[It's recovery enough to offer Mettaton the slightest of sense, enough for his ears to emote properly — and they do, one pulled back in cocky contentment with the other leaning forward in his interest of his Bonded, the sight of him placed between his impeccably spread legs. He smiles, petting his Bonded's hair as he recovers (somewhat) in his lap, sliding to rest against his abdomen so that he might fix his attentions back upon his (already) rousing erection.
(It gives Mettaton a rush to present his lover with an erection already — something he understands intimately isn't a normal human feature. But if he wanted normal human, he could obtain that, too. This is another of his gorgeous bodies, and one that behaves as it does, limited only by electricity.)
A worthy endeavor, shifting his body so that he could gaze upon his filling cock, Mettaton thought, and flatters him that Emet-Selch would speak for him on a voice made hoarse from use. He watches the Ascian battle back temptation with a growing smile, stroking his hair (encouragingly) as Mettaton's own eyes drift along Emet-Selch's curled-up form, heavenly and marked by his own lips and teeth. Of course it would be so beautiful, if it was all a mark of their passion. Teeth and come and blood and bruise and nails, he was evidence of their love and concupiscence where Mettaton was impossible to mar so readily, so indulgently. But that doesn't bother Mettaton right now, not when he has his Bonded between his legs. He's the perfect conduit for their collective passions, a man so brilliant that he stands a chance at enhancing Mettaton's own luminosity. No... he does enhance him, and Mettaton adores him completely for it, continuing to pull sharp claws through locks of hair with a terrible fondness to his gaze. A darkness to enhance his radiance, and a darkness to further embrace Mettaton's.
And Emet-Selch's fingers travel to his length in place of lips and tongue, which has Mettaton rolling his hips eagerly to his touch, sighing at the sound of his voice made so rough. It fills Mettaton with a satisfaction to even watch his fingers stroke along the stiffness of him, how readily his own body holds its rigidity to make manifest his desire for Emet-Selch's attention. Though he knows his lover has a tempestuous appetite that could match him, it's the nature of his body that means recovery's necessary, and he loves him for that, too.
Just as demanded, Emet-Selch uses that voice to describe to the dark-furred Puca how much and why he derives pleasure from Mettaton, from taking his cock in his throat and feeling him stretch him, deprive him, blot out even the means for survival with his own pursuit of corporeal ecstasy. He sighs again, long and sweet and tinged by a moan, appeasement something easily attained in Emet-Selch's presence. His righteous fury can never last, replaced instead by a regal satisfaction: a flit of his ears, a narrowing of his eyes, an upturn of his smile as Emet-Selch places his gaze upon his face. But as Emet-Selch noted before, there's always a softness Mettaton harbors for Emet-Selch. He loves him immensely, and no fury nor conceit could alter it. If anything, fury and conceit and darkness are only tinged by his love. He wouldn't treat anyone else this way, after all.
His vanity even breaks for Emet-Selch. The robot gives him a weak smile, loving even in its depth.]
Very good. You're... You mean so much, I... [That vulnerability remains, but it darkens once more, taking on that edge of unspeakable want as Mettaton's hand rounds his features, following his hairline down to his cheek, where he cups his lover's features in his palm.] You must be pleased to have me so aroused, ready for you to suck, then... I'm glad to give you my ecstasy. My body is yours to pleasure, and yours is mine to enjoy.
[He may not be able to untemper Emet-Selch, but he could start with them in their most physical sense. Mettaton claims first Emet-Selch's body: no matter the body, they're all for Mettaton's touch and use and satisfaction, all for him to cherish and mark and scrape and bloody. He sighs again at the feeling of fingers rolling the tip of his erection, and it adds another layer of pleasure to wash over him to see him doing it, to have Emet-Selch in his lap with their eyes locked with each other. He looks so ready to be kissed, and Mettaton almost wants to collect him in his arms, seat him in his lap and kiss him relentlessly as he rides his cock instead.
He closes his eye, overwhelmed and loving it. It remains half-lidded even when he opens it again, his finger traces Emet-Selch's lower lip in his desire, toying with his split lip.]
Air, or me... I'm determined to give you everything you could adore, so never for a moment think I'll deprive you of me, darling. [For a moment, he flirts with pushing his finger past those lips of his lover's to indicate that he would have plenty to suck on, even if he was being made to breathe some air every once in a while.] I wonder how your voice- how you'll sound, after you're made to swallow another round...?
