[That steady, insistent stroke of the glans was enough to have his body attempting to twist under him, into it, to roll his hips into every short thrust, to squeeze and be massaged by the tip, while reveling in the fullness provided by the shaft. His legs felt weak from the successive waves of pleasure, but they continued to tighten with spasming twitches of muscle. The same was true internally, as though to hold him there, to feel that rolling motion forever. A heat that could just keep building, until they were both burned away, left charred and wrecked entirely. It would've been more than enough to set him moaning, crying out with every breath from it, but only the ghost of the sound remains, a rasping shell of a voice that had given up on him.
It was a relief to feel through Bond that his words had been more acceptable this time, that he hadn't struggled while still leaving Mettaton dissatisfied. It's not enough to have him slacken, but there was a desperate kind of ease to it, the barest edge of catharsis. And fortunate, too, as Emet-Selch doubted that he would have had much chance of saying more than an additional word or two, not right away. And his lover was not in a patient mood. So he shivers at the way his Bonded's feelings course through him; as enticing as Mettaton was in his fury, having it followed by emotions like this, by his satisfaction and enjoyment, was the other part to it. There would always be other expectations, but for now he'd done what he'd needed to, and there was pleasure in that.
And mounted like this, bleeding and sore, he felt touched all the same at having any and all gentleness applied to wounds that Mettaton had himself inflicted. But his body was... entirely for his use, available for both damaging and treating. With love present in either aspect, he loved him for both sides of it, no matter how badly it hurt. He wanted to be bound to him; he wanted to stay bound to him, in every way that existed.
Mettaton crying out stole his breath entirely, and his whole body seems to lock up in response to the other man's orgasm, tight and hot and ecstatic. It didn't feel strange at all that the sensation of Mettaton ejaculating inside him also brought a sense of satisfaction that was as deeply-reaching as his cock and his release, for all that he wasn't the one being presently sated. It was even a feeling, of heat and thickness and claiming that fills his own cock further, rendering him fully erect. That much wasn't strange at all- just the thought of Mettaton bearing down on him, holding him in place as his hips jerk, as he leaves his mark in him with another load of come- it was a deeply arousing one. Experiencing that moment was doubly so, and Emet-Selch moans without intending to, before he can stop himself, for all that there wasn't really any sound to it, awash with the force of his lover's ecstasy.
With his arms pressed down he can't wrap them around Mettaton, but Emet-Selch tries to nudge his head against his, and his legs squeeze a little at him in a kind of hug. His breathing is fast- something that's a bit uncomfortable in itself- as he closes his eyes, shivering, as he feels the weight of the robot's body encroaching further on him. A comfort in his current state, emotions as raw as his throat, while tense and hard in body. He wanted to be closed in on, kept safe... he was safe with him, no matter how dark he became, how feral or furious. In that regard, there was never any need for concern. The tapestry of blood and bruise that adorned him now was only a testament to his trust, an expression of Mettaton's affection, and the only way a love like theirs could appropriately manifest.
...Even if this was a bit more piercing than usual, there was no danger in it. Some days would be bloodier than others, passions expressed through the dig of claws and teeth.
The question would've been difficult to answer normally, and now- an instant of something like sound vibrates his throat before he thinks better of it. So the Ascian nods against his head instead, though it's not very different of a motion from just trying to rub at it. He was fine, for certain values of fine. He loved him, and he had Mettaton inside his body; were there any other conditions that mattered? He didn't want to know of any.
Though his breathing was unsteady and quite a lot of things hurt, that was how it needed to be.]
no subject
It was a relief to feel through Bond that his words had been more acceptable this time, that he hadn't struggled while still leaving Mettaton dissatisfied. It's not enough to have him slacken, but there was a desperate kind of ease to it, the barest edge of catharsis. And fortunate, too, as Emet-Selch doubted that he would have had much chance of saying more than an additional word or two, not right away. And his lover was not in a patient mood. So he shivers at the way his Bonded's feelings course through him; as enticing as Mettaton was in his fury, having it followed by emotions like this, by his satisfaction and enjoyment, was the other part to it. There would always be other expectations, but for now he'd done what he'd needed to, and there was pleasure in that.
And mounted like this, bleeding and sore, he felt touched all the same at having any and all gentleness applied to wounds that Mettaton had himself inflicted. But his body was... entirely for his use, available for both damaging and treating. With love present in either aspect, he loved him for both sides of it, no matter how badly it hurt. He wanted to be bound to him; he wanted to stay bound to him, in every way that existed.
Mettaton crying out stole his breath entirely, and his whole body seems to lock up in response to the other man's orgasm, tight and hot and ecstatic. It didn't feel strange at all that the sensation of Mettaton ejaculating inside him also brought a sense of satisfaction that was as deeply-reaching as his cock and his release, for all that he wasn't the one being presently sated. It was even a feeling, of heat and thickness and claiming that fills his own cock further, rendering him fully erect. That much wasn't strange at all- just the thought of Mettaton bearing down on him, holding him in place as his hips jerk, as he leaves his mark in him with another load of come- it was a deeply arousing one. Experiencing that moment was doubly so, and Emet-Selch moans without intending to, before he can stop himself, for all that there wasn't really any sound to it, awash with the force of his lover's ecstasy.
With his arms pressed down he can't wrap them around Mettaton, but Emet-Selch tries to nudge his head against his, and his legs squeeze a little at him in a kind of hug. His breathing is fast- something that's a bit uncomfortable in itself- as he closes his eyes, shivering, as he feels the weight of the robot's body encroaching further on him. A comfort in his current state, emotions as raw as his throat, while tense and hard in body. He wanted to be closed in on, kept safe... he was safe with him, no matter how dark he became, how feral or furious. In that regard, there was never any need for concern. The tapestry of blood and bruise that adorned him now was only a testament to his trust, an expression of Mettaton's affection, and the only way a love like theirs could appropriately manifest.
...Even if this was a bit more piercing than usual, there was no danger in it. Some days would be bloodier than others, passions expressed through the dig of claws and teeth.
The question would've been difficult to answer normally, and now- an instant of something like sound vibrates his throat before he thinks better of it. So the Ascian nods against his head instead, though it's not very different of a motion from just trying to rub at it. He was fine, for certain values of fine. He loved him, and he had Mettaton inside his body; were there any other conditions that mattered? He didn't want to know of any.
Though his breathing was unsteady and quite a lot of things hurt, that was how it needed to be.]