glitzandglamour: (💣102)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-07 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[To be received so readily has Mettaton sighing into his claim, tonguing and tasting him to his pleasure. The robot's hands move from Emet-Selch's hips to his waist as he pulls him down, atop him, but it's not for long. He releases his neck, switching to a starved tonguing of his body.

His grip on the Ascian firms. The muscles in his body all tense at once, and his hands slide to wrap around both his back and his waist before he rolls their figures over so that Emet-Selch is the one on his back. Mettaton's lips remain at his neck, ready to continue his work as he pulls his arms out from underneath the other man. Loathe to pull his body away from his, he remains pressed full-bodily to Emet-Selch, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat at the mere sensation of his figure sinking into the body beneath him. Sinking and pressing, hips locked together, chests flush, and the hardness of their erections nestled up against each other firmly.

His hips shudder at the realization of contact, and Mettaton takes another deep bite of Emet-Selch's neck as he rocks his hips. Pleasure escapes from his throat at the friction, at the fizzy taste of metallic blood that coats his lips and tongue. It's a viciousness not born of jealousy against abstract constructs this time, but a viciousness born of the gravity of his want and the craving for all of him, in every form.

And both situations remain laden heavy with love.

Even as his teeth sink deep, his tongue runs along his skin from the confines of his mouth. He withdraws, kisses enough to tint his lips, and licks, tongue broad and firm as he tries to clean all evidence of wound from his shoulder. His sigh is shuddering as his arms, flanking either side of Emet-Selch's, tremble against the mattress.

He sighs again. Breathes in his scent that mingles with blood and the scent of himself, the way he's claimed his lover so often that he can catch the hints of himself on his Bonded even after a time away. A thorough job at possession, but not yet enough. Primal claim takes him, and he grips down onto Emet-Selch, rolling his hips into the other man. His arousal is so firm against his own, and as his vision darkens, he wonders if he's remembering to breathe...?

So he takes a sharp inhale. That's better.

The Puca trails kisses along his jaw, lips still decorated in blood. He raises his body enough to look Emet-Selch in the eye, a grin pulling on his features as he consumes not just his skin and his blood, but his the way he looks beneath him. His voice is low and breathless, interrupted by gasps for air. Breathing has to happen, but in his indulgence, he scarcely remembers to do it save for on reflex to... live, basically.]


I've decided... Yes. Since. You're here. I may as well make you... You belong to me. Everything.

[Mettaton's finger traces his neck. He has so much more yet to do. So much more skin available to mark. His thighs, his shoulders, his hips... Everywhere for everyone to see. Everywhere hidden is entirely for Emet-Selch, a private reminder of what's Mettaton's. His visage darkens hungrily at the notion of claim. Mettaton decides then and there that he's going to fill his lover with his cock: a claim by filling, by sinking into him with more than just teeth.]
glitzandglamour: (💣124)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
[All along, Mettaton had been finding himself wanting. Coveting the Ascian's form, but coveting his body, too. Wanting him down to his soul and his every memory, from the parts he enjoys to the parts that unsettle him. It's so easy to want to take and keep somebody else...

But for the most fleeting of moments, the weight of his Bonded's demand interrupts Mettaton's spiraling fever, a madness provoked by blood and pleasure both. For it to jar him from that, at least, means he's being forced to examine its weight. His pulse spikes.]


All...

[His voice is carried on a breath between them, his body instinctively, habitually pressing into Emet-Selch. And when he takes stock of that, of everything his Bonded means to him... What a thing to consider. But he'd been thinking it all night and for longer than that, hadn't he? The only difference is the weight of the suggestion. The desire to be seen and known and that invitation on the idols part For Emet-Selch to keep him and use him and distract him and consume him.

Yes, it's easy to want the whole of Emet-Selch, to have and to fill with himself, to know every bit of him and have his soul. But having that desire returned in such concrete terms, that hunger and demand evident on his Bonded's expression...

Mettaton takes a sharp breath. He drinks in the sight of him beneath him, that threat balanced perfectly with the love of it, and he wonders if this manner of panic is anything like the way Emet-Selch felt when Mettaton told him he loved him. There's a fleeting notion to bounce and flee... As though the notion of keeping him is some kind of confinement. But why would he flee? Where would he go? Right back to Emet-Selch, because against sense, he loves him.

Panic is swallowed up by the heat of that desire and love, incinerated completely. He knows Emet-Selch, and he knows Mettaton. And they love each other. It's reassuring. His smile blooms.

