[It was most gratifying of all to feel Mettaton's attempts at controlling himself (or at least, delaying a full thrust into his body) partially give way while Emet-Selch was still servicing his fingers. A push of the head deeper into his body, if not completely there- but more to tighten around, a step closer to being filled up once again. And it also served as an encouragement to continue with the fervency of his cleaning, spurred on by their mutual excitement in it. Though his eyes had briefly opened (for all that he could've seen was a blurry, too-close shot of his lover's hand and claws, as it changed from coated-in-come to coated-in-spit), they closed once more at the sound of his moan, his own throat longing to echo the sound.
But he swallows it back, and come with it. A sore action, certainly... but worth it, to feel Mettaton's presence once more on the inside of his throat, if due to his ejaculate, rather than his erection in itself.
Nearly as heady as the flavor overwhelming him, and his clear love of this taking of his lover's come, was the satisfaction of knowing Mettaton could watch him do it. Could see his focus, his dedication to what had been set before him, this hunger for the taste of his essence. Could feel the firm, wet brushes of his tongue over every part of his hand, and even if he'd have to imagine the heat of his mouth on his fingers, the suction was still evident, as was the dig of teeth. The drool Emet-Selch could feel against his shoulder spoke of Mettaton's approval in a way that made words unnecessary, and was a particularly pleasing thing to feel somehow, particularly when followed by his moan. Every response on his lover's part satisfied him, from the particular stiffness of his cock (and the way he had given in and stuffed it half inside him already), to the intense mouthing of his shoulder, to the way a robot could be made to shudder.
But eventually his hand was as clean as the Ascian could render it, and Mettaton wraps that hand and arm instead around his body, in a way that registered as both loving and practical, holding him in place. Emet-Selch would hum if he could, at the succession of kisses along his neck, tilting it into his lips and ignoring the protests of bitten and bruised skin. And he takes a careful breath at Mettaton's response, flickers of tension coursing through him; he swallows, still tasting him.
And he could feel how engorged he'd been made... how thick Mettaton could be, and how full he could make him. And when Mettaton begins to thrust, begins to take him, a noise tries to come from Emet-Selch's throat, distorted down into a soft, harsh rasp. It seems to be approving though, ecstatic and relieved all at once, as his hips shift back, as he squeezes hard around him as Mettaton takes him down to the root of his cock. Finally. Not that it had been that long since he'd been without... since the puca had withdrawn his length and given him permission to try to stand.
With the expected result: Emet-Selch, back onto the bed, legs parted and ass up, Mettaton fucking him once again.
But Mettaton presses down, and the Ascian gives further way to him; even if he hadn't been weakened, the robot would've gotten little resistance, deliberate or otherwise, from the man. His hands dig into the covers as he's thrust into steadily, as he's mounted and claimed another time, as though there could be any doubt at this point of who he belonged to. Come still stickied up his thighs, was spread between his ass and Mettaton's crotch, and he knew just how much his lover was currently rubbing his erection into. And that the result would only be an addition, another mess to potentially leak from him.
Mettaton laughs, and it's a delightful sound to hear from him- as were all of his noises, from sighs to gasps to moans to attempts toward speech. Everything about him was delightful, really- at the moment, at least, everything was flawless. Mettaton's face was warm against his damp shoulder, his arms were securely around him, keeping his body steady for a thorough pounding. Pushed into the bed, his breathing sharpens at the pleasure wrought at the thick, steady movements provided by his cock, the way the slope of the glans stroked him as deeply as it could reach, firm caresses he regularly clenched around, holding Mettaton's length ever tighter. Even with himself mostly collapsed under the robot, he could do this, could help massage his lover's cock with his body, could twitch backwards with his own hips, to feel him as thoroughly as he could.
That, time and again, they could fall upon each other with no less hunger was a reassurance in a way that threaded through the ache of arousal. It was inescapably warm, this sort of love.]
no subject
But he swallows it back, and come with it. A sore action, certainly... but worth it, to feel Mettaton's presence once more on the inside of his throat, if due to his ejaculate, rather than his erection in itself.
Nearly as heady as the flavor overwhelming him, and his clear love of this taking of his lover's come, was the satisfaction of knowing Mettaton could watch him do it. Could see his focus, his dedication to what had been set before him, this hunger for the taste of his essence. Could feel the firm, wet brushes of his tongue over every part of his hand, and even if he'd have to imagine the heat of his mouth on his fingers, the suction was still evident, as was the dig of teeth. The drool Emet-Selch could feel against his shoulder spoke of Mettaton's approval in a way that made words unnecessary, and was a particularly pleasing thing to feel somehow, particularly when followed by his moan. Every response on his lover's part satisfied him, from the particular stiffness of his cock (and the way he had given in and stuffed it half inside him already), to the intense mouthing of his shoulder, to the way a robot could be made to shudder.
But eventually his hand was as clean as the Ascian could render it, and Mettaton wraps that hand and arm instead around his body, in a way that registered as both loving and practical, holding him in place. Emet-Selch would hum if he could, at the succession of kisses along his neck, tilting it into his lips and ignoring the protests of bitten and bruised skin. And he takes a careful breath at Mettaton's response, flickers of tension coursing through him; he swallows, still tasting him.
And he could feel how engorged he'd been made... how thick Mettaton could be, and how full he could make him. And when Mettaton begins to thrust, begins to take him, a noise tries to come from Emet-Selch's throat, distorted down into a soft, harsh rasp. It seems to be approving though, ecstatic and relieved all at once, as his hips shift back, as he squeezes hard around him as Mettaton takes him down to the root of his cock. Finally. Not that it had been that long since he'd been without... since the puca had withdrawn his length and given him permission to try to stand.
With the expected result: Emet-Selch, back onto the bed, legs parted and ass up, Mettaton fucking him once again.
But Mettaton presses down, and the Ascian gives further way to him; even if he hadn't been weakened, the robot would've gotten little resistance, deliberate or otherwise, from the man. His hands dig into the covers as he's thrust into steadily, as he's mounted and claimed another time, as though there could be any doubt at this point of who he belonged to. Come still stickied up his thighs, was spread between his ass and Mettaton's crotch, and he knew just how much his lover was currently rubbing his erection into. And that the result would only be an addition, another mess to potentially leak from him.
Mettaton laughs, and it's a delightful sound to hear from him- as were all of his noises, from sighs to gasps to moans to attempts toward speech. Everything about him was delightful, really- at the moment, at least, everything was flawless. Mettaton's face was warm against his damp shoulder, his arms were securely around him, keeping his body steady for a thorough pounding. Pushed into the bed, his breathing sharpens at the pleasure wrought at the thick, steady movements provided by his cock, the way the slope of the glans stroked him as deeply as it could reach, firm caresses he regularly clenched around, holding Mettaton's length ever tighter. Even with himself mostly collapsed under the robot, he could do this, could help massage his lover's cock with his body, could twitch backwards with his own hips, to feel him as thoroughly as he could.
That, time and again, they could fall upon each other with no less hunger was a reassurance in a way that threaded through the ache of arousal. It was inescapably warm, this sort of love.]