[His natural reflex is for his eye to close and to succumb to the darkness of deep, heady pleasure at the touch of his lover. But Mettaton fights that urge, needing desperately to watch him, and he regrets not a bit of that inclination.
Dutiful and flawless at it first, Emet-Selch sucks his cock with such attention and enjoyment that Mettaton's sure his body could only react by giving him more of himself, all while it works on making this sight a centerpiece for his next arousal. That work is done for him as soon as the other man finds himself succumbing to orgasm and parts his lips for it, allowing for come to mark up his face — evidence of error and sloppiness, but an attractive one that serves only to give Mettaton a show more erotic. The sight of his own cock resting upon his tongue, ejaculating into his lover's mouth as he slips up in his pleasure could only truly invite either a harder thrust, a more thorough load, a newly hardened erection, or all three.
He wasn't even touched. Mettaton knows where the Ascian's hands are, and Mettaton vaguely realizes that Emet-Selch has climaxed three times without direct touch, solely pleasured by the experience of swallowing his cock. It's sensational enough for his final cries, relieved as they are, to become desperate, his thrusts to pound harder. He loves him, and he adores his succumbing to vice in these moments, feeling his pleasure run him through by their Bond.
A hand squeezes upwards, yanking from his cock each and every drop he could manage with this orgasm while he seals himself upon the head of him, sucking and squeezing him of his load. Mettaton can hardly stand it, and he finally closes his eye as his nails return to curling into Emet-Selch's hair, his body shifting erratically... Until he's not. Until he's stilling, slowly finding himself slipping into something numbing and pleasant, being eased down from arousal by a tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, by loosely gripping fingers.
Moments are spent with his eye closed like this, lips parted and body riding these shockwaves of pleasure that bounce between the both of them.
Panting fills his ears, the cold of air finally enveloping his slick cock instead of the heady, inviting heat of mouth and fingers. He opens his eye to witness his lover collapsing fully into his lap, face pressed against his crotch, his well-used cock, and he finds his thighs attempting to tighten around his body in reassurance and in love. His fingers, too, rub into Emet-Selch's hair as he makes a slight soft noise from his throat, one that could only mean to express some infatuation with Emet-Selch. He's beautiful, pressed into his crotch like this, Mettaton thought — a rare moment of clarity amidst this sea of pure delight and losing himself to carnality. And the thought, he assumes, is fueled by the way which he can see Emet-Selch come apart for him, the way everything seems to lift from him, the way nothing but this matters. How focused and wanting he renders himself on the outcome of his blowjob, a task that can override all others for a spell.
Mettaton has plenty of arousing imagery still playing in his head, and he's nearly content to let Emet-Selch remain in his lap, to remain even as his erection returns to its full stiffness (as it's bound to; in Emet-Selch's presence, is there any other outcome for the Puca?), but the robot finds himself reaching for Emet-Selch's body, bruised and bleeding, clawed and bitten and kissed.
He manhandles the Ascian and shifts himself around, fighting his own weakened legs as he brings Emet-Selch to his chest. where he clutches him close. He kisses the top of his head over and over, nuzzling his nose into his hair.]
Y... You astound me, Hades. I... feel. Incredible.
[He does. He takes stock of his body, and the amount of come he's had sucked from him should make his cock oversensitive and spent, a satisfaction to permeate him deep, deep down. And satisfy it does, but oversensitivity only feels like something worth more and more sex and arousal, though Mettaton pays his own genitals no mind for not going fully flaccid, for remaining firm and engorged — a normal thing, in such a state. The dark-furred Puca kisses his scalp some more, realizing that he wants to know how Emet-Selch thinks of him, how the Ascian feels about their sex, about Mettaton.]
How are you? [A kiss to his head again.] You liked that a lot, I noticed...
