[A tightness to pull yet another moan from Mettaton, stretching and baring his throat as though about to throw back his head. Emet-Selch feels so tight around him, squeezing around his length in rhythmic pulses as his lover's body goes taut as well, curling into Mettaton's arms. Squeezing around his length from under the ridge and all the way down to the root of his cock, Mettaton thinks for a blinding instant that the pleasure of this, of being so rhythmically squeezed over by that slick ring of muscle, would be enough to lose it. To come all over the Ascian, marking him messily from within and by complete surprise — and he knows he'd clamp down along him, a thought to reduce all thought.
Having him fucked before and penetrating him all over again is a sensation divine, he thought. He's done it before, back when he had a double of himself to pass Emet-Selch back from hard cock to hard cock, and the ease with which he could slip his lover over his erection was a turn-on in itself.
But here, it's just him and his insatiability for his lover to fit around, from tip to base. He squeezes around his length as they hold onto each other, bracing against pleasure as it rocks them. But they don't stop inundating each other: Emet-Selch's fate to be inundated by the brunt of Mettaton's full arousal, and Mettaton with Emet-Selch's provocative arches into him, the way he responds to his thrusts with thrusts of his own. It means they're never given a chance to cool down, allowing for that fire to engulf and incinerate them.
All Mettaton knows right now is to keep thrusting, and that he loves Emet-Selch.
Having Emet-Selch grip onto him for dear life while he fucks him senseless satisfies Mettaton terribly. He gets a rush from it, being the only thing his lover has to depend on in this moment, the sound of his name on his choked voice, the feeling of his arms wrapped about him, the steady pounding he's treated to... and it flatters Mettaton, to be so welcomed by his Bonded. Even with his voice gone, he occupies it with his name, as is right. Even sore and fucked to exhaustion, he spreads his legs around Mettaton's hips, as is right. Emet-Selch knows where he belongs, and that's flush to Mettaton's hips, wrapped around his torso, his hips, and his cock.
He gnashes his teeth with the pleasure of that thought, leaning forward as though to threaten that he might push them both to the ground in his voracious taking, ritual and fierce and full of love so hot that they scald each other at every turn. He feels he'd only harden if he could at the thought of how well-made Emet-Selch is to receive him, enthralled by Mettaton always, and he doesn't think he imagines it when he feels that much more engorged. He feels terribly stiff and aching, his balls heavy with the want to spill over and claim his Bonded Witch. He'd claim and possess his beloved so often that all would know how often he's fucked and ravished, upon his lap or into the mattress, against the wall or with lips wrapped around his erection.
His thoughts run salacious and graphic, and his inclination toward mounting him increases. His sharp-clawed fingers curl into his hips some more as he continues to rock his hips into Emet-Selch, ears splaying senselessly as a groan slides up his throat. He nuzzles into the other man's neck, breathing him in: blood, sweat, him, sex, and Mettaton greet him enough to elicit another deep, animalistic noise.
His voice is smooth and deep, sometimes hissed through teeth as he leans forward some more, arms wrapping around Emet-Selch's back to hold him firmly against his hips.]
Tell me- how much you like being- taken by me.
[A demand to hear him exhaust his voice only on praise for Mettaton, and the robot's certain Emet-Selch has something to say about being fucked by him. They've discovered in so short a time that he loves to be suffocated by cock, that he loves to be filled repeatedly until he loses sense, and Mettaton's sure he loves to be so subdued by his passion, used to Mettaton's pleasure. Even here, Mettaton grips onto him and strokes his cock along that tight ring of muscle, long, broad thrusts to pull out and sink back in, dropping Emet-Selch against his hips. A short whine slips from his throat at the blinding pleasure of it.
There's all of the sensation he takes pleasure in, but there's also the reception Emet-Selch gives him without fail. They give each other the whole of themselves, and Mettaton couldn't be more delighted. They'd fall into each other anywhere, whether that meant falling into teeth, into bodies, into passion, or into arms, and they were never more than a half step from doing it. Mettaton shivers at the thought of his lust for Emet-Selch, and heat grows in him to hear of Emet-Selch's lust for him.
