[It was automatic to thrust, but the Ascian still moans at the immediacy of it, a rough sound made rougher from having forgotten to resume breathing. It didn't matter that they had intended to move elsewhere- and that they still did- that didn't preclude them from falling upon one another every step of the way. Even before they'd taken any steps, for that matter. Emet-Selch's hiss is as rough as his moan when Mettaton sinks his claws back into him- a welcome piercing, and a welcome pain, even if he didn't have the answering of physical arousal to fully counter the discomfort. But how else could his lover hold onto him now- and how pleasant would it be afterward, to see and feel the imprint of his fingers around hips, to know exactly how he'd been holding him, even when he had let go?
Not that there would be any reason to let go, not when he knew exactly where the Ascian's hips needed to go, and that was down. Holding just the glans inside him for only the briefest moment, Emet-Selch takes in the pleasure of it, both ongoing and impending. The firm way the head so snugly fit, just inside that taut ring of muscle, and how its shape would make the penetration of the rest of Mettaton's length a simple task. A truth that manifests before he even has time to recognize it, the choked sound he makes as he huddles against Mettaton's body is a low, underlying sound to the far louder moaning that escapes the puca's undamaged throat.
Gravity won, but it was encouraged. Emet-Selch's legs squeeze around him, and the interior of his body squeezes more than that, tightening out of reflex at going from empty to completely full, to having the entirety of Mettaton's cock slid inside him again. A single motion was all it took, from the willing jerk of his own hips downward, assisted further by the drag of the puca's hands on them, and again with the way the man thrusted upward- it was impossible for his body to resist. Even if much of the ease was due to having been fucked by him so recently, it was still immensely satisfying to take to him so readily, to have all of him so swiftly.
And overwhelming. Nearly reeling from it, his arm- Mettaton's cock more than guided into position- wraps back around the puca's shoulder to join the other, needing the grip on him for some attempt at balance. Pressed close to his body, his grip is tight, burying his face against the other man's neck, panting from the depth of his thrusts, of the force of them. Kissing, biting, groaning in his raspy voice- his thoughts slip from some manner of clarity back into that carnal haze, the concept of restraint lost. There was a better answer found in his lover's teeth and lips, every bit of contact a physical manifestation of his words.
In part, Emet-Selch can only hold on as he feels himself taken, stretched tight around the thickness rubbing into him, focused utterly on the way Mettaton's cock felt, every inch that had been slammed into his body, and how quickly his Bonded could move. Thrusts that felt like they shook the whole of his body, that he could feel him throughout- and thrusts that he's yet desperate to meet, to arch into, to shove his hips down harder still onto his erection with every rasping breath. It was a fever that burned hotter for being encouraged with such rapidity, and yet he knew it was a flash that would never truly flare out entirely. It would always be there, smoldering, waiting for either (or both) of them to allow the smallest spark to set the world aflame.
While the last time Mettaton had taken him had begun with defiance, was met with demands and a mutual viciousness of love, and ended with capitulation and possession- this was pure hedonistic indulgence. Dark in its delight, but it was delight all the same, with no trace of anything outside of a desire to give into it. It hardly mattered that he wasn't hard himself, he loved the way Mettaton felt in itself, he loved every sound he made, and every roll of his hips and drag of his length. He loved seeing him enjoy himself.]
Mettaton--
[It's croaked out with as little control as the other raspy sounds he produces, the other shivers and tensings. And he clings as his hips continue moving, as Mettaton continues moving them, as their bodies continue to meet, as that heat only builds, because what was the point of being insatiable, if it wasn't indulged in?]
no subject
Not that there would be any reason to let go, not when he knew exactly where the Ascian's hips needed to go, and that was down. Holding just the glans inside him for only the briefest moment, Emet-Selch takes in the pleasure of it, both ongoing and impending. The firm way the head so snugly fit, just inside that taut ring of muscle, and how its shape would make the penetration of the rest of Mettaton's length a simple task. A truth that manifests before he even has time to recognize it, the choked sound he makes as he huddles against Mettaton's body is a low, underlying sound to the far louder moaning that escapes the puca's undamaged throat.
Gravity won, but it was encouraged. Emet-Selch's legs squeeze around him, and the interior of his body squeezes more than that, tightening out of reflex at going from empty to completely full, to having the entirety of Mettaton's cock slid inside him again. A single motion was all it took, from the willing jerk of his own hips downward, assisted further by the drag of the puca's hands on them, and again with the way the man thrusted upward- it was impossible for his body to resist. Even if much of the ease was due to having been fucked by him so recently, it was still immensely satisfying to take to him so readily, to have all of him so swiftly.
And overwhelming. Nearly reeling from it, his arm- Mettaton's cock more than guided into position- wraps back around the puca's shoulder to join the other, needing the grip on him for some attempt at balance. Pressed close to his body, his grip is tight, burying his face against the other man's neck, panting from the depth of his thrusts, of the force of them. Kissing, biting, groaning in his raspy voice- his thoughts slip from some manner of clarity back into that carnal haze, the concept of restraint lost. There was a better answer found in his lover's teeth and lips, every bit of contact a physical manifestation of his words.
In part, Emet-Selch can only hold on as he feels himself taken, stretched tight around the thickness rubbing into him, focused utterly on the way Mettaton's cock felt, every inch that had been slammed into his body, and how quickly his Bonded could move. Thrusts that felt like they shook the whole of his body, that he could feel him throughout- and thrusts that he's yet desperate to meet, to arch into, to shove his hips down harder still onto his erection with every rasping breath. It was a fever that burned hotter for being encouraged with such rapidity, and yet he knew it was a flash that would never truly flare out entirely. It would always be there, smoldering, waiting for either (or both) of them to allow the smallest spark to set the world aflame.
While the last time Mettaton had taken him had begun with defiance, was met with demands and a mutual viciousness of love, and ended with capitulation and possession- this was pure hedonistic indulgence. Dark in its delight, but it was delight all the same, with no trace of anything outside of a desire to give into it. It hardly mattered that he wasn't hard himself, he loved the way Mettaton felt in itself, he loved every sound he made, and every roll of his hips and drag of his length. He loved seeing him enjoy himself.]
Mettaton--
[It's croaked out with as little control as the other raspy sounds he produces, the other shivers and tensings. And he clings as his hips continue moving, as Mettaton continues moving them, as their bodies continue to meet, as that heat only builds, because what was the point of being insatiable, if it wasn't indulged in?]