[Even the initial spasms of resistance register only as pleasure to the Puca, who cries out at the tension of his throat around his length, an erratic massage of the head of his cock. Emet-Selch doesn't escape not only because Mettaton won't let him, but because his Bonded is clearly determined to remain upon him, sucking and swallowing him deeper into his throat.
Persistence means that his Bonded can take ever more of him, and he does, pushing forward and allowing for the thrusts of his cock to rub in his throat. Tension still pulled and worked down the length he has inside of him, working most heavily around the glans, and Mettaton is immediately addicted to that particular rub. His sighs each come out as a "Yes," his own throat exposed as his head lolls toward his shoulder in his absolute loss to delight. Emet-Selch's throat is so tight around the tip of his arousal, surely made swollen and rough and aching by this point, and each thrust would continue to deepen that feeling, he imagines.
An ache and pain surely matched by the peppering of bruises and the punctures of teeth and nails over the canvas of ihs body, Mettaton notes. Even rakes of nails begin to decorate his body, and Mettaton wants only to add to his beauty. He's still hooked on Emet-Selch's earlier admission that he relies upon these marks to reflect upon their previous interactions... And the thought of his lover finding himself in a state of lazy arousal, wanting to find him and demand his sensual attention to sate his awakened appetite for Mettaton makes him feel impossibly stiff. It's just the right amount of recognition Mettaton's full brilliance deserves, and in this moment, he thinks that he'd fuck Emet-Selch anywhere he stood if he just asked. Mettaton is so aroused that he doesn't understand a time not being aroused, not having this body to pleasure his Bonded with, or not being capable of providing Emet-Selch with a thick cock to swallow and lick and choke on. He loves this. They both do, from unreasonable arousal to the aches and pains of pleasure and violence alike.
So he'll thrust, and he'll see to Emet-Selch's soreness and his ache, if not to make sure that even after he's let his Bonded relax, he'll continue to think about his claim upon his person, body and soul and mind. He works his length in his lover's throat, beginning to pull and push upon his head to aid in his thrusting motion as though using Emet-Selch's mouth to rub himself off. But he fills his mouth both for himself and for his Bonded, in the end: Emet-Selch loves this so strongly that he can feel it by Bond, if the attempts at sound weren't enough of an indication he could feel in his cock. (And how pleasant a feeling, to sense that a moan may have decorated his lover's tune if only he had the air or space to moan instead of being made to accommodate a swollen erection that rubs into the warmth of his throat.)
Mettaton wishes he could kiss him from this vantage point, but Emet-Selch sucking on him is distraction and consolation enough that he knows he could resume that desire at his next opportunity, and occupy this moment instead. He pushes deeper and, with a rub that nearly pulls the whole of his length into Emet-Selch's mouth, he collapses into a sigh.
And Mettaton just... sits back and looks, watching his lover swallowing his cock so deeply that he nearly reaches the base of him. his lips are tight around his shaft, Emet-Selch held in place by hands and legs, framed in his lap and drinking down his cock in eager anticipation of his eventual release, but relishing not that on its own, but the very occupation of it, the heaviness of a thick cock robbing him of air. He shudders at the knowledge of how much Emet-Selch likes this, and how much he likes this. And for a moment, Mettaton feels blinded — wondering if his pleasure was so great that he'd come right there, just from considering how much they love each other. Instead, he comes back around to find himself thrusting the rest of his length into Emet's throat, grinding his hips into his mouth some more with rapturous, short breaths. His legs are tight around him, shifting and stirring his cock deep within him.
He lets himself lose his mind. He lets himself cry out, gives way to his Bonded and strokes his cock on Emet-Selch's throat, letting him squeeze and rub the head of him so divinely that he doubts it could get better than this. Ecstasy is the only thing that can leave his throat, but thought still visits him when he realizes he wants more and more.
Drooling in his unbridled pleasure, Mettaton tries to voice his desires.]
Yes, t-take me like this, deeper...!