Time resumes, and Mettaton's body reacts even before his mind can catch up, knowing best of all what he wants. Mettaton leans for his Bonded with his smile renewed, still sensual but loving. His intuition has already decided for him: Emet-Selch has the whole of him. Not even a minute or two ago, he guaranteed every bit of himself to this man, didn't he? He says this all the time, and Mettaton speaks his heart, even when he doesn't realize it. He has no reason to doubt himself. He knows himself and knows that there isn't a person out there who could match this intensity, and this is something worth breaking his heart over. Something worth losing himself to. If Mettaton wants to mark Emet-Selch as raw and deep as he desires, it would only take the whole of his very soul to do it. It would take submitting to this solidity that Emet-Selch presents before him.

His exhale this time is shaky as he teases his lips against Emet-Selch's, half-lidded and finding himself intoxicated this time on... possession. Refocusing on their Bond, he feels that expectation and demand that mingles with his despair. This close to his lover, their Bond is so open that he can feel the pressure of his soul bound to his own.

Mettaton's voice is as heavy but soft, just for Emet-Selch to hear.]


All of me... for all of you.

[His own intensity flares to life to match this depth he hears in Emet-Selch's voice. A depth to his heights. He's made to pay special attention to the press of their bodies, the way he can feel his own heartbeat thudding in his throat, his breathing hard from their mounting passion, and a mirror of it from his Bonded's body. Though he hovers close to Emet-Selch's lips, he waits for his move after running this tongue along his lower lip, fingers digging into skin, a note of pleasure slipping from his throat as his hips shift again. To press his weight into him for reassertion of that claim upon his body and soul. To claim Emet-Selch now is to give himself over, after all.]
glitzandglamour: (💣125)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 12:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[All of the impending intensity he knew lurked beneath the surface of that demand crashes upon his own heart, just as he expected it would. He wasn't sure what manner of depth he was feeding, but it feels as if he's chanced upon a deepness unknown and unprecedented. But it's as he says: it's the whole of him. The whole of him exposed, a step further in meeting in the center, where even their Bond couldn't communicate anything further for them. It's the whole of him, his entire essence, and Mettaton easily gives himself over to that. His soul belongs to him, with every emotion and inclination.

And there's an eagerness to the star's manner, even in regard to these terrifying new depths of his Bonded's vulnerability. Mettaton closes his eyes and indulges in that kiss, a firm yet fragile thing, gladly letting Emet-Selch keep his head close to his lips. Mettaton kisses in patterns, finding his own breathing is too shallow for him to kiss him until he suffocates.

The way he presses his lips to Emet-Selch's, however, is with a manner of reassurance. He feels it all: a pain, but a comfort found. His Bonded usually feels in such duality, and he wants nothing more but to maximize that feeling of comfort. He reciprocates that nuzzle with an ascending hum, warm and filling ever more with love and affection as he probes the new dimension of their feelings for one another — feelings already there, but laid out more openly. He sighs, smitten and dreamy.

He feels like he's on fire with how hot his body burns. He shifts, squirms, restless and wanting, even as he sighs into soft, fleeting kisses that begin to drift to other parts of Emet-Selch's face in his love for him. He moves enough for his arm to frame the side of the Ascian's head, sliding fingers through locks of hair as he kisses along Emet-Selch's temple and drifts to his hairline. More attempts to reassure and comfort when he feels hurt through their connection, and an attempt to take his lover's soul with his own. Stability and a brimming presence are what Mettaton offers in this moment, his fingers tangling firm in his hair.

Drifting back to his lips, Mettaton plants a kiss there with a smile.]


I love... you.

[His voice is syrupy, slurred and hot. Without meaning to, his hips rock gently as he covets more and more, even as he focuses on his Bonded's well-being over all else. It causes him to take a shaky breath, a soft, slight moan escaping from his lips at his slipping control.]
glitzandglamour: (💣011)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-08 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[Hearing him say as much, even despite the turbulence of his emotions, brings a brighter smile to Mettaton's expression. This is why he likes to talk and ask and pry even if he can feel his Bonded's feelings, because he can take these torrential emotions and fine-tune them into some words that Emet-Selch would spare for them. A better understanding of his own processes, and immensely helpful in understanding him. And while Mettaton acknowledges the guilt and the ever-present hurt, those things were a part of Emet-Selch. If Emet-Selch's sentiment here was to love him back, even if (or especially if) it was such a struggle to put it to words, it puts all else into perspective. It's what Mettaton decides every other sensation is a backdrop to.

Humming a laugh, his own mood brightens. It's okay that they're on such different wavelengths: it's not an act intended to be offensive, that Mettaton himself swings toward pleased and energetic while Emet-Selch lingers with his usual hurt, but just his own state. And really, he loves him. And each sound Emet-Selch makes even beyond his voice feeds Mettaton, an upsurge in his desire desire for the Ascian when it was already difficult to ignore the pulse of his arousal.

