[While there was always at least a moment's worth of regret on any kind of drawing back, it did provide instead the bonus of being able to look at one another. To take in the mess they'd made, and remember all that had led to this result. It was worth a thorough gander, and for all that Mettaton was undamaged, he was the perfect counterpart to the artwork he'd inflicted on the Ascian's body. Stains of blood across metal and silicone and dark fur, brilliantly attractive and dangerous, and with the hint of come as well, explicitly sexual.
In comparison to his own more obvious physical disarray, Mettaton looked still fairly put-together, enough so that Emet-Selch had no doubt that he could continue taking him apart if he chose to.
The slipping in to mouth his neck and throat seemed the start of another instance of it. Wet and heated and welcome, Emet-Selch immediately offers him his wounded neck- jabbed by claws, pierced by teeth, fucked repeatedly by cock- Mettaton's claim on every part of it was clear. Both his breath and his voice had been stolen, and he shivers in immediate pleasure at the reminder of it all, of the new patches of damp saliva left across his skin, to dilute whatever blood his lover hadn't cleared entirely by tongue and mouth. A kiss and statement concludes, something that would get a hum of agreement if the Ascian could spare that kind of sound.
He looks a bit amused though, tilting his head in a way that seems to indicate agreement. His voice was limited, and it was probably best to save it for more important tasks (like praising Mettaton; also moaning). It was surprisingly congenial to feel himself so- uncontrolled, open in both desires and emotions, even if it meant being fully exposed to him in every way.
But Emet-Selch almost misses Mettaton's next word, his question/suggestion, as his gaze and attention becomes thoroughly and obviously caught on the sight of the idol licking his come from his fingers. The Ascian swallows reflexively, despite the discomfort of it, and while he's briefly tempted to lean in and snag a taste for himself, he's too taken by watching his lover's lips against his digits, the hint of tongue.... Mettaton had a grace in this too, somehow, an elegance that remained intensely erotic.
It's certainly an image he'll remember, will return to, will become easily aroused over in future. Even if his body now was made to lag behind in response, the Ascian's manner is certainly heated to match, requiring no further encouragement to lean in to cover his lips with his own. A kiss of prodding tongue and firm pressure, and a demand to taste himself at Mettaton's lips, his mouth. And his body shifts in Mettaton's lap, feeling that his Bondmate's cock had regained more than a hint of stiffness, though he could also tell that it wasn't quite back up at peak erectness. But it was something he knew would be sure to happen soon enough, and his breath hitches at the thought, licking back at Mettaton's tongue, before letting his teeth drag over his lower lip.
Even if he couldn't quite join him in physical arousal- not yet, in any case- there's no delay or hesitation in the way he took to him, wanting his taste and his cock and his touch. And it would be easy to remain here, to be fucked again, to keep holding onto Mettaton's length, to keep sliding it inside of himself, stroke and squeeze him into being fully engorged, while feeling the drag of that sensitive tip pulled along him so intimately... until it finally gave in to his dedication with another round's worth of come.
...But he was already reasonably full of it. It wasn't any reason to stop (of course it wasn't), but between that and the memory of the word shower Emet-Selch pauses, slowly leaning back from Mettaton, even if every part of his manner seemed to indicate his desire for the opposite. Though he's distracted momentarily again by the blood on Mettaton's face, spattered against his chest and his jewelry. There was a bit matting his fur as well, another inevitability. The gold of his eye and the dark of his hair, the lean of long ears... it was next to impossible to resist kissing him again, coming onto him again, to desire him, pressing their bodies together--
Emet-Selch takes a slow breath instead, steadying himself. While Mettaton was certainly capable of carrying him to the shower, if he pulled off of him now, and stood up, then.... It was a risk, of sorts; their first attempt to get him to the shower had only led to having sex twice more. They had barely even left the bed before returning to it. Still- with two more rounds behind them, perhaps it would be slightly easier to go the slight distance without getting distracted. Still again- as soon as Mettaton's cock was slid free of his body, the evidence of their excess would be able to spread down his thighs, and that would be very distracting.
But he wanted to feel that now. He also wanted the feeling of a shower, along with the idea of settling down with Mettaton afterward, warm and clean and contented. And there was no reason why he couldn't have both.
So Emet-Selch nods to him, shifting thighs that were, indeed, sore from being left in their natural position for so long (spread around Mettaton). Holding his breath as he pushes himself upward, he reluctantly allows the solidity and the warmth of his lover's cock to slowly leave his body. Though as the ridge of the glans catches against his entrance, there's a slight hesitation, before he pulls himself off entirely, shivering at the departing brush of the tip as he loses contact with it. And he's given instead the feeling of his body finally attempting to relax without having a large erection stretching it, along with a disturbing sensation of being left so empty.
Not entirely empty, of course. Something that becomes clear with near immediacy as he moves, and while the Ascian had intended to stand immediately, he finds his legs too stiff and uncooperative to listen- and himself too distracted at the warmth he could feel beginning to leak down between his thighs. Even though Emet-Selch had expected it, he goes still, hand resting against Mettaton's shoulder for balance, sitting up on the bed with his legs yet spread around Mettaton's thighs, while his own body drips his lover's come over his skin. His legs quiver; the softest moan escapes his lips. Eyes half-lidded as he looks down at him, Emet-Selch bites his own lower lip; this still felt like one of the most exposed ways he could be, literally dripping with the evidence of being fucked repeatedly, how his body had been used, putting it all on display for him.]
no subject
In comparison to his own more obvious physical disarray, Mettaton looked still fairly put-together, enough so that Emet-Selch had no doubt that he could continue taking him apart if he chose to.
