[Even if Mettaton had no breath to catch, no pulse to reach a more moderate tempo, the awareness of him being overcome, a robotic body made to pause, however briefly, was something that the Ascian still found himself enchanted by. Stroking his body, head tilted against his- Emet-Selch was content, the feeling quiet and deep. There was a kind of timelessness to the moment, a feeling as though nothing could ever possibly intrude on it, on them. How could anything bear to interrupt them like this, lost in each other's arms and bodies and souls? If a sudden onlooker were given the immense privilege of seeing them at this instant, their tenderness and love would be so apparent that every record of blood and torn skin could never be misconstrued as anything but an extension of their devotion to one another.
And Mettaton's reply has him still, breath pausing, feeling as though even his heart is made to falter, his own body to weaken further. Mettaton was often effusive with his words, with speaking in general, and it was something Emet-Selch had come around to appreciating in him. But this was sweeter and vivid both, and the kind of thing that leaves him with a flicker of a smile of his own, deeply touched.
It didn't matter if Mettaton's efforts to press their foreheads together only meant that their good eyes couldn't meet, could see as little as their blind or unfinished ones. He leans up into it, nudges their noses together.]
All of them...?
[It would've been a quiet murmur if it could've been a murmur to begin with; instead it's only mouthed against his lips. But it seems to have been a statement to both soften and warm him, and the Ascian continues his response with a kiss, just as gentle. Both in an answer to Mettaton's own kiss as well as adding his own, gentle brushes of lips and unmistakable tenderness. Inescapable affection, the sort of thing Emet-Selch thought he could wrap around him as a shield, as though Mettaton weren't already enveloping him so thoroughly (and as though he weren't enveloping him in turn). But it was a feeling he thought he could return to in future, that could provide a kind of comfort even when they were apart, a memory of this warmth.
Though at the moment he couldn't imagine ever being apart from him, not when he was so close, when he had his lips and his cock and the rest of his body resting on him or within him. Not when he had his feelings- so very, very clear, and the kind of sentiment he still shivers at accepting. At- reciprocating.
But when he could feel Mettaton's own smile at his lips, could feel his momentary calm and satisfaction through Bond, it felt the smallest bit less impossible. Above all, it felt worth it.
Mettaton asks how he is, and Emet-Selch pauses to consider his thoughts, if not to gather his voice. There's little sound at all in his reply, a bare whisper to accompany the movement of his lips against his Bonded's.]
--Better for this. For you.
[Both from the process of being fucked, of still carrying Mettaton's erection inside his body- and from just remaining in his company. Bitten and clawed up, his body repeatedly used, spent and weakened and sore, soreness that would only increase once he had a chance to cool down- yet feeling far improved from his original condition. In general, he had been feeling less alone in Mettaton's presence, but it was an awareness emphasized with his lover's markings writ so starkly upon his body. All of his senses carried Mettaton's essence in them; how could he be completely alone when this was so clear?]
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And Mettaton's reply has him still, breath pausing, feeling as though even his heart is made to falter, his own body to weaken further. Mettaton was often effusive with his words, with speaking in general, and it was something Emet-Selch had come around to appreciating in him. But this was sweeter and vivid both, and the kind of thing that leaves him with a flicker of a smile of his own, deeply touched.
It didn't matter if Mettaton's efforts to press their foreheads together only meant that their good eyes couldn't meet, could see as little as their blind or unfinished ones. He leans up into it, nudges their noses together.]
All of them...?
[It would've been a quiet murmur if it could've been a murmur to begin with; instead it's only mouthed against his lips. But it seems to have been a statement to both soften and warm him, and the Ascian continues his response with a kiss, just as gentle. Both in an answer to Mettaton's own kiss as well as adding his own, gentle brushes of lips and unmistakable tenderness. Inescapable affection, the sort of thing Emet-Selch thought he could wrap around him as a shield, as though Mettaton weren't already enveloping him so thoroughly (and as though he weren't enveloping him in turn). But it was a feeling he thought he could return to in future, that could provide a kind of comfort even when they were apart, a memory of this warmth.
Though at the moment he couldn't imagine ever being apart from him, not when he was so close, when he had his lips and his cock and the rest of his body resting on him or within him. Not when he had his feelings- so very, very clear, and the kind of sentiment he still shivers at accepting. At- reciprocating.
But when he could feel Mettaton's own smile at his lips, could feel his momentary calm and satisfaction through Bond, it felt the smallest bit less impossible. Above all, it felt worth it.
Mettaton asks how he is, and Emet-Selch pauses to consider his thoughts, if not to gather his voice. There's little sound at all in his reply, a bare whisper to accompany the movement of his lips against his Bonded's.]
--Better for this. For you.
[Both from the process of being fucked, of still carrying Mettaton's erection inside his body- and from just remaining in his company. Bitten and clawed up, his body repeatedly used, spent and weakened and sore, soreness that would only increase once he had a chance to cool down- yet feeling far improved from his original condition. In general, he had been feeling less alone in Mettaton's presence, but it was an awareness emphasized with his lover's markings writ so starkly upon his body. All of his senses carried Mettaton's essence in them; how could he be completely alone when this was so clear?]