[Though he can't quite hum in his current state (any attempt only reminds him of why he wasn't doing that), it's with a sense of pleasure regardless that he turns his head into Mettaton's efforts to kiss and lick at his neck. It's a contact worth the slight ache of stretching, of moving his neck at all. Even the tight grip around his body was comfortable enough, the Ascian only noticing it becoming slightly easier to breathe again once the puca managed to relax it a degree. But he felt- secure in his arms, as though he not only belonged there, but had every right to be there above all others.
At Mettaton's 'solution' for his sore throat, Emet-Selch snorts, and then winces; sharp noises were definitely to be avoided. And yet--]
Don't tempt me.
[Because though it wouldn't exactly be his first preference for Mettaton to use his throat once more, to fuck his mouth, to give him another load to swallow down- just thinking about it has him shudder. Even if it would be to his detriment, the Ascian knew it wouldn't be the most difficult thing to convince him. Mettaton was a terrible influence, and the hardness of the cock pressing against him was a terrible lure.
But the effects of the pendants were fairly clear, Emet-Selch would have to agree. As soon as they had been found, placed together, Mettaton's already heightened emotional state had turned to the beautifully feral. The physical changes were also pretty obvious, with the darker expanses of fur and longer, sharpened claws- and even his eye, he thought, held a brighter (yet darker) light to it at times....
A libido already high turned into something endless was another feature, though he wasn't sure if the heightened possessiveness was a feature of that, or something they had developed to that degree of their own accord. But Mettaton's repeated marking and claiming of him through sex was more insistent than usual, he'd have to admit, though he had no qualm, no hesitation when it came to indulging it. Encouraging it. Even if his throat was giving out, there was still the rest of his body.
Because when Mettaton's voice could darken like that, when he could still feel where his lover's tongue had pressed to his neck, left damp, warm kisses there, when his hips moved underneath him, further underlying a readiness to continue- how could he think to resist him? Even with his own cock temporarily sated, he still wanted him.
When Mettaton leans back, his own eyes open to meet his, though they linger on his jewelry as well, taking them in as a set.]
...They do suit you.
[Stricken voice or not, Emet-Selch will still use it when called to, and when he wanted to. Why did the condition of his throat get to decide what he could or couldn't say? And so long as he kept his tone particularly soft, it didn't strain anything- well, more than was already strained. He kisses Mettaton's neck, around the glittering diamonds- some of which had drops of blood on them. Something that added to the effect, he thought, even if it should probably be cleaned off eventually.
Without moving from his neck, he touches the strings of diamonds with a hand, indicating it specifically as he murmurs against his face.]
Most would be swallowed up by something like this. It would exceed them. But you more than match it.
[...He really was beautiful, and absurdly attractive to him. And while he would have always recognized that in a generally aesthetic sort of way, it was the sort of awareness that had only grown over time, that sometimes made his heart ache to consider. If Mettaton wanted someone to appreciate his appearance, Emet-Selch could do so with sincerity, whenever he could be motivated to say something at all.]
no subject
At Mettaton's 'solution' for his sore throat, Emet-Selch snorts, and then winces; sharp noises were definitely to be avoided. And yet--]
Don't tempt me.
[Because though it wouldn't exactly be his first preference for Mettaton to use his throat once more, to fuck his mouth, to give him another load to swallow down- just thinking about it has him shudder. Even if it would be to his detriment, the Ascian knew it wouldn't be the most difficult thing to convince him. Mettaton was a terrible influence, and the hardness of the cock pressing against him was a terrible lure.
But the effects of the pendants were fairly clear, Emet-Selch would have to agree. As soon as they had been found, placed together, Mettaton's already heightened emotional state had turned to the beautifully feral. The physical changes were also pretty obvious, with the darker expanses of fur and longer, sharpened claws- and even his eye, he thought, held a brighter (yet darker) light to it at times....
A libido already high turned into something endless was another feature, though he wasn't sure if the heightened possessiveness was a feature of that, or something they had developed to that degree of their own accord. But Mettaton's repeated marking and claiming of him through sex was more insistent than usual, he'd have to admit, though he had no qualm, no hesitation when it came to indulging it. Encouraging it. Even if his throat was giving out, there was still the rest of his body.
Because when Mettaton's voice could darken like that, when he could still feel where his lover's tongue had pressed to his neck, left damp, warm kisses there, when his hips moved underneath him, further underlying a readiness to continue- how could he think to resist him? Even with his own cock temporarily sated, he still wanted him.
When Mettaton leans back, his own eyes open to meet his, though they linger on his jewelry as well, taking them in as a set.]
...They do suit you.
[Stricken voice or not, Emet-Selch will still use it when called to, and when he wanted to. Why did the condition of his throat get to decide what he could or couldn't say? And so long as he kept his tone particularly soft, it didn't strain anything- well, more than was already strained. He kisses Mettaton's neck, around the glittering diamonds- some of which had drops of blood on them. Something that added to the effect, he thought, even if it should probably be cleaned off eventually.
Without moving from his neck, he touches the strings of diamonds with a hand, indicating it specifically as he murmurs against his face.]
Most would be swallowed up by something like this. It would exceed them. But you more than match it.
[...He really was beautiful, and absurdly attractive to him. And while he would have always recognized that in a generally aesthetic sort of way, it was the sort of awareness that had only grown over time, that sometimes made his heart ache to consider. If Mettaton wanted someone to appreciate his appearance, Emet-Selch could do so with sincerity, whenever he could be motivated to say something at all.]