[As he observes Mettaton, he was just as aware of being observed- and of all there was to observe. If the robot hadn't already been achingly erect, even a portion of a sight like this would've been more than enough to achieve it. Even one aspect of it- be it the sound of their voices, the taste of blood and come and sweat, the smell of all of the above, any touch of their bodies together, and, of course, the vision of it all before them... it was inescapably erotic.
So it doesn't surprise Emet-Selch when his kiss is turned into a deeper affair, lips parting to suck and lick at his lover's tongue, arm going around him in turn to help reduce the space between their bodies once more. His gasp is rough, stifled against Mettaton's mouth as he feels his head gripped by clawed hands, feels the energy behind it that was more than a suggestion, aware that he was under the distinct threat of being brought down once again, only to be filled back up by his cock and his come, mounted and claimed.
They were at the edge of the bed, but would they ever manage to leave it?
Being pulled into Mettaton's lap was helpful on one hand, if the idol planned on carrying him (and the opposite of helpful if he intended on the Ascian walking, as this was not a position conductive towards that whatsoever). On the other, it was... dangerous, incredibly so, if the intention was to go anywhere at all. Emet-Selch was fully conscious of the spread of his legs (the natural position for them), the cock at his front, an erection just waiting for somewhere to be placed (that place being inside of his body, where he could warm and stroke it some more). He rubs the side of his face against Mettaton's as he feels the drag of that length against his abdomen, against the smears of ejaculate the Ascian had left there.
A danger that only increases as his hips are moved- a gesture he's only too willing to cooperate with, and he has the slide of Mettaton's cock against his ass instead, a sensation in itself to cause a shiver. His Bonded had only just pulled out of him, and Emet-Selch had to admit that he was already feeling the loss, not being anywhere near full of come to make up for Mettaton's absence. Even if he wasn't hard himself, he desired that thickness, that heat, his lover's cries as he pleasured himself on his body, leaving him ever more of a mess....
He bites his swollen lip at the teasing press of a finger, the reminder of his claws the only thing keeping him from pressing back into it. Turning his head, he bites Mettaton's lip instead, sucking it between his own as he considers. The only thing tempering his desire for him now was his own lack of an erection, the only point of something resembling moderation, the only way to have a clarity of thought that wasn't entirely consumed by lust. It wasn't as though waiting would be particularly arduous, even as needy as Mettaton was; it wasn't as though they wouldn't fuck under running water, cleaning and dirtying himself further all at once.
...But what was the harm, the rest of him says. Emet-Selch wanted him here, and he would want him again while he was being made clean.]
Or.
[Is all he says, all he repeats, a bare breath of a word against his lover's lips. One arm remaining about Mettaton's neck and shoulders, he shifts his other one behind him, gently nudging his finger away from his entrance. Not to turn him down or tell him to wait (and certainly not to use his own fingers again), but only to reach for his lover's cock instead. Shifting his hips up again, his breath stills in his concentration as he maneuvers Mettaton's length, pressing the swell of the glans to his still-slick entrance. A moan hoarsened to the point of silence, reduced to a breath against the robot's lips, he lowers his hips onto him, feeling his body begin to give way once more to the cushion of the tip, to feel him push inside.
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So it doesn't surprise Emet-Selch when his kiss is turned into a deeper affair, lips parting to suck and lick at his lover's tongue, arm going around him in turn to help reduce the space between their bodies once more. His gasp is rough, stifled against Mettaton's mouth as he feels his head gripped by clawed hands, feels the energy behind it that was more than a suggestion, aware that he was under the distinct threat of being brought down once again, only to be filled back up by his cock and his come, mounted and claimed.
They were at the edge of the bed, but would they ever manage to leave it?
Being pulled into Mettaton's lap was helpful on one hand, if the idol planned on carrying him (and the opposite of helpful if he intended on the Ascian walking, as this was not a position conductive towards that whatsoever). On the other, it was... dangerous, incredibly so, if the intention was to go anywhere at all. Emet-Selch was fully conscious of the spread of his legs (the natural position for them), the cock at his front, an erection just waiting for somewhere to be placed (that place being inside of his body, where he could warm and stroke it some more). He rubs the side of his face against Mettaton's as he feels the drag of that length against his abdomen, against the smears of ejaculate the Ascian had left there.
A danger that only increases as his hips are moved- a gesture he's only too willing to cooperate with, and he has the slide of Mettaton's cock against his ass instead, a sensation in itself to cause a shiver. His Bonded had only just pulled out of him, and Emet-Selch had to admit that he was already feeling the loss, not being anywhere near full of come to make up for Mettaton's absence. Even if he wasn't hard himself, he desired that thickness, that heat, his lover's cries as he pleasured himself on his body, leaving him ever more of a mess....
He bites his swollen lip at the teasing press of a finger, the reminder of his claws the only thing keeping him from pressing back into it. Turning his head, he bites Mettaton's lip instead, sucking it between his own as he considers. The only thing tempering his desire for him now was his own lack of an erection, the only point of something resembling moderation, the only way to have a clarity of thought that wasn't entirely consumed by lust. It wasn't as though waiting would be particularly arduous, even as needy as Mettaton was; it wasn't as though they wouldn't fuck under running water, cleaning and dirtying himself further all at once.
...But what was the harm, the rest of him says. Emet-Selch wanted him here, and he would want him again while he was being made clean.]
Or.
[Is all he says, all he repeats, a bare breath of a word against his lover's lips. One arm remaining about Mettaton's neck and shoulders, he shifts his other one behind him, gently nudging his finger away from his entrance. Not to turn him down or tell him to wait (and certainly not to use his own fingers again), but only to reach for his lover's cock instead. Shifting his hips up again, his breath stills in his concentration as he maneuvers Mettaton's length, pressing the swell of the glans to his still-slick entrance. A moan hoarsened to the point of silence, reduced to a breath against the robot's lips, he lowers his hips onto him, feeling his body begin to give way once more to the cushion of the tip, to feel him push inside.
...He could always be more of a mess.]