[Especially in this heightened sense of primal dominance, Emet-selch forming his gratitude into direct stimulation is replied to with an airy sigh and a heated stare, a smile to match. And though he knows that Emet-Selch wants anything Mettaton's heart desires and would see him to his most base fulfillment, Mettaton covets compliments, adoration, love... and Emet-Selch's want of him is... fulfilling. Flattering. Desired. Knowing that he'd offer himself up for Mettaton's pleasure, too, is flattering. All of it is, and it brings him a satisfaction even where madness reigns supreme.
He can almost feel it when Emet-Selch's drawn to dropping for him in an instant, on command. And it amuses the robot that he'd dedicate a moment more to bidding his erection farewell: if anyone's going to be without any touch, it's him. Tension floods him anyway, the aching delight of knowing that his Bonded would be eagerly stuffing himself with his cock a thought to make Mettaton pant and thrust as if the time between this touch and his Bonded's lips surrounding his arousal would take forever. But that stroke is over too soon, and the Ascian is sliding down to his knees, eyes locked with his.
Mettaton swallows. He tastes Emet-Selch's blood in his mouth and feels it sticking to his lips, drying on his face. He must look radiant, positively beautiful to Emet-Selch's gaze. He knows he does, and Mettaton smiles at him, drinking in the sight of the other man seated between his hips and the wall, their fingers tangled in chains and crystal. He can practically feel his gaze raking down his figure, a dedication enough to make him feel chills (and how much Mettaton enjoys the feeling of chill- it makes him feel hotter than anything, he's learned), until eyes of gold land upon his cock. And though he possesses no heartbeat, he can almost feel a needy pulse in his groin; it's a tightness for sure, as if his body's aching to burst already.
Having his eyes upon him is horribly arousing. Having Emet-Selch act as his audience, only for Mettaton to watch him in return... It could be enough to get him off, he thought. Everything they do to each other is electric.
Hips eager, body incapable of stilling, it takes everything he has to give Emet-Selch the first eager move, to draw out this moment of anticipation for Emet-Selch to admire his length. And wordlessly, he manages to stroke Mettaton's ego: he sighs in relief, telepathic in his understanding of his Bonded's ardor for all he sees. And that love for him is made manifest when Emet-Selch pounces, shoving his face where it belongs.
Mettaton's free hand curls into the back of Emet-Selch's skull, shoving him harder against his crotch as he rubs and licks and moans with such enjoyment that Mettaton thinks they're noises of his own. He might think that because he can't stop his own pleasure, sighs and stutters from the sight and sensation of his Bonded ravishing his cock and his balls with sucking kisses, burying his face so deeply between his thighs and rubbing the shaft of his cock against his whole face. (And he thinks to himself that as soon as he comes like this, yes — he would bring them to his bed, lock Emet-Selch between his thighs all over again, and rub him so thoroughly with his thighs that he'd be marked, made his, forced into his crotch with permanency and able only to lick and suck his cock as he drowns in him—) Someone who loves him this much, who would eat him alive if given the chance, would feel so lucky, so honored, to be given this kind of intimate access. Mettaton shudders, shifting his legs further apart for greater access.
He hisses at his lover's voice, groaning from deep in his throat at the thought. Don't stop, he says... And how could he?
How could he. He can't stop: Mettaton can't get enough when Emet-Selch's lips are surrounding the glans, slipping over him with pleasure so clear that he thought his heart might burst at the sight of it. He loves him so much, he realizes: to witness Emet-Selch so pleased, so in his element, so safe in this place found between his increasingly carnal lover's thighs... Mettaton grips into the back of his head some more, giving him his agency to take his cock as he pleases for the moment. He moans and gasps and nearly pleads in his rising intonation, hips wound tight with the desire to thrust.]
Ohhh, Hades... [For the moment, Mettaton's hand strokes the back of his head encouragingly.] The sight of you... is just as intoxicating as you feel— Ah...
[He can scarcely believe how aroused he already is. He realizes that any time he can steal Emet-Selch's breath, Mettaton feels most immediately turned on. Likewise, his lover... The idol watches him sliding inexorably down the length of his cock, taking it easy, soft as his tongue rubbing along the underside of him. (Emet-Selch is soft, and sensitive, and only guarded by a biting exterior — but he loves so much, feels so much, and Mettaton can hardly take it, how much he wants to suck kisses into his entire body.) He's made to take a moment just watching as his Bonded stops, just where Mettaton can feel the sloping head of his cock held around the tight back of Emet-Selch's mouth — a dare to push forward.
Mettaton smiles at Emet-Selch and strokes his hair. He wants to tell him how beautiful he is in his knowing wait, eager for Mettaton to take him as he is; and Mettaton translates that mercy into a slower rock of his hips, first guiding Emet-Selch back toward the wall so that he's not slammed there. But as soon as he's given no space to pull back, Mettaton rolls his hips, slipping his cock with force into the back of Emet-Selch's throat for a spell.
He cries out on a voice clear and delighted. This is where he belongs, and this is what Emet-Selch was meant to take; looking down upon him like this is proof of it, and Mettaton hums fondly amidst those moans as he continues to rock his hips. Each move is a pull back and a push deeper, the briefest chance for air before it's robbed from him by the thick of his head obstructing his throat. Mettaton groans and the sight, the sensation, the tightness; the view of Emet-Selch's hand held above his head, pinned to the wall. ...He'll steal his other hand next, just to ensure that he's made helpless, made prone, made to submit himself to Mettaton's body and design.]
