[Mettaton takes that kiss like a lifeline, breath for something which doesn't breathe, Emet-Selch's energy contagious and mingling with his own insatiable appetite. Hearing his voice alone, deep and wanting, causes Mettaton to shiver.
His raw desires shared with Emet-Selch, the ones he can't possibly fulfill, Mettaton reminds himself that there's much else he could do to please and be pleased in turn. That Emet-Selch should want him with such fervor, reciprocating his need for more, it's dizzying. Whether that's having him inside of him or vice versa, it's all enough to make Mettaton forget how to kiss for a moment. As soon as he regains his wit, the Monster only deepens that kiss eagerly.
Mettaton wanted to drown in this experience, and he comes about as close as limitations allow, he supposes. Demonstrated his desperation for it, anyway. Isn't that why he'd hoped for something that could bypass the limitations of his body? It's clear that he'd benefit greatly from such adjustments, if only it were possible. He'd do it simply to gratify himself, to feel the Ascian sit atop his length and sink into him, to take him for himself... and more.
A lot of desire and imagining happening right here, as he runs through appealing mental images: Emet-Selch's lips closed around his arousal, pushed in deep enough to edge dangerously with the back of his throat. Another approach to seeing the Ascian rendered breathless, and he craves that in this moment, humming against Emet-Selch's lips. The Puca's made to withdraw his hand for a moment just to wipe away at errant drool at the corner of his lip, mid-kiss. He's a very covetous-sort; he lets his weight sink into his Bondmate. Any time he hears the other man's voice it's an invitation to give himself; it's becoming second nature to lean in when he hears him, to grow amorous and wanting just at the mere sound of it. A similar thought strikes him: how will that affect him in other situations?
The only fortune is the uptick in nerve sensitivity his inner thighs have. He presses his thighs gently into each other around Emet-Selch's cock, stuttering yet another gasp and finding it warm, thick, and firm against his touch. At the very least it provides him with a nice surprise, and he hums at what he feels, imagining the feeling of his cock deep in his throat again.
Mettaton kisses Emet-Selch religiously, making sure that he knows he's his. Where one kiss is deep and involves his tongue, another is a series of shorter ones; here and there, he kisses along his jaw, or finds fascination with the one earring he wears with his teeth.]
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His raw desires shared with Emet-Selch, the ones he can't possibly fulfill, Mettaton reminds himself that there's much else he could do to please and be pleased in turn. That Emet-Selch should want him with such fervor, reciprocating his need for more, it's dizzying. Whether that's having him inside of him or vice versa, it's all enough to make Mettaton forget how to kiss for a moment. As soon as he regains his wit, the Monster only deepens that kiss eagerly.
Mettaton wanted to drown in this experience, and he comes about as close as limitations allow, he supposes. Demonstrated his desperation for it, anyway. Isn't that why he'd hoped for something that could bypass the limitations of his body? It's clear that he'd benefit greatly from such adjustments, if only it were possible. He'd do it simply to gratify himself, to feel the Ascian sit atop his length and sink into him, to take him for himself... and more.
A lot of desire and imagining happening right here, as he runs through appealing mental images: Emet-Selch's lips closed around his arousal, pushed in deep enough to edge dangerously with the back of his throat. Another approach to seeing the Ascian rendered breathless, and he craves that in this moment, humming against Emet-Selch's lips. The Puca's made to withdraw his hand for a moment just to wipe away at errant drool at the corner of his lip, mid-kiss. He's a very covetous-sort; he lets his weight sink into his Bondmate. Any time he hears the other man's voice it's an invitation to give himself; it's becoming second nature to lean in when he hears him, to grow amorous and wanting just at the mere sound of it. A similar thought strikes him: how will that affect him in other situations?
The only fortune is the uptick in nerve sensitivity his inner thighs have. He presses his thighs gently into each other around Emet-Selch's cock, stuttering yet another gasp and finding it warm, thick, and firm against his touch. At the very least it provides him with a nice surprise, and he hums at what he feels, imagining the feeling of his cock deep in his throat again.
Mettaton kisses Emet-Selch religiously, making sure that he knows he's his. Where one kiss is deep and involves his tongue, another is a series of shorter ones; here and there, he kisses along his jaw, or finds fascination with the one earring he wears with his teeth.]