The delectable blend of lust and love he feels at the quality of his voice and the feeling of his fingertips upon his face against all else... Who could he attain these peaks of intensity with? No, more than that: who would he want this with more than him?

Passion ignited further than good sense should allow, Mettaton's body aches for him to pay attention to more than just emotional satisfaction, though that drives his method and deliberation. He takes his Bonded in another kiss, one firm and betraying his feeling in overflow as he takes his lower lip and gives it a suck, then a swipe of his tongue. He shifts his leg, forcibly breaking from the kiss with a hiss from the ache he feels for him, and though he's trying to reach for a bedside table, the monster gets distracted by... Emet-Selch's neck again.

His blood's been set to dry, but he leans down to lick his shoulder up to his neck anyway, taking what he can. Even the suggestion of taste makes his head spin, and he hungers for it... but it's a good thing that he can only access this much, at least to keep his head clear.

Mettaton gropes for lube without looking, attention entirely on Emet-Selch. He's prepared this time, as suggested. His tone remains sweet but low, always carried on a voice impossibly smooth.]


And since you're mine... I'll see to it. That you're taken care of.

[Regrettably, Mettaton has to shift from his spot pressed flush to Emet-Selch's body. He realizes that he didn't entirely succeed in getting his pants all the way off, which is seconds worth of frustration spent pulling them the rest of the way off. Not a big loss, in any sense, especially for the result. With that matter settled, Mettaton hums, smiling down upon Emet-Selch as he hikes up one of his legs to encourage him to wrap it around his hip.

The other could follow once Emet-Selch gets the hint.

Before he gets to any kind of work on preparing them (a sorely needed step, he recalls), he teases his intent by showing Emet-Selch how he envisions their bodies by shifting up to give him another kiss. His erection slides against skin, and Mettaton maneuvers himself to press directly against his lover's cock. Whenever he gets both of his legs wrapped around his hips, access would be easy, and the idol knows it.]


What do you think? Is this... hah... [Well, what Mettaton thinks of this position is evident. His hips jerk impatiently.] A... Agreeable, darling?
glitzandglamour: (💣099)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
Hmmm.

[Tone warm, the Puca brushes his lips against Emet-Selch's as he pays mind to the sensation of his hands along his side, warm and soft and pleasant against his skin. There's much to pay attention to, and much to do, more than he could pack into a single night, even. But this, right now, is "just about acceptable." That means...]

Wonderful. Then I'll work at... At winning your complete approval.

[And Mettaton knows he'll do it. There's no question: he's too confident and too decisive.

He kisses Emet-Selch once more and tries not to get too caught up in that, knowing he could kiss him to death once he was properly positioned. And looking forward to it, too. In this, his kiss, too, is a tease: firm, but fleeting, like a promise more than an actual fulfillment. He could kiss him and bite him and enjoy him more and more as the minutes passed, though the way his cock brushes against Emet-Selch's at all is enough to drive him mad, enough to nearly distract him for keeps when he almost reaches for their lengths. But he bites his tongue: he's reaching for lube, and has other work to do. An exhale.

Bracing his body upon his elbows and tensed muscle to remain above Emet-Selch's body, Mettaton gets to work. In his haste and with lube freshly on fingers, he decides to start with his own cock first — a mistake on a body too unaccustomed to temperature for him to grab his length with cold slickness when he's otherwise so hot. He jolts, and even yelps at the contact.]


Oh—! Ah... [Unpleasant. Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eyes, wide-eyed and clearly shocked.] It's just— cold, I wasn't expecting that.

[A laugh: mildly embarrassed, but not terribly. And then, a flash of a smile. Because if he could endure that coldness, if he could keep working on himself... By the time he gets to preparing Emet-Selch, he'll have only warmed fingers and lube to spare for his Bonded. His smile becomes heated, and he comes up with another brilliant idea.

With Emet-Selch's legs still locked around his hips, he rears up enough for his body to be visible to the man lying before him. His body, from hips to shoulders, is bared for Emet-Selch to see entirely, and lube drips down the shaft of his arousal where he'd made contact but flinched away. Mettaton grips onto his own cock, eyes locked with Emet-Selch's as he decides to allow his Bonded to watch him work: a graphic sort of show to put on in preparation for his lover. His fingers drag along the length of his arousal, leaving behind a slick sheen in his ministrations. Mettaton sighs, dazed and hungry in the way he regards the other man while he prepares his length. As his fingers warm against skin and the temperature of the lube begins to warm with the friction, he can only exhale shakily as he gives himself a few more pulls of his hand, biting his lower lip to stay with it and keep focused even while gasps turn to breathy, soft moans and his gaze veers drunk on feeling. Fingers crest over the head and coat the tip liberally, thumb and forefinger meeting to run a circle over the tip.

