[It was strange how annoying Mettaton's voice could be sometimes (if due to his words rather than the actual sound), and yet hearing him talk like this now was incredibly arresting. He wouldn't have been surprised if the sound alone would've been enough to arouse him, to set his pulse speeding. Emet-Selch wondered distantly if these experiences would leave him with a more permanently positive impression of his voice, even in more mundane contexts. Hopefully that wouldn't become awkward, he thinks, as his hands stroke slowly over Mettaton's sides, with far more gentleness than the need in his body would seem to indicate.
The brush of a tongue against newly claimed skin sets off a smaller shiver. And when Mettaton's lips close over him again, feeling that tighter suction near his neck marring his skin, the Ascian can only gasp, feeling an immediate rush of warmth. These would be much better marks, even in their impermanence, much better than unwanted scars. Though he couldn't see them for himself, Emet-Selch can well imagine the shades his skin must have turned, even the thought having him moan, short and intense, between breaths. Would he be aroused at the sight of them later, he also wondered....
Pressed down as he is, his hips can do no more than twitch upwards against Mettaton's thighs, taking what small friction he could from it, even if it were against metal rather than skin. His cock seemed entirely undaunted by its less-than-organic surroundings. And not being able to do more than writhe and shudder was nearly exhilarating to the Ascian in how unusual it felt; what should've been alarm converted wholly into a desire for more of it. As though being so wonderfully and slowly crushed was an outcome to wish for.
To feel and especially hear Mettaton's own responses, to know he was not unaffected- has his breath hitch, his hands interrupting their exploration of his Bonded's sides to clutch at him, in reassurance or encouragement, he's not certain. Likely both. Clearly reveling in being so wanted, and wanting Mettaton ever more in return.]
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The brush of a tongue against newly claimed skin sets off a smaller shiver. And when Mettaton's lips close over him again, feeling that tighter suction near his neck marring his skin, the Ascian can only gasp, feeling an immediate rush of warmth. These would be much better marks, even in their impermanence, much better than unwanted scars. Though he couldn't see them for himself, Emet-Selch can well imagine the shades his skin must have turned, even the thought having him moan, short and intense, between breaths. Would he be aroused at the sight of them later, he also wondered....
Pressed down as he is, his hips can do no more than twitch upwards against Mettaton's thighs, taking what small friction he could from it, even if it were against metal rather than skin. His cock seemed entirely undaunted by its less-than-organic surroundings. And not being able to do more than writhe and shudder was nearly exhilarating to the Ascian in how unusual it felt; what should've been alarm converted wholly into a desire for more of it. As though being so wonderfully and slowly crushed was an outcome to wish for.
To feel and especially hear Mettaton's own responses, to know he was not unaffected- has his breath hitch, his hands interrupting their exploration of his Bonded's sides to clutch at him, in reassurance or encouragement, he's not certain. Likely both. Clearly reveling in being so wanted, and wanting Mettaton ever more in return.]