[Swallowing up his lover's moan with his lips, he nuzzles at him with firm, rapturous adoration. Still breathing too hard to maintain a deeper kiss, he licks and kisses and presses, while his throat vibrates from the sounds he can't quite produce, and which hurt even in their attempts at existence. But Emet-Selch was hardly aware of that ache, not when he was as aroused as he was, not when every passing flick against his cock threatened to have him spill over in orgasm. Not when he had the thick heaviness of Mettaton's own cock to distract him, to fill his senses just as it was filling his body, a shape so ideal for him, that stretched him just so that he wished he could just keep riding his hips like this forever. The only pity was not being able to suck his cock at the same time.
More thoughts he never expected to be so natural or so common, just... casually wanting to have his lover's cock in his mouth or his ass. He felt no shame in his wantings, of course, only a distant surprise at being so... fiercely inclined towards anything.
His lips part further in a soundless, wordless cry at the brush of a thumb across the slit of his cock, the attention spread around the ridge of him, hips both thrusting up against Mettaton's hand, and then down again into his erection. Fucking himself on his length, while spared the touch of a hand on his engorged cock, even as light a touch as it is has him writhing, hardly able to stand it. Not that he wants to get away from it- of course not, no matter how sensitive he was, he was desperate for it. Desperate for any touch on Mettaton's part to his body, with his erection being naturally... receptive to any mercy given it.
Mettaton's hips shift harder, and he returns it with a shove downward that's nearly savage, choking again on a sound unmade, arching his back as he finds a particular angle to rub himself on, to feel the glans of his lover's cock stroke so perfectly against that he feels near tears just from the bliss of it. There was only this, and it was blinding, and he loved it.
And he loved Mettaton's voice, whether it was given on moans or words, and on words again once he understood them. He was... full. Mettaton was so right about that, and Emet-Selch can only shudder his concurrence. His Bondmate's cock and his come were both thick, both hot and both a sign of his claim on him. And the sheer awareness that with every slide of his length, that some of that slickness would be sourced from the idol's previous releases- it was unbearably erotic.
And yet he wanted still more from him, more of that heat, to be filled past overflowing, his lover's cock to be the only thing keeping him from dripping over them both. Bruised and scratched and bitten, his own come left drying against wherever it might land, while Mettaton's was taken carefully inside, to stain and mark him there, and only allowed to leak free just to demonstrate his body's use, what he was perfectly suited to doing.
He was there to take his cock, to lave it with attention, to stroke and worship it with his body and bring Mettaton to release after release. How comforting it was to know this, and how deeply he loved him for providing this purpose. It's a feeling he's ever more assured by as their lips touch once more, with such warmth and such wanting- something that could only be expressed with each meeting of their bodies, in endless affirmation.
It's with that thought and that kiss that the last threads of his control snap, abdomen tensing and body clenching hard as his orgasm hits.
Yet even as it crests, he continues moving, continues jerking his hips against Mettaton's lap, continues squeezing and taking himself- and taking his lover in the process. From swollen tip, to the slick thickness of his length, he couldn't stop, not having him, not wanting him- using the pounding of his cock inside him to milk as much of his own come from himself as he could, gasping and crying out in pathetic little rasps at the warmth he could feel spattering over himself, his abdomen and ejaculating length, over Mettaton's fingers.
His pulse was so loud and so quick that it hurt, but he still desperately moves, riding his length as though possessed by the need to, even as he buries his face against Mettaton's neck, eyes closed as he clings to him, legs shaking from the force of each thrust.]
no subject
More thoughts he never expected to be so natural or so common, just... casually wanting to have his lover's cock in his mouth or his ass. He felt no shame in his wantings, of course, only a distant surprise at being so... fiercely inclined towards anything.
His lips part further in a soundless, wordless cry at the brush of a thumb across the slit of his cock, the attention spread around the ridge of him, hips both thrusting up against Mettaton's hand, and then down again into his erection. Fucking himself on his length, while spared the touch of a hand on his engorged cock, even as light a touch as it is has him writhing, hardly able to stand it. Not that he wants to get away from it- of course not, no matter how sensitive he was, he was desperate for it. Desperate for any touch on Mettaton's part to his body, with his erection being naturally... receptive to any mercy given it.
Mettaton's hips shift harder, and he returns it with a shove downward that's nearly savage, choking again on a sound unmade, arching his back as he finds a particular angle to rub himself on, to feel the glans of his lover's cock stroke so perfectly against that he feels near tears just from the bliss of it. There was only this, and it was blinding, and he loved it.
And he loved Mettaton's voice, whether it was given on moans or words, and on words again once he understood them. He was... full. Mettaton was so right about that, and Emet-Selch can only shudder his concurrence. His Bondmate's cock and his come were both thick, both hot and both a sign of his claim on him. And the sheer awareness that with every slide of his length, that some of that slickness would be sourced from the idol's previous releases- it was unbearably erotic.
And yet he wanted still more from him, more of that heat, to be filled past overflowing, his lover's cock to be the only thing keeping him from dripping over them both. Bruised and scratched and bitten, his own come left drying against wherever it might land, while Mettaton's was taken carefully inside, to stain and mark him there, and only allowed to leak free just to demonstrate his body's use, what he was perfectly suited to doing.
He was there to take his cock, to lave it with attention, to stroke and worship it with his body and bring Mettaton to release after release. How comforting it was to know this, and how deeply he loved him for providing this purpose. It's a feeling he's ever more assured by as their lips touch once more, with such warmth and such wanting- something that could only be expressed with each meeting of their bodies, in endless affirmation.
It's with that thought and that kiss that the last threads of his control snap, abdomen tensing and body clenching hard as his orgasm hits.
Yet even as it crests, he continues moving, continues jerking his hips against Mettaton's lap, continues squeezing and taking himself- and taking his lover in the process. From swollen tip, to the slick thickness of his length, he couldn't stop, not having him, not wanting him- using the pounding of his cock inside him to milk as much of his own come from himself as he could, gasping and crying out in pathetic little rasps at the warmth he could feel spattering over himself, his abdomen and ejaculating length, over Mettaton's fingers.
His pulse was so loud and so quick that it hurt, but he still desperately moves, riding his length as though possessed by the need to, even as he buries his face against Mettaton's neck, eyes closed as he clings to him, legs shaking from the force of each thrust.]