His fingers travel down the underside of his length and disappear lower, past his own body, smile mischievous as his warmed fingers suddenly press against Emet-Selch's entrance, completely slick as he rubs a digit into him to start with. He hums, taking stock of his Bonded's response to this surprise switch.]
glitzandglamour: (💣121)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 11:17 am (UTC)(link)
[All Mettaton could ask for is someone reactive to him, with full authenticity in response. As much as he delights in being watched and craved, witnessing Emet-Selch's reactions to him fulfills him deeply, smile growing as a deep-seated warmth takes root in his heart. Just as he was both pleasuring and preparing, Mettaton's both interested and priming, learning about his beloved's body so intimately. The Monster leans his body closer in such a manner that has muscles tense, ready to move onto the next step while soaking in this moment for all it's worth.

His eyelid drops a mark and he hums, wanting to kiss him stupid again... But, business first. Untangled as they are, his own gaze follows Emet-Selch's body prostrate before him with a critical eye, yet entirely approving of what he sees: a slight tilt of his head backwards and an edge to his smile that suggests pride, of all things.

Relentlessly, however, his finger works at him. It's only one to begin with, but he pushes in and draws back, only to repeat, slow drags and application of lubricant where he can. Coupled with curl a finger, ever so slight. And he pulls back, barely pulling his fingertip out from him when he presses a second fingertip in next, a gradual shifting and massaging of his body to coax him to allow another slick digit: this one with a focus on coating his entrance.

His free hand reaches for Emet-Selch's cock, teasing his length with a brush of fingertips along its length. Following him from root, to tip: and there, at the glans, he gently pinches him between forefinger and thumb. It's all in the name of his teasing: he doesn't do much more beyond this save for apply increasing pressure to the head of his lover's arousal, a tender sort of rub that grows more firm as the seconds pass. None of it nearly enough to get off on or lose himself to, but all of it a suggestion, a priming for more.]


You... are exactly how I want to see you, Hades-darling. Deciding how I want you most of all. That's the h... hard part, in this.

[There are a couple of hard parts. But that's in a more literal sense.

Releasing Emet-Selch's arousal from under Mettaton's thumb, his fingers skim along his Bonded's inner thigh. Mettaton's other hand continue to work at Emet-Selch, trying to get him to take to the intrusion of his fingers. It's only when he begins to feel him relax at all that he withdraws, suddenly and without warning. A low, scarcely restrained growl leaks from Mettaton's throat as he grips down on the girth of his own arousal and leans forward, free hand coaxing Emet-Selch's leg to return to wrapping securely around his hip.

The Puca guides the slick head of his cock to the Ascian's entrance this time, pushing with urgency against his lover — almost enough to sink in.

It's clear this is because he can hardly take waiting any longer. His breathing is hard, and Mettaton towers over Emet-Selch, hands upon his hips — and gripping down, anchoring him in place, the suggestion of a thrust clear in the tensing of every muscle in his body. A thrust intended to penetrate. And with his hands where they are, he could only force him down upon him with more power, if he wanted. His gaze is possessive and desirous, unrestrained as he swallows around all that he wants.

But he spares these moments to measure his Bonded's response, his absolute craving for everything about him clear as day in their Bond. His body, his essence, his blood, his lips, his attention, his magic, his soul, and his love, all wanted and demanded by the robot.]
glitzandglamour: (💣135)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[Transfixed upon his form, Mettaton captures the quality of Emet-Selch's voice as if desperate to replay it later, this thorough wanting of him that extends beyond his body and form, even if it targets such. Because really, he's an entity beyond all of these shapes he takes. He's never liked to consider that even for a moment, and it's always made him feel misaligned. Somehow, he's gained a power that allows him to really transcend physical form, making him into a truly malleable entity. Somehow, he's made a friend who could make him feel he's beyond any of it, and to be at home in that knowledge more than anything. Any body he could take is his, after all.

Through his ecstasy he has room in his heart for this fondness he feels for the Ascian, and it softens the edges of his smile even while he craves what he can take out of Emet-Selch's body. What it means to this man to take him so thoroughly and to give his own essence back, some way to prove that he sees him and is with him. His fingers grip down, and Mettaton uses the leverage of his position to push his length inside of his Bonded.

