My poor love. Rendered speechless by the combination of our desires.
[He could laugh. And he does, but it's a pity snort next to his neck. He's feeling energized again, fueled by his incredulity and love for Emet-Selch as well for that ever simmering hunger for him, one that needs a few moments more incubating before he could find it fully realized.
And so his mind charts two paths: the first of it is a reflection upon their sex, starting from this previous session. How it all started at the sight of thick, milky come trickling down his lover's thighs, dripping upon even his own cock, and the sight of Emet-Selch zealously lapping up every drop of come offered to his tongue. Back a step: taking his lover on his lap, letting him fuck himself on his length, watching as he stroked himself off on Mettaton's erection, the way come gushed over his own fingers... And before that, of Emet-Selch fucking himself with lubed fingers in place of his cock, the maddening rush of biting and bruising and pounding him into the floor, of mounting him savagely as though mating, possessing, taking him for himself and nobody else.
Everything from that round feels maddening and lust-addled. He can make sense of it all, but it pulls a tremble from him.
But that second path it takes is upon the day prior to... this? (Was there anything even important about the day prior to this, prior to them? They went to a basement together... he saw some people he knew. Found some things. That's right. But this necklace flattered him most of all.) They were surely finding things. Emet-Selch had found these pendants, after all. An interesting find. He's made to wonder what else Emet-Selch found during his time, but it seems a question that he'd struggle to answer with his throat the way it is.
His throat should be reserved for important things only. Such as reactive sounds and words to compliment Mettaton.
Instead, he soaks in the sensation of his whole body again. That it has sensation is still a brilliant thing after years and years with no tactile awareness of a body at all, and many of them physically without. But here he was, laying with his lover, feeling the give of his skin beneath his body and giving way to each curve or jut of metal, feeling the bones of hips pressing into silicone-covered metal, drinking in the sensation of Emet-Selch's body wrapping tightly around even his cock... all of these ways he gives, soft despite his fierce and potent manner. Everything's so alive, and he still feels like electricity, even if he feels warmer for it now.
A warm heat that feels like it pools once more in his abdomen... How could he ignore his own trip into his mind and the recent past? Besides that, there was the future impending. There was the present: his cock still buried in his come-filled lover, his hips raised for easy access. Gravity would keep in him load after load, and that's a thought to keep that pressure well and alive, naturally. Like this, with the energy and draw of "moons" to hike such primal urges, for it to be the middle of Aguril... He has instinctual needs to fulfill, and Emet-Selch is the focus of them.
When he shifts his hips again as though uncomfortable, moving to find a position of greater relaxation, it's clear that pressure is building once more, a gradual stiffening of a semi-softened cock already stuffing his lover down to the root. But he's still only warming back up, and he wants to engage his Bonded — he loves him, and he wants to talk to him. Talking between sex is just a thing one does if you're Mettaton, between all of the ravishing and taking.]
I'd ask you what... else, you found. Pendants aside. But I fear you're not very talkative.
[He lifts his head somewhat, his ears just a bit looser, floppier than before. With his face above Emet-Selch's now, they lean over him and droop just atop his own head, joining Emet-Selch's hair. His attention is hot for being so casual, eye bright and fixed on Emet-Selch: still dark, still wanting, biding his time as though waiting for a slow-acting poison to soften him up for his enjoyment. (More realistically, he's waiting for his own body to be fully roused, as is inevitable with this joining, with this state, with Mettaton's inclination toward moving around.)]
I myself found some stones that curse anyone who touches and drops them... And an ornate armoire that produces any outfit I like! And, of course, these jewels to match my elegance.
[He doesn't know that the armoire only creates an illusion of an outfit he'd like, only for him to see. A terrible disappointment when he figures that out, but hopefully not a scandal, considering his body.]
The stones are kind of pretty. I was drawn to them... And found myself speaking a language I don't know for a few minutes. Nobody could understand me.
