[It's true: Emet-Selch's body is the perfect place to find himself popping another erection all over again, all of that frustrated pressure given a place to be squeezed back. There's nothing more divine than that, he thought: whether it's a body of metal or of blood, the result of arousal would lead Mettaton to some manner of pressure that would eventually evolve into something near unbearable not to stroke. It would frustrate and, if ever he were the one pinned in place and deprived of touch (something he feels a sudden surge of ferocity toward in sheer defiance of such a fate, his tail flicking at the mere consideration), it would overwhelm him. He'd be desperate and aching, his cock either pulsing with the beat of his heart or simply growing fuller and fuller as the minutes ticked by. He would arch his back, strive for even a skim of a touch just to feel some manner of satisfaction. He would struggle and squirm and seduce, he would bite and fight and work his legs until he received the relief he craved.
Mettaton didn't think he'd handle being deprived of his senses very well. He'd spiral, and in a headspace like the one he's presently in, he feels he'd be apt to lose his mind completely if he didn't get the touch he deserved.
This was favorable, then. Immediately, Mettaton's gratified with pressure, with the push of Emet-Selch's ass into his hips, and that's all he needs to find himself hardening at a rapid rate. All he needs to find his hips jerking in place, echoing that nudge with more intensity, jostling his length within Emet-Selch's body and giving him front row seats to experiencing Mettaton's inevitable arousal. So inevitable that it's coming to as each moment passes, a thickening and stiffening of his cock to fill his lover all over again with something rigid, something both to stroke and to be stroked.
They both teased each other into wanting each other's sex. Even if only one of them would end up hard and orgasming, it was still satisfying in the end. Mettaton's had his share of being on the end of finding bliss in Emet-Selch coming between his thighs, in his fingers, on his tongue; it stands that his lover would take deep pleasure in giving his body over for use, for massaging his cock to his own climax. Mettaton is enticed by decadence: given the hint of intense sensation, he can't help but indulge.
And should Emet-Selch be given freedom, Mettaton only imagines how he'd find himself dripping again. It's a thought he revisits so frequently, and with the same exact result each time: he gets hard. He gets hungry for the taste of his partner's body, in blood or saliva or sweat or skin. He wants to taste that rich come soaking his thighs, wants to taste it on Emet-Selch's mouth, but he can't even get to the point of withdrawing his cock when it lodges itself so comfortably, so erotically contained in Emet-Selch's body.
Mettaton's already down to the root of his arousal, and he soaks in the knowledge that Emet-Selch's wound around his base already, stretched to fit. He may as well belong here now. The very moment he withdrew, Emet-Selch's body would have to readjust... and how unpleasant. He grins.]
Both of us. Would... [The idol bends in to kiss at Emet-Selch's neck, following the grazing of dark, sharp nails as though applying soft lips as a balm to his touch.] —Would situate ourselves, back in our place.
[As his place is obviously with his cock, engorged and needy, stuffed inside of his lover's body. Emet-Selch's place, wrapped around a thick cock and with his legs spread about Mettaton's hips. Without his length... Sure, Emet-Selch would demonstrate all of the physical notes of being empty of such thickness. No glans to hold back the spilled come he held, no girth to fill a space made for Mettaton to fill...
Mettaton withdraws his cock half-way. What was it like, to be anywhere but in the heat of his Bonded's body...? Even this much has him repositioning again to kiss Emet-Selch, to nip at his lip with a sort of hiss through his teeth. But just as much as ever, his voice is perfect in poise: a smooth, low purr, especially given the shape and size of his desire.]
Tell me... How desperate you are. For me to fill you. For me to fuck you.
[...in truth, Mettaton's the one with the engorged erection. That doesn't at all stop him from demanding to be craved. He wants Emet-Selch's notice and wants Emet-Selch to desire him so strongly that being without was intolerable, just as much as it is for him. He nearly can't stand it: Mettaton nearly jerks his hips again, nearly needs to slam his hips to his ass to feel the whole of his cock being squeezed over as it fills, but he abstains. He lets his own darkening frustration grow willingly, two sides to a burgeoning violence impending that could only be soothed by the compliment of abject desire.
It would flatter his ego. It would tame this uncontrollable, primal need for sex, the recognition and subsequent soothing of his heat to hear Emet-Selch tell him he craves his cock, that he needs to be used and subdued, that he'd stroke and service Mettaton in moments dark and demanding and sensual just like this one.]