It's nowhere near the same as without lubricant, he notices first and foremost. On the Puca's end of things, his cock, slick and positioned just right, has the ability to push well beyond the head in one firm motion: not hurried or harsh, but Mettaton takes advantage of Emet-Selch's body and the smooth access by sliding as much of his length inside of him as his body will allow from him in one pass. It knocks the wind out of him, and Mettaton stutters over sound, settling on a sharp inhale followed by a sigh of a moan. Giving him this much of his length in one go was to give as much of his body to Emet-Selch as possible, at first. But the very moment Mettaton felt his lover's body tight around the head of his cock, it quickly devolved into a heady, primal desire to have the whole of his arousal squeezed, urgently.

And he nearly closes his eyes under the pressure of it, lips parted and not quite realizing that he keeps gasping, only to let what air he's regained slip from him in a pleasurable noise. But he can't look away from the Ascian. The very addition of his pleasurable craving compounded upon has him ending his first plunge into his body with a sharp thrust of his hips to sink deeper yet. Mettaton's upper body sways with the sheer delight of the feeling, mouthing a weak moan that robs him of whatever air he has left in his lungs. But he can't look away.

With Emet-Selch tight around much of his length, he unhands his hips and drops his forearms closer to his upper body, taking a shuddering breath. He wants nothing more than to kiss him for all he's worth.]


H... Hades, H... Oh...

[He's still trying to gasp for air, but that doesn't mean he's regained any sense. Arousal stuffed inside of his Bonded, he tries to kiss him and misses his lips in the dizzying pleasure of sensation - and in the dizzying loss of air and neglect to take any of it back. He finally takes in one good suck of air by reflex alone, but it's immediately converted into a moan of pleasure and desire.

He shifts his hips and stutters around the sensation, kissing Emet-Selch's cheek desperately.]
glitzandglamour: i just thought you should know. (💣109)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-09 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[He hums against skin, that moment of reprieve where he takes stock of his lover and listens to his every sound and feels for his every movement and lets his feelings wash over him. And what he gleans of him earns Emet-Selch a kiss (or three) against his cheek: he's pleased at all of his want and every sense the Ascian can cloud of his with himself, shifting closer with a shiver.

A shiver, because the tightening of Emet-Selch's legs draws his body closer and forces his muscles to contract, causes his body to set off into a series of short, gentle thrusts even as he tries for stillness. As foreign and new as this form is to him (and for as appropriate as it is in feeling), it knows what it needs to get Mettaton the sensuality he desires. And can Mettaton fault himself? So he succumbs at least to those slight jerks of his hips even while he tries to regard his Bonded, a short laugh at his own neediness the only apology he has to spare on the front of his slip in control. An allowance of some measure to tide himself over while he tries for composure.

Not composure for no reason. Mettaton pushes himself up from Emet-Selch's cheek to smile down at him, a response to his cries and his name on a tone so desperate. Hair sticks to his forehead, body hot and face flushed as he breathes hard, pulse thudding in his hunger. One of his arms adjusts itself, bracing himself against his lover so that he can run his thumb from his temple, toward the back of his head. There's something about him in this moment that Mettaton can't place that fills him with an even deeper fondness than before, as if he needed it to run any deeper. The depth of their entwined bodies and hearts? The sheer amount of care his Bonded will spare for his sake? The amount he'd spare for his? No, he can't quite figure it all out... But Mettaton's content to just love him.

And with that strength of feeling, he gains at least the wherewithal to properly press his lips to Emet-Selch's. A fortune, since he can only resist losing himself to his body for only so long.

He sighs against his lips and exacts a kiss. Soft but heavy, full of heat and tenderness both.]


There. And... Do tell me. Your cravings. I want them. [His smile against his lips turns into a grin.] If you can manage...

[Because really, if he's having a hard time speaking, what of Emet-Selch? He wants to say that he aims to please, as he usually does, but he doesn't. Because of course he does, but he's also here for his own pleasure. Pleasing him is his pleasure, and he can tell every time he succumbs to his own pleasure, that it's Emet-Selch's pleasure in return. What a dangerous feedback cycle, he considers, with the feeble shreds of higher thinking he has to spare on such things.

Because one kiss only begs for another, and another only begs for something deeper, deeper yet, before Mettaton finds himself ravenous. A long, firm kiss causes him to close his arms in on his Bonded's form, hips pressing more firmly against Emet-Selch's body at the urging of his tightening legs. He groans into a kiss, feels the way his arousal sinks into the heat of Emet-Selch's body with more definition than ever before, and he trembles then, full-bodied and enough to make him break his kiss and pant.

His voice breaks, on a dazed hum that veers desperate.]


