[The other man takes his place with eagerness nestled into his crotch, throat tightening as he swallows down his cock with a dedication that could match dreams. Mettaton gasps at his lover's very first thick swallow, feeling his throat bob and squeeze around what he becomes aware is the shape of his cock. And like that, Mettaton frames it with fingers and claws, stroking firmly along the impression it leaves there with a hearty moan.
But he can barely keep focusing on that when Emet-Selch keeps swallowing, just as he demanded of him. The second one rattles him completely; Mettaton's knee buckles for a moment as he supports himself against the wall, crying out in ecstasy and feeling as though Emet-Selch's taking his length for himself, committing himself to completely and utterly pleasuring him with a zealous rapture that Mettaton can only match. Their pleasure is a fever excessively hot to the touch, and Mettaton instead wants to give the entirety of his body over to Emet-Selch. He would not only trust him to understand, but to always give him the pleasure of every experience in as many dimensions as allowed.
It's never too much, but if anything could be likened to that, this would be it. It's perfect for Mettaton, an amount of sensation that overfills his senses. Emet-Selch and himself always, always know what they want, and never disappoint.]
Yes- Yes! Hades, you're so good—
[Speech blends in with sounds of pleasure and delight. The robot continues to drag his cock inside of the other man's throat, filling it completely and finding himself knocked dizzy at the drag of the thicker glans in the texture of Emet-Selch's throat. Each thrust, however, betrays more and more to Mettaton that his cock's only going to be pulled deeper and deeper with every thick swallow around him. It's a sensation that blows Mettaton's mind. If he so much as attempts to pull back, a relentless swallow will yank back at his length, sending him starstruck and moaning, and it's a pleasure so immense that it's all Mettaton can do to rock his hips into Emet-Selch's lips. He can tell that he wants his cock so badly, aching for him in every way possible, and Mettaton is more than willing to give him his whole body if he wished it, for any purpose they might design in their indulgence. It's a sort of worship so grand that he finds himself panting all over again in desire while he's already filling Emet-Selch with his arousal.
Mettaton cries out again, his lover's dutiful swallowing enough to push him over the edge as though he were the one aching sharply and untouched for hours, longing for release. He feels so suddenly and acutely how badly he needs to come, to give Emet-Selch his release: it's a heat that compounds and multiplies with each swallow, each stroke of his throat around the whole of his length. Emet-Selch demands it, sucking so erotically upon his length with an eagerness that flatters and arouses Mettaton beyond sense, a craving for him so maddening that he can't control himself. And why bother with control when it's with Emet-Selch? There's nothing at all to hold back, ever.
Mettaton's thrusts are short and sharp, keeping his cock firmly lodged in Emet-Selch's throat as his fingers palpate his neck for the tangible signs of his capacity. Emet-Selch's body is full of him, so full that a press against his throat yields the shifting form of his length, thick and full, and... Mettaton chokes around a pant when he tries to speak/stutter, eye blowing wide at the endless sucking, the impossibility of even extricating his cock even if he wanted to. But why would he ever? He loves it right here, and Emet-Selch loves it so much that he'll take it and keep it for his own pleasure. He swallows and laps and even whines and moans around his length, eyes blearily focused in his absolute passion and pleasure.
For some reason, Mettaton gets the flash of an inclination on his part from long ago: the desire to see Emet-Selch affected. In this moment he can't remember what they were talking about, but there was the desire to figure out what affected the Ascian so. What he could do to see him undone, to see him react, and this sight...
Among plenty, plenty of other sights he's had of him, it's beautiful. He's beautiful, in any form or shape or mood he should take, a true compliment to Mettaton's own beauty, he thought. Emet-Selch gentled and impassioned and incensed and pleased, sights of him sorrowful, vulnerable, content, and soothed, they all fill Mettaton even while every primal part of him fixates on his loss of inhibition and his base, lascivious indulgence.
When Mettaton comes, it's sudden and hot, release filling Emet-Selch's throat absolutely as he thrusts as deep as he can go — a depth that suggests intention, the primal desire to spill his load as deep as he can penetrate. Emet-Selch's shoved deeply between his legs as he pushes himself into him, giving him as much of his cock as his thickly swallowing throat demands of him. Someone who loves him this much deserves every bit of him, and he knows the girth of him is sure to please his Bonded's need to choke and lose himself to the pleasure of deprivation, surely robbed of all chance for air and given instead a thick cock to suck on. Even in his rapturous climax, Mettaton still finds himself stroking Emet-Selch's neck with a sort of pressing motion, as though he could coax his cock ever deeper, pinching at the form of him and rubbing upwards along the front of Emet-Selch's throat. The texture, heat, and slickness of his lover is to die for, and time slows to a standstill while Mettaton feels himself succumbing to an orgasm that feels endless.
