glitzandglamour: (💣080)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-17 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[Post-climax, Mettaton doesn't slacken immediately by sheer will alone, though his body trembles with the exhaustion of energy. He holds Emet-Selch, clutching him close both out of consideration for his feelings and for his own satisfaction, continuing to lick and suck and kiss at his neck and throat around short, desperate moans delivered upon sighs. How overstimulated he is from the continued movement and grip about his cock, and how much he just doesn't care and delights in it regardless. Or perhaps he enjoys it that much more thank to it.

When he feels the first spurt of come fill his body, he yelps at the sensation. All of it's new to him, and Mettaton's body squeezes down on the full length of his cock as he moans in sympathy, ecstatic. He understands now, why this feels so much like a manner of claim to two partners entwined in the throes of passion, and he shudders at the notion with a contented smile. He squeezes Emet-Selch in his arms, defiant in the face of being spent and wanting to continue, or at the very least, to continue administering such affection upon his Bonded.

Body filled with Emet-Selch's cock and come, Mettaton exhales, paying attention to all of that sensation of hot fullness. And the way he continues to pull at his cock, too, is regarded with sensual affection: not a harsh sensation, but one that still sends chills up his spine with the knowledge of their passions combined. He wraps his lips around that bite mark he'd freshly created, sucking on it and tenderly lapping at it to supplement the heady delight of the moment with his Bonded's blood. When he lifts from that area of his shoulder, his body finally succumbs to a sort of warm, delectable fatigue, and he sighs, indulging in all of this. This body, this moment, this world, this man, his body, his soul, and the continued future he wants to share with him. Mettaton kisses his neck and sighs against his skin, infatuated completely.

It's all he can do to lean against the Ascian in his post-coital looseness. To lean into him, to continue focusing on every last feeling of his newly organic body, to catch his breath that he's felt so deprived of, and to relish the feeling of the other man in his arms. One of his hands trails lazily down Emet-Selch's spine, humming low and soft in his bliss.]


I love you too... so much, that it dazzles me. [Spoken on yet another sigh, a belated attempt to continuously reciprocate the love he feels for the man held in shivering arms.

He thinks only of them right here in each other's arms, in this moment. Someone live, who he can touch and hold and kiss and whose company he'd love to keep close. Mettaton breathes him in at his neck, complete with all of the smells he's come to expect on him: Emet-Selch, himself, and the smell of his blood lingering atop it all. He cares very little about getting blood on his face when he, too, buries his face into his neck.

Reflexively, his hips give a slight jerk at the sensation of such lazy, fond strokes over his increasingly flaccid cock. It reminds Mettaton of the lingering presence of his lover stuffed inside of him with all else he's filled him with, and he shifts upon his lap. Even as he does this, eyelids curtaining heavily, he thinks about every chance he got for a glimpse of his lover's countenance: his shuttered eyes, his parted lips and deep gasps, his flush, his striking gaze, each look imploring yet lost to pleasure. Every moan, every gasp, every movement.

He's suddenly so taken by every gesture and response he's pulled from Emet-Selch, and he feels his heart throb and his breath catch. What it feels like to be smitten by sight, he takes it.]


You're... so lovely, Hades...
glitzandglamour: (💣020)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-18 07:36 am (UTC)(link)
[At the rawness of his confession, Mettaton withdraws the hand venturing down his spine to cup his cheek, oddly touched at Emet-Selch's desire to express himself for all he can detect that it's inadequate by his standard. Upon contact, he's pleasantly surprised at how similar they are in temperature, palm to face, and both warm. The Puca leans into his venturing lips with a smile, though his fingers withdraw momentarily just to tuck his long bangs behind his ear, giving Emet-Selch's properly functioning eye his face to look at. Strangely, even Mettaton's "non-functioning" eye appears to focus on Emet-Selch somewhat though there's a clear level of struggle as he searches for some detail that he can't grasp. He shifts all attention back to his left eye.

The robot's smile reaches his eyes, and he nuzzles into his Bonded after that slight kiss, leaning back into Emet-Selch's forehead. His thumb runs along his cheek, their proximity such that he traces his features less by sight and more by touch. And Mettaton closes his eyes to focus on those feelings he deems unfamiliar, for all that his own are so excessive in their own right.

When the idol speaks, it's on a voice a bit more sluggish than usual as he comes down from his pleasure, voice an even, softer volume, dripping with his fondness and a touch breathless as a standard.]


The whole of this... It's unfamiliar for us both, in some way or another. From feelings... to impossible intimacy. B... But, who better to explore with than you?

[And, implicitly, with him. His smile grows at that.

