[The attempt to murmur a reply it all is all Mettaton really needs, even if a kiss hadn't followed it. Sloppy kissing, in itself, wasn't at all a misfortune: it meant the spreading of saliva and the chances to kiss each other in ways different from lips, sometimes finding themselves kissing corners of lips or rolling to chins, kissing slightly off the mark and sucking at upper lips or cheeks. It was fun, if anything, Mettaton always thought: cute, endearing, on both of their behalves, and he smiles, making it that much more difficult to properly kiss each other.
There was... immense intimacy between them. Holding each other in this very romantic sense, divorced completely from any form of casual sex as could have been passed off for their first encounters - though Mettaton feels even those were intimate, an exploration of character and battling of resistance to get to the heart of him. Even so, they hold each other by shoulders and around bodies, with claws and tender fingertips. They face each other, separated only by a layer of jewels that could hardly be called separating, with Emet-Selch in a position so prone and available, Mettaton posed in a similarly suggestive mounting of him. That it would be suggestive couldn't begin to cover how thoroughly Mettaton has his cock inserted into his lover, slid in to his hips and comfortably lodged so thickly, so deeply within. Their position surpasses intimacy, but Mettaton thought it had much more to do with the way they kissed each other.
So when Emet-Selch takes to pulling him ever closer, to kiss him with an ounce more coordination, with the slip of tongue and the proper press of lips, Mettaton can't even complain. He sinks into it, into him, parting lips and coaxing forth his tongue with his own, making room for it, welcoming Emet-Selch with equal desire, a wanting in body and equal parts in company. The tilt of his head and the press of his chest, he gladly takes the depth of Emet-Selch's kiss with obvious eagerness. Where the flames of libidinous heat could have swallowed him whole, Mettaton's been tempered into something no more chaste, but more contained, inviting his kiss with a greediness for his company and his attention.
A small, pleased noise slips Mettaton's lips under Emet-Selch's attention as he tastes him, recognizes him as his own, the blend of their mouths still starkly similar from so much engagement, sloppy or otherwise. As if they could close any distance whatsoever, Mettaton finds himself nuzzling further into the kiss, nestling his body into Emet-Selch's with a tight, deliberate shift of his figure to express the comfort he's found there, in his presence and his hold. In his body, filling it and taking it, and part of that physical attraction's made to flare back to life when he deliberately shifts his hips to show off his cock.
He's not as rigid and hot, in the process of relaxing as he is. But he remains deep, remains pressing into him so that none of the hot come he'd deposited could escape. At the same time, Mettaton shifts his hips back just a touch, flirting with the idea of withdrawing and considering the way his release would dribble down the planes of Emet-Selch's lovebitten thighs... It's a thought to heat him up, an already hot mouth hotter in manner when he sucks on Emet-Selch's tongue with another sighing sound of pleasant delight.
There aren't words to accompany it all, but aside from the love he feels, there's so much Mettaton feels for Emet-Selch. Trust is a big one, and one he'd held for him from the start. Contentedness, comfort, the full disclosure of his self and anything that hurts or heals him. The want to know all of Emet-Selch's heart and to be trusted with it, and the dreadful, intense attraction he has for the other man. In body, yes, but also in manner and action, the way he sounds when he speaks or the way he looks at him, the expressions he makes and the way he feels in emotion. So raw, so intense... Mettaton loves all of him, even when there are parts - big parts - he disagrees with.
He doesn't speak while they're at work kissing each other like this, but his fingers curl into his shoulder. The one he has holding his bicep shifts, and he worms his hand beneath Emet-Selch's head to tangle fingers and claws in dark hair. Sharp nails graze along his neck in the process, a gentle scratching as he finds further leveraging to press into their kiss, to run his tongue along Emet-Selch's and to suck every so often, wanting and expressing that want for him to remain. For Emet-Selch to keep him, and for Emet-Selch to be kept by Mettaton.]
no subject
There was... immense intimacy between them. Holding each other in this very romantic sense, divorced completely from any form of casual sex as could have been passed off for their first encounters - though Mettaton feels even those were intimate, an exploration of character and battling of resistance to get to the heart of him. Even so, they hold each other by shoulders and around bodies, with claws and tender fingertips. They face each other, separated only by a layer of jewels that could hardly be called separating, with Emet-Selch in a position so prone and available, Mettaton posed in a similarly suggestive mounting of him. That it would be suggestive couldn't begin to cover how thoroughly Mettaton has his cock inserted into his lover, slid in to his hips and comfortably lodged so thickly, so deeply within. Their position surpasses intimacy, but Mettaton thought it had much more to do with the way they kissed each other.
So when Emet-Selch takes to pulling him ever closer, to kiss him with an ounce more coordination, with the slip of tongue and the proper press of lips, Mettaton can't even complain. He sinks into it, into him, parting lips and coaxing forth his tongue with his own, making room for it, welcoming Emet-Selch with equal desire, a wanting in body and equal parts in company. The tilt of his head and the press of his chest, he gladly takes the depth of Emet-Selch's kiss with obvious eagerness. Where the flames of libidinous heat could have swallowed him whole, Mettaton's been tempered into something no more chaste, but more contained, inviting his kiss with a greediness for his company and his attention.
A small, pleased noise slips Mettaton's lips under Emet-Selch's attention as he tastes him, recognizes him as his own, the blend of their mouths still starkly similar from so much engagement, sloppy or otherwise. As if they could close any distance whatsoever, Mettaton finds himself nuzzling further into the kiss, nestling his body into Emet-Selch's with a tight, deliberate shift of his figure to express the comfort he's found there, in his presence and his hold. In his body, filling it and taking it, and part of that physical attraction's made to flare back to life when he deliberately shifts his hips to show off his cock.
He's not as rigid and hot, in the process of relaxing as he is. But he remains deep, remains pressing into him so that none of the hot come he'd deposited could escape. At the same time, Mettaton shifts his hips back just a touch, flirting with the idea of withdrawing and considering the way his release would dribble down the planes of Emet-Selch's lovebitten thighs... It's a thought to heat him up, an already hot mouth hotter in manner when he sucks on Emet-Selch's tongue with another sighing sound of pleasant delight.
There aren't words to accompany it all, but aside from the love he feels, there's so much Mettaton feels for Emet-Selch. Trust is a big one, and one he'd held for him from the start. Contentedness, comfort, the full disclosure of his self and anything that hurts or heals him. The want to know all of Emet-Selch's heart and to be trusted with it, and the dreadful, intense attraction he has for the other man. In body, yes, but also in manner and action, the way he sounds when he speaks or the way he looks at him, the expressions he makes and the way he feels in emotion. So raw, so intense... Mettaton loves all of him, even when there are parts - big parts - he disagrees with.
He doesn't speak while they're at work kissing each other like this, but his fingers curl into his shoulder. The one he has holding his bicep shifts, and he worms his hand beneath Emet-Selch's head to tangle fingers and claws in dark hair. Sharp nails graze along his neck in the process, a gentle scratching as he finds further leveraging to press into their kiss, to run his tongue along Emet-Selch's and to suck every so often, wanting and expressing that want for him to remain. For Emet-Selch to keep him, and for Emet-Selch to be kept by Mettaton.]