[The allowance this position gives toward kissing Emet-Selch might be a favored aspect of it, his ability to give him kiss after kiss so long as he stretched his own form along the torso of his lover, clutching him close and kissing him silly. Even the imagining of it is enough to make Mettaton sigh...
But his lover has words to give him, struggled though they are. Anything he'd wish to make so known must be important, and Mettaton's ears lean forward in his interest — even though "forward" from this angle just means "down," and following gravity. He keeps his eye locked with Emet-Selch's, adoration to meet adoration, even if it's given in different shades of it: there's still want, there's still desire, and there's always heat, but there's a hunger in Mettaton's gaze, a look that has only evolved in intensity ever since he first set eyes upon the Ascian's body. Something that went from involved curiosity and developed into a fierce, unabashed gratification, a comprehensive access to his lover's body. The look belonging to someone who would kiss and suck and bite the whole of the body beneath him. And what Emet-Selch says pleases him greatly.
Greatly is an understatement. Mettaton doesn't need help having a vivid imagination, but to hear his lover speak it aloud for them both to envision together... It does something to him, and he's clinging in his mind to use, to filling his lover full of his ejaculate until he's spilling over with it, come seeping from him in what could be a humiliating display, but is anything but, to Mettaton. It's erotic and springs him directly into wanting. The mere thought stirs his hips, spurs him to thrusting harder.
But it also causes the Puca to fulfill his other desire: to capture Emet-Selch back in a kiss. When his throat gives in, why leave his lips unoccupied?
The idol stoops in to press his lips to Emet-Selch's, another tender kiss that manages to be hotter than the last, but just as wet, just as open-mouthed and wanting. Sucking into his lower lip and flirting with it with tongue, Mettaton pulls back only for a short utterance.]
Your desires... match mine. You did so well. [A short press of a kiss, just to punctuate that fondness.] Say... no more. I'll have you fulfilled...
[It's a desire he wants to see to actualization. He wants to fuck Emet-Selch so much that he feels it for days, wants to fill him so thoroughly that it's indecent. He wants the reminder of him to be worn in and on his body, and if his Bonded craved his come, if he craved this use and his body, Mettaton would be the best equipped to handle those desires.
Even as his kisses resume, so too do his hips continue a rhythmic, deep rocking, feeling with more definition and prominence the way his lover's body tightens around his cock and pulls upon the head of him. He doesn't hold back a moan to demonstrate his pleasure at it all, turning tender kisses into purely indulgent ones, open-mouthed and without restriction. Tongue, teeth, the backdrop of a heavy cock slipping and dragging along Emet-Selch so deep inside, feeling the squeeze of him firm and tight along his shaft with each pass. Rolling thrusts turn into deepening curls of his abdomen, something that requires no muscle at all to perform as he shoves the tip of his erection against his Bonded with enough deliberation and direction to pull a gasp from him, a shudder, a desperate kiss.
Boiled down, these sensations with this intensity registers as intimacy to Mettaton, too. This is something he could only achieve with Emet-Selch, and he adores this company, this willing offering of each other and how readily they take to each other's bodies kissing and spreading their legs, fondling their erections and biting necks, groping and touching and enjoying each other's use and pleasure. Like this, he's sure Emet-Selch will only get a rush off of the Puca's use and pleasure in taking Emet-Selch's body. But they also loved each other, saw to it that each of them took delight in their use and pleasure... And when they wanted something, the other would see to that desire in full, an excessive catering to each other that it ends up becoming a mutual want.
Who could match him better? Who would want to be filled so thoroughly by Mettaton but his lover? Emet-Selch just told him all of the ways he wanted him, and Mettaton wanted to please. He wants... him, terribly.
Already, he massages his cock on Emet-Selch's body, rubbing and kneading the glans and the shaft both against the tensing of the man beneath him. He sighs and trembles at the sensation, forced to interrupt their kiss with how overwhelmingly wonderful it feels; he soaks in every minute fire of sensation, the way it registers, and just what he needs to do to achieve it. That he was already stretched to fit Mettaton is another point of pleasure, that he found his length buried inside of him even as he stiffened another. He can't get enough of him.
