[Mettaton thrusted, and the Ascian accepted him, willingly gave him more of his throat to push himself into, a tight, wet place to rub himself against. Everywhere his lover wanted to be was where he belonged, really, and Emet-Selch had little qualm about using any part of his body for that purpose. It wasn't as though he didn't appreciate it just as completely, wasn't left hard and aching for his own release just from being in prolonged contact with Mettaton's cock, in feeling the strength of his partner's arousal.
Though he still overlooks touching himself, even if Emet-Selch can well imagine how hot his own length is, and how he would be able to feel the remnants of his previous orgasm along it. A record of indulgence not cleaned away, but left to mark him in the same way that anything else Mettaton did to him marked him. Bruises and blood were one sign of ardor, and the mess left across his abdomen and cock were another, an explicit notation of how much he did enjoy sucking him, that it was to the point of getting off from it alone.
So it's deliberately that he holds back, enjoying as well, in a way, the demanding beat of his own cock, the way it wanted to be stroked and pulled and sucked on, but had to accept only this more indirect stimulation. Emet-Selch knew it would be more than enough, and the closer Mettaton got to his own orgasm, the more he was sure of it, the more he felt his own closing in with him, as though tasting and feeling his lover succumb to ecstasy was the only nudge he required for his own.
And Emet-Selch can feel Mettaton's attempt at control, and is further endeared by it. That it's not any attempt to hold back (Why should they hold anything back from one another? Any restraint existed only in consideration for the other, and resulted in greater pleasure for them regardless.), but to savor every moment as it was. Or rather, to savor it in a different way from pounding into his throat with maddened thrusts, letting the Ascian take him there instead, swallow and suck around him.
And with the glimmers of thought he'd regained along with his recent breaths, it's at least directed towards more consideration towards what he was taking inside of him again. The slower, more controlled way he lowered himself has him tensing up in degrees, in breathless (inherently) anticipation, feeling every part of his throat made to give way to him. The way his throat compressed and clenched around the glans as he pushed it deeper, the way the head made space for the shaft to follow, a thickness to hold his throat open- while filling it utterly. Even with the sore heat of his throat, Mettaton's cock felt even hotter, and Emet-Selch couldn't decide if it soothed it, or was a further agitation to it. In either case he loved it for both its warmth, and its fullness, for the pleasure it was clearly providing his lover, and for the expectation of receiving his come.
Mettaton was thick; it's not a new realization, but hearing his Bonded's words on it, feeling his hand touch his throat, touch his cock through his throat- would have him moaning in agreement if he could. Emet-Selch still shudders, a small, tight, ecstatic trembling, caught up again in all he was feeling. He was thick enough to fill him, and he loved him for it, even though he loved him already.
Wanting to swallow around his length, and wanting to fully taste his release as well- there was probably something vaguely obscene at salivating at the thought of drinking down his lover's come, of wanting him to fill his mouth to that degree. But Emet-Selch was long past any point of caring about that- apart from, perhaps, some small point of surprise and even gratitude for Mettaton being able to invoke in him responses like these. To want every part of him in excess, to respond to both his body and his love as though starved for it- more than could ever be filled.
But they could ceaseless try to, finding ever more ways to entwine themselves, and yet to have that reassurance remain that there will always be something else to fill with one another.
It's without any concern for air that Emet-Selch pulls up a little as he feels Mettaton edging ever closer to release. From swallowing him in his throat, he lets the head pop back into his mouth, to squeeze and suck and lap at him there, clearly desperate for his taste, for the feeling of come hitting his tongue. His hand shifts up, to wrap fingers around the part of Mettaton's cock that was no longer protected by his throat, kneading along slick, hot skin, as though to drag and pull everything that he could from him. Even his balls don't go untouched, as he spares them a few firm squeezes as well as he moans around the swollen head of his lover's cock, adoring the way Mettaton's thrusts helped to drag it along the interior of his mouth, waiting for him to coat it with his release.]
no subject
Though he still overlooks touching himself, even if Emet-Selch can well imagine how hot his own length is, and how he would be able to feel the remnants of his previous orgasm along it. A record of indulgence not cleaned away, but left to mark him in the same way that anything else Mettaton did to him marked him. Bruises and blood were one sign of ardor, and the mess left across his abdomen and cock were another, an explicit notation of how much he did enjoy sucking him, that it was to the point of getting off from it alone.
So it's deliberately that he holds back, enjoying as well, in a way, the demanding beat of his own cock, the way it wanted to be stroked and pulled and sucked on, but had to accept only this more indirect stimulation. Emet-Selch knew it would be more than enough, and the closer Mettaton got to his own orgasm, the more he was sure of it, the more he felt his own closing in with him, as though tasting and feeling his lover succumb to ecstasy was the only nudge he required for his own.
And Emet-Selch can feel Mettaton's attempt at control, and is further endeared by it. That it's not any attempt to hold back (Why should they hold anything back from one another? Any restraint existed only in consideration for the other, and resulted in greater pleasure for them regardless.), but to savor every moment as it was. Or rather, to savor it in a different way from pounding into his throat with maddened thrusts, letting the Ascian take him there instead, swallow and suck around him.
And with the glimmers of thought he'd regained along with his recent breaths, it's at least directed towards more consideration towards what he was taking inside of him again. The slower, more controlled way he lowered himself has him tensing up in degrees, in breathless (inherently) anticipation, feeling every part of his throat made to give way to him. The way his throat compressed and clenched around the glans as he pushed it deeper, the way the head made space for the shaft to follow, a thickness to hold his throat open- while filling it utterly. Even with the sore heat of his throat, Mettaton's cock felt even hotter, and Emet-Selch couldn't decide if it soothed it, or was a further agitation to it. In either case he loved it for both its warmth, and its fullness, for the pleasure it was clearly providing his lover, and for the expectation of receiving his come.
Mettaton was thick; it's not a new realization, but hearing his Bonded's words on it, feeling his hand touch his throat, touch his cock through his throat- would have him moaning in agreement if he could. Emet-Selch still shudders, a small, tight, ecstatic trembling, caught up again in all he was feeling. He was thick enough to fill him, and he loved him for it, even though he loved him already.
Wanting to swallow around his length, and wanting to fully taste his release as well- there was probably something vaguely obscene at salivating at the thought of drinking down his lover's come, of wanting him to fill his mouth to that degree. But Emet-Selch was long past any point of caring about that- apart from, perhaps, some small point of surprise and even gratitude for Mettaton being able to invoke in him responses like these. To want every part of him in excess, to respond to both his body and his love as though starved for it- more than could ever be filled.
But they could ceaseless try to, finding ever more ways to entwine themselves, and yet to have that reassurance remain that there will always be something else to fill with one another.
It's without any concern for air that Emet-Selch pulls up a little as he feels Mettaton edging ever closer to release. From swallowing him in his throat, he lets the head pop back into his mouth, to squeeze and suck and lap at him there, clearly desperate for his taste, for the feeling of come hitting his tongue. His hand shifts up, to wrap fingers around the part of Mettaton's cock that was no longer protected by his throat, kneading along slick, hot skin, as though to drag and pull everything that he could from him. Even his balls don't go untouched, as he spares them a few firm squeezes as well as he moans around the swollen head of his lover's cock, adoring the way Mettaton's thrusts helped to drag it along the interior of his mouth, waiting for him to coat it with his release.]