He lets out a sigh, finding his muscles slackening so pleasantly, as though slipping off of the torrid high of his desire and into the gentler warmth of security and comfort. The kind of security found in this level of vulnerability, he thinks, continuing to stroke Emet-Selch's cheek with his thumb. A stable sort, the kind he'd always expect to find with his Bonded.]


If you're grateful... Then I take it these feelings I've evoked don't disappoint. [There's pride in his tone, yes. Of course Mettaton would take pride in being the catalyst for feelings unknown, especially as they run so romantic. But he softens some more.] The depths you've taken my own feelings... My. We're quite a pair, aren't we.

[New experiences, new heights, new depths, all of it intense. In this moment, at least, Emet-Selch is in so much better of a mood than he was when he first saw him tonight. Unwound, indulged, loved, cared for, taken into Mettaton's possession, distracted. All of which Mettaton finds gratifying, especially in its effect, their feelings both on tempo with one another's, for all that they usually find themselves in their opposite company. And still, perhaps, they are: similar feelings for each other, manifested differently. Mettaton can't help feeling so dreamy and light, but perhaps... the ache he feels in his chest, that's a feeling he's felt too rarely that he begins to feel more commonly with Emet-Selch. Love, he takes it. The kind of love that aches, in how it's blossomed into something so vibrant.

The arm he has about the Ascian's back tightens. He tries to shift his legs, finding them a unique kind of wobbly and stiff; he exhales in a cross between a sigh and a huff. Trying to shift at all gives him a window into how strange it feels to have Emet-Selch's cock still buried within him... not that Mettaton minds the strange terribly much. So he gives up. The robot relaxes again, not having what it takes to move yet. Bodies of flesh... are fickle.]
glitzandglamour: (💣125)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-18 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
[Mettaton would have to admit that when it came to his body, there's so, so much for him to focus on with regards to its changes even over the span of the last hour. And really, he regards it all as wonderful. Where he hadn't noticed any tension in his back, Emet-Selch's fingers move to rub him anyway. And how pleasant, that this affection isn't only sweet, but effective — muscles that yet possess a level of soreness lingering are pressed into by fingertips, and it warrants a sigh out of the robot. He'd felt somewhat what it was like to have muscles in his legs, but having a body made of it...

It isn't to discount his robotic form, which he also loves. That's his coveted body. But there's something so wildly fantastic about this that gives Mettaton so much of what he's always loved in a human's body. Right down to this inability to move. It warms him up from his core, thinking about what they've done to each other to reach such a point of succumbing.

So he sighs into that kiss. When Emet-Selch falters thanks to his movement, he takes control of it with a soft breath, taking his lower lip for himself with a contented hum. A reminder of his body, a reminder of their passion that persists, and... what he's found here, in Aefenglom.

Considering the chances at all has Mettaton deepening his kiss. He leans in, hungry for it as he slips a tongue against Emet-Selch's lip, feeling him as he applies a gentle sucking to his lip with another hum of pleasure. He breaks his longing kiss to respond, before he gets too distracted. He exhales an airy, blissful laugh alongside his sigh, smitten and charmed and in love. But not just that: loving Emet-Selch, wanting the best for him and wanting to see him flourish, however they can.]


A fantastic meeting. Somebody to indulge in all of this strange newness with, as raw and as intimate as you and I can combined. How I cherish it, that I'm sitting here before you now...

[On a smile, Mettaton's definitely on the more optimistic end of things. He feels overwhelmingly fortunate and grateful in this, grateful that Emet-Selch took to him as he did, grateful that he learned such crucial details about the Ascian when he did, and grateful that they met at all, even if their meeting was like a roulette that required being captured and tortured by humans to do it. Mettaton wouldn't trade that in for anything: it brought him perspective, it brought him sympathy, and more than anything else, it brought him Emet-Selch.

In his love, he takes Emet-Selch into another kiss. Such a familiar taste embellished by the blood lingering between them. More dizziness; more craving, for all of what Emet-Selch has to offer. His heartbeat itself feels thicker and harder in his passion lit anew, and he presses into that kiss, his love for the other man overcoming him.]


Oh, Hades. I love you...

[Said upon an exhale brief enough only to say as much, where the idol otherwise presses more deeply into this passionate, loving kiss.]
glitzandglamour: (💣122)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-18 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[The torrent of his Bonded's feelings don't go unnoticed by Mettaton, whose kiss remains passionate while also gentling: striking that perfect balance, a state they both seem to encourage out of each other. The strength of his legs returns enough for him to press his thighs against the side of Emet-Selch's body, his own hold on the Ascian firming up despite himself. His fingers trace around the curve of Emet-Selch's ear, rubbing gently around the back of it toward the base of his skull in small circles, a slight hum slipping from his throat even as he takes him in another easy, firm kiss.