Hades, oh, l-look at me, up— [For the meantime, Mettaton continues thrusting, continues shoving the thickness of the glans into Emet-Selch's throat only to withdraw it, but his finger caresses his jaw in demand.] Up at me, I want... You—
no subject
He can almost feel it when Emet-Selch's drawn to dropping for him in an instant, on command. And it amuses the robot that he'd dedicate a moment more to bidding his erection farewell: if anyone's going to be without any touch, it's him. Tension floods him anyway, the aching delight of knowing that his Bonded would be eagerly stuffing himself with his cock a thought to make Mettaton pant and thrust as if the time between this touch and his Bonded's lips surrounding his arousal would take forever. But that stroke is over too soon, and the Ascian is sliding down to his knees, eyes locked with his.
Mettaton swallows. He tastes Emet-Selch's blood in his mouth and feels it sticking to his lips, drying on his face. He must look radiant, positively beautiful to Emet-Selch's gaze. He knows he does, and Mettaton smiles at him, drinking in the sight of the other man seated between his hips and the wall, their fingers tangled in chains and crystal. He can practically feel his gaze raking down his figure, a dedication enough to make him feel chills (and how much Mettaton enjoys the feeling of chill- it makes him feel hotter than anything, he's learned), until eyes of gold land upon his cock. And though he possesses no heartbeat, he can almost feel a needy pulse in his groin; it's a tightness for sure, as if his body's aching to burst already.
Having his eyes upon him is horribly arousing. Having Emet-Selch act as his audience, only for Mettaton to watch him in return... It could be enough to get him off, he thought. Everything they do to each other is electric.
Hips eager, body incapable of stilling, it takes everything he has to give Emet-Selch the first eager move, to draw out this moment of anticipation for Emet-Selch to admire his length. And wordlessly, he manages to stroke Mettaton's ego: he sighs in relief, telepathic in his understanding of his Bonded's ardor for all he sees. And that love for him is made manifest when Emet-Selch pounces, shoving his face where it belongs.
Mettaton's free hand curls into the back of Emet-Selch's skull, shoving him harder against his crotch as he rubs and licks and moans with such enjoyment that Mettaton thinks they're noises of his own. He might think that because he can't stop his own pleasure, sighs and stutters from the sight and sensation of his Bonded ravishing his cock and his balls with sucking kisses, burying his face so deeply between his thighs and rubbing the shaft of his cock against his whole face. (And he thinks to himself that as soon as he comes like this, yes — he would bring them to his bed, lock Emet-Selch between his thighs all over again, and rub him so thoroughly with his thighs that he'd be marked, made his, forced into his crotch with permanency and able only to lick and suck his cock as he drowns in him—) Someone who loves him this much, who would eat him alive if given the chance, would feel so lucky, so honored, to be given this kind of intimate access. Mettaton shudders, shifting his legs further apart for greater access.
He hisses at his lover's voice, groaning from deep in his throat at the thought. Don't stop, he says... And how could he?
How could he. He can't stop: Mettaton can't get enough when Emet-Selch's lips are surrounding the glans, slipping over him with pleasure so clear that he thought his heart might burst at the sight of it. He loves him so much, he realizes: to witness Emet-Selch so pleased, so in his element, so safe in this place found between his increasingly carnal lover's thighs... Mettaton grips into the back of his head some more, giving him his agency to take his cock as he pleases for the moment. He moans and gasps and nearly pleads in his rising intonation, hips wound tight with the desire to thrust.]
Ohhh, Hades... [For the moment, Mettaton's hand strokes the back of his head encouragingly.] The sight of you... is just as intoxicating as you feel— Ah...
[He can scarcely believe how aroused he already is. He realizes that any time he can steal Emet-Selch's breath, Mettaton feels most immediately turned on. Likewise, his lover... The idol watches him sliding inexorably down the length of his cock, taking it easy, soft as his tongue rubbing along the underside of him. (Emet-Selch is soft, and sensitive, and only guarded by a biting exterior — but he loves so much, feels so much, and Mettaton can hardly take it, how much he wants to suck kisses into his entire body.) He's made to take a moment just watching as his Bonded stops, just where Mettaton can feel the sloping head of his cock held around the tight back of Emet-Selch's mouth — a dare to push forward.
Mettaton smiles at Emet-Selch and strokes his hair. He wants to tell him how beautiful he is in his knowing wait, eager for Mettaton to take him as he is; and Mettaton translates that mercy into a slower rock of his hips, first guiding Emet-Selch back toward the wall so that he's not slammed there. But as soon as he's given no space to pull back, Mettaton rolls his hips, slipping his cock with force into the back of Emet-Selch's throat for a spell.
He cries out on a voice clear and delighted. This is where he belongs, and this is what Emet-Selch was meant to take; looking down upon him like this is proof of it, and Mettaton hums fondly amidst those moans as he continues to rock his hips. Each move is a pull back and a push deeper, the briefest chance for air before it's robbed from him by the thick of his head obstructing his throat. Mettaton groans and the sight, the sensation, the tightness; the view of Emet-Selch's hand held above his head, pinned to the wall. ...He'll steal his other hand next, just to ensure that he's made helpless, made prone, made to submit himself to Mettaton's body and design.]
Hades, oh, l-look at me, up— [For the meantime, Mettaton continues thrusting, continues shoving the thickness of the glans into Emet-Selch's throat only to withdraw it, but his finger caresses his jaw in demand.] Up at me, I want... You—