[Heated nuzzling and kissing was good, though the simple show of affection was, somehow, even better- and something that stills him for a moment, wondering how such a small reminder could influence him to this degree. And Emet-Selch felt strangely exposed in those instants, vulnerable- or at least, more aware of it, with both his body and his desires on full display, with emotion less visible but no more hidden. He was available, utterly, to Mettaton, on more levels than he'd ever intended to be with anyone. It doesn't daunt, exactly, but he is conscious of it.
But it's a consideration he's distracted from at the distinct sensation of the tip of Mettaton's cock brushing against his entrance. Tensing in anticipation, he imagines the feeling of him thrusting inside at once, feeding him the full length of his erection, even if he knew that he couldn't, with the neither of them yet prepared. But he shudders anyway, as his legs are pushed further apart, as Mettaton strokes his cock against his body; it was a terrible tease, and his raspy breath quickens, feeling his own cock get ever harder as it's pushed against the covers beneath him. Every thrust was both arousing and frustrating both, feeling Mettaton's cock rubbing hot and stiff against his ass, but without that promising thickness filling him. Feeling Mettaton's weight over him, with the threat of teeth in his shoulders or back or neck, Emet-Selch shivers harder at the thought of being mounted like that, held down by a piercing bite, and fucked. Ravished against the mattress, while his own cock only had the friction of the bed for stimulation, and knowing that it would be more than sufficient, that he'd be brought to desperate orgasm from being penetrated alone.
So he writhes, futilely; his lover was not inside him at that instant, which was intolerable. And something that would soon be rectified, he was sure, especially when he feels his wrist released, knowing what his Bonded must be retrieving for them.
Though Mettaton placing the lubricant in his hand instead came as a small surprise- though it's one that's clarified immediately at the reminder of sharpened claws dragging across his thigh. Claws that had already been proven to be very effective at rending his skin... and wouldn't be very effective anyway at spreading much of anything. He takes a careful breath.]
--Ah. You do normally keep those filed down, don't you.
[Though the sharpened versions did have their benefits, when it came to scratching him up with ease. And even if this was a technical drawback at times- was it really, when he could just prepare himself anyway, under Mettaton's watchful stare?
It's something that has his breathing catch as he considers it, as he feels Mettaton's lips and touch work their way down his back as he slides off of him, allowing him the ability to move a measure. Not too much, of course, with his legs kept parted like this- but it wasn't as though he wouldn't have to spread them anyway. Still feeling the path Mettaton's attentions had taken along his back, he shivers, even as he takes some of the lubricant onto his fingers.
It would be impossible for it to remain a clinical preparation under these conditions, with his lover's hands on him, with his eye able to regard every part of it, from a particularly good vantage point. Bracing himself a bit, Emet-Selch twists his neck to look back to Mettaton for a few moments before relaxing back, keeping his eyes closed then, rather than stare down at the mattress. His sigh is quiet, with more than a touch of heat, of longing.]
Yet no matter how thoroughly I fantasize on it, I... it won't begin to compare to reality.
[Stretching his arm behind him, Emet-Selch lets out a shaky breath when slick, slightly-chilled fingers brush against his entrance. And for all that he wanted Mettaton to be able to take to him as quickly as possible, he forces himself to slow, to trace slow patterns against his skin, finding it not difficult at all to imagine the sensation of his lover's glans pressing to him there instead. Soft and hot and thick, with both of their bodies made slick in order to allow him access, Mettaton would thrust, and he'd be made to give way to him again, to form around him....
It's with that thought in mind that he pushes a finger inside himself, a sensation that's paired with a sharp breath, and followed by a soft moan as he presses it deeper, as far as he can reach. Slowly stroking the inside of his body with his own finger, he's struck by his own warmth- not even warmth, but heat, something to quickly raise the temperature of his lone invading digit. Without needing to think about it, he begins to smoothly thrust that finger inside of himself, spreading lubrication on each pass, but mostly taken by how giving his body could be. Mettaton had said he was soft... and he could believe it.
