[How could he have anticipated even a degree of this...? The Ascian's fingers squeeze intermittently at the puca's ears without realizing, noting only the heat of the skin underneath soft fur, one more point of absolute warmth touching him, yet another note to be drowned and stained by. To suffocate fully: nothing less would do, nothing else would drive the world back--
It was the depth of that combination that finally does it. The sight of his cock being taken fully by the other man's mouth. The softness of tongue and lips, the tightness of Mettaton's throat squeezing him. The overwhelming heat and wetness of it, the stroke of a hand across his thigh. The sounds, both his own, and whatever he could make out from the idol, even stifled by the cock in his mouth, but that much more arresting for it. The way their Bonds had bled together without the Ascian even realizing- shaken by how Mettaton was responding to him in turn.
Not that Emet-Selch couldn't have guessed either, due to everything else he was witnessing, but to feel it as well--
It was inevitable. Being pushed to the edge like this, there's nothing he can do to hold back, no way to stop himself from being dragged over, losing the last remnants of control as his release takes him. The Ascian's body convulses beneath Mettaton, back arching, legs shaking, head thrown back without even realizing it. And the sound he makes- it's surprisingly low, perhaps, and interrupted by irregular gasps for breath- but completely open, containing nothing but the intensity of all that was running through him. Rather than satisfied or relieved, it's a sound of hurt, raw and bordering on despair. That's what strong emotions were like. He's unsure how long it all lasts. He's unsure of much of anything, really.
When it finally begins to fade, Emet-Selch collapses, half-conscious, deafened by the blood rushing through his head, unable to stop himself from trembling.]
no subject
It was the depth of that combination that finally does it. The sight of his cock being taken fully by the other man's mouth. The softness of tongue and lips, the tightness of Mettaton's throat squeezing him. The overwhelming heat and wetness of it, the stroke of a hand across his thigh. The sounds, both his own, and whatever he could make out from the idol, even stifled by the cock in his mouth, but that much more arresting for it. The way their Bonds had bled together without the Ascian even realizing- shaken by how Mettaton was responding to him in turn.
Not that Emet-Selch couldn't have guessed either, due to everything else he was witnessing, but to feel it as well--
It was inevitable. Being pushed to the edge like this, there's nothing he can do to hold back, no way to stop himself from being dragged over, losing the last remnants of control as his release takes him. The Ascian's body convulses beneath Mettaton, back arching, legs shaking, head thrown back without even realizing it. And the sound he makes- it's surprisingly low, perhaps, and interrupted by irregular gasps for breath- but completely open, containing nothing but the intensity of all that was running through him. Rather than satisfied or relieved, it's a sound of hurt, raw and bordering on despair. That's what strong emotions were like. He's unsure how long it all lasts. He's unsure of much of anything, really.
When it finally begins to fade, Emet-Selch collapses, half-conscious, deafened by the blood rushing through his head, unable to stop himself from trembling.]