[Gazing down upon them both - upon Emet-Selch's supple skin made to bear kisses of purple, his thighs made to straddle Mettaton's hips of fur and silicone and metal framework beneath (and an appropriate look for him, spreading his legs and wrapping them around Mettaton) - it becomes harder to deny his own immediate desires. The need to rock his hips into Emet-Selch becomes too great for him to handle, succumbing to lust with another exhale of heat from the core of his body.
... Even though Mettaton's already made a decision fueled by his sexual appetite, Emet-Selch's refined it further. His Bonded speaks close to his lips (enough to intoxicate on its own) before he reaches behind himself, surely agitating bruises and wounds both. But it's for a greater purpose: he ushers away his hand and reaches for his cock blindly, his hand scooping at the underside of his length. It so quickly demands a short thrust out of Mettaton against his hand, against the air, hungry for the body of his lover made available to him. Available he is, as Emet-Selch rocks his own hips just enough to settle down right on the tip of him, the pressure of his weight the most divine of hints that invites him inside.
He stammers. The Ascian sits atop the glans proper, nudging him inside with push of his own hips, sinking his cock inside of his body with a sound from his throat barely realized, a whisper of its former self. This close, he can almost feel the vibration of it in his throat enough to recognize it as a moan. Mettaton bites at his lower lip, suddenly overwhelmed with needy covetousness, fingers grabbing and sinking into flesh, carnal craving manifest as claws and fingers knead into every square inch of Emet-Selch's body.
A solicitation and suggestion that he be fucked all over again, right here. Mettaton gaze glazes over, primal want overcoming him, and his hips do the rest of the work.
As Emet-Selch obeys gravity, Mettaton fights it, pushing upwards with his hips. But he also cooperates with gravity, taking his lover's hips and slipping him over the whole of his cock in a single stroke — and the moan it tears from Mettaton's throat is immense. To go from having fucked Emet-Selch, laid deep in his body; to pulling out, aching and wanting him all over again; to pulling his lover over his erection as he rides his lap is a thing most pleasurable. He inhales sharply as if he had lungs to treat, but it's more of a gasp in response to pleasure. It's no surprise that Emet-Selch should slip over a thick cock with ease, being that he was just filled with it not even minutes ago, but it still evokes another moan just to think about. Just to feel the swollen head of himself hugged tightly in Emet-Selch's body is worthy of it, and Mettaton's body seizes and shudders at the sudden assault of sensation.
(It's difficult to believe that he'd only ever been experiencing sensation for a year. He never tires of it, always wants it, could become a lusting glutton for it, could imagine himself reclining and demanding he be touched forever. Touched and fucked and sucked off and swallowed around, his body prodded and teased and stroked, his lips kissed and bitten, legs treated to the same, the want to feel Emet-Selch adore him is enough to craze him.)
Mettaton's always been a monster, even prior to arriving here. A monster made into a monster even in instinct, made into a monster even further by Emet-Selch's treatment. Insatiable and ever wanting, ruthless in his designs, sultry and dark in his execution... Even here, Mettaton grips down onto Emet-Selch's hips and holds him steady above his hips, finding in him the desperate urge to pound into Emet-Selch. He gnashes his teeth and keeps him steadily above him, stroking himself on his lover's body with full, firm thrusts of his hips. It's a pleasure he cries out at, the way he curves his abdomen in managing to fully stroke over the glans, rubbing him and massaging himself in his lover's body.]
Ohh, Hades, I can't stop... I always- want you!
[He doesn't know why he feels the need to say so, but he's desperate to explain his ravenous need for his lover's body. But a deeper part of him just wants to show Emet-Selch what he does to him, to show off his cock and his fervor, his thickness and hardness and the rapidity of his thrusts, his need and his desire and love all elements of the ordeal.
