[Each of Emet-Selch's desires become his own, slowly but surely as his head is capable of parsing emotion or sentiment. He unhands his wrists; wraps his arms close to his Bonded in something that couldn't be a hug, but he sidles them close, flush to his figure. He pushes into that space between Emet-Selch's legs, allowing himself to be dragged that much closer in his pseudo-embrace, and he begins to suck a long, painstaking bruise into Emet-Selch's neck.
It's one that occupies his mouth too much for speech, anyway. Mettaton only hums in response to Emet-Selch's nod.
And in these moments of repose, he collects himself. Sex with Emet-Selch feels- it feels warm, hot, or it feels like warmth against a chilly world, never minding that they're still in the depths of Summer. If he could liken it in this body, it would definitely be walking into the embrace of Emet-Selch against the cold, taking from him his heat and feeling their bodies so close, the pleasure of finding that basic need met... And among those basic needs isn't only pleasure, but an outlet for relief, for emotion, and for new emotion to blossom in its place. A process of alchemy, converting passion, appetite, infatuation, and libido into something new and unique every time. Sometimes it was bruises, blood, memories, relief, new appetites, untouched spaces, memories, or peace, but it always carried love and trust, deeper and deeper with each contact. Something to be carried into their lives and their next entanglement.
The taste of blood is on his tongue and his lips, though his process at sucking a bruise into Emet-Selch is lasting a long time. He wants it to be deep, he wants it to rest just above that bite mark he left. He forces Emet-Selch down, makes him bide his time and wait patiently — it's not as though he has the words to protest this need of his. His cock, something that has only begun to soften within the Ascian's body, begins to lazily harden all over again in response to Mettaton's possessiveness. The pendants still exert their pressure on him, his moon-influenced body reacting on impulse by merely being in Emet-Selch's presence, smelling his skin and his blood and feeling his body naked and flush t his own, his cock still buried inside of him... How's he supposed to not be turned on? And Mettaton is far too mindful of his body to not feel Emet-Selch's arousal, even if he doesn't feel his cock directly — it's a sort of knowing via Bond, if the squeezing around his cock that he's come to identify as arousal wasn't any indication in itself.
When Mettaton releases Emet-Selch's neck, only then does he untangle them from this sort of half-mounting, slumped position. He lifts his weight from him, wrapping his arms about the back of his neck and upper back, where Mettaton scoops Emet-Selch up and off of the floor. His destination: sitting in Mettaton's lap, legs still wrapped around his hips and still seated upon his cock, but this time upright and with Mettaton's arms wrapped around his shoulders.
Situating himself to pull back and meet Emet-Selch's good eye with his own, Mettaton's smile is soft, his gaze half-lidded and near intoxicated in its heat. He's regained sense, expelled his fever and fury in the process of fucking Emet-Selch, and he regards his neck more heavily. His eye goes wide.]
Oh, my. You're a constellation of bruises and teeth...
[The way he looks at Emet-Selch suggests that he didn't know his own passion, eye roving over his neck, shoulders, and torso in general. It's still hard to see past the blood, though... The robot meets Emet-Selch's gaze again, still warm and placated by sex and the adoration fed to him. His long ears don't ever stand in any normal emotive position, his body so overwhelmed by numbing pleasure that they obey gravity some, crooked and leaning at each side of his head, bobbing with each movement.]
You're... Wonderful, Hades. [That lust overcomes him again, and one of his hands moves to rub softly over Emet-Selch's throat.] Though you've been run ragged, haven't you?
[As if he weren't the cause, as if he wasn't the one who made Emet-Selch's throat so sore by repeated use and demand. And his eye flits downward to drink in the sight of Emet-Selch's arousal, his smile only growing, his eye taking on that predatory glint again, the want for more seeping between them in Bond. But it's accompanied far more by love and protectiveness, as Mettaton holds him closer in his arms.