It's a climax that staggers Mettaton enough to have him leaning against the wall, erection still lodged in his lover's throat as he leans his neck forward, eyes locked upon Emet-Selch and mind emptied of anything save for his pleasure, passion, possession, reverence, and love. But every swallow or hint of tightness feels as though it wrings from him a drop more, a sound louder, a stuttered sigh, or a full-bodied twitch, rendering him further and further into a pleasured stupor.]
no subject
But he can barely keep focusing on that when Emet-Selch keeps swallowing, just as he demanded of him. The second one rattles him completely; Mettaton's knee buckles for a moment as he supports himself against the wall, crying out in ecstasy and feeling as though Emet-Selch's taking his length for himself, committing himself to completely and utterly pleasuring him with a zealous rapture that Mettaton can only match. Their pleasure is a fever excessively hot to the touch, and Mettaton instead wants to give the entirety of his body over to Emet-Selch. He would not only trust him to understand, but to always give him the pleasure of every experience in as many dimensions as allowed.
It's never too much, but if anything could be likened to that, this would be it. It's perfect for Mettaton, an amount of sensation that overfills his senses. Emet-Selch and himself always, always know what they want, and never disappoint.]
Yes- Yes! Hades, you're so good—
[Speech blends in with sounds of pleasure and delight. The robot continues to drag his cock inside of the other man's throat, filling it completely and finding himself knocked dizzy at the drag of the thicker glans in the texture of Emet-Selch's throat. Each thrust, however, betrays more and more to Mettaton that his cock's only going to be pulled deeper and deeper with every thick swallow around him. It's a sensation that blows Mettaton's mind. If he so much as attempts to pull back, a relentless swallow will yank back at his length, sending him starstruck and moaning, and it's a pleasure so immense that it's all Mettaton can do to rock his hips into Emet-Selch's lips. He can tell that he wants his cock so badly, aching for him in every way possible, and Mettaton is more than willing to give him his whole body if he wished it, for any purpose they might design in their indulgence. It's a sort of worship so grand that he finds himself panting all over again in desire while he's already filling Emet-Selch with his arousal.
Mettaton cries out again, his lover's dutiful swallowing enough to push him over the edge as though he were the one aching sharply and untouched for hours, longing for release. He feels so suddenly and acutely how badly he needs to come, to give Emet-Selch his release: it's a heat that compounds and multiplies with each swallow, each stroke of his throat around the whole of his length. Emet-Selch demands it, sucking so erotically upon his length with an eagerness that flatters and arouses Mettaton beyond sense, a craving for him so maddening that he can't control himself. And why bother with control when it's with Emet-Selch? There's nothing at all to hold back, ever.
Mettaton's thrusts are short and sharp, keeping his cock firmly lodged in Emet-Selch's throat as his fingers palpate his neck for the tangible signs of his capacity. Emet-Selch's body is full of him, so full that a press against his throat yields the shifting form of his length, thick and full, and... Mettaton chokes around a pant when he tries to speak/stutter, eye blowing wide at the endless sucking, the impossibility of even extricating his cock even if he wanted to. But why would he ever? He loves it right here, and Emet-Selch loves it so much that he'll take it and keep it for his own pleasure. He swallows and laps and even whines and moans around his length, eyes blearily focused in his absolute passion and pleasure.
For some reason, Mettaton gets the flash of an inclination on his part from long ago: the desire to see Emet-Selch affected. In this moment he can't remember what they were talking about, but there was the desire to figure out what affected the Ascian so. What he could do to see him undone, to see him react, and this sight...
Among plenty, plenty of other sights he's had of him, it's beautiful. He's beautiful, in any form or shape or mood he should take, a true compliment to Mettaton's own beauty, he thought. Emet-Selch gentled and impassioned and incensed and pleased, sights of him sorrowful, vulnerable, content, and soothed, they all fill Mettaton even while every primal part of him fixates on his loss of inhibition and his base, lascivious indulgence.
When Mettaton comes, it's sudden and hot, release filling Emet-Selch's throat absolutely as he thrusts as deep as he can go — a depth that suggests intention, the primal desire to spill his load as deep as he can penetrate. Emet-Selch's shoved deeply between his legs as he pushes himself into him, giving him as much of his cock as his thickly swallowing throat demands of him. Someone who loves him this much deserves every bit of him, and he knows the girth of him is sure to please his Bonded's need to choke and lose himself to the pleasure of deprivation, surely robbed of all chance for air and given instead a thick cock to suck on. Even in his rapturous climax, Mettaton still finds himself stroking Emet-Selch's neck with a sort of pressing motion, as though he could coax his cock ever deeper, pinching at the form of him and rubbing upwards along the front of Emet-Selch's throat. The texture, heat, and slickness of his lover is to die for, and time slows to a standstill while Mettaton feels himself succumbing to an orgasm that feels endless.
It's a climax that staggers Mettaton enough to have him leaning against the wall, erection still lodged in his lover's throat as he leans his neck forward, eyes locked upon Emet-Selch and mind emptied of anything save for his pleasure, passion, possession, reverence, and love. But every swallow or hint of tightness feels as though it wrings from him a drop more, a sound louder, a stuttered sigh, or a full-bodied twitch, rendering him further and further into a pleasured stupor.]