[Hearing his own name on Emet-Selch's voice, especially with his break in composure, clearly affects Mettaton, who reflexively squirms with few other outlets for his delight, a soft whine in his throat. He presses, rubs his thighs together, startles himself with the sensation and twitches, before readjusting again. Everybody says his name, but it never stops him from the thrill of hearing it, especially on Emet-Selch's desperation.
His head lolls, dizzied, and he presses his forehead to Emet-Selch's temple to pull himself together.]
Ah—
[He thought he'd reached the ceiling for how overwhelmed he could be, and it disappointed him that his body would impose so many restrictions on his pleasure. He's thrilled that it could surpass that yet, and it's good enough to distract him from his earlier longing for a more conventional body. Now, he can't bring himself to focus on any one source of undeniable pleasure. It's his cock between his legs and the way that Emet-Selch tries to shift his hips to drag along his body; the sound of his Bonded's voice, low and familiar and betraying his dissolving composure; the way he looks because he really can't get enough of the Ascian; and above much else, the sound of him rapt with pleasure, moans and stutters and gasps.
The whole experience, then, is what he slips into, and Mettaton moans, loud and ended by the sound of him pressing his teeth together. As his entire body shudders, he unconsciously presses his thighs together as his muscle tenses significantly. Just as Mettaton feels he could find himself missing the feeling of having his throat full of Emet-Selch, he distinctly notes how badly he'll feel he's missing something more from between his legs, were he to pull away.
He doesn't want that; the idol gives Emet-Selch a number of deliberate squeezes between his thighs and while he has control over the pressure, he can't stop from tensing or trembling. He wants to feel Emet-Selch always; the robot presses a feverish kiss to Emet-Selch's jaw and lingers there, swallowing down another noise.
Opening his eye, seeing his Bonded's face, pulling back enough to appreciate him, and Mettaton can't help raising a hand to run his fingers through the shock of white hair. It reminds him of what he told of himself earlier, who he is beyond the body he sees, even while he appreciates its form. Drinking in his neck, his expression, and his unfocused gaze, Mettaton returns to his neck, his voice deep and playful.]
What you look like... Is only ahh— a reflection of wh-what you've done to me, Hades...
[So he deserves it. Eye for an eye. With another good squeeze of his cock between his thighs and the deliberate roll of his hips, Mettaton moves to press his lips to Emet-Selchs in one of their many impassioned kisses.]
no subject
His head lolls, dizzied, and he presses his forehead to Emet-Selch's temple to pull himself together.]
Ah—
[He thought he'd reached the ceiling for how overwhelmed he could be, and it disappointed him that his body would impose so many restrictions on his pleasure. He's thrilled that it could surpass that yet, and it's good enough to distract him from his earlier longing for a more conventional body. Now, he can't bring himself to focus on any one source of undeniable pleasure. It's his cock between his legs and the way that Emet-Selch tries to shift his hips to drag along his body; the sound of his Bonded's voice, low and familiar and betraying his dissolving composure; the way he looks because he really can't get enough of the Ascian; and above much else, the sound of him rapt with pleasure, moans and stutters and gasps.
The whole experience, then, is what he slips into, and Mettaton moans, loud and ended by the sound of him pressing his teeth together. As his entire body shudders, he unconsciously presses his thighs together as his muscle tenses significantly. Just as Mettaton feels he could find himself missing the feeling of having his throat full of Emet-Selch, he distinctly notes how badly he'll feel he's missing something more from between his legs, were he to pull away.
He doesn't want that; the idol gives Emet-Selch a number of deliberate squeezes between his thighs and while he has control over the pressure, he can't stop from tensing or trembling. He wants to feel Emet-Selch always; the robot presses a feverish kiss to Emet-Selch's jaw and lingers there, swallowing down another noise.
Opening his eye, seeing his Bonded's face, pulling back enough to appreciate him, and Mettaton can't help raising a hand to run his fingers through the shock of white hair. It reminds him of what he told of himself earlier, who he is beyond the body he sees, even while he appreciates its form. Drinking in his neck, his expression, and his unfocused gaze, Mettaton returns to his neck, his voice deep and playful.]
What you look like... Is only ahh— a reflection of wh-what you've done to me, Hades...
[So he deserves it. Eye for an eye. With another good squeeze of his cock between his thighs and the deliberate roll of his hips, Mettaton moves to press his lips to Emet-Selchs in one of their many impassioned kisses.]