[It had been hard to be looked at like that and not touched; that for all of Mettaton's new rabbitine features, it felt like being appraised by something far more predatory. As though on the verge of being devoured in a less literal sense. While viewing such a fate as... wanted, somehow.
Had the Ascian expected any of this when he'd made that bet with the puca, while broken, bleeding, and awaiting death? Not even remotely. And though he'd never regretted the pact or its consequences, he was coming to realize that he would choose to maintain it, regardless of its potential practical value. That this Bond had... some sort of different value of its own.
...How strange, to feel as though in the process of being claimed. And why did it reassure him? Not that Emet-Selch was disinclined to dig his figurative claws into Mettaton in return.
He doesn't quite cry out, but he makes a choked sound nonetheless, an exhalation that shudders through him. The sudden presence of lips and tongue at his cock had come as a small surprise, for some reason, his next breath escaping as a low, pleased-sounding groan. His legs on either side of him tremble slightly, as Emet-Selch shifts up a little to watch Mettaton more readily.
Not that he found it easy to look at him- the sight of the other's mouth sucking at the tip of him, the way his tongue slid over sensitive, heated skin- it was nearly as intense as the feeling of it. Normally he didn't have much trouble watching this sort of thing, if he cared to bother at all- but this time the Ascian had to fight the impulse to look aside or keep his eyes closed. But he didn't want to miss a moment of it either, to pair sight with sensation, to remember them both.
And Emet-Selch had a very good memory.
Though they had stilled at the first stroke of tongue, his fingers settle further in Mettaton's hair, fingertips rubbing small, faintly unsteady circles against his scalp.]
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Had the Ascian expected any of this when he'd made that bet with the puca, while broken, bleeding, and awaiting death? Not even remotely. And though he'd never regretted the pact or its consequences, he was coming to realize that he would choose to maintain it, regardless of its potential practical value. That this Bond had... some sort of different value of its own.
...How strange, to feel as though in the process of being claimed. And why did it reassure him? Not that Emet-Selch was disinclined to dig his figurative claws into Mettaton in return.
He doesn't quite cry out, but he makes a choked sound nonetheless, an exhalation that shudders through him. The sudden presence of lips and tongue at his cock had come as a small surprise, for some reason, his next breath escaping as a low, pleased-sounding groan. His legs on either side of him tremble slightly, as Emet-Selch shifts up a little to watch Mettaton more readily.
Not that he found it easy to look at him- the sight of the other's mouth sucking at the tip of him, the way his tongue slid over sensitive, heated skin- it was nearly as intense as the feeling of it. Normally he didn't have much trouble watching this sort of thing, if he cared to bother at all- but this time the Ascian had to fight the impulse to look aside or keep his eyes closed. But he didn't want to miss a moment of it either, to pair sight with sensation, to remember them both.
And Emet-Selch had a very good memory.
Though they had stilled at the first stroke of tongue, his fingers settle further in Mettaton's hair, fingertips rubbing small, faintly unsteady circles against his scalp.]