[Perfectly inundated, just as he desired. It's not only a process of taking, but of Emet-Selch collapsing into him, submitting to him, falling into his lap with nothing to resist Mettaton's tug against his hips. His lover, straddling his hips and seated upon his cock, falls against his hips, clenching tighter and tighter around the base of him enough that Mettaton takes up the duty of crying out when the Ascian's lost his voice once more.
He arches; he nearly falls into him, and Mettaton couldn't be more pleased with this outcome. He smiles and nuzzles into his lover's face, planting sloppy, mouthing kisses against anything he can get to as they mutually rock their hips into each other, tensing and relaxing in patterns: Emet-Selch's body kneads his cock, while the head of Mettaton's arousal rubs deeply into his lover's body. A giving and taking, a desire to pleasure and be pleasured, and the both of them are each other's perfect fits.
If he had more hands, Mettaton feels so soft for Emet-Selch that he's sure he would wrap him in a hug. As it stands, his hands have work to do on his lover's hips, slipping him up and down over his erection as he rubs himself off on his lover's body, feeling how he clenches down around the base of him, how Mettaton can slip him up and down and feel that tightness slide along his length, and loving every moment of it. Mettaton can barely stand it all, and if he quits doing anything to his Bonded, he can feel that Emet-Selch takes right to rocking his hips, arching his back, clamping down on his body with the tensity of legs, and... Mettaton's content to let him.
How flattering. The idol unhands Emet-Selch's hips for the moment, watching him rub into Mettaton's girth. A pleasure so deep and so aching that the other man's made to curve his back into a cock so hard, so fast; made to tighten his grip around Mettaton's hips with thighs, wanting only to keep stroking himself on the head, the curve of Mettaton's cock. Mettaton's moan is carried on a sigh of fondness for his lover, feeling properly adored for his body as he should be. And feeling adoring in return, even though the pitch of a diet lunar sway nearly maddens him for this feverish desire to please himself, to please his Bonded, to fuck them both senseless and pound Emet-Selch into the bed.
But he follows his heart instead, and holds Emet-Selch just like he wanted to. His arms push his lover down into his lap, impaling him some more on his rigid erection, but he mostly holds him close and dear. Mettaton's hips roll gently into his lover as though to meet every push downward with a push up, to stuff him full and deep with cock, to promise that he'd fill him enough to make up for all he's lost and more. Between them lies come dripped so shamelessly, caught in fur and slicking the insides of thighs.
Holding him like this, Emet-Selch's arms slung around his neck and Mettaton's wrapped around his back, the Puca leans in to continue kissing his lover. The kisses are hot and fevered, but less ferocious, more adoring and infatuated and all over his face, uncoordinated and needy and only sometimes hitting the mark of his lips. His hand strokes along Emet-Selch's back, thrusting to supplement each push of Emet-Selch's into his arousal.
His lover fits him so well, he thought. Heavenly and dark, worthy of his attention and properly paying him mind in accord. He loves him desperately, and he can't imagine being without.
And all Mettaton wants is to fill him completely. He wants to feel himself orgasm into Emet-Selch's body, hot and full and pressing upon Mettaton's entire length, something he anticipates will feel only tighter as his body's made to hold so much of his release, all atop the burden of his cock.
Holding him like this, wrapping his arms thoroughly about his back, Mettaton's able to firmly thrust into his lover's body. A body that massages over his length all over again, and how sensitive he's become; and if Mettaton's rendered so sensitive, what of his Bonded? How sensitive and raw must his organic form be, when Mettaton feels his cock's been rubbed and squeezed to a point of rapture? But this relief is only earned and gained by having stuffed his lover full, the both of them left to feel the pressure and squeeze, the fullness and drag, of his cock held by his body.
Mettaton sighs, shaky and close to his lover's lips.]
I love... you, too, my- my dearest...
[Whether he was trying to say he loves this or he loves Mettaton, he doesn't particularly mind. Mettaton knows that they're one in the same. This pleasure wouldn't be attainable without their level of trust and love for each other, after all.]
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He arches; he nearly falls into him, and Mettaton couldn't be more pleased with this outcome. He smiles and nuzzles into his lover's face, planting sloppy, mouthing kisses against anything he can get to as they mutually rock their hips into each other, tensing and relaxing in patterns: Emet-Selch's body kneads his cock, while the head of Mettaton's arousal rubs deeply into his lover's body. A giving and taking, a desire to pleasure and be pleasured, and the both of them are each other's perfect fits.
If he had more hands, Mettaton feels so soft for Emet-Selch that he's sure he would wrap him in a hug. As it stands, his hands have work to do on his lover's hips, slipping him up and down over his erection as he rubs himself off on his lover's body, feeling how he clenches down around the base of him, how Mettaton can slip him up and down and feel that tightness slide along his length, and loving every moment of it. Mettaton can barely stand it all, and if he quits doing anything to his Bonded, he can feel that Emet-Selch takes right to rocking his hips, arching his back, clamping down on his body with the tensity of legs, and... Mettaton's content to let him.
How flattering. The idol unhands Emet-Selch's hips for the moment, watching him rub into Mettaton's girth. A pleasure so deep and so aching that the other man's made to curve his back into a cock so hard, so fast; made to tighten his grip around Mettaton's hips with thighs, wanting only to keep stroking himself on the head, the curve of Mettaton's cock. Mettaton's moan is carried on a sigh of fondness for his lover, feeling properly adored for his body as he should be. And feeling adoring in return, even though the pitch of a diet lunar sway nearly maddens him for this feverish desire to please himself, to please his Bonded, to fuck them both senseless and pound Emet-Selch into the bed.
But he follows his heart instead, and holds Emet-Selch just like he wanted to. His arms push his lover down into his lap, impaling him some more on his rigid erection, but he mostly holds him close and dear. Mettaton's hips roll gently into his lover as though to meet every push downward with a push up, to stuff him full and deep with cock, to promise that he'd fill him enough to make up for all he's lost and more. Between them lies come dripped so shamelessly, caught in fur and slicking the insides of thighs.
Holding him like this, Emet-Selch's arms slung around his neck and Mettaton's wrapped around his back, the Puca leans in to continue kissing his lover. The kisses are hot and fevered, but less ferocious, more adoring and infatuated and all over his face, uncoordinated and needy and only sometimes hitting the mark of his lips. His hand strokes along Emet-Selch's back, thrusting to supplement each push of Emet-Selch's into his arousal.
His lover fits him so well, he thought. Heavenly and dark, worthy of his attention and properly paying him mind in accord. He loves him desperately, and he can't imagine being without.
And all Mettaton wants is to fill him completely. He wants to feel himself orgasm into Emet-Selch's body, hot and full and pressing upon Mettaton's entire length, something he anticipates will feel only tighter as his body's made to hold so much of his release, all atop the burden of his cock.
Holding him like this, wrapping his arms thoroughly about his back, Mettaton's able to firmly thrust into his lover's body. A body that massages over his length all over again, and how sensitive he's become; and if Mettaton's rendered so sensitive, what of his Bonded? How sensitive and raw must his organic form be, when Mettaton feels his cock's been rubbed and squeezed to a point of rapture? But this relief is only earned and gained by having stuffed his lover full, the both of them left to feel the pressure and squeeze, the fullness and drag, of his cock held by his body.
Mettaton sighs, shaky and close to his lover's lips.]
I love... you, too, my- my dearest...
[Whether he was trying to say he loves this or he loves Mettaton, he doesn't particularly mind. Mettaton knows that they're one in the same. This pleasure wouldn't be attainable without their level of trust and love for each other, after all.]