[Emet-Selch's reaction has Mettaton's own gaze mirroring his, that sharpness of his bright golden stare clouded over by the hazy craving for Emet-Selch. But his focus remains. How could it not? All he needs to focus on is right before him, sitting on his lap, wrapped around his arousal and encasing him in delectable heat and squeezing along him. Lifting Emet-Selch up and pushing him back down causes that squeeze to alter, to press and shift differently all along his length: a ring of tight muscle first slides up his shaft, giving Mettaton the distinct sort of heat that feels almost like release, until he slips him back over the whole of his cock, settling him firmly at the base. All of his body, then, is made to squeeze and rub along him, and he can't do anything but watch desperately his lover, biting at his lower lip with the size of his want set between them to combine with Emet-Selch's.
There's the doubly lethal act, then, of just... looking at Emet-Selch. Mettaton's eye rakes over him in agonizing detail, following from bruise to bruise on a journey southbound. Each bite and bruise, sometimes decorated by saliva-diluted blood, is an easy jump from one to the next, a vast collection of them centered about his neck and shoulders... but anywhere there's flesh Mettaton can suck and bite, bruises are sure to follow. Around his nipples, his abdomen, sides, hips (somehow, determination probably), his groin, his crotch, and— there, Mettaton's eye settles upon his cock.
Curving upwards, a head he just wants to squeeze between lips and circle with his tongue. Emet-Selch's body looks so soft and inviting to the robot, something he wants to nip and suck and mouth and touch in its entirety. He swallows, aching; one of his hands departs from Emet-Selch's ass if just for a moment, an indulgence, wrapping his fingers around his Bonded's cock and pressing along its shaft. Both rigid and soft... Mettaton moans, lovesick and lusting and wanting everything all at once. Fingers skip to the glans, where he probes and prods him with fingers, pinching him gently and still biting his lower lip in that bleary want for him.
But his hips don't still, especially not while Emet-Selch begins his gradual shifting of hips. A change of pace that has Mettaton arrested, shuddering and slowing his own ministrations just to feel Emet-Selch's body squeeze and slide along him on its own accord...
Mettaton nearly tosses his head back, but he throws it toward his shoulder instead as though writhing, but wanting not at all to escape.]
Oh- Oh-
[He can practically feel how the Ascian's body squeezes and glides along his cock, pulling along the whole of his cock even as Emet-Selch rises from his lap, dragging along the sensitive, swollen glans. He begins to pant, lips parted as his attention darts back to his lover's face upon hearing the attempt at his name.
He's captivated. Emet-Selch is beautiful; Mettaton swallows. Decorated by bloody kisses, lips still flush and split, gaze hazy in arousal but attention honed (just like Mettaton's), lips parted, and... deeply in love with him, no hope of escape. Mettaton wants to kiss him until he suffocates in his arms then, gasping and panting— and how nice, then, that Emet-Selch would close that distance between them, pressing lips to his in a messy mouthing of lips. Where Emet-Selch's moan fails to sound, Mettaton makes plenty of it, moaning against the intrusion of tongue in his mouth as he concedes to being so kissed by his lover, pressing into him in a want for this to be endless.
Emet-Selch rocks against him, rolling his hips and shoving his ass down, engulfing his cock and tensing around him completely. Each one has Mettaton seizing and moaning, the fingers around his cock gripping and stroking as though finding stability and comfort there to brace against the sheer pleasure that courses through him. He kisses like that's his breath and kneads the cock in his hand and his palm, trembling at his want. How desperately he wants to fill Emet-Selch over and over, the pressure building in him more than ever before, his cock feeling so heavy and used yet ready for more and more. He feels he could fill his lover endlessly, even if he had nothing to fill him with but an erection and his tongue, which he would do gladly. That Emet-Selch would never want him to stop is agreeable with him. He never wants to go without this pleasure stroking along his cock, his lover's body made to form around his thickness, made to hug every ridge and curve, subjecting him to every tensing of muscle as he fucks himself on Mettaton's length.
Mettaton moans loudly, overwhelmed by his own desires like the cherry atop the rest of his pleasure. Or maybe he's making up for the sound he stole from Emet-Selch. He gazes blearily, adoringly at his Bonded.]
I love you... I want- everything about you, ah...