The slipping in to mouth his neck and throat seemed the start of another instance of it. Wet and heated and welcome, Emet-Selch immediately offers him his wounded neck- jabbed by claws, pierced by teeth, fucked repeatedly by cock- Mettaton's claim on every part of it was clear. Both his breath and his voice had been stolen, and he shivers in immediate pleasure at the reminder of it all, of the new patches of damp saliva left across his skin, to dilute whatever blood his lover hadn't cleared entirely by tongue and mouth. A kiss and statement concludes, something that would get a hum of agreement if the Ascian could spare that kind of sound.
He looks a bit amused though, tilting his head in a way that seems to indicate agreement. His voice was limited, and it was probably best to save it for more important tasks (like praising Mettaton; also moaning). It was surprisingly congenial to feel himself so- uncontrolled, open in both desires and emotions, even if it meant being fully exposed to him in every way.
But Emet-Selch almost misses Mettaton's next word, his question/suggestion, as his gaze and attention becomes thoroughly and obviously caught on the sight of the idol licking his come from his fingers. The Ascian swallows reflexively, despite the discomfort of it, and while he's briefly tempted to lean in and snag a taste for himself, he's too taken by watching his lover's lips against his digits, the hint of tongue.... Mettaton had a grace in this too, somehow, an elegance that remained intensely erotic.
It's certainly an image he'll remember, will return to, will become easily aroused over in future. Even if his body now was made to lag behind in response, the Ascian's manner is certainly heated to match, requiring no further encouragement to lean in to cover his lips with his own. A kiss of prodding tongue and firm pressure, and a demand to taste himself at Mettaton's lips, his mouth. And his body shifts in Mettaton's lap, feeling that his Bondmate's cock had regained more than a hint of stiffness, though he could also tell that it wasn't quite back up at peak erectness. But it was something he knew would be sure to happen soon enough, and his breath hitches at the thought, licking back at Mettaton's tongue, before letting his teeth drag over his lower lip.
Even if he couldn't quite join him in physical arousal- not yet, in any case- there's no delay or hesitation in the way he took to him, wanting his taste and his cock and his touch. And it would be easy to remain here, to be fucked again, to keep holding onto Mettaton's length, to keep sliding it inside of himself, stroke and squeeze him into being fully engorged, while feeling the drag of that sensitive tip pulled along him so intimately... until it finally gave in to his dedication with another round's worth of come.
...But he was already reasonably full of it. It wasn't any reason to stop (of course it wasn't), but between that and the memory of the word shower Emet-Selch pauses, slowly leaning back from Mettaton, even if every part of his manner seemed to indicate his desire for the opposite. Though he's distracted momentarily again by the blood on Mettaton's face, spattered against his chest and his jewelry. There was a bit matting his fur as well, another inevitability. The gold of his eye and the dark of his hair, the lean of long ears... it was next to impossible to resist kissing him again, coming onto him again, to desire him, pressing their bodies together--
Emet-Selch takes a slow breath instead, steadying himself. While Mettaton was certainly capable of carrying him to the shower, if he pulled off of him now, and stood up, then.... It was a risk, of sorts; their first attempt to get him to the shower had only led to having sex twice more. They had barely even left the bed before returning to it. Still- with two more rounds behind them, perhaps it would be slightly easier to go the slight distance without getting distracted. Still again- as soon as Mettaton's cock was slid free of his body, the evidence of their excess would be able to spread down his thighs, and that would be very distracting.
But he wanted to feel that now. He also wanted the feeling of a shower, along with the idea of settling down with Mettaton afterward, warm and clean and contented. And there was no reason why he couldn't have both.
So Emet-Selch nods to him, shifting thighs that were, indeed, sore from being left in their natural position for so long (spread around Mettaton). Holding his breath as he pushes himself upward, he reluctantly allows the solidity and the warmth of his lover's cock to slowly leave his body. Though as the ridge of the glans catches against his entrance, there's a slight hesitation, before he pulls himself off entirely, shivering at the departing brush of the tip as he loses contact with it. And he's given instead the feeling of his body finally attempting to relax without having a large erection stretching it, along with a disturbing sensation of being left so empty.
Not entirely empty, of course. Something that becomes clear with near immediacy as he moves, and while the Ascian had intended to stand immediately, he finds his legs too stiff and uncooperative to listen- and himself too distracted at the warmth he could feel beginning to leak down between his thighs. Even though Emet-Selch had expected it, he goes still, hand resting against Mettaton's shoulder for balance, sitting up on the bed with his legs yet spread around Mettaton's thighs, while his own body drips his lover's come over his skin. His legs quiver; the softest moan escapes his lips. Eyes half-lidded as he looks down at him, Emet-Selch bites his own lower lip; this still felt like one of the most exposed ways he could be, literally dripping with the evidence of being fucked repeatedly, how his body had been used, putting it all on display for him.]