[It's a fine reward, the movement of Mettaton's cock. Not a reminder of how it felt inside him, but a demonstration of it, of his lover's response to him, of how perfectly they fit. Of how well they both were situated like this, with the Ascian's legs apart and his hips lifted, with Mettaton kneeled nicely between them, for such convenient movement, for easy access and control over his partner's body. A beautiful sort of union, Emet-Selch would have to agree, Mettaton dripping with diamonds and his lover's blood, and the Ascian dripping with his own blood and the come of them both. A work of art, something that did deserve to be admired from every angle... for all that they would have to settle with what they could see of each other, and what they could feel.
And Mettaton could lean close too, could kiss him; another pleasure, another way their bodies could mingle, could attend to one another. Emet-Selch feels his lip sucked upon, the sort of thing that would've normally drawn a moan, but only some pale remnants of one manage to emerge. Licking back at his lips, there was the heady, and always reassuring, reminder of how often they came to taste of one another, be it from saliva or come, or his own blood. They were never shy about sharing it with each other; another sense to inundate, to claim, along with everything else.
When Mettaton pulls back to speak again, Emet-Selch nearly tries to follow him with his lips, his breathing quicker. A state that shows no sign of easing with the robot grinding his crotch against his ass, showing off how they were connected, how deeply he was pressed, and how thoroughly he had him. It's certainly a feeling to have the Ascian squeeze at his length again with a sharper breath, conscious of every part of him. Of how his entrance was stretched so tightly around the very base of him, as close to the root as Mettaton could go, giving him truly all of his cock. And how thickly he filled him out as he stretched along inside him, all the way to the engorged tip, which both forced him just that bit wider around him, while also being a place that could be squeezed that much tighter. And he knew, whenever Mettaton did thrust, that he'd feel that head making space for itself with every shove of his hips, and that his body would be made to mold itself around him.
Altogether, they brought sensations to lose himself in, and it didn't matter how spent Emet-Selch was in body, he'd always enjoy this. The heaviness of cock and form, a truly delectable hardness to clench around, to feel him massage him so intimately- the intimacy alone is something he'd never pass up, the feeling of this heat and connection. And of everything surrounding it: his lover's obvious pleasure and arousal, every sound he made, every shudder and jerk, the way he moved in both desperation and release.
A small shudder disrupts his breathing further as he considers it, as he tries to push his ass somehow harder against against hips he was already flush to, that Mettaton was already rubbing firmly against, stirring the stiff length inside him with each moment.]
It's. [Something worth trying to speak on, anyway, looking up at him with rapt intention. Attention. Affection. Love for him and for these sensations.] What I want, as well.
[And how much he still wanted him; that part hadn't dimmed at all, that need for every bit of him- and something worth telling him, despite the pain in his throat. The desire he still felt for him, despite the inability to carry an erection of his own to show it with.]
This use. Your body. Your-- [Though the way he clenches around him is deliberate, the sound he makes as he does so is not, choked and pleased and wanting all the same. And though his eyes are half-lidded, they still observe him, gaze heated.] Your come. Until- until I'm running over with it. Even then--
[The rest is lost, as he swallows again, flinching at the increased rawness of a throat further agitated.]
no subject
And Mettaton could lean close too, could kiss him; another pleasure, another way their bodies could mingle, could attend to one another. Emet-Selch feels his lip sucked upon, the sort of thing that would've normally drawn a moan, but only some pale remnants of one manage to emerge. Licking back at his lips, there was the heady, and always reassuring, reminder of how often they came to taste of one another, be it from saliva or come, or his own blood. They were never shy about sharing it with each other; another sense to inundate, to claim, along with everything else.
When Mettaton pulls back to speak again, Emet-Selch nearly tries to follow him with his lips, his breathing quicker. A state that shows no sign of easing with the robot grinding his crotch against his ass, showing off how they were connected, how deeply he was pressed, and how thoroughly he had him. It's certainly a feeling to have the Ascian squeeze at his length again with a sharper breath, conscious of every part of him. Of how his entrance was stretched so tightly around the very base of him, as close to the root as Mettaton could go, giving him truly all of his cock. And how thickly he filled him out as he stretched along inside him, all the way to the engorged tip, which both forced him just that bit wider around him, while also being a place that could be squeezed that much tighter. And he knew, whenever Mettaton did thrust, that he'd feel that head making space for itself with every shove of his hips, and that his body would be made to mold itself around him.
Altogether, they brought sensations to lose himself in, and it didn't matter how spent Emet-Selch was in body, he'd always enjoy this. The heaviness of cock and form, a truly delectable hardness to clench around, to feel him massage him so intimately- the intimacy alone is something he'd never pass up, the feeling of this heat and connection. And of everything surrounding it: his lover's obvious pleasure and arousal, every sound he made, every shudder and jerk, the way he moved in both desperation and release.
A small shudder disrupts his breathing further as he considers it, as he tries to push his ass somehow harder against against hips he was already flush to, that Mettaton was already rubbing firmly against, stirring the stiff length inside him with each moment.]
It's. [Something worth trying to speak on, anyway, looking up at him with rapt intention. Attention. Affection. Love for him and for these sensations.] What I want, as well.
[And how much he still wanted him; that part hadn't dimmed at all, that need for every bit of him- and something worth telling him, despite the pain in his throat. The desire he still felt for him, despite the inability to carry an erection of his own to show it with.]
This use. Your body. Your-- [Though the way he clenches around him is deliberate, the sound he makes as he does so is not, choked and pleased and wanting all the same. And though his eyes are half-lidded, they still observe him, gaze heated.] Your come. Until- until I'm running over with it. Even then--
[The rest is lost, as he swallows again, flinching at the increased rawness of a throat further agitated.]