[Even as he licked at his fingers there had been that background pressure against his entrance, teasing, suggesting how easy it would be for Mettaton's erection to slide back into his body. They were both so slick, so ready for it- his length the perfect size to keep any more of his release from easily slipping from his body, and his own form thoroughly prepared to receive him. The tremble in his thighs causes Emet-Selch to wonder that if he allowed himself to give in, to sink back into Mettaton's lap- whether he could impale himself in one long, satisfying motion. It was an arousing, provocative thought, and a perfect complement to having the puca's fingers in his mouth, claws and all.
But Mettaton finally pulls them free, cleaned (by... some definitions), and he follows it with affection, the tucking of his hair. And as sweaty and mussed as the Ascian already was, what difference was a bit of saliva anywhere going to make? But it was a sweet gesture made into a more practical one as Mettaton's hand slips to the back of his head, both holding him steady and encouraging him forward into a kiss. A kiss Emet-Selch has no hesitation in giving him, a suitable replacement for the loss of his fingers from his mouth. Lips part obediently, automatically for him, wanting Mettaton to get a taste of his own come at his mouth, as though to demonstrate further proof of what he'd let slip down a throat fucked and sore. Wetly lapping back at his lover's tongue, he presses his lips hard to his, barely holding back sounds he wanted to make- so much so that even the effort of holding them back hurts his throat.
Mettaton pulling back from damp lips gets him a look more of longing than of protest, his breathing fast and his manner dizzied. And the look at his face, and the trailing fingers reclaiming his hip are all the warning Emet-Selch receives as he feels that grip used, his body dragged down, made to stretch around the glans of his lover's cock.
The relief he feels at finally having him in his body again is similar to that of orgasm, and he cries out in a voice so raw, body clenching tight around the corona. A choked noise quickly follows, a softer echo to Mettaton's own cry, sharing in his pleasure at having him again, right where he belonged. Where his body could squeeze and massage him, where they could warm one another in movements of increasing desperation, until it all spilled over in ways they had just been sampling.]
Mettaton, I...
[It didn't matter that his throat hurt, that his voice was still pitiful, faint, roughed to next to nothing. He kisses back at him between breaths, between attempts at words, as his heart raced and his cock ached for him.]
So much I- want-- I love....
[Though that's all he can manage to rasp out at this time, mostly due to the condition of his throat. But partially as well to his legs giving in, and the Ascian finding himself seated back in his lover's lap- a placement that feels wetter than it once had been. Between Mettaton pulling him down, and his own body giving way, it's so quickly that he's stuffed all over again with cock, with a speed he can't begin to comprehend, only able to feel the utter rightness of it. Of him. Of his cock, but of Mettaton as well; no one else would leave him feeling this way. But having him down to the root again has Emet-Selch nearly collapse against his body as he trembles from the intensity of it all, arms wrapping around his neck, his shoulders, as he clings onto him.
There was no chance for coherency on his part either, as his hips rock automatically against his, though with little rhythm- only sharp, rubbing sort of jerks, as his back arches, and his legs tighten around him, not caring that they were sore from being spread around him for so long. This was the natural state for them, and the way they looked best: parted, bruised, with evidence of come. An extension of the rest of his body, scratched and bitten and held, wrapped around Mettaton's cock, swollen and fucked and raw.]
no subject
But Mettaton finally pulls them free, cleaned (by... some definitions), and he follows it with affection, the tucking of his hair. And as sweaty and mussed as the Ascian already was, what difference was a bit of saliva anywhere going to make? But it was a sweet gesture made into a more practical one as Mettaton's hand slips to the back of his head, both holding him steady and encouraging him forward into a kiss. A kiss Emet-Selch has no hesitation in giving him, a suitable replacement for the loss of his fingers from his mouth. Lips part obediently, automatically for him, wanting Mettaton to get a taste of his own come at his mouth, as though to demonstrate further proof of what he'd let slip down a throat fucked and sore. Wetly lapping back at his lover's tongue, he presses his lips hard to his, barely holding back sounds he wanted to make- so much so that even the effort of holding them back hurts his throat.
Mettaton pulling back from damp lips gets him a look more of longing than of protest, his breathing fast and his manner dizzied. And the look at his face, and the trailing fingers reclaiming his hip are all the warning Emet-Selch receives as he feels that grip used, his body dragged down, made to stretch around the glans of his lover's cock.
The relief he feels at finally having him in his body again is similar to that of orgasm, and he cries out in a voice so raw, body clenching tight around the corona. A choked noise quickly follows, a softer echo to Mettaton's own cry, sharing in his pleasure at having him again, right where he belonged. Where his body could squeeze and massage him, where they could warm one another in movements of increasing desperation, until it all spilled over in ways they had just been sampling.]
Mettaton, I...
[It didn't matter that his throat hurt, that his voice was still pitiful, faint, roughed to next to nothing. He kisses back at him between breaths, between attempts at words, as his heart raced and his cock ached for him.]
So much I- want-- I love....
[Though that's all he can manage to rasp out at this time, mostly due to the condition of his throat. But partially as well to his legs giving in, and the Ascian finding himself seated back in his lover's lap- a placement that feels wetter than it once had been. Between Mettaton pulling him down, and his own body giving way, it's so quickly that he's stuffed all over again with cock, with a speed he can't begin to comprehend, only able to feel the utter rightness of it. Of him. Of his cock, but of Mettaton as well; no one else would leave him feeling this way. But having him down to the root again has Emet-Selch nearly collapse against his body as he trembles from the intensity of it all, arms wrapping around his neck, his shoulders, as he clings onto him.
There was no chance for coherency on his part either, as his hips rock automatically against his, though with little rhythm- only sharp, rubbing sort of jerks, as his back arches, and his legs tighten around him, not caring that they were sore from being spread around him for so long. This was the natural state for them, and the way they looked best: parted, bruised, with evidence of come. An extension of the rest of his body, scratched and bitten and held, wrapped around Mettaton's cock, swollen and fucked and raw.]