[There were no concerns in the world. Not for breath, not for life; the discomfort in his throat, the aching insistence of arousal- it was all a variation on bliss. The world was dark, and Mettaton's love for him was darker, and he was so warm it was like he was burning.... Keeping Mettaton's cock in his throat, tight and hot and hard- that was all he needed to do, with the reward of being wrapped permanently up in reflected and experienced pleasure.
That he was faltering, flickering in consciousness never registers, even when he's pulled back from the erection he'd impaled himself on, in a slick, quick drag up. The sensation of the glans leaving his throat causes a wince he's equally unaware of, and is easily lost to the wheezing breaths he instinctively takes, now that his body's efforts to breathe finally pay off. Coughing, panting, Emet-Selch's dizziness (or at least, his sense of it) only increases at the rush of oxygen following such deprivation, and he nearly slumps back onto Mettaton's cock anyway.
Even his breathing sounds rasping, and his coughing hurts. With air brings that realization, and it's enough to keep him attempting to stifle the hacking sounds, as his throat seems to be registering the roughness of it as something that needed cleared- but of course it can't be. He shudders; maintains enough focus to devote himself anyway to the glans that remains in his mouth.
Swallowing around it had been good, and he shivers again at the echo of the sensation, the constriction and starvation it gave him. But appreciating the head of him like this was also good, and he moans at his heat, at how slippery he was, and his tongue can't stop lapping and flicking at him, pressing into the softer give of it.
--Or Emet-Selch tries to moan, anyway, but it's reduced to more of a whisper of sound for reasons that had little to do with either a lack of air, or a muffling-through-cock. It's an uncomfortable sound to make, but an involuntary one, as were the softer yet, pleased sounds that accompany his pants, as he mouths and tastes the tip of his erection.
There was the gentleness of a hand on his face, and he looks up to him then, yellow eyes struggling to focus. But he leans into the touch just a little, though without ever leaving Mettaton's cock, rubbing his lips softly over the surface of the tip. Nuzzling and sucking small kisses into every part of it, with particular attention towards the slit. Dragged over by lips, and licked steadily by tongue, he moans again in anticipation for the sensation of his come filling him another time, another load to savor and keep, desperate for the sensation of sucking every bit of it from his body. It's enough to have his own erection aching in sympathy and shared want, come drying stickily down the shaft, across his abdomen, a presence just waiting to be renewed by another release.]
Mettaton....
[Much like his moans, his breath itself, it's a voice choked to softness, roughened. It felt like any attempt to force a louder sound would only trigger more coughing without any particular increase in volume. Taking another breath, he speaks around the tip of his cock, both lips and glans wet with saliva, both swollen from use.]
I-- ah.... I love you, I... you feel- I can't--
[A difficulty speaking twice over, it's not terribly coherent, sounding more like a rasp that only incidentally contained a few words.
Though part of him wanted to stay with the tip, to mouth and suck him until he felt come bursting from him, coating his tongue and his mouth, staining his lips, he could feel the little thrusts on Mettaton's part, the urging to take him deeper again. It was the natural desire, of course, to wrap himself back up into the greater heat of the Ascian's throat, to feel that manner of sucking pressure as his body struggled to breathe around him once more, tugging and pulling at both glans and shaft. And how could he deny that? Even with his throat ragged, Emet-Selch also shared that desire, to seal himself back up again, to moan in silence, to feel legs tight around him, and his face flush to Mettaton's body once again.
So he takes a breath, and slides himself down, smoothly but insistent, ignoring the discomfort, the tension in his body as the glans once again blocks the back of his throat- and pops into it again. Emet-Selch shudders; his own cock throbs, as though deciding this was the right choice for them all, and in his current frame of mind, the Ascian is not inclined to disagree. Dipping ever lower, he feels the head pushed deeper, his throat stretched out again around the girth of him, and there's satisfaction despite the rawness of his throat.]
no subject
That he was faltering, flickering in consciousness never registers, even when he's pulled back from the erection he'd impaled himself on, in a slick, quick drag up. The sensation of the glans leaving his throat causes a wince he's equally unaware of, and is easily lost to the wheezing breaths he instinctively takes, now that his body's efforts to breathe finally pay off. Coughing, panting, Emet-Selch's dizziness (or at least, his sense of it) only increases at the rush of oxygen following such deprivation, and he nearly slumps back onto Mettaton's cock anyway.
Even his breathing sounds rasping, and his coughing hurts. With air brings that realization, and it's enough to keep him attempting to stifle the hacking sounds, as his throat seems to be registering the roughness of it as something that needed cleared- but of course it can't be. He shudders; maintains enough focus to devote himself anyway to the glans that remains in his mouth.
Swallowing around it had been good, and he shivers again at the echo of the sensation, the constriction and starvation it gave him. But appreciating the head of him like this was also good, and he moans at his heat, at how slippery he was, and his tongue can't stop lapping and flicking at him, pressing into the softer give of it.
--Or Emet-Selch tries to moan, anyway, but it's reduced to more of a whisper of sound for reasons that had little to do with either a lack of air, or a muffling-through-cock. It's an uncomfortable sound to make, but an involuntary one, as were the softer yet, pleased sounds that accompany his pants, as he mouths and tastes the tip of his erection.
There was the gentleness of a hand on his face, and he looks up to him then, yellow eyes struggling to focus. But he leans into the touch just a little, though without ever leaving Mettaton's cock, rubbing his lips softly over the surface of the tip. Nuzzling and sucking small kisses into every part of it, with particular attention towards the slit. Dragged over by lips, and licked steadily by tongue, he moans again in anticipation for the sensation of his come filling him another time, another load to savor and keep, desperate for the sensation of sucking every bit of it from his body. It's enough to have his own erection aching in sympathy and shared want, come drying stickily down the shaft, across his abdomen, a presence just waiting to be renewed by another release.]
Mettaton....
[Much like his moans, his breath itself, it's a voice choked to softness, roughened. It felt like any attempt to force a louder sound would only trigger more coughing without any particular increase in volume. Taking another breath, he speaks around the tip of his cock, both lips and glans wet with saliva, both swollen from use.]
I-- ah.... I love you, I... you feel- I can't--
[A difficulty speaking twice over, it's not terribly coherent, sounding more like a rasp that only incidentally contained a few words.
Though part of him wanted to stay with the tip, to mouth and suck him until he felt come bursting from him, coating his tongue and his mouth, staining his lips, he could feel the little thrusts on Mettaton's part, the urging to take him deeper again. It was the natural desire, of course, to wrap himself back up into the greater heat of the Ascian's throat, to feel that manner of sucking pressure as his body struggled to breathe around him once more, tugging and pulling at both glans and shaft. And how could he deny that? Even with his throat ragged, Emet-Selch also shared that desire, to seal himself back up again, to moan in silence, to feel legs tight around him, and his face flush to Mettaton's body once again.
So he takes a breath, and slides himself down, smoothly but insistent, ignoring the discomfort, the tension in his body as the glans once again blocks the back of his throat- and pops into it again. Emet-Selch shudders; his own cock throbs, as though deciding this was the right choice for them all, and in his current frame of mind, the Ascian is not inclined to disagree. Dipping ever lower, he feels the head pushed deeper, his throat stretched out again around the girth of him, and there's satisfaction despite the rawness of his throat.]