[It was a perfect fit- of bodies, of souls, of nature and habit. A complement of spirits, giving over what the other wanted of them. Emet-Selch could collapse on Mettaton because he was safe there, could form himself to his body and accept him entirely. There could be no space, no division; even as they differed, when they were open to each other like this, it ceased to matter. Even the disagreeable parts. The troubling, or troublesome... every trace was something worth understanding.
There probably should've been something strange in how romantic and loving their coupling had become. Not that love hadn't been present before, no matter how aggressive or rough, contrary or demanding- but it was expressed in ever more unsubtle terms as they continued. As they held onto one another with tight grips and rocking bodies, sharing moans and breaths and kisses that didn't need to be accurate to display their feelings.
Even if they were a combined sight, an obscene mix of blood and come, sweat and saliva, dripped and smeared and spread between them, a substance to stick together fur and skin, something picked up by fingers and licked and tasted- it felt only right for that mutual fondness to take center stage. To let that be the focal point, an affection best expressed by the joining of their bodies, and their cooperation in pleasing one another with them. His body would tighten and stroke over the whole of Mettaton's length, and the puca's cock would rub him at the same time, with an intimacy that made him ache to even consider.
Emet-Selch would ache regardless, considering how frequently, and how determinedly his body had been used. From the repeated tensings of muscles and multiple orgasms, to how thoroughly a stiff cock had been pushed inside of him- it was persistence that was keeping him going for now. Persistence and love and a not insubstantial amount of attraction. But the extreme nature of Mettaton's allure, he knew, was founded in sentiment and trust. He wouldn't have licked up the used come of just anyone, especially not while finding the very act of it unspeakably arousing.
But it didn't matter that he was oversensitive and sore, drained on more levels than he thought he possessed- Emet-Selch loved him. And he loved being with him, even when it hurt.
Mettaton was thrusting upward and dragging him down to meet his erection; the Ascian was arching into as many of his presses as he could, but though determined, his body is noticeably weaker than it had been at the start of their encounter. Even his body was developing a persistent trembling that wasn't solely due to wanting and need. The frailties of mortal flesh, faltering after having enthusiastic sex over a half-dozen times with nary a break. But his cock remains so stiff, thick and engorged, the tip nudging against Mettaton's body with how closely Emet-Selch was leaning on him. Relying on him for more than he ever intended to.]
Mettaton....
[Reduced to his name again, along with indistinct murmurs of something that sounds strikingly similar to it. And he answers Mettaton's kisses with more of the same, heated and heavy, if not with the same degree of bite as before. Adoration applied to every part of him his lips crossed, be it jaw or cheek or the side of his nose, and even, occasionally, the man's lips themselves. His breathing was quick and soft, and much like the rocking of his hips, irregular, but determined.
His arms hold him closer, but not roughly, only firm, and as warm as the rest of him. His heart felt like it could burst from it all, from exertion, from emotion, and all advanced thought was further lost with every drag of Mettaton's cock. He was stuffed so full, from the soft tip, to the thick shaft, both smeared with come that he was now rubbing back inside of him with each thrust. And he knew he'd only leave him fuller still, warmer yet, and with a deeper satisfaction than he would've ever thought achievable.
His throat forms a soft noise, partially a plea, partially something like disbelief, as though unable to understand the degree of pleasure it was being exposed to. Pressing the side of his face against his, Emet-Selch rubs against it with a desperate kind of affection, a tenderness that hurt to express.]
no subject
There probably should've been something strange in how romantic and loving their coupling had become. Not that love hadn't been present before, no matter how aggressive or rough, contrary or demanding- but it was expressed in ever more unsubtle terms as they continued. As they held onto one another with tight grips and rocking bodies, sharing moans and breaths and kisses that didn't need to be accurate to display their feelings.
Even if they were a combined sight, an obscene mix of blood and come, sweat and saliva, dripped and smeared and spread between them, a substance to stick together fur and skin, something picked up by fingers and licked and tasted- it felt only right for that mutual fondness to take center stage. To let that be the focal point, an affection best expressed by the joining of their bodies, and their cooperation in pleasing one another with them. His body would tighten and stroke over the whole of Mettaton's length, and the puca's cock would rub him at the same time, with an intimacy that made him ache to even consider.
Emet-Selch would ache regardless, considering how frequently, and how determinedly his body had been used. From the repeated tensings of muscles and multiple orgasms, to how thoroughly a stiff cock had been pushed inside of him- it was persistence that was keeping him going for now. Persistence and love and a not insubstantial amount of attraction. But the extreme nature of Mettaton's allure, he knew, was founded in sentiment and trust. He wouldn't have licked up the used come of just anyone, especially not while finding the very act of it unspeakably arousing.
But it didn't matter that he was oversensitive and sore, drained on more levels than he thought he possessed- Emet-Selch loved him. And he loved being with him, even when it hurt.
Mettaton was thrusting upward and dragging him down to meet his erection; the Ascian was arching into as many of his presses as he could, but though determined, his body is noticeably weaker than it had been at the start of their encounter. Even his body was developing a persistent trembling that wasn't solely due to wanting and need. The frailties of mortal flesh, faltering after having enthusiastic sex over a half-dozen times with nary a break. But his cock remains so stiff, thick and engorged, the tip nudging against Mettaton's body with how closely Emet-Selch was leaning on him. Relying on him for more than he ever intended to.]
Mettaton....
[Reduced to his name again, along with indistinct murmurs of something that sounds strikingly similar to it. And he answers Mettaton's kisses with more of the same, heated and heavy, if not with the same degree of bite as before. Adoration applied to every part of him his lips crossed, be it jaw or cheek or the side of his nose, and even, occasionally, the man's lips themselves. His breathing was quick and soft, and much like the rocking of his hips, irregular, but determined.
His arms hold him closer, but not roughly, only firm, and as warm as the rest of him. His heart felt like it could burst from it all, from exertion, from emotion, and all advanced thought was further lost with every drag of Mettaton's cock. He was stuffed so full, from the soft tip, to the thick shaft, both smeared with come that he was now rubbing back inside of him with each thrust. And he knew he'd only leave him fuller still, warmer yet, and with a deeper satisfaction than he would've ever thought achievable.
His throat forms a soft noise, partially a plea, partially something like disbelief, as though unable to understand the degree of pleasure it was being exposed to. Pressing the side of his face against his, Emet-Selch rubs against it with a desperate kind of affection, a tenderness that hurt to express.]