It's the only thing that would quell and satisfy this furious want in him, this desire to snarl and the spring-loaded nature of his body, ready to pounce, to tear him apart until he sings his praises on a voice made raw.]
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Having him fucked before and penetrating him all over again is a sensation divine, he thought. He's done it before, back when he had a double of himself to pass Emet-Selch back from hard cock to hard cock, and the ease with which he could slip his lover over his erection was a turn-on in itself.
But here, it's just him and his insatiability for his lover to fit around, from tip to base. He squeezes around his length as they hold onto each other, bracing against pleasure as it rocks them. But they don't stop inundating each other: Emet-Selch's fate to be inundated by the brunt of Mettaton's full arousal, and Mettaton with Emet-Selch's provocative arches into him, the way he responds to his thrusts with thrusts of his own. It means they're never given a chance to cool down, allowing for that fire to engulf and incinerate them.
All Mettaton knows right now is to keep thrusting, and that he loves Emet-Selch.
Having Emet-Selch grip onto him for dear life while he fucks him senseless satisfies Mettaton terribly. He gets a rush from it, being the only thing his lover has to depend on in this moment, the sound of his name on his choked voice, the feeling of his arms wrapped about him, the steady pounding he's treated to... and it flatters Mettaton, to be so welcomed by his Bonded. Even with his voice gone, he occupies it with his name, as is right. Even sore and fucked to exhaustion, he spreads his legs around Mettaton's hips, as is right. Emet-Selch knows where he belongs, and that's flush to Mettaton's hips, wrapped around his torso, his hips, and his cock.
He gnashes his teeth with the pleasure of that thought, leaning forward as though to threaten that he might push them both to the ground in his voracious taking, ritual and fierce and full of love so hot that they scald each other at every turn. He feels he'd only harden if he could at the thought of how well-made Emet-Selch is to receive him, enthralled by Mettaton always, and he doesn't think he imagines it when he feels that much more engorged. He feels terribly stiff and aching, his balls heavy with the want to spill over and claim his Bonded Witch. He'd claim and possess his beloved so often that all would know how often he's fucked and ravished, upon his lap or into the mattress, against the wall or with lips wrapped around his erection.
His thoughts run salacious and graphic, and his inclination toward mounting him increases. His sharp-clawed fingers curl into his hips some more as he continues to rock his hips into Emet-Selch, ears splaying senselessly as a groan slides up his throat. He nuzzles into the other man's neck, breathing him in: blood, sweat, him, sex, and Mettaton greet him enough to elicit another deep, animalistic noise.
His voice is smooth and deep, sometimes hissed through teeth as he leans forward some more, arms wrapping around Emet-Selch's back to hold him firmly against his hips.]
Tell me- how much you like being- taken by me.
[A demand to hear him exhaust his voice only on praise for Mettaton, and the robot's certain Emet-Selch has something to say about being fucked by him. They've discovered in so short a time that he loves to be suffocated by cock, that he loves to be filled repeatedly until he loses sense, and Mettaton's sure he loves to be so subdued by his passion, used to Mettaton's pleasure. Even here, Mettaton grips onto him and strokes his cock along that tight ring of muscle, long, broad thrusts to pull out and sink back in, dropping Emet-Selch against his hips. A short whine slips from his throat at the blinding pleasure of it.
There's all of the sensation he takes pleasure in, but there's also the reception Emet-Selch gives him without fail. They give each other the whole of themselves, and Mettaton couldn't be more delighted. They'd fall into each other anywhere, whether that meant falling into teeth, into bodies, into passion, or into arms, and they were never more than a half step from doing it. Mettaton shivers at the thought of his lust for Emet-Selch, and heat grows in him to hear of Emet-Selch's lust for him.
It's the only thing that would quell and satisfy this furious want in him, this desire to snarl and the spring-loaded nature of his body, ready to pounce, to tear him apart until he sings his praises on a voice made raw.]