You're- hot, it's... Gh—

[In case Emet-Selch didn't know that his body temperature is warm, Mettaton has to tell him, new to it all as he is. And the admission of such has his thrusts intensified quite suddenly, as though he's pulled all restraints from his deepest cravings as he tenses muscle and pushes the whole of his length in with one firm thrust, choking on the feeling of his hips flush to his body. He muffles himself by kissing his Bonded madly, shoving his tongue between his lips as his hips take on a tempo: a quick pull back, and a slower, firmer slide back in as deeply as he can sink his cock. He seeks claim on his taste and his body, just as a primer. He wants the whole of him.]
glitzandglamour: (💣033)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-10 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[How could Mettaton make it easy when he wants Emet-Selch to deliver his desires through his desperation? Desperation finds a way, and he has faith that if he has cravings to voice, he'll fight to make them known. It's the liveliness of the ordeal, after all.

And does he deliver. Mettaton's a step ahead in processing his words, as if he can read his mind before he can even finish the thought, and by the time the word remember escapes from Emet-Selch's lips, the idol's already further unshackling from his basest desires. The desire to overwhelm and mark. His imagination paints such vivid pictures of Emet-Selch in their near future: dripping with his come, gasping for air, body bitten and kissed to excess, exhausted in a way quite unlike anything else atop his bed, in his arms, golden eyes scarcely able to focus and body trembling from exertion.

For Mettaton to fantasize about the future while he's so thoroughly enjoying the present... An odd mix, but one so fulfilling. A goal. Teeth clenched, he moans from deep in his throat at all he thinks and feels.

And his thrusts firm up. Each draw back is half of his cock, and each push in is a complete filling of him with the addition of a further rub, the head pushed as deeply as he can manage as he shoves his hips into Emet-Selchs body. It's not a frenzied, careless sort of thrust, but one with an odd amount of deliberation, each push into Emet-Selch's body accompanied by the complete tensing of Mettaton's abdomen as he curves into his lover's body.

The thought of doing him until the Ascian was forced to feel the echo of him after the fact is too tantalizing not to aim for, at any cost. The Puca quite clearly wants this prize: he's not just hungry for him, he's starved, a life of wanting with a culmination of feeling to outshine all else.

And he gasps, sighs of pleasure accompanying each thrust as the deliberate, passionate rhythm proves hypnotizing. His thrusts grow less pushy as he adjusts to find what he finds most pleasurable and, upon finding a rhythm where he's constantly moving at the same speed, Mettaton moans loud and broken. Deep, even thrusts, there isn't a moment where he's not dragging the tip of his cock against the body of his Bonded, so deeply.]


Hades, ohhh, y-you—

[He considers just how pleasurable the squeeze of his lover's body is, and how enticing he looks beneath him. It's too much for Mettaton to handle, mind swimming.

And his eyes alight to reflect just how starved for his Bonded he truly is. The desire to lose his mind entices him, and he lunges for Emet-Selch's neck again, sinking his teeth into his shoulder in perfect time with a good, full sinking of his cock, one with a shudder of his hips even as he's pushed in to the base of it. His is a graphic display of passion, and Emet-Selch, his Bonded, gets front row seats to the sheer amount of urgent desire he feels for him, body and soul.

Drawing blood, Mettaton cries out into the taste of it, head spinning, addiction well established. To everything his Bonded has to offer him, all of it is his. Funny, how even as he sucks and bites and tongues and kisses his beloved, prone beneath him, he fantasizes about the taste of his mouth and of filling his mouth with his come, more ways to taste his Bonded. He wants it all.]
Edited (the fuck is some of this grammar...) 2020-05-10 21:41 (UTC)
glitzandglamour: here's a tip: 75% of all mtt fanart is vaguely horny (💣108)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-11 08:52 am (UTC)(link)
[The hand he used before to stroke through dark locks of hair, from temple to crown, entangles itself there as Mettaton lets up on his bite, kissing and licking at his newest wound in his heat. He even kisses a mark against freshly bitten skin like a brand, a delightful noise slipping from his throat as he drinks his Witch's blood, all of it becoming a part of his experience, a rush for the senses.

He can hear his own blood pounding in his ears too keenly, but it's nowhere enough to distract from each and every gasp and plead carried on Emet-Selch's voice. Noises to remind him of what he does to him, sounds he prescribes to memory in hopes of keeping them forever. It registers to him there how vulnerable the Ascian makes himself before the Puca. Beyond his lust-driven madness, he finds an overflowing of love for him, a reservoir of it intended only for Emet-Selch. Somewhere deeper in his brain, these sounds are ones he wants to always be there. Impossibilities set before his mind's eye, visions of turning to him in his darkest moments and sharing with him his brightest sights. Experiencing the world at his side, showing him his accomplishments and relishing his.

