Vulnerability aches. Mettaton rides his own pleasure down — he has no point of climax, just a moment where he's beyond his senses, apparently, and everything from there would serve only to pull him deeper. It's the warmth of an open wound that he feels, distantly, but it is comforting. His weight will have to do in place of holding him. He knows he should pull off of him, but something keeps him there, pressed against Emet-Selch and reluctant to move.
It brings a smile to his lips at Emet-Selch's lack of control, fascinated by how wrecked he is, what such passion would do to the other man, but he makes no comment on it. Mettaton leans into his touch, raising a hand to press it gently atop Emet-Selch's like a reminder of how to be firm. Or maybe, just to show how much he appreciates the gesture, as difficult as it seems to have been for him to do it. Or maybe yet, just to be touched.
He kisses Emet-Selch again, tender and loving. In moments like these, Mettaton is transparent. How terrible, that he'd feel so strongly about Emet-Selch. But it's also delightful. Is it the lingering effects of their mingling Bond, or does he sincerely feel such ache? Or maybe this is just how it feels after having sex, or how a Bond should make one feel.
And yet, with that ache, Mettaton also feels light. Warm. Like nothing else. What a mess he's found himself in.
He gives Emet-Selch more moments yet, simply holding him and occasionally peppering his jaw, his cheek, or his neck with a kiss. Load up on that affection, because that's 100% what drives these amorous gestures.]
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Vulnerability aches. Mettaton rides his own pleasure down — he has no point of climax, just a moment where he's beyond his senses, apparently, and everything from there would serve only to pull him deeper. It's the warmth of an open wound that he feels, distantly, but it is comforting. His weight will have to do in place of holding him. He knows he should pull off of him, but something keeps him there, pressed against Emet-Selch and reluctant to move.
It brings a smile to his lips at Emet-Selch's lack of control, fascinated by how wrecked he is, what such passion would do to the other man, but he makes no comment on it. Mettaton leans into his touch, raising a hand to press it gently atop Emet-Selch's like a reminder of how to be firm. Or maybe, just to show how much he appreciates the gesture, as difficult as it seems to have been for him to do it. Or maybe yet, just to be touched.
He kisses Emet-Selch again, tender and loving. In moments like these, Mettaton is transparent. How terrible, that he'd feel so strongly about Emet-Selch. But it's also delightful. Is it the lingering effects of their mingling Bond, or does he sincerely feel such ache? Or maybe this is just how it feels after having sex, or how a Bond should make one feel.
And yet, with that ache, Mettaton also feels light. Warm. Like nothing else. What a mess he's found himself in.
He gives Emet-Selch more moments yet, simply holding him and occasionally peppering his jaw, his cheek, or his neck with a kiss. Load up on that affection, because that's 100% what drives these amorous gestures.]
How are you? [Does he need to get off now?]