Mettaton remains firmly grounded in the moment. He lets each sense of his take him, the warmth of his body against his thighs, the feeling of Emet-Selch's fingers against his cheek, the hold he keeps on Mettaton's body in return, the way that he remains on his lap, still filled with him. The knowledge that Emet-Selch's filled with him, too. The earthly desire for both, for all of his body in every regard, for giving himself in return. He strokes sensitive fingertips through his hair, relishing the newness of it that he can't quite pinpoint. Everything takes on a new dimension to Mettaton in this body, perhaps the temperature of it all the contributing factor.

The world around him feels colder than he imagined, but everything in his immediate presence is warm, hot, alluring enough to slip into like a bath. From his lover's arms to his mouth to his body, but also the current of his internal state, everything he can reach through their Bond.

Mettaton's hand skirts down from Emet-Selch's ear to rest over his heart, fingertips pressing firmly into bare skin. He stills. Stills enough to try to feel for a pulse, for all that it's not the best place for detecting a pulse. It's what Mettaton wants.

He breaks their kiss, but remains so close to his Bonded's lips that he speaks against them.]


I like to share my thoughts, as you know. But... You know I'll be here for you, too.

[It might be too difficult for him to even want to unravel such threads of complicated, built-up emotion, but his Bonded is terribly emotional. Mettaton learned that quickly. So much he feels, and he scarcely ever gives himself any outlets for it.

And yet, is physical expression not some manner of outlet? Mettaton pulls away from his face then, a glint in his eye. An invitation, a method of expression that could transcend words if it's impossible to untangle them for the linear restriction of speech. Mettaton has favor for expression even without words, after all. He rubs the spot over his chest with his thumb, his smile a natural part of his features that takes on a unique glow in his Bonded's presence. He leans in to Emet-Selch's neck, burying his nose just beneath his ear and breathing him in before giving him a firm kiss.

On a low, inquisitive tone, the Puca lets a few more kisses trail up to his jaw: a thorough job of delivering affection enough to break him and to mend him simultaneously on the horizon. He would take to him so intensely that it would have to suffuse him soul-deep, his body a conduit for the feelings Mettaton has for his lover at his very core. From his perpetual gloom to his keenness, from the agreeable to the disagreeable.]


Is there anything you want, Hades, darling...?
glitzandglamour: (💣024)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-18 11:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Absolutely.

[Said with a fervent emphasis, his tone itself suggesting how glad he is to express as much. It's both a confirmation and a description of just how much he possesses Mettaton, spoken directly against his skin. He places kiss to his throat as he travels back down his neck, wetter than anything he gave to his jaw as he finds himself decisive about what he wishes to communicate to his despairing Bonded. Through action, expression.]

You have me... always.

[Biting gently this time, Mettaton takes flesh between his lips and kisses hard, working a mark there with suction — the first of his image of complete allure, a ravished, ravaged Emet-Selch that exceeds even what they managed before the mirrors. Where he presses his lips, he can almost feel the haunts of what used to be there in some other time (or place, considering the dream), imagining kisses and bruises and bites that have long faded or haven't exactly existed at all, if one were to get technical about it.

But it doesn't change a thing: remembered or not, perceived or not, didn't Mettaton mark him up severely? That happened.

His thumb remains stroking over the Ascian's quick-beating heart, his lips against his pulse, his arm steady against his back in their reciprocal embrace. Uncertainty would always remain in this place, but Mettaton cares not for its rules, he's decided. Anything he does to him would be there forever, aware or not, dead or alive, present or absent. That's the nature of Mettaton's existence. If all else fades, Mettaton believes he will always persist. It's what he wants, anyhow.

A bruise, deep and contrasting so starkly against Emet-Selch's skin, is left behind. Mettaton regards it with satisfaction, a note of this evident on a hum. How could Emet-Selch ever question if he's ever had Mettaton if he can always envision these marks, even if they've faded? He won't let him doubt for a second their possession of each other, an enduring thing that Mettaton's so sure of wanting.

And so he shifts slightly, sinking his teeth into his neck with a paradoxical gentleness: a scrape, a decision, a mark, then the pressure, all the way up until his skin breaks and blood flows. This time, it's not only with Mettaton's insatiable appetite in mind, but his desire to communicate a message to his Bonded. He would never have to ask again if he has Mettaton, and if Mettaton has him.

