this- while knowing Mettaton was taking his own pleasure in every action, and that the only way things could end was with both of them satisfied--
By the time Mettaton finally pulls back from him, the Ascian is panting, gaze unfocused, desperate. Aching for that suction to continue, for that tongue to canvass every inch of his length, to be engulfed in that warmth. He was so cold without him....
But despite the need written in his face, his body, there's no irritation at the pause; even his frustration was of the worthwhile sort, the kind that he knew would only enhance the moment when Mettaton finally returned to attending to his cock, when he was permitted some manner of release. Emet-Selch trusted he wouldn't leave him like this (or at all), which made it possible to enjoy both the pain of arousal, and the new, teasing sensation along his inner thigh.]
I don't- have much choice in that, do I....
[The words come only with difficulty, forcing himself to take in enough air to speak something with any kind of coherence. Even this much is broken up by a gasp when teeth dig into sensitive flesh, legs practically quivering from the attention. Where the trailing of a tongue has him shiver, moaning, the harder pressure turns it into a shudder. As though the sight of the rest of his bruises wouldn't be enough of a turn-on in the days to come, the ones left on his thighs, so close to his cock, he knew would be a source of intense arousal. To remember his lover between his legs, sucking those marks there, sucking his erection itself- the images and sensations were already connected in his mind, as it wasn't exactly a very far leap between them.]
no subject
The brief moment when Mettaton slides away from his cock turns the Ascian's breath into an immediate whine- and then a just as immediate groan at the softness of lips against his slit, the way his lover's mouth parted around the glans, sliding him so snugly inside once again. His tongue felt so soft and so wet, and the way it seemed to mold along the underside of the head, stroking him so intimately from ridge to slit was all he could think about, and he was certain that he could be held and rubbed to climax this way, and it wouldn't even be difficult--
But then there was no heat wrapped around him, no suction, only Mettaton's tongue lapping at him, as deeply pleasant a tongue as it was. And even in the midst of his yearning, Emet-Selch felt ever more connected to Mettaton with each lick, each sound and hot breath. That it was the man he loved doing this to him, taking him apart like this- while knowing Mettaton was taking his own pleasure in every action, and that the only way things could end was with both of them satisfied--
By the time Mettaton finally pulls back from him, the Ascian is panting, gaze unfocused, desperate. Aching for that suction to continue, for that tongue to canvass every inch of his length, to be engulfed in that warmth. He was so cold without him....
But despite the need written in his face, his body, there's no irritation at the pause; even his frustration was of the worthwhile sort, the kind that he knew would only enhance the moment when Mettaton finally returned to attending to his cock, when he was permitted some manner of release. Emet-Selch trusted he wouldn't leave him like this (or at all), which made it possible to enjoy both the pain of arousal, and the new, teasing sensation along his inner thigh.]
I don't- have much choice in that, do I....
[The words come only with difficulty, forcing himself to take in enough air to speak something with any kind of coherence. Even this much is broken up by a gasp when teeth dig into sensitive flesh, legs practically quivering from the attention. Where the trailing of a tongue has him shiver, moaning, the harder pressure turns it into a shudder. As though the sight of the rest of his bruises wouldn't be enough of a turn-on in the days to come, the ones left on his thighs, so close to his cock, he knew would be a source of intense arousal. To remember his lover between his legs, sucking those marks there, sucking his erection itself- the images and sensations were already connected in his mind, as it wasn't exactly a very far leap between them.]