[With his wrists freed, they immediately seek out Mettaton's body, encouraging him closer even as his lover leans in, burying his face against his neck. Emet-Selch breathes out slowly as he feels his mouth close around his skin, and he would make a pleased sound if he could; the emotion remains evident through Bond, and the form of restfulness his body develops.
Stroking at Mettaton's neck, his upper back, his fur, Emet-Selch feels- not calm exactly, that would be difficult to manage when he was still aroused, still raw in ways deeper than flesh- but a quieter kind of contemplative as he focuses on the sensation of Mettaton's lips at his throat. A steady pressure, warm and sucking, but so consistent that he knew the result would be of particular depth, a shade deep and rich. While every touch Mettaton left on him was a mark, some were quick and sharp, passing scrapes and shallow cuts, snapping bites and the piercing indentation of claws- and others were like this. Gently held in place, his throat exposed to him, and a bruise slowly made to form.
It felt... right, in the way all contact with Mettaton felt, but which he now had the time to think slightly more on, appreciate more knowingly. Every moment together felt like it deepened their connection that bit more, or applied more detail to a union already secure. Even were their souls merged, he thought they would continue to learn more about one another, appreciate new aspects, take note of different things. Even if they had the whole of each other, there was always more to take. And sex in particular with him was... more meaningful than he thought it ever could be. That it was something other than a brief, indifferent distraction, but a way of taking one another into uncharted depths of closeness, a place deep and dark enough to crush, and yet....
And yet no matter the avenue they took, they came out that bit more tangled, that bit more knowing, that bit more wanting. And so it would always be, except--
...But eventually Mettaton pulls back from his work, the Ascian's eyes blinking open again, thoughts disrupted as they're shifted, his own grip on him tightening for purchase, to keep himself from being slid too far away. But of course his Bonded wouldn't permit that- wouldn't even let himself be slid from his body (which was a strange thing to be relieved by, but Emet-Selch no longer really questioned it). And soon enough he's settled in his lap once more, legs still around him, his own arms having adjusted themselves lower to wrap around Mettaton's lower back.
It was a little more comfortable of a position, something Emet-Selch only notices once the bites of his own back and shoulders are no longer being pushed into the ground. Watching him closely, his own gaze still slightly hazed, the heat in it not having faded despite this variation on calm, he takes in his lover's own taking in of the results of his efforts. Patterns numerous, and only seeming moreso with the drip of blood. It was a fine result. And Mettaton looked especially fine as well, with his ears splayed, and blood spread across his lips.
In response to Mettaton's commentary, he doesn't get much of a verbal, or even sound-based response at all, mostly a huff of air that probably indicated agreement, but it was of an entirely congenial sort. Mouthing a reply: 'Somewhat', Emet-Selch doesn't even try to apply voice to it. Nudging his throat against his hand just as gently, he encourages the petting, the kindness shown an area well-used. It didn't make any of it less sore, but it felt nice all the same, and a faint noise does form in the back of his throat anyway- something like contentment, appreciation, a matching affection.
And it doesn't escape his notice when Mettaton's eye traveled downward to the Ascian's erection, something that causes him to shift slightly in place, as though just his visual attention was enough to get him harder, add a note of aching to his stiffened cock.
With his own arousal remaining ongoing, untouched and unsatisfied, it was still a welcome sensation, not frustrating at all. It was a distraction from the state of his throat, and the state of the rest of his body, bitten and marked to perfection. Emet-Selch resists the impulse to touch that newest bruise that he couldn't see, but could imagine the darkness of, a lovely patch upon his throat that would linger for a long time. Damage so loving it was hard for him to think about; he tightens the hold of his arms around him instead.
They were both aroused, Emet-Selch reminds himself with no particular surprise, as he's noted that the suggestion of softening on Mettaton's part had already stiffened back up, in a process he couldn't imagine being any more intimate, his body yet containing the whole of his erection. His legs remained spread around him, and the Ascian wondered at how... quickly he became used to that, how natural it felt. How- immediate his desires would manifest on the sight of a hard cock ready to ride or suck- that he really would leap upon him one way or another.
But when it felt like this, when it was Mettaton's, how could he not? Shifting a bit more in his arms, face buried tightly against his shoulder, he incidentally jostles his lover's cock inside him, a sensation that has him freeze, then shiver, nuzzling a bit harder at his body, arms secure around him.
