[It was an embrace of sorts, which was all that really mattered. Emet-Selch tries to hum his contentment in response to it all- from his lover's moans, to the nuzzling to his throat, to the petting of his hair, but it comes out particularly faint. There was little capacity to care for any strangeness to be found in the position, and he certainly found no sort of self-consciousness to be like this to start, with Mettaton partially collapsed over his body, smushing his chest into his face, after having fucked his throat raw, and left in him his come another time. While the Ascian's own form lay bitten over and exposed, left spattered by his own come.
And for all that he could feel his Bonded's lusts continue, there was a heady kind of satisfaction in finding him so overwhelmed, a robotic body made to falter. And there was another, different kind of satisfaction in knowing that Mettaton remained aroused, that he could soon continue sucking him with hardly any delay- something that keeps his pulse high and his breathing (now that he could do that again) elevated. To be rendered so carnally inclined was... still something that surprised the Ascian at times, and felt absolutely natural at others.
At the moment it was natural, and required little consideration beyond an appreciation for how well they fit together, how paired their inclinations were. Surely, any wedding would fill any onlookers with absolute... awe, of both their dynamic and their restraint, in not tearing undoubtedly nice clothes from one another before an audience.
But there was always this... affection alongside vicious heights of passion, and it's something Emet-Selch never felt was missing once he began to recognize it, no matter how explicitly sexual their actions were. Even in Mettaton's growl, he could feel it, as the man finally stood up again after leaving him with a few more kisses, and moving himself onto the bed, in a new position to be attended to. Letting himself be pulled up, Emet-Selch partially drags himself, and is partially dragged into position, in the place exactly where he was meant to be: between his lover's legs. A place he willingly burrows into, making himself comfortable with his head shoved against his waist, slowly nuzzling his cheek against the glass of the robot's core. From his shifting, Emet-Selch can feel the come on his own abdomen drip back down towards his cock; a sensation worth a small shiver.
Sprawled back against fine pillows, fine jewelry glittering against his neck and chest, legs artfully spread with his bruised lover curled between them- Mettaton looked like the model for some darkly decadent divinity. The claws and dark fur, the blood that remained at his face, the slickness of an erection that could hardly be sated pressing into the Ascian's body, the smears of come between them- it all added to the picture of indulgence, of erotic wishes and briefest fulfillment.
Mettaton being in a heightened... state had been something Emet-Selch had noticed during full moons. But it's neither an unappealing state, nor a daunting one- though he wonders if that has more to do with the influence of their Bond on him, the puca's added darkness bleeding into his own mood, or was just a symptom of his own developed insatiability towards him. It didn't matter; for all that he couldn't begin to match him in non-existent refractory periods, he wanted him no less, and the feeling of his cock already stiff (as though it had ever had a chance to soften) pulls a ragged, pleased sound from the depths of his throat.
A throat that didn't much like that noise, or any others that would follow, Emet-Selch could surmise. Swallowing, he winces a little as he tests its condition. Empty, terribly, and he tilts his head back to both regard Mettaton's face, as well as in approval of the petting of his neck. It was a different sort of beauty from Mettaton's sparkling decorations, the bruising and blood that lay across his own, wounds in the shape of teeth, piercings and slicings indicating the application of claws- but the perfect complement to it, he thought. A decoration that could be applied, but not removed through anything other than time.
Pressing a kiss to the glass of his case, Emet-Selch attempts the difficulty of words.]
--Of course I would find speech for you.
[His voice is certainly rougher though, his sigh similar as he distracts himself by looking downward again, resting the side of his head against Mettaton's abdomen, gaze settling on his cock. Swallowing again, but in response this time to the desire to take him back in his mouth, to slide his lips all along his length, from glans to root, to give him both voice and throat. But he tempers that impulse by moving his hand up instead, to glide fingertips along the shaft, to trace patterns across the tip. To admire the slickness and heat of him, and the way he looked so temptingly erect.]
'Tis only a pity to yet require the occasional breath in order to continue enjoying you... but perhaps that's part of the pleasure. And I would go deprived many more times over to keep having you. To feel the shape of you in my throat. Even... even were I unable to speak, I....
[Wresting his gaze away from his erection, he tilts his head back to look up to his face again- and his tone is quiet for reasons apart from its hoarse quality, rapt and intense, a dedication through speech despite the discomfort of it.]