He presses his hand against the back of Emet-Selch's head and guides him to his shoulder, making manifest some of that desire to protect him from... something. The world, Emet-Selch himself, Mettaton himself, who could say. He nuzzles him possessively, but gently, giving Emet-Selch a moment to react, for as much as "response" isn't something he expects much of in a verbal sense.]
no subject
It's one that occupies his mouth too much for speech, anyway. Mettaton only hums in response to Emet-Selch's nod.
And in these moments of repose, he collects himself. Sex with Emet-Selch feels- it feels warm, hot, or it feels like warmth against a chilly world, never minding that they're still in the depths of Summer. If he could liken it in this body, it would definitely be walking into the embrace of Emet-Selch against the cold, taking from him his heat and feeling their bodies so close, the pleasure of finding that basic need met... And among those basic needs isn't only pleasure, but an outlet for relief, for emotion, and for new emotion to blossom in its place. A process of alchemy, converting passion, appetite, infatuation, and libido into something new and unique every time. Sometimes it was bruises, blood, memories, relief, new appetites, untouched spaces, memories, or peace, but it always carried love and trust, deeper and deeper with each contact. Something to be carried into their lives and their next entanglement.
The taste of blood is on his tongue and his lips, though his process at sucking a bruise into Emet-Selch is lasting a long time. He wants it to be deep, he wants it to rest just above that bite mark he left. He forces Emet-Selch down, makes him bide his time and wait patiently — it's not as though he has the words to protest this need of his. His cock, something that has only begun to soften within the Ascian's body, begins to lazily harden all over again in response to Mettaton's possessiveness. The pendants still exert their pressure on him, his moon-influenced body reacting on impulse by merely being in Emet-Selch's presence, smelling his skin and his blood and feeling his body naked and flush t his own, his cock still buried inside of him... How's he supposed to not be turned on? And Mettaton is far too mindful of his body to not feel Emet-Selch's arousal, even if he doesn't feel his cock directly — it's a sort of knowing via Bond, if the squeezing around his cock that he's come to identify as arousal wasn't any indication in itself.
When Mettaton releases Emet-Selch's neck, only then does he untangle them from this sort of half-mounting, slumped position. He lifts his weight from him, wrapping his arms about the back of his neck and upper back, where Mettaton scoops Emet-Selch up and off of the floor. His destination: sitting in Mettaton's lap, legs still wrapped around his hips and still seated upon his cock, but this time upright and with Mettaton's arms wrapped around his shoulders.
Situating himself to pull back and meet Emet-Selch's good eye with his own, Mettaton's smile is soft, his gaze half-lidded and near intoxicated in its heat. He's regained sense, expelled his fever and fury in the process of fucking Emet-Selch, and he regards his neck more heavily. His eye goes wide.]
Oh, my. You're a constellation of bruises and teeth...
[The way he looks at Emet-Selch suggests that he didn't know his own passion, eye roving over his neck, shoulders, and torso in general. It's still hard to see past the blood, though... The robot meets Emet-Selch's gaze again, still warm and placated by sex and the adoration fed to him. His long ears don't ever stand in any normal emotive position, his body so overwhelmed by numbing pleasure that they obey gravity some, crooked and leaning at each side of his head, bobbing with each movement.]
You're... Wonderful, Hades. [That lust overcomes him again, and one of his hands moves to rub softly over Emet-Selch's throat.] Though you've been run ragged, haven't you?
[As if he weren't the cause, as if he wasn't the one who made Emet-Selch's throat so sore by repeated use and demand. And his eye flits downward to drink in the sight of Emet-Selch's arousal, his smile only growing, his eye taking on that predatory glint again, the want for more seeping between them in Bond. But it's accompanied far more by love and protectiveness, as Mettaton holds him closer in his arms.
He presses his hand against the back of Emet-Selch's head and guides him to his shoulder, making manifest some of that desire to protect him from... something. The world, Emet-Selch himself, Mettaton himself, who could say. He nuzzles him possessively, but gently, giving Emet-Selch a moment to react, for as much as "response" isn't something he expects much of in a verbal sense.]