[Keep the sketchy things. They're harmless, right?]
no subject
[He could laugh. And he does, but it's a pity snort next to his neck. He's feeling energized again, fueled by his incredulity and love for Emet-Selch as well for that ever simmering hunger for him, one that needs a few moments more incubating before he could find it fully realized.
And so his mind charts two paths: the first of it is a reflection upon their sex, starting from this previous session. How it all started at the sight of thick, milky come trickling down his lover's thighs, dripping upon even his own cock, and the sight of Emet-Selch zealously lapping up every drop of come offered to his tongue. Back a step: taking his lover on his lap, letting him fuck himself on his length, watching as he stroked himself off on Mettaton's erection, the way come gushed over his own fingers... And before that, of Emet-Selch fucking himself with lubed fingers in place of his cock, the maddening rush of biting and bruising and pounding him into the floor, of mounting him savagely as though mating, possessing, taking him for himself and nobody else.
Everything from that round feels maddening and lust-addled. He can make sense of it all, but it pulls a tremble from him.
But that second path it takes is upon the day prior to... this? (Was there anything even important about the day prior to this, prior to them? They went to a basement together... he saw some people he knew. Found some things. That's right. But this necklace flattered him most of all.) They were surely finding things. Emet-Selch had found these pendants, after all. An interesting find. He's made to wonder what else Emet-Selch found during his time, but it seems a question that he'd struggle to answer with his throat the way it is.
His throat should be reserved for important things only. Such as reactive sounds and words to compliment Mettaton.
Instead, he soaks in the sensation of his whole body again. That it has sensation is still a brilliant thing after years and years with no tactile awareness of a body at all, and many of them physically without. But here he was, laying with his lover, feeling the give of his skin beneath his body and giving way to each curve or jut of metal, feeling the bones of hips pressing into silicone-covered metal, drinking in the sensation of Emet-Selch's body wrapping tightly around even his cock... all of these ways he gives, soft despite his fierce and potent manner. Everything's so alive, and he still feels like electricity, even if he feels warmer for it now.
A warm heat that feels like it pools once more in his abdomen... How could he ignore his own trip into his mind and the recent past? Besides that, there was the future impending. There was the present: his cock still buried in his come-filled lover, his hips raised for easy access. Gravity would keep in him load after load, and that's a thought to keep that pressure well and alive, naturally. Like this, with the energy and draw of "moons" to hike such primal urges, for it to be the middle of Aguril... He has instinctual needs to fulfill, and Emet-Selch is the focus of them.
When he shifts his hips again as though uncomfortable, moving to find a position of greater relaxation, it's clear that pressure is building once more, a gradual stiffening of a semi-softened cock already stuffing his lover down to the root. But he's still only warming back up, and he wants to engage his Bonded — he loves him, and he wants to talk to him. Talking between sex is just a thing one does if you're Mettaton, between all of the ravishing and taking.]
I'd ask you what... else, you found. Pendants aside. But I fear you're not very talkative.
[He lifts his head somewhat, his ears just a bit looser, floppier than before. With his face above Emet-Selch's now, they lean over him and droop just atop his own head, joining Emet-Selch's hair. His attention is hot for being so casual, eye bright and fixed on Emet-Selch: still dark, still wanting, biding his time as though waiting for a slow-acting poison to soften him up for his enjoyment. (More realistically, he's waiting for his own body to be fully roused, as is inevitable with this joining, with this state, with Mettaton's inclination toward moving around.)]
I myself found some stones that curse anyone who touches and drops them... And an ornate armoire that produces any outfit I like! And, of course, these jewels to match my elegance.
[He doesn't know that the armoire only creates an illusion of an outfit he'd like, only for him to see. A terrible disappointment when he figures that out, but hopefully not a scandal, considering his body.]
The stones are kind of pretty. I was drawn to them... And found myself speaking a language I don't know for a few minutes. Nobody could understand me.
[Keep the sketchy things. They're harmless, right?]