[Gripped by delirium, Mettaton walks a tightrope of hazy, monstrous lunacy, inflated ego, and stoked passion, all of it compounding with each deep thrust into his lover's mouth. He's helplessly attracted to the sight of his Bonded, receptive and lusting and fixing his gaze upon his body, half-stripped and drooling over his slicked length as though Mettaton pulls it from the depths of his throat. He watches with a bleary, half-lidded eye the sight of Emet-Selch taking his cock until firm, grinding thrusts cause his lover to salivate over and around him, and Mettaton hiccups, biting at his lip and pounding ever harder.
It drips down his chin, the same sort of attractiveness attached to the sight of his lip hovering close to the head with a line of saliva connecting them... It's a sign that his lover's hooked on his cock, drooling around his girth and clearly loving every moment of this occupation.
He's ecstatic, feeling properly cherished and loved for his body, his soul, every inch of him appreciated and coveted. Syllables intended to be idle musings - about Emet-Selch's love for being fucked, his obvious enjoyment of being ravaged, how beautiful he looks so intensely yet rapturously swallowing his cock - escape and die on his tongue, thoughts impossible to form. He has none to spare, only the pleasure he feels in unshackling his inhibitions and giving way to greater madness. Emet-Selch is undoubtedly elated to be receiving him with such dimension, rubbing deep in his throat, and Mettaton has the vaguest recollection of all the times he's fucked him from behind — the pleasure in filling Emet-Selch with himself.
His fingers twist in Emet-Selch's, pinned absolutely to the wall as the Puca reacts with elation to his adoring Bonded, each encounter with him new heights of pleasure unknown. With a grinding thrust deeper, Mettaton presses his lover's face into his crotch with unrivaled greed, grinning down upon him with teeth — but it's an expression quickly interrupted by his own pleasure at the sensation of choking and vocalizing around his cock, squeezing and tightening like he's swallowing him down, a suction to die for. His cries are unguarded and full, hips rocking deeper and hand clutching harder onto Emet-Selch's fingers.
Scarcely capable of fathoming how close he is to release, Mettaton nearly gives himself away to this rhythm, this deep, unrelenting pounding. This total domination of Emet-Selch's throat and breath. He would be content to spill over in his lover's mouth right now, to eject his load so deeply in his throat that he's made to swallow.
But his curiosity springs a spare thought in his addled mind, one enough for him to withdraw slightly. The Puca pulls back, gaze barely focused in his delight as he sighs, hums, and regards his lover with indelible fondness that manages to look sharp and wicked in the light, dark fur contrasting against an eye of gold.]
Now. Swallow. I... I'm so close- Swallow around me... You want my come, don't you?
[Of course Emet-Selch wants his come. He, the man who would claim his love over all else, would want his cock and his come deep in his throat and his body, would relish the opportunity to be so stuffed by him from any direction that he found him inescapable. Mettaton shudders, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Emet-Selch's ear as he slides his length into his throat all over again, all in one smooth, unrelenting motion. Emet-Selch belongs to him; his throat is for him to occupy, no matter what.
But Mettaton's fascination isn't over. He wants to feel Emet-Selch swallow around his length and wants to feel his length taken deep into his throat, wants to feel a plunge within him that feels as though he can't pull out, but he also wants to feel just how taken they both are. His finger traces around Emet-Selch's ear and drifts under his lover's chin, settling his palm along his throat. It's the same sort of hold one might make to choke, and his fingers rest tenderly over injuries made by claws. But it's clear that his fascination is less in choking or injury, and more in trying to sense if he can feel his cock occupying Emet-Selch's throat.
Robot though he may be, Mettaton pants wildly. Hungrily, and even he drools, paying no mind at all when a drip of it lands upon Emet-Selch's face between his desirous, heavy panting. He strokes his throat with his thumb, encouraging Emet-Selch to gulp around his aching length. His voice is labored and heavy with lust.]
Swallow me, Hades. I want to... feel, ahh...
