[Mettaton gasps, surprised at Emet-Selch's tenacity to hang on and try kissing into him with any bit of coordination or passion rather than losing himself to his laxity. His lips part for him, eager to taste blood, and he does not disappoint. Nor does he disappoint with a moan, and Mettaton can only imagine that it's the taste of his come that lingers, the proof of his claim upon his mouth. He shudders and echoes a moan of his own; he knows for a fact that Emet-Selch couldn't be thinking of anything other than the ways he's claimed him, and considering the all-too-recent escapade of riding his cock, a sensation that was enticingly pleasurable... It's something Mettaton can't regard too directly without the possibility of needing to just... grab his own arousal and pleasure himself.
(He could, he considers; a back-up plan, the desire to put on a show for his Bondmate, to pull at his cock just before him like this if need be, to let him participate...)
His imagination can get away with him. Mettaton keeps his kisses gentle on his lover, still tender over his hard release even as his cock burns with need. Perhaps he takes a sick delight in feeling it so pent-up. It's a reminder of nights spent with his lover earlier on, completely unable to express his arousal, incapable of shapeshifting and impossible to caress and suck and ride. All of this is to make up for lost time, he decides. This delightful chance to nestle his cock against his lover's abdomen, which he does with a gasp. Mettaton's hand runs along Emet-Selch's bare back, allowing the other man to nuzzle into him, only to kiss him in return.
How pleasantly receptive the Ascian is to him, despite having been absolutely devastated. Interactive, wanting his body... It has Mettaton feeling soft, even as he shifts toward the foot of the bed, Emet-Selch wrapped firmly in tow. His body's his prize.
Mettaton keeps his firm hold on his Bonded, breathing harsh as he lets his own legs fall over the edge of the bed. Emet collected in his arms, a few singsong notes of absolute approval escape from his throat.
A few more captures of his lip in return, a few more sucks of his own, more blood to ingest. Tongue accepted into his own mouth, relishing the taste of blood, come, and Emet-Selch. Softened to syrupy goo though he may feel by Emet-Selch's depletion of energy, he takes on a darker tone as the robot leans in, a shuddering, deep-toned breath harsh against the corner of his lover's lips.]
You don't mind it, do you? That I... I use your body, to pleasure myself...
[He swallows, hard. Mettaton glances over Emet-Selch's shoulder. The mirror he used earlier isn't too great a distance away, and he's positioned them relative to its face so that if Emet-Selch were facing away from Mettaton, he'd be able to see himself. The anticipation is killing him. Before he can reply, Mettaton manipulates his body some more, agreeable to his desirous whims as he is. He takes his lover and rocks him off of his lap, where he holds him for stability so that he doesn't fall. It's only for a moment as he pulls him back upon his lap by his hips, but this time, with his back pressed to his chest. The idol forces his legs between Emet-Selch's, demanding that the shorter man spread his legs on his seat found on MTT.
Emet-Selch sits on his lap. He faces the mirror, which bounces his reflection back at him in all of his marked-up glory. Mettaton slides his hands under his knees and lifts, spreading his lover's legs further apart. And in doing so, he bares all of the love bites he's left upon his inner thighs for Emet-Selch to behold. He nudges his cock against him, breathing harsher yet.]
Hah... Wh... What do you think? I find you... [He swallows, panting;] simply stunning... I absolutely need to take you...
[Mettaton's mind runs wild, shifting his hips beneath his lover's weight to rub his pounding cock against something. But he has his eyes set on sinking deep in his body, on letting him watch a thick cock sink into his body over and over in the mirror... The Puca moans. He can't help it: he's aroused beyond sense. He shifts his hips prematurely, a groan slipping from his throat. The ability to see his lover reflected back at him, the thought of having him bounce upon his arousal where they could both see their efforts. He swallows thickly.]
no subject
(He could, he considers; a back-up plan, the desire to put on a show for his Bondmate, to pull at his cock just before him like this if need be, to let him participate...)
His imagination can get away with him. Mettaton keeps his kisses gentle on his lover, still tender over his hard release even as his cock burns with need. Perhaps he takes a sick delight in feeling it so pent-up. It's a reminder of nights spent with his lover earlier on, completely unable to express his arousal, incapable of shapeshifting and impossible to caress and suck and ride. All of this is to make up for lost time, he decides. This delightful chance to nestle his cock against his lover's abdomen, which he does with a gasp. Mettaton's hand runs along Emet-Selch's bare back, allowing the other man to nuzzle into him, only to kiss him in return.
How pleasantly receptive the Ascian is to him, despite having been absolutely devastated. Interactive, wanting his body... It has Mettaton feeling soft, even as he shifts toward the foot of the bed, Emet-Selch wrapped firmly in tow. His body's his prize.
Mettaton keeps his firm hold on his Bonded, breathing harsh as he lets his own legs fall over the edge of the bed. Emet collected in his arms, a few singsong notes of absolute approval escape from his throat.
A few more captures of his lip in return, a few more sucks of his own, more blood to ingest. Tongue accepted into his own mouth, relishing the taste of blood, come, and Emet-Selch. Softened to syrupy goo though he may feel by Emet-Selch's depletion of energy, he takes on a darker tone as the robot leans in, a shuddering, deep-toned breath harsh against the corner of his lover's lips.]
You don't mind it, do you? That I... I use your body, to pleasure myself...
[He swallows, hard. Mettaton glances over Emet-Selch's shoulder. The mirror he used earlier isn't too great a distance away, and he's positioned them relative to its face so that if Emet-Selch were facing away from Mettaton, he'd be able to see himself. The anticipation is killing him. Before he can reply, Mettaton manipulates his body some more, agreeable to his desirous whims as he is. He takes his lover and rocks him off of his lap, where he holds him for stability so that he doesn't fall. It's only for a moment as he pulls him back upon his lap by his hips, but this time, with his back pressed to his chest. The idol forces his legs between Emet-Selch's, demanding that the shorter man spread his legs on his seat found on MTT.
Emet-Selch sits on his lap. He faces the mirror, which bounces his reflection back at him in all of his marked-up glory. Mettaton slides his hands under his knees and lifts, spreading his lover's legs further apart. And in doing so, he bares all of the love bites he's left upon his inner thighs for Emet-Selch to behold. He nudges his cock against him, breathing harsher yet.]
Hah... Wh... What do you think? I find you... [He swallows, panting;] simply stunning... I absolutely need to take you...
[Mettaton's mind runs wild, shifting his hips beneath his lover's weight to rub his pounding cock against something. But he has his eyes set on sinking deep in his body, on letting him watch a thick cock sink into his body over and over in the mirror... The Puca moans. He can't help it: he's aroused beyond sense. He shifts his hips prematurely, a groan slipping from his throat. The ability to see his lover reflected back at him, the thought of having him bounce upon his arousal where they could both see their efforts. He swallows thickly.]