There was some tension as well, but his movements remain firm, steady, and the slight strangeness of what he was doing is quickly absorbed by the pleasure of it. Even the tension was a reminder of how tight he could be, both snug and accommodating at once. Breathing elevated, exhalations given into the covers of the bed, Emet-Selch even tries to part his legs slightly further, as though to give himself, to give Mettaton, ever deeper access to his body. But there was a limit to what his finger could reach.]
no subject
But it's a consideration he's distracted from at the distinct sensation of the tip of Mettaton's cock brushing against his entrance. Tensing in anticipation, he imagines the feeling of him thrusting inside at once, feeding him the full length of his erection, even if he knew that he couldn't, with the neither of them yet prepared. But he shudders anyway, as his legs are pushed further apart, as Mettaton strokes his cock against his body; it was a terrible tease, and his raspy breath quickens, feeling his own cock get ever harder as it's pushed against the covers beneath him. Every thrust was both arousing and frustrating both, feeling Mettaton's cock rubbing hot and stiff against his ass, but without that promising thickness filling him. Feeling Mettaton's weight over him, with the threat of teeth in his shoulders or back or neck, Emet-Selch shivers harder at the thought of being mounted like that, held down by a piercing bite, and fucked. Ravished against the mattress, while his own cock only had the friction of the bed for stimulation, and knowing that it would be more than sufficient, that he'd be brought to desperate orgasm from being penetrated alone.
So he writhes, futilely; his lover was not inside him at that instant, which was intolerable. And something that would soon be rectified, he was sure, especially when he feels his wrist released, knowing what his Bonded must be retrieving for them.
Though Mettaton placing the lubricant in his hand instead came as a small surprise- though it's one that's clarified immediately at the reminder of sharpened claws dragging across his thigh. Claws that had already been proven to be very effective at rending his skin... and wouldn't be very effective anyway at spreading much of anything. He takes a careful breath.]
--Ah. You do normally keep those filed down, don't you.
[Though the sharpened versions did have their benefits, when it came to scratching him up with ease. And even if this was a technical drawback at times- was it really, when he could just prepare himself anyway, under Mettaton's watchful stare?
It's something that has his breathing catch as he considers it, as he feels Mettaton's lips and touch work their way down his back as he slides off of him, allowing him the ability to move a measure. Not too much, of course, with his legs kept parted like this- but it wasn't as though he wouldn't have to spread them anyway. Still feeling the path Mettaton's attentions had taken along his back, he shivers, even as he takes some of the lubricant onto his fingers.
It would be impossible for it to remain a clinical preparation under these conditions, with his lover's hands on him, with his eye able to regard every part of it, from a particularly good vantage point. Bracing himself a bit, Emet-Selch twists his neck to look back to Mettaton for a few moments before relaxing back, keeping his eyes closed then, rather than stare down at the mattress. His sigh is quiet, with more than a touch of heat, of longing.]
Yet no matter how thoroughly I fantasize on it, I... it won't begin to compare to reality.
[Stretching his arm behind him, Emet-Selch lets out a shaky breath when slick, slightly-chilled fingers brush against his entrance. And for all that he wanted Mettaton to be able to take to him as quickly as possible, he forces himself to slow, to trace slow patterns against his skin, finding it not difficult at all to imagine the sensation of his lover's glans pressing to him there instead. Soft and hot and thick, with both of their bodies made slick in order to allow him access, Mettaton would thrust, and he'd be made to give way to him again, to form around him....
It's with that thought in mind that he pushes a finger inside himself, a sensation that's paired with a sharp breath, and followed by a soft moan as he presses it deeper, as far as he can reach. Slowly stroking the inside of his body with his own finger, he's struck by his own warmth- not even warmth, but heat, something to quickly raise the temperature of his lone invading digit. Without needing to think about it, he begins to smoothly thrust that finger inside of himself, spreading lubrication on each pass, but mostly taken by how giving his body could be. Mettaton had said he was soft... and he could believe it.
There was some tension as well, but his movements remain firm, steady, and the slight strangeness of what he was doing is quickly absorbed by the pleasure of it. Even the tension was a reminder of how tight he could be, both snug and accommodating at once. Breathing elevated, exhalations given into the covers of the bed, Emet-Selch even tries to part his legs slightly further, as though to give himself, to give Mettaton, ever deeper access to his body. But there was a limit to what his finger could reach.]