[If he ever had doubts about Emet-Selch's desperation, he couldn't have them any longer. The bleed of their Bond is significant with their mutual drop in guard, Mettaton attuned to the vastness of his longing and ache.
But it's not as though he needs this lack of barrier to be able to tell: the Ascian's expression, his gasps for air amidst cries of pleasure, and his body language are all he'd need to be able to tell as much, but he feels it. The true expression of his passion, however, penetrates Mettaton deep to his core, and he's affected by his lust by wanting him more and more. Compared to Emet-Selch's fingers, he can feel how blazing hot his ears are from the temperature of his body, the only real indicator of how flushed he could be if it were possible.
He can hardly think straight. For being someone lacking in the same sensory opportunities, the amount of pleasure Mettaton's experiencing is enough to make him tremble and doubt his vision, but it might not be so noticeable while they're both in the throes of passion. This is compounded upon by Emet-Selch — how could he have expected for this to be so intense?
His hand now unoccupied runs up Emet-Selch's inner thigh; the hand still on his abdomen drags from his navel down to his groin. Mettaton closes his eye for a moment but finds that even if it permits him focus, he wants to... lose himself, just like Emet-Selch. He wants to take everything he can get out of him and drown in it, so his eye opens again and he drinks in the sight of Emet-Selch, every moan and falter and plead.
He pulls back far enough that his lips, tight around the other man's shaft, catch on the head, where Mettaton finds himself lapping at him and sucking in tandem, eager and wanting. It doesn't feel like much longer before he's sliding back down enthusiastically, feeling his throat's empty without Emet-Selch's cock to press into all of the delicate parts of his mouth. He swallows again, this time intentional and hard. It's impossible to take him any deeper, but Mettaton readjusts, nuzzling into him with sincerity in his pleasure.
If he wants to forget, Mettaton can only deliver. He prides himself on being an escape. He shudders against the sensation of Emet-Selch's fingers, the press of his cock in his throat, the warmth of him there and the appearance of his Bonded before him. It's so, so much, more than he'd ever bargained for, and he doesn't even hear himself as he moans against him.]
no subject
But it's not as though he needs this lack of barrier to be able to tell: the Ascian's expression, his gasps for air amidst cries of pleasure, and his body language are all he'd need to be able to tell as much, but he feels it. The true expression of his passion, however, penetrates Mettaton deep to his core, and he's affected by his lust by wanting him more and more. Compared to Emet-Selch's fingers, he can feel how blazing hot his ears are from the temperature of his body, the only real indicator of how flushed he could be if it were possible.
He can hardly think straight. For being someone lacking in the same sensory opportunities, the amount of pleasure Mettaton's experiencing is enough to make him tremble and doubt his vision, but it might not be so noticeable while they're both in the throes of passion. This is compounded upon by Emet-Selch — how could he have expected for this to be so intense?
His hand now unoccupied runs up Emet-Selch's inner thigh; the hand still on his abdomen drags from his navel down to his groin. Mettaton closes his eye for a moment but finds that even if it permits him focus, he wants to... lose himself, just like Emet-Selch. He wants to take everything he can get out of him and drown in it, so his eye opens again and he drinks in the sight of Emet-Selch, every moan and falter and plead.
He pulls back far enough that his lips, tight around the other man's shaft, catch on the head, where Mettaton finds himself lapping at him and sucking in tandem, eager and wanting. It doesn't feel like much longer before he's sliding back down enthusiastically, feeling his throat's empty without Emet-Selch's cock to press into all of the delicate parts of his mouth. He swallows again, this time intentional and hard. It's impossible to take him any deeper, but Mettaton readjusts, nuzzling into him with sincerity in his pleasure.
If he wants to forget, Mettaton can only deliver. He prides himself on being an escape. He shudders against the sensation of Emet-Selch's fingers, the press of his cock in his throat, the warmth of him there and the appearance of his Bonded before him. It's so, so much, more than he'd ever bargained for, and he doesn't even hear himself as he moans against him.]