[Mettaton's ears flick at the implied compliment to his enjoyment of his body. He'll still get mad if he doesn't get fed compliments, after all, but post-coitus, Emet-Selch is especially given plenty of slack. Even cursed objects obey Mettaton's fondness and sway, but a lot of it has to do with the increased instinctual possessiveness that follows not only sex, but the other cursed object in the room. Mettaton is full of the instinctual need to keep and make Emet-Selch his, in more of a mating capacity.
Of course he recognizes these Monstrous notions of his. (Exasperating, but he's also since come to terms with the nature of this world and its effects on him. He likes being a Puca nowadays: the benefits (shapeshifting) outweigh the drawbacks (plenty).) He's already realized what those pendants do, too, and the fact that the pendants (jewelry) do something makes him wonder if the diamonds he wears (more jewelry) have some kind of effect. He's not worried about it, and this is barely a thought to consider as he holds his lover flush to these jewels, as Emet-Selch tilts his head up to kiss his jaw. Peppered in affection and appreciation, Mettaton only holds him tighter in a vice grip. ...One that he relaxes when he considers the tightness of it.
The very sound of Emet-Selch's voice would be enough to arouse, if he weren't already gradually coming right back to the same sort of need, and his ears spring upright. They slant forward next as Mettaton laughs low in his throat, amused, and he stoops down to nudge himself against his Bonded's neck to press a kiss to his throat. Blood still lives there, but a kiss isn't enough to agitate his clotting wounds. Even so, he feels enticed to lick, to taste the metallic flavor of him.]
Your poor throat. Think of it this way: [Another kiss, one with more heat inherently added to it: open-mouthed, tongue flirting and agitating wounds.] you'll be spared the effort of speech... and given the ever-present reminder of me. Unless you'd like me to fill that space again, and distract you from the ache. I'd be glad to, you know...
[It's said teasingly, even though Mettaton... is aroused. It's with the awareness that Emet-Selch's soreness would likely make him reluctant to want to continue having his throat fucked, but when would the suggestion of remedying a sore throat with more cock be a poor one? It's an impeccable salve. Fill it back up so that the soreness has a reason to be there.
Because he nips his throat next, voice darkening to match the shade his fur's taken on.]
It was obvious, after all... How am I going to think of anything else but this? You captivate me.
[Right now especially, the idea of going an hour without considering Emet-Selch's passion for him feels impossible. And right now, with an erection pressed to his lover's skin, it feels that much more difficult of a thought to divorce from at all. If he couldn't manifest such anatomy, Mettaton wonders how frustrating it would be just to exist, no relief in sight for any arousal: this hike in libidinous appetite rose to being only once he started indulging at all, once he'd been Bonded and once he'd had sex with Emet-Selch. It feels impossible to him right now (even though it would actually solve this problem to not have a cock to stroke off)...
But Mettaton persists, even when his hips shift. Even when he thinks about the sight of Emet-Selch nuzzling his recently-used erection, even when he fixates on the texture of his skin. Even when he imagines the feeling of his throat made to house the swollen head of his arousal. And then he thinks about the tantalizing taste of Emet-Selch's mouth, how he'd swallowed so much come, had ejaculated all over himself. The sight of his cock standing erect for Mettaton's gaze, the sight of him tensing and panting until he erupted in climax—
...This would be difficult to not do, made more difficult by the pendants, made more difficult yet by his desire to be paid extra attention to, to be lauded and soothed with words that stroke his ego. Mettaton is insatiable and driven mad by the work of enchantment and of his own mind.]
Well! We know what those pendants do. [The ones on the bed with them both. Mettaton pulls back from mouthing Emet-Selch's neck to smile at him with the flash of teeth and eye. But he snorts next.] And all jewelry, on principle, only makes me stand out that much more. They're not bad finds. I'd make it all look ravishing. You agree, don't you?
[Poor Emet-Selch, with his faded voice, aching throat, and his Bonded's demands. Every demand. The demand for use of oral functions.]
no subject
Of course he recognizes these Monstrous notions of his. (Exasperating, but he's also since come to terms with the nature of this world and its effects on him. He likes being a Puca nowadays: the benefits (shapeshifting) outweigh the drawbacks (plenty).) He's already realized what those pendants do, too, and the fact that the pendants (jewelry) do something makes him wonder if the diamonds he wears (more jewelry) have some kind of effect. He's not worried about it, and this is barely a thought to consider as he holds his lover flush to these jewels, as Emet-Selch tilts his head up to kiss his jaw. Peppered in affection and appreciation, Mettaton only holds him tighter in a vice grip. ...One that he relaxes when he considers the tightness of it.
The very sound of Emet-Selch's voice would be enough to arouse, if he weren't already gradually coming right back to the same sort of need, and his ears spring upright. They slant forward next as Mettaton laughs low in his throat, amused, and he stoops down to nudge himself against his Bonded's neck to press a kiss to his throat. Blood still lives there, but a kiss isn't enough to agitate his clotting wounds. Even so, he feels enticed to lick, to taste the metallic flavor of him.]
Your poor throat. Think of it this way: [Another kiss, one with more heat inherently added to it: open-mouthed, tongue flirting and agitating wounds.] you'll be spared the effort of speech... and given the ever-present reminder of me. Unless you'd like me to fill that space again, and distract you from the ache. I'd be glad to, you know...
[It's said teasingly, even though Mettaton... is aroused. It's with the awareness that Emet-Selch's soreness would likely make him reluctant to want to continue having his throat fucked, but when would the suggestion of remedying a sore throat with more cock be a poor one? It's an impeccable salve. Fill it back up so that the soreness has a reason to be there.
Because he nips his throat next, voice darkening to match the shade his fur's taken on.]
It was obvious, after all... How am I going to think of anything else but this? You captivate me.
[Right now especially, the idea of going an hour without considering Emet-Selch's passion for him feels impossible. And right now, with an erection pressed to his lover's skin, it feels that much more difficult of a thought to divorce from at all. If he couldn't manifest such anatomy, Mettaton wonders how frustrating it would be just to exist, no relief in sight for any arousal: this hike in libidinous appetite rose to being only once he started indulging at all, once he'd been Bonded and once he'd had sex with Emet-Selch. It feels impossible to him right now (even though it would actually solve this problem to not have a cock to stroke off)...
But Mettaton persists, even when his hips shift. Even when he thinks about the sight of Emet-Selch nuzzling his recently-used erection, even when he fixates on the texture of his skin. Even when he imagines the feeling of his throat made to house the swollen head of his arousal. And then he thinks about the tantalizing taste of Emet-Selch's mouth, how he'd swallowed so much come, had ejaculated all over himself. The sight of his cock standing erect for Mettaton's gaze, the sight of him tensing and panting until he erupted in climax—
...This would be difficult to not do, made more difficult by the pendants, made more difficult yet by his desire to be paid extra attention to, to be lauded and soothed with words that stroke his ego. Mettaton is insatiable and driven mad by the work of enchantment and of his own mind.]
Well! We know what those pendants do. [The ones on the bed with them both. Mettaton pulls back from mouthing Emet-Selch's neck to smile at him with the flash of teeth and eye. But he snorts next.] And all jewelry, on principle, only makes me stand out that much more. They're not bad finds. I'd make it all look ravishing. You agree, don't you?
[Poor Emet-Selch, with his faded voice, aching throat, and his Bonded's demands. Every demand. The demand for use of oral functions.]