For all that this mark is only a part of his artistic vision, Mettaton still groans at the taste of blood. It's becoming so familiar a taste, just as familiar as Emet-Selch's mouth. His emotions run concupiscent all over again, but a note of reassurance and deliberation combined.]
glitzandglamour: (💣120)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-19 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
[Emet-Selch's demand, something more of an invitation than anything, manages to heat his blood and push his own pulse to pounding. He never stopped being Mettaton or a Puca, for all that he appears perfectly human, leaving him prone to all of the same vices: Emet's blood, possession, and Emet-Selch himself. He tongues him roughly, dragging even his lips along his newest mark to drink him up as he takes a smaller point of that ring of teeth to suck a bruise into. It yields him more of a taste all the while, a delicacy unlike any other that sends a tremble through the robot's body. Anticipation's been there, it usually is, but this dials it up, setting him in a new frame of mind. He's maddened by this desire to prove how persistent his presence could truly be.

Mettaton shifts upon Emet-Selch's lap to facilitate this closeness, for all that he still hasn't lifted from his cock. And he doesn't see a reason to, if it doesn't bother him, though he envisions Emet-Selch reclining before, prostrate and vulnerable, in the near future. There's a part of Mettaton abundantly glad for the fact that there's no ritual of clothing removal whenever he has Emet-Selch already stripped, and he thinks to himself that for every time they sleep in the same bed, he'd like to preemptively rid him of clothes, for all that he enjoys attire. It's part of a ritual, but part of one that he'll just have to proudly take care of with immediacy. His thoughts are accompanied by his tireless covetousness, sating himself with more of Emet-Selch's blood, licking and sucking at his first mark while drifting over his pulse with his lips, spreading a line of red along his throat as he mouths him, a sudden awareness of how delicate his neck is.

And how prone Emet-Selch makes himself to him. It has Mettaton pressing into him in return, body flush to him as he angles his head down and buries himself in Emet-Selch's neck, having drifted to the other side as he leaves kisses and bruises in his wake. He's already bitten into this side of his neck, but it's not enough. This time, he doesn't hold back to start: Mettaton bites down hard, getting woozy off of the immediate gratification of fresh blood on his tongue, the magic of his Bonded exquisite. Irresistible.

He swallows, an excess of drool accompanying a tongue blood-drenched. He speaks against his neck, voice dark and velvety.]


With how delicious you taste... With how much I need you. You'll never escape it, how I intend to mark you up.

[A swipe of his tongue; another swallow. Every muscle in Mettaton's body is tensed, as if ready to pounce upon something he already has in his clutches. His fingers prod his chest, his palm rubs into him, all of it softer than the rest of him, all of it undeniably fueled by absolute attraction and reverence.]

Your whole body, by the way... That's what I'll be enjoying. Ha.
glitzandglamour: (💣129)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-19 12:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[His entire moment seems to close in on him with the sound of Emet-Selch's voice commending it all. And the sound of his moan, the sudden tensing of his body, the realization of his gradually filling cock——

Mettaton switches from tonguing to a firm bite into his shoulder, bracing himself against a harsh, unbridled moan, which he lets out against skin. Two wounds in Mettaton's wake to bleed out, a third to be consumed from. For now, he grips down onto his Bonded with his teeth as he licks and tastes experimentally at his body, head spinning from it all. The way they both desperately mash their bodies together as firmly as they can, the way Emet-Selch's grip on him is unforgiving but so tender, the way he can feel his heartbeat drum in his bite, blood pushing into his mouth. An association made, a neurological pathway forming itself to associate the taste of his blood with arousal, inebriating and necessary.

And his arousal, which begins to form itself into something firmer while he'd gotten accustomed his softness. Mettaton twitches on his lap, anticipatory of his impending erection, the realization that he'd get such an intimate experience of feeling his filling, a response to his body and his actions. He curves his back into him on reflex, rocking hips into his lap slightly, the suggestion that he welcomes and encourages the sensation he could spring upon him.

He pulls his teeth off of his Bonded and switches back to lapping up blood, cleaning him and kissing him all about his neck and shoulders, revisiting old wounds and licking sloppily at all he can ingest. All the while, he returns this gesture of ardor, slipping into a firm nuzzle of his Bonded appreciatively, possessively. A nuzzle that turns into a revisit of Emet-Selch's lips, the hints of a growl on his voice as he takes to a forceful kiss.

Mettaton sucks at his lover's lower lip before nipping him, a low, primal groan his expression for his need. His tongue explores his lip some more, searching for ways to make him that much more flushed, imagining his lip swollen to match the anticipated tinge of his cheeks. Imagining him fucked silly, imagining Mettaton taking to him over and over and bleeding him dry of anything he has to give: blood, sweat, come, tears, any of it, he'll take. Filled in its place with himself, he imagines so vividly. Emet-Selch beyond his senses, marked up and possessed entirely.