[His words are slow and labored, syrupy and just as sluggish. But equally as sweet: his fondness permeates above all, and though he fixates still on erotic imagery in his mind's eye, he also wonders if Emet-Selch could be made more comfortable in his arms if he were blanketed, if he had the pressure of his weight atop him, anything. He wraps his arms more tightly around the Ascian's frame.]
no subject
Dutiful and flawless at it first, Emet-Selch sucks his cock with such attention and enjoyment that Mettaton's sure his body could only react by giving him more of himself, all while it works on making this sight a centerpiece for his next arousal. That work is done for him as soon as the other man finds himself succumbing to orgasm and parts his lips for it, allowing for come to mark up his face — evidence of error and sloppiness, but an attractive one that serves only to give Mettaton a show more erotic. The sight of his own cock resting upon his tongue, ejaculating into his lover's mouth as he slips up in his pleasure could only truly invite either a harder thrust, a more thorough load, a newly hardened erection, or all three.
He wasn't even touched. Mettaton knows where the Ascian's hands are, and Mettaton vaguely realizes that Emet-Selch has climaxed three times without direct touch, solely pleasured by the experience of swallowing his cock. It's sensational enough for his final cries, relieved as they are, to become desperate, his thrusts to pound harder. He loves him, and he adores his succumbing to vice in these moments, feeling his pleasure run him through by their Bond.
A hand squeezes upwards, yanking from his cock each and every drop he could manage with this orgasm while he seals himself upon the head of him, sucking and squeezing him of his load. Mettaton can hardly stand it, and he finally closes his eye as his nails return to curling into Emet-Selch's hair, his body shifting erratically... Until he's not. Until he's stilling, slowly finding himself slipping into something numbing and pleasant, being eased down from arousal by a tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, by loosely gripping fingers.
Moments are spent with his eye closed like this, lips parted and body riding these shockwaves of pleasure that bounce between the both of them.
Panting fills his ears, the cold of air finally enveloping his slick cock instead of the heady, inviting heat of mouth and fingers. He opens his eye to witness his lover collapsing fully into his lap, face pressed against his crotch, his well-used cock, and he finds his thighs attempting to tighten around his body in reassurance and in love. His fingers, too, rub into Emet-Selch's hair as he makes a slight soft noise from his throat, one that could only mean to express some infatuation with Emet-Selch. He's beautiful, pressed into his crotch like this, Mettaton thought — a rare moment of clarity amidst this sea of pure delight and losing himself to carnality. And the thought, he assumes, is fueled by the way which he can see Emet-Selch come apart for him, the way everything seems to lift from him, the way nothing but this matters. How focused and wanting he renders himself on the outcome of his blowjob, a task that can override all others for a spell.
Mettaton has plenty of arousing imagery still playing in his head, and he's nearly content to let Emet-Selch remain in his lap, to remain even as his erection returns to its full stiffness (as it's bound to; in Emet-Selch's presence, is there any other outcome for the Puca?), but the robot finds himself reaching for Emet-Selch's body, bruised and bleeding, clawed and bitten and kissed.
He manhandles the Ascian and shifts himself around, fighting his own weakened legs as he brings Emet-Selch to his chest. where he clutches him close. He kisses the top of his head over and over, nuzzling his nose into his hair.]
Y... You astound me, Hades. I... feel. Incredible.
[He does. He takes stock of his body, and the amount of come he's had sucked from him should make his cock oversensitive and spent, a satisfaction to permeate him deep, deep down. And satisfy it does, but oversensitivity only feels like something worth more and more sex and arousal, though Mettaton pays his own genitals no mind for not going fully flaccid, for remaining firm and engorged — a normal thing, in such a state. The dark-furred Puca kisses his scalp some more, realizing that he wants to know how Emet-Selch thinks of him, how the Ascian feels about their sex, about Mettaton.]
How are you? [A kiss to his head again.] You liked that a lot, I noticed...
[His words are slow and labored, syrupy and just as sluggish. But equally as sweet: his fondness permeates above all, and though he fixates still on erotic imagery in his mind's eye, he also wonders if Emet-Selch could be made more comfortable in his arms if he were blanketed, if he had the pressure of his weight atop him, anything. He wraps his arms more tightly around the Ascian's frame.]