Above all he did feel... protected, wrapped in each other's arms and bodies, his eyes closed, nuzzling at one another. Protected from what, exactly, he wasn't sure either, but didn't think it mattered so much as the intent, the desire to, the feeling of safety and being cared for.]
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Stroking at Mettaton's neck, his upper back, his fur, Emet-Selch feels- not calm exactly, that would be difficult to manage when he was still aroused, still raw in ways deeper than flesh- but a quieter kind of contemplative as he focuses on the sensation of Mettaton's lips at his throat. A steady pressure, warm and sucking, but so consistent that he knew the result would be of particular depth, a shade deep and rich. While every touch Mettaton left on him was a mark, some were quick and sharp, passing scrapes and shallow cuts, snapping bites and the piercing indentation of claws- and others were like this. Gently held in place, his throat exposed to him, and a bruise slowly made to form.
It felt... right, in the way all contact with Mettaton felt, but which he now had the time to think slightly more on, appreciate more knowingly. Every moment together felt like it deepened their connection that bit more, or applied more detail to a union already secure. Even were their souls merged, he thought they would continue to learn more about one another, appreciate new aspects, take note of different things. Even if they had the whole of each other, there was always more to take. And sex in particular with him was... more meaningful than he thought it ever could be. That it was something other than a brief, indifferent distraction, but a way of taking one another into uncharted depths of closeness, a place deep and dark enough to crush, and yet....
And yet no matter the avenue they took, they came out that bit more tangled, that bit more knowing, that bit more wanting. And so it would always be, except--
...But eventually Mettaton pulls back from his work, the Ascian's eyes blinking open again, thoughts disrupted as they're shifted, his own grip on him tightening for purchase, to keep himself from being slid too far away. But of course his Bonded wouldn't permit that- wouldn't even let himself be slid from his body (which was a strange thing to be relieved by, but Emet-Selch no longer really questioned it). And soon enough he's settled in his lap once more, legs still around him, his own arms having adjusted themselves lower to wrap around Mettaton's lower back.
It was a little more comfortable of a position, something Emet-Selch only notices once the bites of his own back and shoulders are no longer being pushed into the ground. Watching him closely, his own gaze still slightly hazed, the heat in it not having faded despite this variation on calm, he takes in his lover's own taking in of the results of his efforts. Patterns numerous, and only seeming moreso with the drip of blood. It was a fine result. And Mettaton looked especially fine as well, with his ears splayed, and blood spread across his lips.
In response to Mettaton's commentary, he doesn't get much of a verbal, or even sound-based response at all, mostly a huff of air that probably indicated agreement, but it was of an entirely congenial sort. Mouthing a reply: 'Somewhat', Emet-Selch doesn't even try to apply voice to it. Nudging his throat against his hand just as gently, he encourages the petting, the kindness shown an area well-used. It didn't make any of it less sore, but it felt nice all the same, and a faint noise does form in the back of his throat anyway- something like contentment, appreciation, a matching affection.
And it doesn't escape his notice when Mettaton's eye traveled downward to the Ascian's erection, something that causes him to shift slightly in place, as though just his visual attention was enough to get him harder, add a note of aching to his stiffened cock.
With his own arousal remaining ongoing, untouched and unsatisfied, it was still a welcome sensation, not frustrating at all. It was a distraction from the state of his throat, and the state of the rest of his body, bitten and marked to perfection. Emet-Selch resists the impulse to touch that newest bruise that he couldn't see, but could imagine the darkness of, a lovely patch upon his throat that would linger for a long time. Damage so loving it was hard for him to think about; he tightens the hold of his arms around him instead.
They were both aroused, Emet-Selch reminds himself with no particular surprise, as he's noted that the suggestion of softening on Mettaton's part had already stiffened back up, in a process he couldn't imagine being any more intimate, his body yet containing the whole of his erection. His legs remained spread around him, and the Ascian wondered at how... quickly he became used to that, how natural it felt. How- immediate his desires would manifest on the sight of a hard cock ready to ride or suck- that he really would leap upon him one way or another.
But when it felt like this, when it was Mettaton's, how could he not? Shifting a bit more in his arms, face buried tightly against his shoulder, he incidentally jostles his lover's cock inside him, a sensation that has him freeze, then shiver, nuzzling a bit harder at his body, arms secure around him.
Above all he did feel... protected, wrapped in each other's arms and bodies, his eyes closed, nuzzling at one another. Protected from what, exactly, he wasn't sure either, but didn't think it mattered so much as the intent, the desire to, the feeling of safety and being cared for.]