--I love the feeling of your ecstasy. The taste of you at my lips, and your claws at my body. Rending every part of me. I adore you more for every mark you leave behind, visible or not.
no subject
And for all that he could feel his Bonded's lusts continue, there was a heady kind of satisfaction in finding him so overwhelmed, a robotic body made to falter. And there was another, different kind of satisfaction in knowing that Mettaton remained aroused, that he could soon continue sucking him with hardly any delay- something that keeps his pulse high and his breathing (now that he could do that again) elevated. To be rendered so carnally inclined was... still something that surprised the Ascian at times, and felt absolutely natural at others.
At the moment it was natural, and required little consideration beyond an appreciation for how well they fit together, how paired their inclinations were. Surely, any wedding would fill any onlookers with absolute... awe, of both their dynamic and their restraint, in not tearing undoubtedly nice clothes from one another before an audience.
But there was always this... affection alongside vicious heights of passion, and it's something Emet-Selch never felt was missing once he began to recognize it, no matter how explicitly sexual their actions were. Even in Mettaton's growl, he could feel it, as the man finally stood up again after leaving him with a few more kisses, and moving himself onto the bed, in a new position to be attended to. Letting himself be pulled up, Emet-Selch partially drags himself, and is partially dragged into position, in the place exactly where he was meant to be: between his lover's legs. A place he willingly burrows into, making himself comfortable with his head shoved against his waist, slowly nuzzling his cheek against the glass of the robot's core. From his shifting, Emet-Selch can feel the come on his own abdomen drip back down towards his cock; a sensation worth a small shiver.
Sprawled back against fine pillows, fine jewelry glittering against his neck and chest, legs artfully spread with his bruised lover curled between them- Mettaton looked like the model for some darkly decadent divinity. The claws and dark fur, the blood that remained at his face, the slickness of an erection that could hardly be sated pressing into the Ascian's body, the smears of come between them- it all added to the picture of indulgence, of erotic wishes and briefest fulfillment.
Mettaton being in a heightened... state had been something Emet-Selch had noticed during full moons. But it's neither an unappealing state, nor a daunting one- though he wonders if that has more to do with the influence of their Bond on him, the puca's added darkness bleeding into his own mood, or was just a symptom of his own developed insatiability towards him. It didn't matter; for all that he couldn't begin to match him in non-existent refractory periods, he wanted him no less, and the feeling of his cock already stiff (as though it had ever had a chance to soften) pulls a ragged, pleased sound from the depths of his throat.
A throat that didn't much like that noise, or any others that would follow, Emet-Selch could surmise. Swallowing, he winces a little as he tests its condition. Empty, terribly, and he tilts his head back to both regard Mettaton's face, as well as in approval of the petting of his neck. It was a different sort of beauty from Mettaton's sparkling decorations, the bruising and blood that lay across his own, wounds in the shape of teeth, piercings and slicings indicating the application of claws- but the perfect complement to it, he thought. A decoration that could be applied, but not removed through anything other than time.
Pressing a kiss to the glass of his case, Emet-Selch attempts the difficulty of words.]
--Of course I would find speech for you.
[His voice is certainly rougher though, his sigh similar as he distracts himself by looking downward again, resting the side of his head against Mettaton's abdomen, gaze settling on his cock. Swallowing again, but in response this time to the desire to take him back in his mouth, to slide his lips all along his length, from glans to root, to give him both voice and throat. But he tempers that impulse by moving his hand up instead, to glide fingertips along the shaft, to trace patterns across the tip. To admire the slickness and heat of him, and the way he looked so temptingly erect.]
'Tis only a pity to yet require the occasional breath in order to continue enjoying you... but perhaps that's part of the pleasure. And I would go deprived many more times over to keep having you. To feel the shape of you in my throat. Even... even were I unable to speak, I....
[Wresting his gaze away from his erection, he tilts his head back to look up to his face again- and his tone is quiet for reasons apart from its hoarse quality, rapt and intense, a dedication through speech despite the discomfort of it.]
--I love the feeling of your ecstasy. The taste of you at my lips, and your claws at my body. Rending every part of me. I adore you more for every mark you leave behind, visible or not.