[That's the statement to get him to achieve that perfect darkness again, knowing full well that Emet-Selch adores him so much that he'll no doubt be eager for the opportunity to see him slipping into the fullest, most obscene of pleasures. He gazes down upon him expectantly, hips twitching in his eagerness for more.]
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(It gives Mettaton a rush to present his lover with an erection already — something he understands intimately isn't a normal human feature. But if he wanted normal human, he could obtain that, too. This is another of his gorgeous bodies, and one that behaves as it does, limited only by electricity.)
A worthy endeavor, shifting his body so that he could gaze upon his filling cock, Mettaton thought, and flatters him that Emet-Selch would speak for him on a voice made hoarse from use. He watches the Ascian battle back temptation with a growing smile, stroking his hair (encouragingly) as Mettaton's own eyes drift along Emet-Selch's curled-up form, heavenly and marked by his own lips and teeth. Of course it would be so beautiful, if it was all a mark of their passion. Teeth and come and blood and bruise and nails, he was evidence of their love and concupiscence where Mettaton was impossible to mar so readily, so indulgently. But that doesn't bother Mettaton right now, not when he has his Bonded between his legs. He's the perfect conduit for their collective passions, a man so brilliant that he stands a chance at enhancing Mettaton's own luminosity. No... he does enhance him, and Mettaton adores him completely for it, continuing to pull sharp claws through locks of hair with a terrible fondness to his gaze. A darkness to enhance his radiance, and a darkness to further embrace Mettaton's.
And Emet-Selch's fingers travel to his length in place of lips and tongue, which has Mettaton rolling his hips eagerly to his touch, sighing at the sound of his voice made so rough. It fills Mettaton with a satisfaction to even watch his fingers stroke along the stiffness of him, how readily his own body holds its rigidity to make manifest his desire for Emet-Selch's attention. Though he knows his lover has a tempestuous appetite that could match him, it's the nature of his body that means recovery's necessary, and he loves him for that, too.
Just as demanded, Emet-Selch uses that voice to describe to the dark-furred Puca how much and why he derives pleasure from Mettaton, from taking his cock in his throat and feeling him stretch him, deprive him, blot out even the means for survival with his own pursuit of corporeal ecstasy. He sighs again, long and sweet and tinged by a moan, appeasement something easily attained in Emet-Selch's presence. His righteous fury can never last, replaced instead by a regal satisfaction: a flit of his ears, a narrowing of his eyes, an upturn of his smile as Emet-Selch places his gaze upon his face. But as Emet-Selch noted before, there's always a softness Mettaton harbors for Emet-Selch. He loves him immensely, and no fury nor conceit could alter it. If anything, fury and conceit and darkness are only tinged by his love. He wouldn't treat anyone else this way, after all.
His vanity even breaks for Emet-Selch. The robot gives him a weak smile, loving even in its depth.]
Very good. You're... You mean so much, I... [That vulnerability remains, but it darkens once more, taking on that edge of unspeakable want as Mettaton's hand rounds his features, following his hairline down to his cheek, where he cups his lover's features in his palm.] You must be pleased to have me so aroused, ready for you to suck, then... I'm glad to give you my ecstasy. My body is yours to pleasure, and yours is mine to enjoy.
[He may not be able to untemper Emet-Selch, but he could start with them in their most physical sense. Mettaton claims first Emet-Selch's body: no matter the body, they're all for Mettaton's touch and use and satisfaction, all for him to cherish and mark and scrape and bloody. He sighs again at the feeling of fingers rolling the tip of his erection, and it adds another layer of pleasure to wash over him to see him doing it, to have Emet-Selch in his lap with their eyes locked with each other. He looks so ready to be kissed, and Mettaton almost wants to collect him in his arms, seat him in his lap and kiss him relentlessly as he rides his cock instead.
He closes his eye, overwhelmed and loving it. It remains half-lidded even when he opens it again, his finger traces Emet-Selch's lower lip in his desire, toying with his split lip.]
Air, or me... I'm determined to give you everything you could adore, so never for a moment think I'll deprive you of me, darling. [For a moment, he flirts with pushing his finger past those lips of his lover's to indicate that he would have plenty to suck on, even if he was being made to breathe some air every once in a while.] I wonder how your voice- how you'll sound, after you're made to swallow another round...?
[That's the statement to get him to achieve that perfect darkness again, knowing full well that Emet-Selch adores him so much that he'll no doubt be eager for the opportunity to see him slipping into the fullest, most obscene of pleasures. He gazes down upon him expectantly, hips twitching in his eagerness for more.]