[It was a strange state to find himself relaxing in (though calling it something like relaxing didn't really even begin to suffice), for all that it wasn't an entirely unfamiliar one, these days. Mettaton could have this effect on him, wearing him down and hollowing him out, yet leaving him full, his edges softened a bit by his use.
A bit more worn down than usual, though, in more than throat. A consequence, he suspected, of the kind of intensity brought by Mettaton's influenced state. And while those pendants offered only a limited version of the effect of the full moons (even if it was also enhanced, in a way, by the rest of Mettaton's cursed jewelry), it was enough to be... effective (as well as lead him to wondering what the puca would be like underneath the genuine article; it's enough to cause a shiver).
His eyes were already closed, but Emet-Selch continues to settle with the continuous affection Mettaton was showing him. The more gentle use of claws threading through his hair, the pressure of his arms in what embrace he could manage, every nuzzle and kiss. Every sigh and word.
It was so loving, and such a contrast to his viciousness, and yet so natural as well. And his own mood reflected that appreciation for it- that Mettaton would show him both of these extremes, would be as open as he was to him, giving over so much of himself... it made the Ascian feel that much more protective, devoted to him. Even if they had such differing views to so much... it hadn't changed anything of how they could feel for one another.
That Mettaton remained undaunted by their activity was expected, and for all that Emet-Selch was physically worn down himself, it yet remained intensely flattering to know, to feel. Their attraction to each other was... considerable.]
The limitations. Of the physical, organic form.
[That was to say that yes, he was exhausted. It was not, of course, to say that he didn't want more of him- when didn't he? That little movement of Mettaton's hips, the hint of jostling of his cock that he still had stuffed in his body- it wasn't exactly a way to dissuade him otherwise. Even if his own body couldn't follow along, he wouldn't discourage him, and it wasn't as though he wouldn't yet enjoy it in a way. But he was undoubtedly sore and tired. And while the emotional part of it was the most significant aspect, there were plenty of physical reminders as well....
Such as aching that would only become more pronounced as his various claw marks and scrapes and lovebites sought to remind him that they continued to exist in ways that weren't inherently erotic and weren't accompanied by an erection to match, blurring the boundary between suffering and pleasure. And as he began to cool down from all of that activity, (though Mettaton's body was at least trapping and reflecting some of his heat (all that additional fur likely also helped), as he rested against his back) that would only provide additional discomfort as his muscles chilled.
Not to mention all of the mess he was in, spattered with a mix of their fluids, something that would also become distinctly less pleasant as it dried. It's not as though he'd turn down the offer of a wash... but Emet-Selch knows exactly the nature of Mettaton's help, and that it would be both pleasant and completely inefficient, and quite possibly counter-productive (though at least any additional residue would be a trivial thing to clean). But at least less frustrating, compared to anything during that week of not being able to see him. The Ascian loved Mettaton terribly, terribly far... but it had certainly been a test of his patience with him.
Emet-Selch sighs internally, stretching a little underneath his robotic body (insofar as he can, anyway, with the puca on top of him). He does nudge his head back up against his, in place of any kind of returned nuzzling. Though he knew well enough that Mettaton had enjoyed himself, it was gratifying to hear it, to know that in this too they were matched. It was a different sort of rawness, perhaps, but one no less exposed, no less vulnerable, ultimately, despite being in a position of control.
Would he ever really be used to trusting someone and being trusted so far in return?]
--But I would always have you. [To want to satisfy him with his body, with his attention and his concern- how couldn't he, knowing of Mettaton's love for it?]
no subject
A bit more worn down than usual, though, in more than throat. A consequence, he suspected, of the kind of intensity brought by Mettaton's influenced state. And while those pendants offered only a limited version of the effect of the full moons (even if it was also enhanced, in a way, by the rest of Mettaton's cursed jewelry), it was enough to be... effective (as well as lead him to wondering what the puca would be like underneath the genuine article; it's enough to cause a shiver).
His eyes were already closed, but Emet-Selch continues to settle with the continuous affection Mettaton was showing him. The more gentle use of claws threading through his hair, the pressure of his arms in what embrace he could manage, every nuzzle and kiss. Every sigh and word.
It was so loving, and such a contrast to his viciousness, and yet so natural as well. And his own mood reflected that appreciation for it- that Mettaton would show him both of these extremes, would be as open as he was to him, giving over so much of himself... it made the Ascian feel that much more protective, devoted to him. Even if they had such differing views to so much... it hadn't changed anything of how they could feel for one another.
That Mettaton remained undaunted by their activity was expected, and for all that Emet-Selch was physically worn down himself, it yet remained intensely flattering to know, to feel. Their attraction to each other was... considerable.]
The limitations. Of the physical, organic form.
[That was to say that yes, he was exhausted. It was not, of course, to say that he didn't want more of him- when didn't he? That little movement of Mettaton's hips, the hint of jostling of his cock that he still had stuffed in his body- it wasn't exactly a way to dissuade him otherwise. Even if his own body couldn't follow along, he wouldn't discourage him, and it wasn't as though he wouldn't yet enjoy it in a way. But he was undoubtedly sore and tired. And while the emotional part of it was the most significant aspect, there were plenty of physical reminders as well....
Such as aching that would only become more pronounced as his various claw marks and scrapes and lovebites sought to remind him that they continued to exist in ways that weren't inherently erotic and weren't accompanied by an erection to match, blurring the boundary between suffering and pleasure. And as he began to cool down from all of that activity, (though Mettaton's body was at least trapping and reflecting some of his heat (all that additional fur likely also helped), as he rested against his back) that would only provide additional discomfort as his muscles chilled.
Not to mention all of the mess he was in, spattered with a mix of their fluids, something that would also become distinctly less pleasant as it dried. It's not as though he'd turn down the offer of a wash... but Emet-Selch knows exactly the nature of Mettaton's help, and that it would be both pleasant and completely inefficient, and quite possibly counter-productive (though at least any additional residue would be a trivial thing to clean). But at least less frustrating, compared to anything during that week of not being able to see him. The Ascian loved Mettaton terribly, terribly far... but it had certainly been a test of his patience with him.
Emet-Selch sighs internally, stretching a little underneath his robotic body (insofar as he can, anyway, with the puca on top of him). He does nudge his head back up against his, in place of any kind of returned nuzzling. Though he knew well enough that Mettaton had enjoyed himself, it was gratifying to hear it, to know that in this too they were matched. It was a different sort of rawness, perhaps, but one no less exposed, no less vulnerable, ultimately, despite being in a position of control.
Would he ever really be used to trusting someone and being trusted so far in return?]
--But I would always have you. [To want to satisfy him with his body, with his attention and his concern- how couldn't he, knowing of Mettaton's love for it?]