For a moment, Mettaton stops kissing Emet-Selch on his own: his tongue is withdrawn and his lips remain pressed so gently to Emet-Selch's, a shuddering, heated exhalation escaping his body, betraying immense heat within. His gaze, though not visible to Emet-Selch this close, is heavy: while he thrusts, while Emet-Selch's fingers remain against the blackened fur along his back, he invites Emet-Selch to dedicate himself to kissing, some outlet for this sort of intimate pleasure. But in case he finds himself wanting direction, Mettaton smiles, speaking amidst thrusts that rock their bodies.]
no subject
But his lover has words to give him, struggled though they are. Anything he'd wish to make so known must be important, and Mettaton's ears lean forward in his interest — even though "forward" from this angle just means "down," and following gravity. He keeps his eye locked with Emet-Selch's, adoration to meet adoration, even if it's given in different shades of it: there's still want, there's still desire, and there's always heat, but there's a hunger in Mettaton's gaze, a look that has only evolved in intensity ever since he first set eyes upon the Ascian's body. Something that went from involved curiosity and developed into a fierce, unabashed gratification, a comprehensive access to his lover's body. The look belonging to someone who would kiss and suck and bite the whole of the body beneath him. And what Emet-Selch says pleases him greatly.
Greatly is an understatement. Mettaton doesn't need help having a vivid imagination, but to hear his lover speak it aloud for them both to envision together... It does something to him, and he's clinging in his mind to use, to filling his lover full of his ejaculate until he's spilling over with it, come seeping from him in what could be a humiliating display, but is anything but, to Mettaton. It's erotic and springs him directly into wanting. The mere thought stirs his hips, spurs him to thrusting harder.
But it also causes the Puca to fulfill his other desire: to capture Emet-Selch back in a kiss. When his throat gives in, why leave his lips unoccupied?
The idol stoops in to press his lips to Emet-Selch's, another tender kiss that manages to be hotter than the last, but just as wet, just as open-mouthed and wanting. Sucking into his lower lip and flirting with it with tongue, Mettaton pulls back only for a short utterance.]
Your desires... match mine. You did so well. [A short press of a kiss, just to punctuate that fondness.] Say... no more. I'll have you fulfilled...
[It's a desire he wants to see to actualization. He wants to fuck Emet-Selch so much that he feels it for days, wants to fill him so thoroughly that it's indecent. He wants the reminder of him to be worn in and on his body, and if his Bonded craved his come, if he craved this use and his body, Mettaton would be the best equipped to handle those desires.
Even as his kisses resume, so too do his hips continue a rhythmic, deep rocking, feeling with more definition and prominence the way his lover's body tightens around his cock and pulls upon the head of him. He doesn't hold back a moan to demonstrate his pleasure at it all, turning tender kisses into purely indulgent ones, open-mouthed and without restriction. Tongue, teeth, the backdrop of a heavy cock slipping and dragging along Emet-Selch so deep inside, feeling the squeeze of him firm and tight along his shaft with each pass. Rolling thrusts turn into deepening curls of his abdomen, something that requires no muscle at all to perform as he shoves the tip of his erection against his Bonded with enough deliberation and direction to pull a gasp from him, a shudder, a desperate kiss.
Boiled down, these sensations with this intensity registers as intimacy to Mettaton, too. This is something he could only achieve with Emet-Selch, and he adores this company, this willing offering of each other and how readily they take to each other's bodies kissing and spreading their legs, fondling their erections and biting necks, groping and touching and enjoying each other's use and pleasure. Like this, he's sure Emet-Selch will only get a rush off of the Puca's use and pleasure in taking Emet-Selch's body. But they also loved each other, saw to it that each of them took delight in their use and pleasure... And when they wanted something, the other would see to that desire in full, an excessive catering to each other that it ends up becoming a mutual want.
Who could match him better? Who would want to be filled so thoroughly by Mettaton but his lover? Emet-Selch just told him all of the ways he wanted him, and Mettaton wanted to please. He wants... him, terribly.
Already, he massages his cock on Emet-Selch's body, rubbing and kneading the glans and the shaft both against the tensing of the man beneath him. He sighs and trembles at the sensation, forced to interrupt their kiss with how overwhelmingly wonderful it feels; he soaks in every minute fire of sensation, the way it registers, and just what he needs to do to achieve it. That he was already stretched to fit Mettaton is another point of pleasure, that he found his length buried inside of him even as he stiffened another. He can't get enough of him.
For a moment, Mettaton stops kissing Emet-Selch on his own: his tongue is withdrawn and his lips remain pressed so gently to Emet-Selch's, a shuddering, heated exhalation escaping his body, betraying immense heat within. His gaze, though not visible to Emet-Selch this close, is heavy: while he thrusts, while Emet-Selch's fingers remain against the blackened fur along his back, he invites Emet-Selch to dedicate himself to kissing, some outlet for this sort of intimate pleasure. But in case he finds himself wanting direction, Mettaton smiles, speaking amidst thrusts that rock their bodies.]
Kiss me.