[It remained flattering, that Mettaton would enjoy his blood as he did. Even if he was predisposed to, being a monster, and himself a witch- well, it was one more reason to be relieved at entering this world as a mage, even if he were a drastically reduced one. Delicious blood was a strange consolation prize, but there was no reason not to make the most of it.
And should Mettaton ever require a hit of his blood for mental clarity in the midst of madness otherwise unrestrained- Emet-Selch would willingly provide it. He'd willingly provide it regardless, but were it a matter of seeking more than particular pleasure, red indulgence and metallic scents- he'd give as much as needed to clear his thoughts. And if he considered it in serious terms, he'd even conclude that so long as Mettaton didn't tear out anything immediately fatal, any danger would be minimal. If blood would restore him to sanity, then he'd be able to stop himself from pulling too much, after all.
But there was no suggestion of that at the moment, this sharing of blood a healthy endeavor only, a touch of decadence, a trading of essences; if he had the opportunity to take Mettaton's come, then his lover should have an equal opportunity to claim his blood.
Mostly, though, he's focused on the tighter grip he'd provoked in him through his change in position, a touch smug at the way Mettaton responded, and more than a touch breathless at the increased rubbing. Even if there wasn't the opportunity yet to make anything of the opportunity of having his ass spread, he appreciated the sensation, the reaction- his own cock rapidly hardening, as though inspired by the stiffness of what it was pressed against.
It was enough to cause a soft moan to form, as his arousal continued to physically manifest- though it's a sound that's abruptly turned into a sharp, startled cry when Mettaton's teeth sink into his shoulder. It's hard enough that it takes him a few moments to notice that his skin hadn't been pierced, that any dampness he felt was from his lover's mouth alone. And his cry itself is a louder sound than anything else he'd uttered in some time, the rasp in it far more noticeable at this volume. And the discomfort too, as he shudders a wince.
But he's distracted all over again when he's pushed suddenly away, maneuvered and shoved down, face against the bed, and his back to the air, Mettaton above him, the predator with his prey successfully brought low. It happened so quickly that he had little time for more than a few sharp breaths, a tensing of limbs and body as he's hauled around and pushed into place.
How did he want him? For once, it was an easier question.]
--Right there. Like this.
[It was something he'd realized the moment he'd been flipped over, pressed down, legs spread, with Mettaton so close. And he knew it ever harder in those moments immediately after, when he could practically feel his lover's eye on him, taking in every detail of this arrangement. The expanse of his back, every scratch or bruise- every place where he wasn't scratched or bruised, his legs open to him. And harder still did he know this was exactly right, on the sensation of Mettaton's cock sliding against his ass, an enticing suggestion of his impending fate.
Like Mettaton he wanted every position (with a not-surprising number of them with his legs pulled apart, to either wrap around him again, or be held open like this, but being accessible to his Bonded's cock was a theme), but this was also a point where patience was less of a problem. They could have it all, but in succession. Satisfaction and anticipation at once- it wasn't the worst of fates, to be caught ever-wanting, when the wanting was this.
His arms tense and pull at Mettaton's grip, testing it with no desire to escape; his hips likewise attempt to press up, but with the clear desire to feel more of his cock.]
Held down by your body and taken. To feel- all of you. Pushing yourself inside of me.
no subject
And should Mettaton ever require a hit of his blood for mental clarity in the midst of madness otherwise unrestrained- Emet-Selch would willingly provide it. He'd willingly provide it regardless, but were it a matter of seeking more than particular pleasure, red indulgence and metallic scents- he'd give as much as needed to clear his thoughts. And if he considered it in serious terms, he'd even conclude that so long as Mettaton didn't tear out anything immediately fatal, any danger would be minimal. If blood would restore him to sanity, then he'd be able to stop himself from pulling too much, after all.
But there was no suggestion of that at the moment, this sharing of blood a healthy endeavor only, a touch of decadence, a trading of essences; if he had the opportunity to take Mettaton's come, then his lover should have an equal opportunity to claim his blood.
Mostly, though, he's focused on the tighter grip he'd provoked in him through his change in position, a touch smug at the way Mettaton responded, and more than a touch breathless at the increased rubbing. Even if there wasn't the opportunity yet to make anything of the opportunity of having his ass spread, he appreciated the sensation, the reaction- his own cock rapidly hardening, as though inspired by the stiffness of what it was pressed against.
It was enough to cause a soft moan to form, as his arousal continued to physically manifest- though it's a sound that's abruptly turned into a sharp, startled cry when Mettaton's teeth sink into his shoulder. It's hard enough that it takes him a few moments to notice that his skin hadn't been pierced, that any dampness he felt was from his lover's mouth alone. And his cry itself is a louder sound than anything else he'd uttered in some time, the rasp in it far more noticeable at this volume. And the discomfort too, as he shudders a wince.
But he's distracted all over again when he's pushed suddenly away, maneuvered and shoved down, face against the bed, and his back to the air, Mettaton above him, the predator with his prey successfully brought low. It happened so quickly that he had little time for more than a few sharp breaths, a tensing of limbs and body as he's hauled around and pushed into place.
How did he want him? For once, it was an easier question.]
--Right there. Like this.
[It was something he'd realized the moment he'd been flipped over, pressed down, legs spread, with Mettaton so close. And he knew it ever harder in those moments immediately after, when he could practically feel his lover's eye on him, taking in every detail of this arrangement. The expanse of his back, every scratch or bruise- every place where he wasn't scratched or bruised, his legs open to him. And harder still did he know this was exactly right, on the sensation of Mettaton's cock sliding against his ass, an enticing suggestion of his impending fate.
Like Mettaton he wanted every position (with a not-surprising number of them with his legs pulled apart, to either wrap around him again, or be held open like this, but being accessible to his Bonded's cock was a theme), but this was also a point where patience was less of a problem. They could have it all, but in succession. Satisfaction and anticipation at once- it wasn't the worst of fates, to be caught ever-wanting, when the wanting was this.
His arms tense and pull at Mettaton's grip, testing it with no desire to escape; his hips likewise attempt to press up, but with the clear desire to feel more of his cock.]
Held down by your body and taken. To feel- all of you. Pushing yourself inside of me.