[With Mettaton's obvious need pressing wonderfully against him, there was no way for Emet-Selch to relax into the kiss, keyed-up and eager for him. It wasn't a bad way to spend an afterglow, he thought, with the taste of blood and come and mixed saliva at his lips, and knowing he'd be helping his Bonded to soon follow into a matching satiation. And he was thankful all over again that Mettaton was now capable of doing so, that he had an erection of his own to caress and enjoy, in any number of ways.
Any number of ways... even that thought is enough to render him breathless, nuzzling with simple fondness at the puca's face before he speaks.
And it's Mettaton's voice as much as his question that tightens his muscles and keeps his heart quick. What a thing to want of him... and how much the Ascian wanted him to have it, to take every scrap of pleasure he could from his body, while he could feel every groan and shiver and sigh--]
Do it, use me--
[It's less acquiescence and more of a demand, words given even as Mettaton was already moving them, wasting no time; an efficiency Emet-Selch could appreciate. There was no chance of him minding, after all. And while he doesn't immediately grasp what Mettaton is doing, he goes with him as best he could, shifting around until his back is pressed warmly against Mettaton's chest, still sitting on him, but facing away from him.
...Towards a mirror. It's then that Emet-Selch understands his reasoning and hums breathlessly his approval. From not only having his legs spread, and spread far, but from being able to see how exposed he was on his lover's lap, how available he was made to him, and how ravaged he already was.
A sight that has him shift a hand in order to touch some of those bruises. Starting between his legs, his fingers skirt close to his own depleted cock, but his focus remains on the rings of color that adorn him. Sometimes stroking, sometimes his fingers show the tension of a press over damaged flesh, quicker intakes of breath often accompanying such movement, at the tenderness of his body. And his hand drifts upward, tracing between the individual marks left on his abdomen, to those near his hips, and from there on to his chest. Seen through the mirror like this, it's easier for him to spot the particular attention paid to the areas around his nipples, and his fingers trail between them, as though attempting to recreate the path Mettaton took. Reconstructing his journey from its end to its start.
Finally he reaches his shoulders and neck, the areas he'd seen the least of, and which he'd greatly anticipated viewing. And the sight doesn't disappoint, the paler skin of his fingers a strong contrast to the deep reds and angry purples that litter the region. Letting his head tilt further to one side, his expression is rapt as his fingertips drift between bites, coming away not wholly clean. It was a movement that hurt, but which he appreciated more for that fact, and his hand eventually ends its exploration on reaching his torn lip. His fingers come away more wet this time, as they lightly stroke over the injury.
And from there he takes a breath; it was hard to not be captivated at seeing all of himself at once like this, especially while still seated in his Bonded's lap, knowing he could watch him observe himself. And from intent, his expression shifts to something more smug, clearly satisfied with Mettaton's work. But underneath it was also something that was just... pleased, honestly and quietly. The suggestion of something fragile and genuine.
--But more pressing (literally) was the sensation of Mettaton's erection rubbing against his ass, a rather persistent reminder both of where he was sitting, and his lover's current desperate condition. And how patient he'd been, Emet-Selch thought- or perhaps he just enjoyed suffering, he also considered. In any case, the Ascian dearly wanted to watch him come completely undone, wanted to feel every moment of it, to take all of that thickness inside him again, to be left dripping with his come--
Shifting back, Emet-Selch deliberately rubs against his length with a shiver, moving his arms again to try and brace himself, to raise his hips enough to get closer to the tip of Mettaton's cock. With his legs so spread he didn't have much leverage there, but he also had no desire to change that, liking how... open, it made him, how visible he was to them both.
Tilting his head back, his good eye flickers between Mettaton behind him, and their images in the mirror before them, attention solely on the other man.]
'Tis a form... much improved on. [A slight adjustment, a brief catch to his breathing at a closer rub of Mettaton's arousal, his body wanting to arch into it. And onto it. Swallowing to try and focus himself, he continues.] So take me- take the rest. I want- to have all of you again.
no subject
Any number of ways... even that thought is enough to render him breathless, nuzzling with simple fondness at the puca's face before he speaks.
And it's Mettaton's voice as much as his question that tightens his muscles and keeps his heart quick. What a thing to want of him... and how much the Ascian wanted him to have it, to take every scrap of pleasure he could from his body, while he could feel every groan and shiver and sigh--]
Do it, use me--
[It's less acquiescence and more of a demand, words given even as Mettaton was already moving them, wasting no time; an efficiency Emet-Selch could appreciate. There was no chance of him minding, after all. And while he doesn't immediately grasp what Mettaton is doing, he goes with him as best he could, shifting around until his back is pressed warmly against Mettaton's chest, still sitting on him, but facing away from him.
...Towards a mirror. It's then that Emet-Selch understands his reasoning and hums breathlessly his approval. From not only having his legs spread, and spread far, but from being able to see how exposed he was on his lover's lap, how available he was made to him, and how ravaged he already was.
A sight that has him shift a hand in order to touch some of those bruises. Starting between his legs, his fingers skirt close to his own depleted cock, but his focus remains on the rings of color that adorn him. Sometimes stroking, sometimes his fingers show the tension of a press over damaged flesh, quicker intakes of breath often accompanying such movement, at the tenderness of his body. And his hand drifts upward, tracing between the individual marks left on his abdomen, to those near his hips, and from there on to his chest. Seen through the mirror like this, it's easier for him to spot the particular attention paid to the areas around his nipples, and his fingers trail between them, as though attempting to recreate the path Mettaton took. Reconstructing his journey from its end to its start.
Finally he reaches his shoulders and neck, the areas he'd seen the least of, and which he'd greatly anticipated viewing. And the sight doesn't disappoint, the paler skin of his fingers a strong contrast to the deep reds and angry purples that litter the region. Letting his head tilt further to one side, his expression is rapt as his fingertips drift between bites, coming away not wholly clean. It was a movement that hurt, but which he appreciated more for that fact, and his hand eventually ends its exploration on reaching his torn lip. His fingers come away more wet this time, as they lightly stroke over the injury.
And from there he takes a breath; it was hard to not be captivated at seeing all of himself at once like this, especially while still seated in his Bonded's lap, knowing he could watch him observe himself. And from intent, his expression shifts to something more smug, clearly satisfied with Mettaton's work. But underneath it was also something that was just... pleased, honestly and quietly. The suggestion of something fragile and genuine.
--But more pressing (literally) was the sensation of Mettaton's erection rubbing against his ass, a rather persistent reminder both of where he was sitting, and his lover's current desperate condition. And how patient he'd been, Emet-Selch thought- or perhaps he just enjoyed suffering, he also considered. In any case, the Ascian dearly wanted to watch him come completely undone, wanted to feel every moment of it, to take all of that thickness inside him again, to be left dripping with his come--
Shifting back, Emet-Selch deliberately rubs against his length with a shiver, moving his arms again to try and brace himself, to raise his hips enough to get closer to the tip of Mettaton's cock. With his legs so spread he didn't have much leverage there, but he also had no desire to change that, liking how... open, it made him, how visible he was to them both.
Tilting his head back, his good eye flickers between Mettaton behind him, and their images in the mirror before them, attention solely on the other man.]
'Tis a form... much improved on. [A slight adjustment, a brief catch to his breathing at a closer rub of Mettaton's arousal, his body wanting to arch into it. And onto it. Swallowing to try and focus himself, he continues.] So take me- take the rest. I want- to have all of you again.