He squeezes his eyes shut and lunges for his throat. His teeth graze down the very front of it, somewhere he could easily tear his windpipe from if he were determined, but his energy's quickly translated into wet, sloppy kisses and a whine that carries the note of desperation. He releases him; exhales a shaky breath, heart swollen with his feelings.

When Mettaton moves to suck another mark into his lover's neck, he does it because he wants to remind Emet-Selch of this, rather than to prove to anybody else who he belongs to. And feverishly, when he switches to the other side of his neck, the next bite is administered with this same intent: it's not a snap of his jaws this time, but a press of his lips, a sloppy kiss that widens into the slide of teeth and the damp of his mouth, then pressure until he breaks him. The idol shudders, every muscle in his body tensing at the taste of magic and copper on his tongue, a delightful groan slipping from his throat, releasing him quickly to better lap up the blood he's drawn from his lover through harsh pants.

All the while, Mettaton's thrusting continues: a constant, a backdrop to his indulgence of his Bonded's blood and being.

As the robot reaches for greater heights of pleasure, his body begins to slip into a carnal mode where he's determined to extract all of the ecstasy he can from his Bonded's body. His thrusts grow firmer again and his abdomen tenses, knees sliding apart as he fucks him with more fervor than before. The hike in pleasure he feels forces Mettaton to unclench his teeth as he cries out, shuddering so severely that he's made to slip against his Bonded's shoulder, muscle giving way. But he continues thrusting, harder and faster than before.]


Hades, you, you, I-I— nnn... need— love—

[Scarcely realizing that he's saying anything at all against his latest claim of teeth, Mettaton's thrusts don't cease. He pounds into his beloved, his fingers moving to grip onto Emet-Selch's upper arms as he tries desperately to bite back down upon his shoulders. But every time he does, he's interrupted by a cry of absolute euphoria as he each slide of his cock grows more blindingly erotic than the last. The feeling of Emet-Selch's body against the too-sensitive tip of his arousal and the way his body tightens around his shaft every time he stuffs him full, and the way his body seems to protest it when he withdraws, has Mettaton shuddering, panting and unable to open his eyes.

But he tries, desperately. No longer could he hope to stop so close to reaching his climax as Mettaton lifts his head, drool and blood smeared down from his lip and across his jaw as he stares down upon his Bonded's face before he loses the control for even that. Mettaton tries to take him into a sloppy kiss, interrupted by his own cries of pleasure as his muscles tense, curling inward on his Bonded and clutching him close as if trying to take him into his body.]
glitzandglamour: (💣107)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-11 07:40 pm (UTC)(link)
[It can't be helped that Mettaton pays so much attention not only to his own body and what he can do and feel with it, but the way Emet-Selch responds to his every movement. Hearing his breathing stutter, his body appeal for deeper thrusts, the frequent tension around the whole of his cock, and the trembling of his muscle and tightening of his legs could only bring him to searing levels of enjoyment. Emet-Selch's body does so much for him: it's for his pleasure, his indulgence, his inspiration, and at the heart of the matter, it's what bears the soul he loves.

While nearly the whole of Mettaton is savage - the tear of teeth, the plunge of his cock, the force of his muscle, the frenzy of his kisses - his fingers can only softly curl against skin. He spares a moment to nuzzle Emet-Selch softly. The bend of his shoulders is slight, and his arms try to hold him gently. Actions easily swallowed up in passion, but ones that precede orgasm, that carry some of the burden of emotional expression. Mettaton will capitalize on everything he has to express his feelings to the truest degree, after all.

And his fervor remains, especially when Emet-Selch succumbs to orgasm. His voice doesn't carry the same immediate descent into sorrow, and Mettaton feels lit aflame in his craving for it. A life set before him for him to consume in his release, and his thrusts grow deeper, shorter, the head of his cock rubbing into his lover so intimately, a new constant. Reluctant to pull from him, but wanting to be deeper with him. The Ascian's body tightens around him in turn, a mutual claim, a mutual consumption.

Mettaton's dazed, enchanted, drawn to all he sees and hears and feels. And in this pre-orgasmic stage, he senses everything with such vivid, heightened awareness, all of it enough to take him under and do him in. The rub of his lover's cock against his abdomen, come ejaculated not only upon his front but Emet-Selch's as well, the absolute relief of his body right down to the tremble of muscle, and the way he clings to him despite his loss of sense. And, of course, the way his body feels so belonging to him, and his in turn. Mettaton sucks in a breath, the texture of his thrusts different with the increasing squeeze of his Bonded's body around his erection — a form of marking him, of taking him while he takes back.