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[It's true: Emet-Selch's body is the perfect place to find himself popping another erection all over again, all of that frustrated pressure given a place to be squeezed back. There's nothing more divine than that, he thought: whether it's a body of metal or of blood, the result of arousal would lead Mettaton to some manner of pressure that would eventually evolve into something near unbearable not to stroke. It would frustrate and, if ever he were the one pinned in place and deprived of touch (something he feels a sudden surge of ferocity toward in sheer defiance of such a fate, his tail flicking at the mere consideration), it would overwhelm him. He'd be desperate and aching, his cock either pulsing with the beat of his heart or simply growing fuller and fuller as the minutes ticked by. He would arch his back, strive for even a skim of a touch just to feel some manner of satisfaction. He would struggle and squirm and seduce, he would bite and fight and work his legs until he received the relief he craved.
Mettaton didn't think he'd handle being deprived of his senses very well. He'd spiral, and in a headspace like the one he's presently in, he feels he'd be apt to lose his mind completely if he didn't get the touch he deserved.
This was favorable, then. Immediately, Mettaton's gratified with pressure, with the push of Emet-Selch's ass into his hips, and that's all he needs to find himself hardening at a rapid rate. All he needs to find his hips jerking in place, echoing that nudge with more intensity, jostling his length within Emet-Selch's body and giving him front row seats to experiencing Mettaton's inevitable arousal. So inevitable that it's coming to as each moment passes, a thickening and stiffening of his cock to fill his lover all over again with something rigid, something both to stroke and to be stroked.
They both teased each other into wanting each other's sex. Even if only one of them would end up hard and orgasming, it was still satisfying in the end. Mettaton's had his share of being on the end of finding bliss in Emet-Selch coming between his thighs, in his fingers, on his tongue; it stands that his lover would take deep pleasure in giving his body over for use, for massaging his cock to his own climax. Mettaton is enticed by decadence: given the hint of intense sensation, he can't help but indulge.
And should Emet-Selch be given freedom, Mettaton only imagines how he'd find himself dripping again. It's a thought he revisits so frequently, and with the same exact result each time: he gets hard. He gets hungry for the taste of his partner's body, in blood or saliva or sweat or skin. He wants to taste that rich come soaking his thighs, wants to taste it on Emet-Selch's mouth, but he can't even get to the point of withdrawing his cock when it lodges itself so comfortably, so erotically contained in Emet-Selch's body.
Mettaton's already down to the root of his arousal, and he soaks in the knowledge that Emet-Selch's wound around his base already, stretched to fit. He may as well belong here now. The very moment he withdrew, Emet-Selch's body would have to readjust... and how unpleasant. He grins.]
Both of us. Would... [The idol bends in to kiss at Emet-Selch's neck, following the grazing of dark, sharp nails as though applying soft lips as a balm to his touch.] —Would situate ourselves, back in our place.
[As his place is obviously with his cock, engorged and needy, stuffed inside of his lover's body. Emet-Selch's place, wrapped around a thick cock and with his legs spread about Mettaton's hips. Without his length... Sure, Emet-Selch would demonstrate all of the physical notes of being empty of such thickness. No glans to hold back the spilled come he held, no girth to fill a space made for Mettaton to fill...
Mettaton withdraws his cock half-way. What was it like, to be anywhere but in the heat of his Bonded's body...? Even this much has him repositioning again to kiss Emet-Selch, to nip at his lip with a sort of hiss through his teeth. But just as much as ever, his voice is perfect in poise: a smooth, low purr, especially given the shape and size of his desire.]
Tell me... How desperate you are. For me to fill you. For me to fuck you.
[...in truth, Mettaton's the one with the engorged erection. That doesn't at all stop him from demanding to be craved. He wants Emet-Selch's notice and wants Emet-Selch to desire him so strongly that being without was intolerable, just as much as it is for him. He nearly can't stand it: Mettaton nearly jerks his hips again, nearly needs to slam his hips to his ass to feel the whole of his cock being squeezed over as it fills, but he abstains. He lets his own darkening frustration grow willingly, two sides to a burgeoning violence impending that could only be soothed by the compliment of abject desire.
It would flatter his ego. It would tame this uncontrollable, primal need for sex, the recognition and subsequent soothing of his heat to hear Emet-Selch tell him he craves his cock, that he needs to be used and subdued, that he'd stroke and service Mettaton in moments dark and demanding and sensual just like this one.]