[It was an attempt at relaxation that felt more as a tease, Mettaton keeping his body tantalizingly close, but not yet in contact with his own prone form. Particularly when he did give him kisses that only caused him to moan, tongue slipping back against his, stroking, rubbing- encouraging it into his own mouth, and taking a taste of Mettaton's own in the mix. The sort of kissing that could easily increase in heat, in mess and dampness- and surely would, if Emet-Selch had any say in it.
There was no fill to be had. Not ever, and particularly not ever with a puca brought into the fullness of his natural instincts, and an Ascian available to indulge them with.
He leans into the touch of claws as though they were the sweetest caress- and they were, to him. They were capable of both kindness and damage, brought him the reassurance of a threat. The promise of blood and affection. Mettaton was attractive at all times, but in a mood like this, Emet-Selch loved him for his dangerous beauty.
Not being a primarily-mechanically-bodied-entity, however, Emet-Selch is not as blessed with the ability to be as immediately ready once more, but his cock still fails to completely soften, as though his blood knew better than to try and head anywhere else. In thought and manner though, he was completely given over to anticipation, insatiable and hot, feeling simultaneously eased by an orgasm that had felt timeless, and keyed up in pursuit of another one.
And he shivers, the muscles underneath Mettaton's touch tightening, fully aware of what the damp stickiness he was dragging a finger through was, and that alone was a point of arousal. To have that evidence of his own response, that he could be rendered both stiff and satisfied alike by the weight of a cock in his mouth... he felt nearly smug about it, as though this were a capacity to be proud of, to be so enamored of his lover. Even thinking about sucking his cock would be enough to get him hard all over again, and had he not just climaxed, he knew he'd be rubbing an erection up against Mettaton's body at this very moment.
Instead, he can only admire the look of his lover's, gaze scanning downward, along his body when the puca had shifted away from him (and how they both drank each other in, he noticed- himself, with his blood and his bruising, and the robot with his expanses of dark fur- and indeed, an erection that was only asking to be enjoyed, worshiped). It was a good look on him, he thought, this more predatory-rabbit self, with his claws and the brightness of his eye contrasting with the darker suggestion of his manner, feral hints that could be called to the fore in an instant.
And when Mettaton leans over him again, Emet-Selch shifts underneath him, wanting just as much to be divested of fabric, to be fully visible and fully available to him. To not be even the remotest bit restricted from feeling his touch. Fur or metal or claw, saliva and come... he wanted all of it on his skin, every texture its own reward, its own enticement.]
I still don't want you to stop.
[Words given around a breath, around a kiss, eyes going back to Mettaton's face, pressing up to meet his lips with his own, practically leaning up to try and meet him. The idol may have just came, and his renewed erection may not currently be in his face or down his throat, but Emet-Selch didn't consider him as stopped. It was only the position that had changed, not desire, not longing, not need.]
How could I, when... I love you this much?
[He loved this, and he loved him, someone worth choking himself over in order to please the both of them. And despite the depth of the passions lurking, his answering kisses are similarly gentle, soft- though not particularly chaste, considering the hints of tongue, the way they were progressively more open-mouthed.]
no subject
There was no fill to be had. Not ever, and particularly not ever with a puca brought into the fullness of his natural instincts, and an Ascian available to indulge them with.
He leans into the touch of claws as though they were the sweetest caress- and they were, to him. They were capable of both kindness and damage, brought him the reassurance of a threat. The promise of blood and affection. Mettaton was attractive at all times, but in a mood like this, Emet-Selch loved him for his dangerous beauty.
Not being a primarily-mechanically-bodied-entity, however, Emet-Selch is not as blessed with the ability to be as immediately ready once more, but his cock still fails to completely soften, as though his blood knew better than to try and head anywhere else. In thought and manner though, he was completely given over to anticipation, insatiable and hot, feeling simultaneously eased by an orgasm that had felt timeless, and keyed up in pursuit of another one.
And he shivers, the muscles underneath Mettaton's touch tightening, fully aware of what the damp stickiness he was dragging a finger through was, and that alone was a point of arousal. To have that evidence of his own response, that he could be rendered both stiff and satisfied alike by the weight of a cock in his mouth... he felt nearly smug about it, as though this were a capacity to be proud of, to be so enamored of his lover. Even thinking about sucking his cock would be enough to get him hard all over again, and had he not just climaxed, he knew he'd be rubbing an erection up against Mettaton's body at this very moment.
Instead, he can only admire the look of his lover's, gaze scanning downward, along his body when the puca had shifted away from him (and how they both drank each other in, he noticed- himself, with his blood and his bruising, and the robot with his expanses of dark fur- and indeed, an erection that was only asking to be enjoyed, worshiped). It was a good look on him, he thought, this more predatory-rabbit self, with his claws and the brightness of his eye contrasting with the darker suggestion of his manner, feral hints that could be called to the fore in an instant.
And when Mettaton leans over him again, Emet-Selch shifts underneath him, wanting just as much to be divested of fabric, to be fully visible and fully available to him. To not be even the remotest bit restricted from feeling his touch. Fur or metal or claw, saliva and come... he wanted all of it on his skin, every texture its own reward, its own enticement.]
I still don't want you to stop.
[Words given around a breath, around a kiss, eyes going back to Mettaton's face, pressing up to meet his lips with his own, practically leaning up to try and meet him. The idol may have just came, and his renewed erection may not currently be in his face or down his throat, but Emet-Selch didn't consider him as stopped. It was only the position that had changed, not desire, not longing, not need.]
How could I, when... I love you this much?
[He loved this, and he loved him, someone worth choking himself over in order to please the both of them. And despite the depth of the passions lurking, his answering kisses are similarly gentle, soft- though not particularly chaste, considering the hints of tongue, the way they were progressively more open-mouthed.]