[He sounds possessed, voice honey and body so hot that he could burn. It doesn't at all feel like the same kind of tightness he feels when taking Emet-Selch from behind when he notes his orgasm, this one manifesting instead with other signs: one that carries through their Bond and compounds upon his own climax, that he can ride along with an extension of pleasure... and another sign. This one's more like the sudden laxity after Emet-Selch comes... though it takes Mettaton a few elongated instants to notice that he's slackened so much.
But in the meanwhile, Mettaton still feels like he's climaxing. It's wonderful. He can't even wrap his mind around anything, nor can he think about anything but themselves, he and Emet-Selch and their beautiful coupling. They're a paragon of synchronicity, two people who can be so juxtaposed but still find themselves pleased and trusting in each other's presence. Mettaton's vanity manifests itself in this way during these moments, relishing Emet-Selch's devotion to his pleasure and his body in the only way that a lack of words were acceptable: by swallowing his cock and breathing him instead.
Not a sustainable arrangement. But it was doable for now, and it leaves Mettaton surpassing the enchantment of his brilliant jewelry and succumbing to a different sort of feral need, the desire to continue marking and possessing with reassurance and love. If this works anywhere into monstrous, instinctual habit, Emet-Selch is his, and he wants to tend to him and make him comfortable. An extension of himself and one of his own, someone he'd protect tooth and nail. Overwhelmed with the desire to check on him, Mettaton does withdraw his (hardly) softening length, giving way to the desire for his knees to buckle. A controlled fall, Mettaton lands on his knees before his lover—]
Ah!
[Only for him to collapse forward upon him. Mettaton gasps in surprise, catching him against his shoulder and wrapping him tight in a winding arm, overcome with the need to take him to bed. To care for him and appreciate him, even though he's the one deserving of so much appreciation... This is how it is, when someone's just a part of him, entwined with his very essence. Mettaton doesn't waste a second in falling prey to his possessive instinct, rolling his wrist a few times to free them of each other's pendants before lifting Emet-Selch in his arms and settling him gently upon the bed, head against a pillow and the rest of his body to follow.
But he notices, then, that Emet-Selch's unresponsive for the moment. There's concern in his heart, and Mettaton's impulse is to straddle his lover's body, leaning down with the edge of a throw blanket to tidy his face of saliva while also licking and kissing at him, spreading more mess, more saliva, more blood. He presses his lips to his neck to start and finds that he's thankfully with a pulse stronger than the time he'd drank him of blood... so Mettaton encourages his wakefulness with more licks and kisses to his face and his neck, licking at his split lip copiously.
His panic slips into background noise, reassured somehow that Emet-Selch would rouse for him. His body won't still, the effects of the pendants enough to make his appetite for attention, movement, love, and yet more sex ravenous.
Mettaton rubs his face against Emet-Selch's cheek encouragingly, trying to pull him out of his slip of consciousness, welcoming though that darkness may be.]
Hades? Dear, are you all right?
[His voice is gentle and intimate, soft enough to fall upon Emet-Selch's ears alone. The robot keeps his body hovering above his Bonded's, not exerting his weight upon him in his recovery.]
no subject
[He sounds possessed, voice honey and body so hot that he could burn. It doesn't at all feel like the same kind of tightness he feels when taking Emet-Selch from behind when he notes his orgasm, this one manifesting instead with other signs: one that carries through their Bond and compounds upon his own climax, that he can ride along with an extension of pleasure... and another sign. This one's more like the sudden laxity after Emet-Selch comes... though it takes Mettaton a few elongated instants to notice that he's slackened so much.
But in the meanwhile, Mettaton still feels like he's climaxing. It's wonderful. He can't even wrap his mind around anything, nor can he think about anything but themselves, he and Emet-Selch and their beautiful coupling. They're a paragon of synchronicity, two people who can be so juxtaposed but still find themselves pleased and trusting in each other's presence. Mettaton's vanity manifests itself in this way during these moments, relishing Emet-Selch's devotion to his pleasure and his body in the only way that a lack of words were acceptable: by swallowing his cock and breathing him instead.
Not a sustainable arrangement. But it was doable for now, and it leaves Mettaton surpassing the enchantment of his brilliant jewelry and succumbing to a different sort of feral need, the desire to continue marking and possessing with reassurance and love. If this works anywhere into monstrous, instinctual habit, Emet-Selch is his, and he wants to tend to him and make him comfortable. An extension of himself and one of his own, someone he'd protect tooth and nail. Overwhelmed with the desire to check on him, Mettaton does withdraw his (hardly) softening length, giving way to the desire for his knees to buckle. A controlled fall, Mettaton lands on his knees before his lover—]
Ah!
[Only for him to collapse forward upon him. Mettaton gasps in surprise, catching him against his shoulder and wrapping him tight in a winding arm, overcome with the need to take him to bed. To care for him and appreciate him, even though he's the one deserving of so much appreciation... This is how it is, when someone's just a part of him, entwined with his very essence. Mettaton doesn't waste a second in falling prey to his possessive instinct, rolling his wrist a few times to free them of each other's pendants before lifting Emet-Selch in his arms and settling him gently upon the bed, head against a pillow and the rest of his body to follow.
But he notices, then, that Emet-Selch's unresponsive for the moment. There's concern in his heart, and Mettaton's impulse is to straddle his lover's body, leaning down with the edge of a throw blanket to tidy his face of saliva while also licking and kissing at him, spreading more mess, more saliva, more blood. He presses his lips to his neck to start and finds that he's thankfully with a pulse stronger than the time he'd drank him of blood... so Mettaton encourages his wakefulness with more licks and kisses to his face and his neck, licking at his split lip copiously.
His panic slips into background noise, reassured somehow that Emet-Selch would rouse for him. His body won't still, the effects of the pendants enough to make his appetite for attention, movement, love, and yet more sex ravenous.
Mettaton rubs his face against Emet-Selch's cheek encouragingly, trying to pull him out of his slip of consciousness, welcoming though that darkness may be.]
Hades? Dear, are you all right?
[His voice is gentle and intimate, soft enough to fall upon Emet-Selch's ears alone. The robot keeps his body hovering above his Bonded's, not exerting his weight upon him in his recovery.]