[And with his Bondmate just where he wants him, Mettaton eases himself between his legs, at first drawing his body close to the other man's — but not quite touching. The temptation to press into him already is overbearing, and it takes great self-restraint to hold back. If he did, he'd lose himself to it. Undressing him is just as tantalizing, so it's not a hard diversion. A necessary one, at that.
Emet-Selch's "assistance" only serves to charm Mettaton, particularly when he intercepts and distracts himself with Mettaton's body. He can't wait to have him close once more, can he? Mettaotn smirks with a fond hum, and even rewards such behavior with a kiss to his neck here, or hard presses of his fingertips along his body there — but the Ascian wouldn't go without deliberate contact on Mettaton's part, who craves his body more and more with each passing moment. Seeing Emet-Selch rendered so vulnerable only heightens this craving, and that feeling snowballs the lss and less there is to cover him up.
...He'd seen what they did to people. Even where Mettaton has tissue and synthetic skin, they'd employed some similar tactics: he recognizes it as cruelly investigative. Mettaton traces a finger down the scar that spans his throat down, his eyes flicking up to watch Emet-Selch's face. These wouldn't heal, and the impact from the event itself... A pang of sympathy overcomes the Puca. Emet-Selch is too vulnerable to hanging onto such horrors, just like he is, but with his bleak outlook he wonders how badly it haunts him. Even for Mettaton, dauntless as he behaved, the experience changed him in ways he won't acknowledge.
His pants. Beyond those scars, the cyborg finds it impossible to wait a moment longer to get to touching his skin as he so desires. Mettaton moves to remove those quickly, eagerly, but not before ending his initial survey with a kiss into Emet-Selch's abdomen. Among beholding the entire rest of his body with a wide-eyed gaze, he fixes his attention on his injured leg and shakes his head in disbelief. His voice continues low, as if for Emet-Selch's ears only, though he idly brings a finger to rest against his own lower lip out of fascination with his body.]
I can't believe you. You know, darling... I'd have gladly taken you to bed far earlier, injury or not. Besides. I'm simply taken by you...
[He anchors his hands against Emet-Selch's hips. That means for all the times that he stood to meet him, he was doing it on a leg this injured. What a ridiculous man...
But while talking about his leg is a real concern of MTT's, it's also a thinly veiled excuse to stare at Emet-Selch's body, unabashed, long and hungry for every detail. It's... shocking, unfamiliar, but so recognizable to him, and he wants it. His fingers trace down from his hips to brush against the length of Emet-Selch's arousal, hardly able to contain his desire, his curiosity to experience how he's affected.]
no subject
Emet-Selch's "assistance" only serves to charm Mettaton, particularly when he intercepts and distracts himself with Mettaton's body. He can't wait to have him close once more, can he? Mettaotn smirks with a fond hum, and even rewards such behavior with a kiss to his neck here, or hard presses of his fingertips along his body there — but the Ascian wouldn't go without deliberate contact on Mettaton's part, who craves his body more and more with each passing moment. Seeing Emet-Selch rendered so vulnerable only heightens this craving, and that feeling snowballs the lss and less there is to cover him up.
...He'd seen what they did to people. Even where Mettaton has tissue and synthetic skin, they'd employed some similar tactics: he recognizes it as cruelly investigative. Mettaton traces a finger down the scar that spans his throat down, his eyes flicking up to watch Emet-Selch's face. These wouldn't heal, and the impact from the event itself... A pang of sympathy overcomes the Puca. Emet-Selch is too vulnerable to hanging onto such horrors, just like he is, but with his bleak outlook he wonders how badly it haunts him. Even for Mettaton, dauntless as he behaved, the experience changed him in ways he won't acknowledge.
His pants. Beyond those scars, the cyborg finds it impossible to wait a moment longer to get to touching his skin as he so desires. Mettaton moves to remove those quickly, eagerly, but not before ending his initial survey with a kiss into Emet-Selch's abdomen. Among beholding the entire rest of his body with a wide-eyed gaze, he fixes his attention on his injured leg and shakes his head in disbelief. His voice continues low, as if for Emet-Selch's ears only, though he idly brings a finger to rest against his own lower lip out of fascination with his body.]
I can't believe you. You know, darling... I'd have gladly taken you to bed far earlier, injury or not. Besides. I'm simply taken by you...
[He anchors his hands against Emet-Selch's hips. That means for all the times that he stood to meet him, he was doing it on a leg this injured. What a ridiculous man...
But while talking about his leg is a real concern of MTT's, it's also a thinly veiled excuse to stare at Emet-Selch's body, unabashed, long and hungry for every detail. It's... shocking, unfamiliar, but so recognizable to him, and he wants it. His fingers trace down from his hips to brush against the length of Emet-Selch's arousal, hardly able to contain his desire, his curiosity to experience how he's affected.]