[... Mettaton is as deep as he can go, but he wants deeper. He wants more. He wants to meld more closely with his lover, as though it would bring him pleasure greater and greater the more they could combine. He can feel through their Bond the rousing of Emet-Selch's stiffness, a tickling sensation over his whole body he's come to learn is a sign of arousal, and he moans all over again, rolling his hips against his mouth in his demand.]
no subject
Persistence means that his Bonded can take ever more of him, and he does, pushing forward and allowing for the thrusts of his cock to rub in his throat. Tension still pulled and worked down the length he has inside of him, working most heavily around the glans, and Mettaton is immediately addicted to that particular rub. His sighs each come out as a "Yes," his own throat exposed as his head lolls toward his shoulder in his absolute loss to delight. Emet-Selch's throat is so tight around the tip of his arousal, surely made swollen and rough and aching by this point, and each thrust would continue to deepen that feeling, he imagines.
An ache and pain surely matched by the peppering of bruises and the punctures of teeth and nails over the canvas of ihs body, Mettaton notes. Even rakes of nails begin to decorate his body, and Mettaton wants only to add to his beauty. He's still hooked on Emet-Selch's earlier admission that he relies upon these marks to reflect upon their previous interactions... And the thought of his lover finding himself in a state of lazy arousal, wanting to find him and demand his sensual attention to sate his awakened appetite for Mettaton makes him feel impossibly stiff. It's just the right amount of recognition Mettaton's full brilliance deserves, and in this moment, he thinks that he'd fuck Emet-Selch anywhere he stood if he just asked. Mettaton is so aroused that he doesn't understand a time not being aroused, not having this body to pleasure his Bonded with, or not being capable of providing Emet-Selch with a thick cock to swallow and lick and choke on. He loves this. They both do, from unreasonable arousal to the aches and pains of pleasure and violence alike.
So he'll thrust, and he'll see to Emet-Selch's soreness and his ache, if not to make sure that even after he's let his Bonded relax, he'll continue to think about his claim upon his person, body and soul and mind. He works his length in his lover's throat, beginning to pull and push upon his head to aid in his thrusting motion as though using Emet-Selch's mouth to rub himself off. But he fills his mouth both for himself and for his Bonded, in the end: Emet-Selch loves this so strongly that he can feel it by Bond, if the attempts at sound weren't enough of an indication he could feel in his cock. (And how pleasant a feeling, to sense that a moan may have decorated his lover's tune if only he had the air or space to moan instead of being made to accommodate a swollen erection that rubs into the warmth of his throat.)
Mettaton wishes he could kiss him from this vantage point, but Emet-Selch sucking on him is distraction and consolation enough that he knows he could resume that desire at his next opportunity, and occupy this moment instead. He pushes deeper and, with a rub that nearly pulls the whole of his length into Emet-Selch's mouth, he collapses into a sigh.
And Mettaton just... sits back and looks, watching his lover swallowing his cock so deeply that he nearly reaches the base of him. his lips are tight around his shaft, Emet-Selch held in place by hands and legs, framed in his lap and drinking down his cock in eager anticipation of his eventual release, but relishing not that on its own, but the very occupation of it, the heaviness of a thick cock robbing him of air. He shudders at the knowledge of how much Emet-Selch likes this, and how much he likes this. And for a moment, Mettaton feels blinded — wondering if his pleasure was so great that he'd come right there, just from considering how much they love each other. Instead, he comes back around to find himself thrusting the rest of his length into Emet's throat, grinding his hips into his mouth some more with rapturous, short breaths. His legs are tight around him, shifting and stirring his cock deep within him.
He lets himself lose his mind. He lets himself cry out, gives way to his Bonded and strokes his cock on Emet-Selch's throat, letting him squeeze and rub the head of him so divinely that he doubts it could get better than this. Ecstasy is the only thing that can leave his throat, but thought still visits him when he realizes he wants more and more.
Drooling in his unbridled pleasure, Mettaton tries to voice his desires.]
Yes, t-take me like this, deeper...!
[... Mettaton is as deep as he can go, but he wants deeper. He wants more. He wants to meld more closely with his lover, as though it would bring him pleasure greater and greater the more they could combine. He can feel through their Bond the rousing of Emet-Selch's stiffness, a tickling sensation over his whole body he's come to learn is a sign of arousal, and he moans all over again, rolling his hips against his mouth in his demand.]