[Insufficient as it would eventually be, Emet-Selch still appreciates the help, the push down at his hip, and the shoving upward of Mettaton's cock. He shivers against his lips at the sound of his moan; there was still an intense pleasure in this moment, the softness of it, cooperative and affectionate. Even the slowing of the hand around his cock felt appropriate, each individual stroke something worth particular attention, when paired with the slower rock of his hips.
And while it would've been possible to slowly grind and stroke each other all the way to release, they were attuned as well towards wanting more force than this, harder movements and greater speed. More than the Ascian could give him like this. Mettaton's shudder and moan at the anticipation of the change in their position causes his own need to quicken, and he would hum a pleased sound if he could at the sound of his laugh, his voice. His understandable willingness to take over, and Emet-Selch embraces him that bit tighter, rubs the side of his face against his; for every part of him that Mettaton wanted to claim, he wanted to give. To submit and adapt and adore, because that's what he was best at doing.
That stimulation to his erection is lost entirely, and the Ascian still shifts in patient disapproval, though it's not as though his cock was not unused to going without specific attention. Leaning his head back slightly to watch him, Emet-Selch sees what that hand was up to instead- creating a space for his body to rest, and his hips to be appropriately raised. That was certainly worth the loss of cock-touching, and he presses his lips to Mettaton's throat as he orders pillows for them, nuzzling him appreciatively (while also taking note of the intent of the puca's ears; an endearing trait). The movement of his own hips slows further, mostly remaining seated now in Mettaton's lap, grinding his ass down against his legs and tightening but unable to do much more than that.
And soon enough Mettaton announces his readiness to continue, and the Ascian feels himself rolled to the side, into the space made convenient for them both. Inevitably, the length inside him is jostled, but not lost- something he's able to note with pleasure, and then ever more so, as Mettaton's cock is stuffed back appropriately deeply, solidly. Something that in itself causes his breath to hitch and his body to tense.
This position did put some pressure upon his back and shoulders, the soreness of clotting bites and scratches there. But it was a softer pressure than it had been against the floor, pushed instead to the give of pillows and covers- it was fine. And any slight discomfort that was added in that way, was countered by both relief and satisfaction, by having his body supported like this, and Mettaton atop him.
And especially by the greater ease with which Mettaton could now move, a harder thrusting to stir his body, with a steadiness inescapable. His own voice is lost to another attempt at crying out as his breathing shifts into a heavier panting, spread legs trembling around his body, but having a much better time of it with this support. And there was something about this position that he loved in itself (though the same could be said about any position, really... they all afforded some specific way of enjoying one another), the way his back was pressed to the covers, yet his hips were resting upward, ass exposed and completely available to Mettaton, without either of them having to hold him in place. It was like having the safety of a nest around him, while in a convenient position to be fucked.
If he weren't so aroused- and the stiffness of his own cock between them attested to that- it would almost be restful. It was still comfortable in a deep way that overrode the soreness of his body, every plunge of Mettaton's cock shaking him with the pleasure he could take from it.]
It's... you're incredible.
[It would be softly spoken even were it not for the state of his throat, as his attention fixes up on the sight of his face, his body over him, the movement of him in his thrusts. Movement that he was receiving so deeply, as he could squeeze around as he shifted inside him, pounded into him. His gaze is bleary, yet focused, rapt and wanting and even vulnerable in his blatant needing of him.]
no subject
And while it would've been possible to slowly grind and stroke each other all the way to release, they were attuned as well towards wanting more force than this, harder movements and greater speed. More than the Ascian could give him like this. Mettaton's shudder and moan at the anticipation of the change in their position causes his own need to quicken, and he would hum a pleased sound if he could at the sound of his laugh, his voice. His understandable willingness to take over, and Emet-Selch embraces him that bit tighter, rubs the side of his face against his; for every part of him that Mettaton wanted to claim, he wanted to give. To submit and adapt and adore, because that's what he was best at doing.
That stimulation to his erection is lost entirely, and the Ascian still shifts in patient disapproval, though it's not as though his cock was not unused to going without specific attention. Leaning his head back slightly to watch him, Emet-Selch sees what that hand was up to instead- creating a space for his body to rest, and his hips to be appropriately raised. That was certainly worth the loss of cock-touching, and he presses his lips to Mettaton's throat as he orders pillows for them, nuzzling him appreciatively (while also taking note of the intent of the puca's ears; an endearing trait). The movement of his own hips slows further, mostly remaining seated now in Mettaton's lap, grinding his ass down against his legs and tightening but unable to do much more than that.
And soon enough Mettaton announces his readiness to continue, and the Ascian feels himself rolled to the side, into the space made convenient for them both. Inevitably, the length inside him is jostled, but not lost- something he's able to note with pleasure, and then ever more so, as Mettaton's cock is stuffed back appropriately deeply, solidly. Something that in itself causes his breath to hitch and his body to tense.
This position did put some pressure upon his back and shoulders, the soreness of clotting bites and scratches there. But it was a softer pressure than it had been against the floor, pushed instead to the give of pillows and covers- it was fine. And any slight discomfort that was added in that way, was countered by both relief and satisfaction, by having his body supported like this, and Mettaton atop him.
And especially by the greater ease with which Mettaton could now move, a harder thrusting to stir his body, with a steadiness inescapable. His own voice is lost to another attempt at crying out as his breathing shifts into a heavier panting, spread legs trembling around his body, but having a much better time of it with this support. And there was something about this position that he loved in itself (though the same could be said about any position, really... they all afforded some specific way of enjoying one another), the way his back was pressed to the covers, yet his hips were resting upward, ass exposed and completely available to Mettaton, without either of them having to hold him in place. It was like having the safety of a nest around him, while in a convenient position to be fucked.
If he weren't so aroused- and the stiffness of his own cock between them attested to that- it would almost be restful. It was still comfortable in a deep way that overrode the soreness of his body, every plunge of Mettaton's cock shaking him with the pleasure he could take from it.]
It's... you're incredible.
[It would be softly spoken even were it not for the state of his throat, as his attention fixes up on the sight of his face, his body over him, the movement of him in his thrusts. Movement that he was receiving so deeply, as he could squeeze around as he shifted inside him, pounded into him. His gaze is bleary, yet focused, rapt and wanting and even vulnerable in his blatant needing of him.]