[Provided with an urging to drive him wild, Mettaton spares a moment of real thought to the notice that he's gripping even harder into Emet-Selch's shoulders. He spares the sparsest of glances, noting that yes: his claws have sunken into flesh. Blood begins to well up around dark-tinged keratin, deep scarlet and beautiful against his lover's complexion of bruises, but all Mettaton can think about is how, shirtless, he'd be able to see his own grip on the Ascian. A reminder of how he'd held him, mounted him, pounded into him with a thick, rigid erection, Emet-Selch desperately trying to encourage him with broken pleas and cries... It would be a sight to arouse, the obvious signs of a puncturing grip around his shoulders so that he could be better accessed and fucked beneath him. Mettaton's made to shudder fiercely, a long, unrestrained moan forcing his neck to slacken for a moment's time.
Nothing else about him succumbs, moving on pure animalistic drive. Emet-Selch wants him as deep and as hard as he covets him, and Mettaton grinds his teeth as though to bite, his body seizing and every joint tightening as though to withdraw on himself. He practically curls up to better treat his Bonded to full, deep thrusts, harder and just as quick, just as demanded. Deeper, though... Deeper should be accomplished by curling in on him, where Mettaton feels himself not only flush against his lover's ass, but pushing into him desperately. He wants to feel his lover's body give way around his cock, wants to feel him tighten and squeeze all of him if he could, the only relief from this ache he could find. And soon to be even greater relief.
The Puca buries his face into Emet-Selch's neck, mouthing and teething his skin before he slips his teeth through skin. Sharpened and sharper the more he gives himself over to the influence of the pendants, to the fever of sex, it's no difficult feat to effortlessly slice through soft, giving flesh. And all Mettaton can feel is deep, heady satisfaction for having pinned his lover further: held in place by the rudimentary structure he'd made around his body, by his claws and arms, by the grip of teeth, and by his hips, pinned atop his cock. His lover was sure to stay, open and surrendered to Mettaton's pleasure. He's being mounted, blood sucked on, rubbed down by a heavy erection and filled time and again with thick loads of come, and in this position, Mettaton could continuously fill him without gravity causing him to spill over.
He trembles again, moaning deeply into his bloodied bite. The ecstasy he feels is immense.
Emet-Selch has so gradually given himself over to Mettaton, though he could tell right from the start that he'd be inclined to if the opportunity arose. Even from the start, his Bondmate sought not sex, but companionship: a body to hold, to be held by. A temporary solace from loneliness. Mettaton could see that immediately. He would get nothing he could move on from out of this robot, however. A permanent fixture in his life (here), and he feels fiery determination at keeping Emet-Selch's company with his, his attention on him: a feeling partially his own, and ramped up by the jewelry around his shoulders.
But with this improved grip on his lover with claws and incisors, he can push his hips harsher into Emet-Selch, shove and thrust his cock as deeply as it fits into his body. A sensation pleasurable, worthy of a cry even past blood and skin. Harder and deeper: he could do that. Deeper he pushes, and following suit, harder he thrusts, pounding into his lover and feeling the way he stuffs him with glans and shaft. Each push has him beyond flush to his body, Emet-Selch's body slick and gripping down along the base of his erection, rubbing down the full of his length as his lover succumbs to his own tense ecstasy. Braced by Mettaton's efforts, then the arms and legs of Emet-Selch's, they were inseparable, capable only of melding this closely.
There's the awareness of Emet-Selch's cock dragging along the pane of glass on his front, his cock hard and bound to release sticky spurts of come along that faintly glowing chamber — a notion that only delights Mettaton as he imagines even harder releasing into Emet-Selch's body all over again. Emet-Selch's body is perfect for taking his cock, Mettaton the perfect size to fill him utterly and to feel the fullest extent of Emet-Selch's stroking; to drag the glans along his lover and massage him in return, to pleasure his Bonded with the intensity of sex. He was safe in his arms, and he would always have Mettaton as long as he could feel these bruises and punctures, his lips and his cock, the unyielding press of his body and the weight of him mounting him.
Mettaton's blinded by it all. He still hears Emet-Selch pleading for harder, deeper thrusts in his mind, and every time he revisits it it feels as though he gets that much harder, aches that much more acutely, feels that much more pressure in need of release. He's engorged, heavy all over again and desperate for relief, desperate to fill his lover so that he's made to experience this same pressure Mettaton feels — only the pressure of holding so many releases, the heaviness he feels in his body transferred to Emet-Selch's. This close to his lover's neck, it's no loss when he squeezes his eye shut to better focus solely on sensation and sound and smell. Sensation feels rawer, prickling over his scalp and reaching him in a way unlike anything else. He couldn't begin to describe how good he feels, this deep and this hard, fucking Emet-Selch this solidly with a cock so heavy and hard, feeling the swollen glans rubbing along his Bonded's body so intimately that it hurts.