[He can't remember what he's trying to communicate aside from the fact that he wants to be pulled and sucked and taken, wants to touch the sensation of Emet-Selch's throat tight around him. He rolls his hips some more into the other man's mouth, watching his lips forced onto the root of him, face nestled so close to his crotch as his breath is once more taken from him. Mettaton replaces air once more with the thick, obstructing glans of his cock, and promises his come as compensation for this trade. His finger runs along his throat expectantly, feeling eagerly the start of his length so tightly held in him.]
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It drips down his chin, the same sort of attractiveness attached to the sight of his lip hovering close to the head with a line of saliva connecting them... It's a sign that his lover's hooked on his cock, drooling around his girth and clearly loving every moment of this occupation.
He's ecstatic, feeling properly cherished and loved for his body, his soul, every inch of him appreciated and coveted. Syllables intended to be idle musings - about Emet-Selch's love for being fucked, his obvious enjoyment of being ravaged, how beautiful he looks so intensely yet rapturously swallowing his cock - escape and die on his tongue, thoughts impossible to form. He has none to spare, only the pleasure he feels in unshackling his inhibitions and giving way to greater madness. Emet-Selch is undoubtedly elated to be receiving him with such dimension, rubbing deep in his throat, and Mettaton has the vaguest recollection of all the times he's fucked him from behind — the pleasure in filling Emet-Selch with himself.
His fingers twist in Emet-Selch's, pinned absolutely to the wall as the Puca reacts with elation to his adoring Bonded, each encounter with him new heights of pleasure unknown. With a grinding thrust deeper, Mettaton presses his lover's face into his crotch with unrivaled greed, grinning down upon him with teeth — but it's an expression quickly interrupted by his own pleasure at the sensation of choking and vocalizing around his cock, squeezing and tightening like he's swallowing him down, a suction to die for. His cries are unguarded and full, hips rocking deeper and hand clutching harder onto Emet-Selch's fingers.
Scarcely capable of fathoming how close he is to release, Mettaton nearly gives himself away to this rhythm, this deep, unrelenting pounding. This total domination of Emet-Selch's throat and breath. He would be content to spill over in his lover's mouth right now, to eject his load so deeply in his throat that he's made to swallow.
But his curiosity springs a spare thought in his addled mind, one enough for him to withdraw slightly. The Puca pulls back, gaze barely focused in his delight as he sighs, hums, and regards his lover with indelible fondness that manages to look sharp and wicked in the light, dark fur contrasting against an eye of gold.]
Now. Swallow. I... I'm so close- Swallow around me... You want my come, don't you?
[Of course Emet-Selch wants his come. He, the man who would claim his love over all else, would want his cock and his come deep in his throat and his body, would relish the opportunity to be so stuffed by him from any direction that he found him inescapable. Mettaton shudders, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Emet-Selch's ear as he slides his length into his throat all over again, all in one smooth, unrelenting motion. Emet-Selch belongs to him; his throat is for him to occupy, no matter what.
But Mettaton's fascination isn't over. He wants to feel Emet-Selch swallow around his length and wants to feel his length taken deep into his throat, wants to feel a plunge within him that feels as though he can't pull out, but he also wants to feel just how taken they both are. His finger traces around Emet-Selch's ear and drifts under his lover's chin, settling his palm along his throat. It's the same sort of hold one might make to choke, and his fingers rest tenderly over injuries made by claws. But it's clear that his fascination is less in choking or injury, and more in trying to sense if he can feel his cock occupying Emet-Selch's throat.
Robot though he may be, Mettaton pants wildly. Hungrily, and even he drools, paying no mind at all when a drip of it lands upon Emet-Selch's face between his desirous, heavy panting. He strokes his throat with his thumb, encouraging Emet-Selch to gulp around his aching length. His voice is labored and heavy with lust.]
Swallow me, Hades. I want to... feel, ahh...
[He can't remember what he's trying to communicate aside from the fact that he wants to be pulled and sucked and taken, wants to touch the sensation of Emet-Selch's throat tight around him. He rolls his hips some more into the other man's mouth, watching his lips forced onto the root of him, face nestled so close to his crotch as his breath is once more taken from him. Mettaton replaces air once more with the thick, obstructing glans of his cock, and promises his come as compensation for this trade. His finger runs along his throat expectantly, feeling eagerly the start of his length so tightly held in him.]