[Pleasure becomes more pleasure in a way that continues so seamlessly, that Emet-Selch couldn't be entirely certain that he wasn't still in the middle of his own orgasm when he feels Mettaton's climax. Feels it doubly, through the transcendence of the Bond, and through the conduit of his body.
Stubbornly, he rocks his hips throughout it, to drag and pull everything he could from him, or from himself, feeling as though he could come all over again just from the sensation of the thickness of Mettaton's ejaculate painting him once again, adding to all his body was already containing. From the sensation of his lover's spasming jerks, from the adoration present in his moans, in the security of his arms, in the ecstasy his erection was providing them both.
It felt infinite, those moments. There was only their combined effort, and combined reward; it might as well have been endless.
And yet it's an eternity that slowly fades, though when their feelings remained a constant, remained joined, remained devoted- it never really disappears entirely. Only shifts forms, into something less frenetic, more soft.
Gradually, the motion of his body slows, the movement of his hips becoming erratic. Rubbing twitches of muscle and energy, intermittent tensing around Mettaton's length as the Ascian shivers. But eventually even that comes to an eventual halt, less a deliberate stopping and more of a collapse, as if all of Emet-Selch's energy had been given over to this, draining himself once more for him. For them both.
Huddling against Mettaton's body, he feels more limp than precisely relaxed, arms loosely about him, head remaining against his neck as he pants. Yet he would moan again if he could, just from the aftercurrents of the moment, from the remnants of their shared orgasm, from the stronger scent of their sex, and the feeling of come dripping down his abdomen. The stronger feeling of incredible heat within him, that burned and soothed simultaneously. He had felt full before, but this was another level still.
Slowly, slowly he manages a more deliberate nuzzle against the side of Mettaton's neck, his own eyes still closed, and his breathing shaky. Ever tinier shudders still wrack a form otherwise languid, as he gently mouths his throat, his jaw, his cheek. It's without really intending to that he'd lifted his face at all, but on noticing it, he just as slowly rubs his cheek back against his with a sound that doesn't quite exist. An absence of sound is in its place, a pause in breath.
There were no thoughts yet; as ever, there was a blessed relief in that alone, the barest instants of nothing but sensations to fill him, nothing but warmth and heat, their feelings towards one another that required no word or comprehension to experience.
Without trying, his lips still eventually find their way to Mettaton's once more, meeting them by accident, a realization that causes his breath and movement to pause, before kissing him with that same measure of gentleness. Softness that was still firm, that didn't need to question its feelings, its affection. Gentleness that felt like the most natural thing in the world to express, despite his swollen lip, and all of the blood spread between them- those signs of anything but.
But Emet-Selch loved him fiercely, and he loved him gently, and those things were often one and the same.]
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Stubbornly, he rocks his hips throughout it, to drag and pull everything he could from him, or from himself, feeling as though he could come all over again just from the sensation of the thickness of Mettaton's ejaculate painting him once again, adding to all his body was already containing. From the sensation of his lover's spasming jerks, from the adoration present in his moans, in the security of his arms, in the ecstasy his erection was providing them both.
It felt infinite, those moments. There was only their combined effort, and combined reward; it might as well have been endless.
And yet it's an eternity that slowly fades, though when their feelings remained a constant, remained joined, remained devoted- it never really disappears entirely. Only shifts forms, into something less frenetic, more soft.
Gradually, the motion of his body slows, the movement of his hips becoming erratic. Rubbing twitches of muscle and energy, intermittent tensing around Mettaton's length as the Ascian shivers. But eventually even that comes to an eventual halt, less a deliberate stopping and more of a collapse, as if all of Emet-Selch's energy had been given over to this, draining himself once more for him. For them both.
Huddling against Mettaton's body, he feels more limp than precisely relaxed, arms loosely about him, head remaining against his neck as he pants. Yet he would moan again if he could, just from the aftercurrents of the moment, from the remnants of their shared orgasm, from the stronger scent of their sex, and the feeling of come dripping down his abdomen. The stronger feeling of incredible heat within him, that burned and soothed simultaneously. He had felt full before, but this was another level still.
Slowly, slowly he manages a more deliberate nuzzle against the side of Mettaton's neck, his own eyes still closed, and his breathing shaky. Ever tinier shudders still wrack a form otherwise languid, as he gently mouths his throat, his jaw, his cheek. It's without really intending to that he'd lifted his face at all, but on noticing it, he just as slowly rubs his cheek back against his with a sound that doesn't quite exist. An absence of sound is in its place, a pause in breath.
There were no thoughts yet; as ever, there was a blessed relief in that alone, the barest instants of nothing but sensations to fill him, nothing but warmth and heat, their feelings towards one another that required no word or comprehension to experience.
Without trying, his lips still eventually find their way to Mettaton's once more, meeting them by accident, a realization that causes his breath and movement to pause, before kissing him with that same measure of gentleness. Softness that was still firm, that didn't need to question its feelings, its affection. Gentleness that felt like the most natural thing in the world to express, despite his swollen lip, and all of the blood spread between them- those signs of anything but.
But Emet-Selch loved him fiercely, and he loved him gently, and those things were often one and the same.]