[And he presses with more urgency against his lips, thrusting his hips gently into the rocking of Emet-Selch's hips, stroking over the length of his lover's come-marked cock. ...What a mess they both are. It's hardly something that could constitute a thought as much as an arousing notion, given how passionately they give each other over to one another. When Mettaton wants something, he gets it, and Emet-Selch is his.
The hand he has against his lover's ass squeezes him possessively, his nails indenting supple flesh.]
no subject
There's the doubly lethal act, then, of just... looking at Emet-Selch. Mettaton's eye rakes over him in agonizing detail, following from bruise to bruise on a journey southbound. Each bite and bruise, sometimes decorated by saliva-diluted blood, is an easy jump from one to the next, a vast collection of them centered about his neck and shoulders... but anywhere there's flesh Mettaton can suck and bite, bruises are sure to follow. Around his nipples, his abdomen, sides, hips (somehow, determination probably), his groin, his crotch, and— there, Mettaton's eye settles upon his cock.
Curving upwards, a head he just wants to squeeze between lips and circle with his tongue. Emet-Selch's body looks so soft and inviting to the robot, something he wants to nip and suck and mouth and touch in its entirety. He swallows, aching; one of his hands departs from Emet-Selch's ass if just for a moment, an indulgence, wrapping his fingers around his Bonded's cock and pressing along its shaft. Both rigid and soft... Mettaton moans, lovesick and lusting and wanting everything all at once. Fingers skip to the glans, where he probes and prods him with fingers, pinching him gently and still biting his lower lip in that bleary want for him.
But his hips don't still, especially not while Emet-Selch begins his gradual shifting of hips. A change of pace that has Mettaton arrested, shuddering and slowing his own ministrations just to feel Emet-Selch's body squeeze and slide along him on its own accord...
Mettaton nearly tosses his head back, but he throws it toward his shoulder instead as though writhing, but wanting not at all to escape.]
Oh- Oh-
[He can practically feel how the Ascian's body squeezes and glides along his cock, pulling along the whole of his cock even as Emet-Selch rises from his lap, dragging along the sensitive, swollen glans. He begins to pant, lips parted as his attention darts back to his lover's face upon hearing the attempt at his name.
He's captivated. Emet-Selch is beautiful; Mettaton swallows. Decorated by bloody kisses, lips still flush and split, gaze hazy in arousal but attention honed (just like Mettaton's), lips parted, and... deeply in love with him, no hope of escape. Mettaton wants to kiss him until he suffocates in his arms then, gasping and panting— and how nice, then, that Emet-Selch would close that distance between them, pressing lips to his in a messy mouthing of lips. Where Emet-Selch's moan fails to sound, Mettaton makes plenty of it, moaning against the intrusion of tongue in his mouth as he concedes to being so kissed by his lover, pressing into him in a want for this to be endless.
Emet-Selch rocks against him, rolling his hips and shoving his ass down, engulfing his cock and tensing around him completely. Each one has Mettaton seizing and moaning, the fingers around his cock gripping and stroking as though finding stability and comfort there to brace against the sheer pleasure that courses through him. He kisses like that's his breath and kneads the cock in his hand and his palm, trembling at his want. How desperately he wants to fill Emet-Selch over and over, the pressure building in him more than ever before, his cock feeling so heavy and used yet ready for more and more. He feels he could fill his lover endlessly, even if he had nothing to fill him with but an erection and his tongue, which he would do gladly. That Emet-Selch would never want him to stop is agreeable with him. He never wants to go without this pleasure stroking along his cock, his lover's body made to form around his thickness, made to hug every ridge and curve, subjecting him to every tensing of muscle as he fucks himself on Mettaton's length.
Mettaton moans loudly, overwhelmed by his own desires like the cherry atop the rest of his pleasure. Or maybe he's making up for the sound he stole from Emet-Selch. He gazes blearily, adoringly at his Bonded.]
I love you... I want- everything about you, ah...
[And he presses with more urgency against his lips, thrusting his hips gently into the rocking of Emet-Selch's hips, stroking over the length of his lover's come-marked cock. ...What a mess they both are. It's hardly something that could constitute a thought as much as an arousing notion, given how passionately they give each other over to one another. When Mettaton wants something, he gets it, and Emet-Selch is his.
The hand he has against his lover's ass squeezes him possessively, his nails indenting supple flesh.]