[Even during the eye contact he makes with him to check his reception, Mettaton's attentions are purely sensuous and teetering on drunk. Delighted at being watched, it compels him to continue with a smile. Watching him in a state of longing and for him, even thinking about as much, causes Mettaton to shudder in return. Being desired isn't new to him, no, but having bonded in this manner with somebody in a way unlike anybody else...
If he knew he'd earned such a place with the Ascian, he'd say he knew he would. But it would be remiss to say that he didn't feel similarly, deciding he'd do whatever it took to keep him. Why would he give him up? He can justify keeping him in thousands of ways, though... fondness is at the forefront. He swallows again. Salivating is new to him, but he's decided that it's very, very welcome. It was already welcome, but this brings new appreciation for it.
Mettaton actively wonders what it must feel like, his ministrations which elicit such pleasure from Emet-Selch: it's contagious enough without feeling it for himself, and even that's a lot for the star to process. His sounds and his shivers are enough to give the android a heady rush, his attention fixed so wholly on the man beneath him and very little else. He tilts his head, drags the tip of his tongue down his shaft until he's at the very base, where he curls it around his girth and mouths him feverishly, wet and greedy, before dragging his lips back up to the very tip. With reestablished eye contact, he parts his lips and takes more yet of his length into his mouth, ambitious and wanting. His thumbs move down to Emet Selch's hips and his fingers wander in toward his soft abdomen, pressing gently. If he weren't treating his cock to his amorous treatment, he only imagines how he'd love to feel his naked body against himself right now, by far softer and warmer than himself — full of his vitality.
With his length far in enough to press at the back of his tongue, Mettaton hums; anyone with a gag reflex would be hard-pressed to achieve such a feat, but Mettaton doesn't even blink. Having his cock fill his mouth, hard and soft yet warm even against the heat of his mouth, makes Mettaton dizzy, and he trembles at the delight of it. He allows his tongue to rub along the underside of his cock, a sliding pressure that pulls gradually toward what he can reach of his head, though he has him in deep enough that there's not much space even for that.
Realizing this, Mettaton moans softly; his eye closes, his head lolls somewhat, kept in place by Emet-Selchs arousal. There's nowhere for it to go with an erection near the back of his throat, after all, but he loses himself to the pleasure of it, both in sensation and in psyche. Perhaps even Emet-Selch's fingers in his hair, or the reminder that his hand there, is enough to keep him from losing himself, and his eye cracks open as he pulls his mouth away from his erection, readjusting, then slides his mouth back down upon him.]
no subject
If he knew he'd earned such a place with the Ascian, he'd say he knew he would. But it would be remiss to say that he didn't feel similarly, deciding he'd do whatever it took to keep him. Why would he give him up? He can justify keeping him in thousands of ways, though... fondness is at the forefront. He swallows again. Salivating is new to him, but he's decided that it's very, very welcome. It was already welcome, but this brings new appreciation for it.
Mettaton actively wonders what it must feel like, his ministrations which elicit such pleasure from Emet-Selch: it's contagious enough without feeling it for himself, and even that's a lot for the star to process. His sounds and his shivers are enough to give the android a heady rush, his attention fixed so wholly on the man beneath him and very little else. He tilts his head, drags the tip of his tongue down his shaft until he's at the very base, where he curls it around his girth and mouths him feverishly, wet and greedy, before dragging his lips back up to the very tip. With reestablished eye contact, he parts his lips and takes more yet of his length into his mouth, ambitious and wanting. His thumbs move down to Emet Selch's hips and his fingers wander in toward his soft abdomen, pressing gently. If he weren't treating his cock to his amorous treatment, he only imagines how he'd love to feel his naked body against himself right now, by far softer and warmer than himself — full of his vitality.
With his length far in enough to press at the back of his tongue, Mettaton hums; anyone with a gag reflex would be hard-pressed to achieve such a feat, but Mettaton doesn't even blink. Having his cock fill his mouth, hard and soft yet warm even against the heat of his mouth, makes Mettaton dizzy, and he trembles at the delight of it. He allows his tongue to rub along the underside of his cock, a sliding pressure that pulls gradually toward what he can reach of his head, though he has him in deep enough that there's not much space even for that.
Realizing this, Mettaton moans softly; his eye closes, his head lolls somewhat, kept in place by Emet-Selchs arousal. There's nowhere for it to go with an erection near the back of his throat, after all, but he loses himself to the pleasure of it, both in sensation and in psyche. Perhaps even Emet-Selch's fingers in his hair, or the reminder that his hand there, is enough to keep him from losing himself, and his eye cracks open as he pulls his mouth away from his erection, readjusting, then slides his mouth back down upon him.]