[Lips slightly parted, eyes half-closed but fixed on him, the Ascian's breath turns to a ragged panting. He doesn't even attempt to control it; it would be a futile endeavor, and he couldn't find any inclination to want to hide the effect Mettaton was having on him. As though his responses were something to inflict.
And it ached both terribly and wonderfully, feeling spurred on by each pass of the other's tongue, the softness of lips caressing his shaft, the slickness left in the wake of Mettaton's attentions. Whenever his eye met the idol's, his pulse lurched painfully, followed by an answering pang through his cock.
In a distant sort of way- the majority of his attention remaining on the sight of much of his erection being engulfed by the other man's mouth, feeling the head of it brush against the back of his throat, the sensation of humming, of all things- Emet-Selch noted that this was one occasion where not needing to breathe had specific advantages.
Unlike himself, who needed to breathe very much, and yet still felt as though he couldn't get enough air. Softer, ever needier sounds pass from his lips without being wholly conscious of it, as his body struggles not to writhe up under him, shuddering underneath the kneading of Mettaton's hands from the effort. The Ascian's free hand digs into the covers of the bed, fingers spasming slightly, unable to find any sort of anchor there- and not really wanting to.
It was unfamiliar, to let himself be overwhelmed like this- but it was a bit of an addicting sensation. And the strangest bit reassuring.
Even that brief moment without Mettaton's mouth around his cock almost hurts from the lack, a few seconds of chill as wet, hardened skin hit the cooler air around it. There's a palpable sense of relief when that heat surrounds the length of him again, even as it's followed by intensifying need. His hand settles for clutching at Mettaton's hair, unable to muster the coordination to do more than hold onto him.]
no subject
And it ached both terribly and wonderfully, feeling spurred on by each pass of the other's tongue, the softness of lips caressing his shaft, the slickness left in the wake of Mettaton's attentions. Whenever his eye met the idol's, his pulse lurched painfully, followed by an answering pang through his cock.
In a distant sort of way- the majority of his attention remaining on the sight of much of his erection being engulfed by the other man's mouth, feeling the head of it brush against the back of his throat, the sensation of humming, of all things- Emet-Selch noted that this was one occasion where not needing to breathe had specific advantages.
Unlike himself, who needed to breathe very much, and yet still felt as though he couldn't get enough air. Softer, ever needier sounds pass from his lips without being wholly conscious of it, as his body struggles not to writhe up under him, shuddering underneath the kneading of Mettaton's hands from the effort. The Ascian's free hand digs into the covers of the bed, fingers spasming slightly, unable to find any sort of anchor there- and not really wanting to.
It was unfamiliar, to let himself be overwhelmed like this- but it was a bit of an addicting sensation. And the strangest bit reassuring.
Even that brief moment without Mettaton's mouth around his cock almost hurts from the lack, a few seconds of chill as wet, hardened skin hit the cooler air around it. There's a palpable sense of relief when that heat surrounds the length of him again, even as it's followed by intensifying need. His hand settles for clutching at Mettaton's hair, unable to muster the coordination to do more than hold onto him.]