Just as soon as he finishes speaking, Mettaton groans, rocking into the other man deeply. He kneads the head of his cock in the depths of his body, getting himself off on the tight rub he's always treated to, all while he kisses passionately at his neck, his shoulders, his collar, his chest, sometimes dragging teeth along his skin. Any restraint he was practicing just to get them from one place to another is gone completely, replaced by feverish sex, the rock of his hips and the pleasuring of his cock, Emet-Selch as the focal point to his pleasure.]
no subject
... Even though Mettaton's already made a decision fueled by his sexual appetite, Emet-Selch's refined it further. His Bonded speaks close to his lips (enough to intoxicate on its own) before he reaches behind himself, surely agitating bruises and wounds both. But it's for a greater purpose: he ushers away his hand and reaches for his cock blindly, his hand scooping at the underside of his length. It so quickly demands a short thrust out of Mettaton against his hand, against the air, hungry for the body of his lover made available to him. Available he is, as Emet-Selch rocks his own hips just enough to settle down right on the tip of him, the pressure of his weight the most divine of hints that invites him inside.
He stammers. The Ascian sits atop the glans proper, nudging him inside with push of his own hips, sinking his cock inside of his body with a sound from his throat barely realized, a whisper of its former self. This close, he can almost feel the vibration of it in his throat enough to recognize it as a moan. Mettaton bites at his lower lip, suddenly overwhelmed with needy covetousness, fingers grabbing and sinking into flesh, carnal craving manifest as claws and fingers knead into every square inch of Emet-Selch's body.
A solicitation and suggestion that he be fucked all over again, right here. Mettaton gaze glazes over, primal want overcoming him, and his hips do the rest of the work.
As Emet-Selch obeys gravity, Mettaton fights it, pushing upwards with his hips. But he also cooperates with gravity, taking his lover's hips and slipping him over the whole of his cock in a single stroke — and the moan it tears from Mettaton's throat is immense. To go from having fucked Emet-Selch, laid deep in his body; to pulling out, aching and wanting him all over again; to pulling his lover over his erection as he rides his lap is a thing most pleasurable. He inhales sharply as if he had lungs to treat, but it's more of a gasp in response to pleasure. It's no surprise that Emet-Selch should slip over a thick cock with ease, being that he was just filled with it not even minutes ago, but it still evokes another moan just to think about. Just to feel the swollen head of himself hugged tightly in Emet-Selch's body is worthy of it, and Mettaton's body seizes and shudders at the sudden assault of sensation.
(It's difficult to believe that he'd only ever been experiencing sensation for a year. He never tires of it, always wants it, could become a lusting glutton for it, could imagine himself reclining and demanding he be touched forever. Touched and fucked and sucked off and swallowed around, his body prodded and teased and stroked, his lips kissed and bitten, legs treated to the same, the want to feel Emet-Selch adore him is enough to craze him.)
Mettaton's always been a monster, even prior to arriving here. A monster made into a monster even in instinct, made into a monster even further by Emet-Selch's treatment. Insatiable and ever wanting, ruthless in his designs, sultry and dark in his execution... Even here, Mettaton grips down onto Emet-Selch's hips and holds him steady above his hips, finding in him the desperate urge to pound into Emet-Selch. He gnashes his teeth and keeps him steadily above him, stroking himself on his lover's body with full, firm thrusts of his hips. It's a pleasure he cries out at, the way he curves his abdomen in managing to fully stroke over the glans, rubbing him and massaging himself in his lover's body.]
Ohh, Hades, I can't stop... I always- want you!
[He doesn't know why he feels the need to say so, but he's desperate to explain his ravenous need for his lover's body. But a deeper part of him just wants to show Emet-Selch what he does to him, to show off his cock and his fervor, his thickness and hardness and the rapidity of his thrusts, his need and his desire and love all elements of the ordeal.
Just as soon as he finishes speaking, Mettaton groans, rocking into the other man deeply. He kneads the head of his cock in the depths of his body, getting himself off on the tight rub he's always treated to, all while he kisses passionately at his neck, his shoulders, his collar, his chest, sometimes dragging teeth along his skin. Any restraint he was practicing just to get them from one place to another is gone completely, replaced by feverish sex, the rock of his hips and the pleasuring of his cock, Emet-Selch as the focal point to his pleasure.]