The robot doesn't notice the way he moans withe very thrust, the way precome leaks from him in preparation for release. His rhythm goes unbroken, hard and fast and deep and loving it all; dark fur and sharp teeth, a presence made so dark, and otherwise feeling so wanted, so needed and adored.]
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Nothing else about him succumbs, moving on pure animalistic drive. Emet-Selch wants him as deep and as hard as he covets him, and Mettaton grinds his teeth as though to bite, his body seizing and every joint tightening as though to withdraw on himself. He practically curls up to better treat his Bonded to full, deep thrusts, harder and just as quick, just as demanded. Deeper, though... Deeper should be accomplished by curling in on him, where Mettaton feels himself not only flush against his lover's ass, but pushing into him desperately. He wants to feel his lover's body give way around his cock, wants to feel him tighten and squeeze all of him if he could, the only relief from this ache he could find. And soon to be even greater relief.
The Puca buries his face into Emet-Selch's neck, mouthing and teething his skin before he slips his teeth through skin. Sharpened and sharper the more he gives himself over to the influence of the pendants, to the fever of sex, it's no difficult feat to effortlessly slice through soft, giving flesh. And all Mettaton can feel is deep, heady satisfaction for having pinned his lover further: held in place by the rudimentary structure he'd made around his body, by his claws and arms, by the grip of teeth, and by his hips, pinned atop his cock. His lover was sure to stay, open and surrendered to Mettaton's pleasure. He's being mounted, blood sucked on, rubbed down by a heavy erection and filled time and again with thick loads of come, and in this position, Mettaton could continuously fill him without gravity causing him to spill over.
He trembles again, moaning deeply into his bloodied bite. The ecstasy he feels is immense.
Emet-Selch has so gradually given himself over to Mettaton, though he could tell right from the start that he'd be inclined to if the opportunity arose. Even from the start, his Bondmate sought not sex, but companionship: a body to hold, to be held by. A temporary solace from loneliness. Mettaton could see that immediately. He would get nothing he could move on from out of this robot, however. A permanent fixture in his life (here), and he feels fiery determination at keeping Emet-Selch's company with his, his attention on him: a feeling partially his own, and ramped up by the jewelry around his shoulders.
But with this improved grip on his lover with claws and incisors, he can push his hips harsher into Emet-Selch, shove and thrust his cock as deeply as it fits into his body. A sensation pleasurable, worthy of a cry even past blood and skin. Harder and deeper: he could do that. Deeper he pushes, and following suit, harder he thrusts, pounding into his lover and feeling the way he stuffs him with glans and shaft. Each push has him beyond flush to his body, Emet-Selch's body slick and gripping down along the base of his erection, rubbing down the full of his length as his lover succumbs to his own tense ecstasy. Braced by Mettaton's efforts, then the arms and legs of Emet-Selch's, they were inseparable, capable only of melding this closely.
There's the awareness of Emet-Selch's cock dragging along the pane of glass on his front, his cock hard and bound to release sticky spurts of come along that faintly glowing chamber — a notion that only delights Mettaton as he imagines even harder releasing into Emet-Selch's body all over again. Emet-Selch's body is perfect for taking his cock, Mettaton the perfect size to fill him utterly and to feel the fullest extent of Emet-Selch's stroking; to drag the glans along his lover and massage him in return, to pleasure his Bonded with the intensity of sex. He was safe in his arms, and he would always have Mettaton as long as he could feel these bruises and punctures, his lips and his cock, the unyielding press of his body and the weight of him mounting him.
Mettaton's blinded by it all. He still hears Emet-Selch pleading for harder, deeper thrusts in his mind, and every time he revisits it it feels as though he gets that much harder, aches that much more acutely, feels that much more pressure in need of release. He's engorged, heavy all over again and desperate for relief, desperate to fill his lover so that he's made to experience this same pressure Mettaton feels — only the pressure of holding so many releases, the heaviness he feels in his body transferred to Emet-Selch's. This close to his lover's neck, it's no loss when he squeezes his eye shut to better focus solely on sensation and sound and smell. Sensation feels rawer, prickling over his scalp and reaching him in a way unlike anything else. He couldn't begin to describe how good he feels, this deep and this hard, fucking Emet-Selch this solidly with a cock so heavy and hard, feeling the swollen glans rubbing along his Bonded's body so intimately that it hurts.
The robot doesn't notice the way he moans withe very thrust, the way precome leaks from him in preparation for release. His rhythm goes unbroken, hard and fast and deep and loving it all; dark fur and sharp teeth, a presence made so dark, and otherwise feeling so wanted, so needed and adored.]