When he cries out, it's on a voice smooth and unbroken in his climax, lagging just behind his lover. And he's thankful for it, that ability to drink in the feeling of him in release and to feed off of his pleasure.

If Emet-Selch clings to Mettaton, the force of his release has him taking Emet-Selch's body into his arms with a ferocity, all of his softness and love converted into starvation and claim. His nails dig into skin and he curls further upon his Bonded, bringing his head back down to his neck as he tucks his chin there. Every muscle tenses, closing in on the other man as he pulls him into himself and, in turn, shoves his length so deeply into his Bonded that he's made to almost lift his body onto himself with each curl of his hips. His feelings veer so quickly toward an impossible, eternal claim, the want for Emet-Selch to belong to him and to crave him always, beyond sense and beyond anyone else. He could never be sated enough, and the feeling of Emet-Selch's grip upon his back has Mettaton all but lifting his Bonded enough to slide his own arms around him, squeezing him in his arms.

All while he pounds away at him, the pleasure of his strokes compounded upon by the tightness of his Bonded's body. Raw though it may be, Mettaton uses all of his lover's body for what it gives and rubs his cock against his heat, pleasing himself on him. More moans, more cries of pleasure, come thick and hot and breathing harsh. The crush of his body is for want of more, for a never-ending session of pleasure that only Emet-Selch could bring him, and the wish for this pleasure to never end. He loves him so, and he smiles.

But it does end, and the first indication of it is a softer voice carried on Emet-Selch's name. His muscles slacken, his world spins, energy robbed from him and spent on his lover. Taken completely, just as Emet-Selch hoped. His hips gradually still, and Mettaton gasps and pants, collapsing upon his Bonded even while his arms cling to him in an embrace.]
glitzandglamour: (💣122)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-12 05:17 am (UTC)(link)
[It feels as though he's been stolen from his own body, yet tethered to the scene regardless. In his stupor, he nuzzles him back on developed instinct. More claim, even after he's transformed away from a Puca's anatomy and any of its scent-marking features. Anything he could to to ensure that Emet-Selch never doubts where he belongs.

What an impossibility, this all is. What an impossibility, the Bond is. Being a Monster. Having this man. This body. His body. It's staggering.

Scarcely a thing to consider, for the monster's attention is reeled back in to focus on the Ascian's neck and the scent of him, mingling with blood and, well, Mettaton. Between them, the smell and feeling of their sex and heat, the cool of the air on his skin and the warmth of the body beneath him. Slickness, stickiness, wetness, all new textures to overwhelm him while he's already so taken by it all.

Taking stock of his body, he can feel the throb of his cock as he recovers from his show of passion... But it's accompanied by the pulse of his lover. It surprises him to feel his pulse so intimately, but it becomes instantly addictive, even as his erection diminishes. For all that he still lacks any coordination to pull out. He lies there, arms and legs both completely useless.

His gasps for air turn into a rapturous sigh, and he nuzzles so deeply into Emet-Selch's neck, curling into him, that he'll no doubt rise with smattering of blood up to the corner of his eye.

Another sense is demanded: aural, to the sound of his name upon his lover's low voice. Mettaton presses his ear to his throat then, still able to hear him clearly with the other but taking it in in multiple dimensions. The idol shivers. A wave of complicated yet clear emotion overcomes him, a love so elated and brilliant that he smiles against his shoulder. Thankfulness, next: that he'd have this and him and this entire opportunity, all from meeting him, from a sickly sweet sort of transparency shared between them.

How does he handle it all. The intensity of his own, the intensity of his lover's. A weight so immense that Mettaton is gladly crushed under it. So overcome that he exhales all of the air he has in his lungs, and fails to take in another breath.

Their Bond is so terrifyingly open and vulnerable that he doesn't even have to put in the effort to feel the massive presence of his Bonded's soul, and to feel already that he's so close to him. Mettaton takes a sharp, shaky inhale, shivering still. He talks against his shoulder.]


I... I love you. Hades.

[He'd been trying to say it earlier, and the sentiment glows more brightly than before, lit by the afterglow. Mettaton kisses his skin. Whatever's against his face will do. The urge to express his love in ways beyond his capabilities grips him, and he shifts futilely. He settles on trying to tighten his embrace.

More firmly against his skin, perhaps veering into muttering territory and on a sluggish voice, airy and scarcely audible:]


You make me... so happy.

[None of his despair could hope to overshadow his natural inclination toward positivity, and Emet-Selch brings him this.]

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