He tenses around his Emet-Selch's cock as he finds himself rousing, cock firming up. How could he deny himself the pleasure he feels from his beloved's body? Mettaton slips his tongue between his lips, pushing into his lover with the threat of toppling him down and into the mattress. Muscles still taut, still ready to lunge, ready to pin him down and screw him senseless at the slightest provocation — and it entices him to do so.]
glitzandglamour: (💣008)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-19 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[Were he to pierce even his lip, he could have his blood and his mouth, Mettaton realizes. In a rush feverish enough to exceed his body temperature, his breath hitches. The challenge Emet-Selch poses to him in pressing so hard against his front, hard enough to make contact with his erection, is the only real catalyst he needs to do... whatever he wants, really. All recklessness is for him, and all indulgence is on his mind.

It happens in tandem. Mettaton pulls back his tongue, taking just Emet-Selch's lower lip between his teeth. He presses a sharper canine to the delicate, sensitive flesh and presses, hard, passion and craving making such a bite easy to do. How could Emet-Selch miss the sensation of his presence if even his lip was marred by him? And he bleeds, and Mettaton moans into the first spurt of blood, the taste of the Ascian's mouth mingling pleasantly with the metallic quality of blood. The Puca locks him in a deep kiss full of tongue, tasting, and suffocating. All while his muscles let go that pent-up inertia, intent to knock him onto his back in pure vulnerability.

He slides off of his cock, leaving it to the unforgiving air as he rises from his lap. His hand against his heart presses, the rest of his body taking Emet-Selch entirely against his own to manipulate him in his arm, relinquishing his hold on his lip if not just to avoid colliding with him in his ferocious tackle. Emet-Selch is pinned beneath Mettaton's body by his wrists as MTT's chest heaves hot, heavy gasps, dark locks of hair brushing the side of Emet-Selch's face as he hovers over him. Knees still on either side of Emet-Selch's hips, his hands clamp down on his lover's wrists with possessive intent, a hunger in his eye that nearly catches light even while he's in shadow.

He smiles down at him, face slathered in smears of red, a sloppy, but desired result. He sighs at the sight of Emet-Selch beneath him, a shockwave of hot pleasure coursing through him so intense that it could no doubt be felt even by the man before him, bound to his soul. He exhales in a tremulous sigh, attracted so desperately to the sight of his Bonded beneath him.

Leaning down to recapture his now-bleeding lip, Mettaton spares only a moment to speech, which he does flush against his lips.]


Already, you're matching my expectations... But having you set before me like this. Ah... B-better...

[Better than he imagined, he means to say. But he tastes blood, hot and seeping from even his lover's lip, forcing him to take action. He kisses him hard, pressing him firmly into the mattress. He leverages even his body against Emet-Selch's to pin him down with his weight, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the mild air about them. But when he locks his hips against Emet-Selch's, the tenderness of his arousal causes him to lock up and moan into his kiss, a loosening of muscle in his back before it winds up taut again and he pushes his oversensitive erection against Emet-Selch's. A desire to show the other man what he's done to him, a slight rock of his hips, a nudge to make sure he's paying attention to what his body's responsible for — and what he'll inevitably satisfy.]
glitzandglamour: (💣011)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-20 01:14 am (UTC)(link)
[Into their kiss Mettaton groans again. It goes beyond the taste of blood or magic, but the taste of Emet-Selch, his lover and his Bonded and his friend, and all else he could imagine. He closes his eyes as he presses into his lips, enjoying the feeling of his Bondmate squirming and twitching beneath. He would have to stay put, and express all of that want through their kiss, through sound, through helpless squirming. Drown willingly in him. Mettaton's fingers grip tighter on his wrists, pressing his weight into his arms, too. There are no half-measures to be found here.

Every last sensation Mettaton detects in this body is once again cherished. The sensation of air cold against slightly damp skin, flushed in his heat, is completely new, as is the feeling of lingering come stuck between them, their sex a heady, stimulating scent that fuels blissful intoxication further yet. For the moment, Mettaton helplessly grinds into Emet-Selch, wanton neediness compelling him to shamelessly rub his cock into his Bonded's with another slip of a moan into his mouth. He sucks on his lip, his tongue, and drinks him in completely, the delicacy of heat and sweat and come all a contributing factor that brings him to shudder severely. But he refuses to weaken his grip: Emet-Selch would remain under him, subject to his whims.

He stills his hips and shifts back onto his knees, delaying his and Emet-Selch's direct avenue of pleasure if not for the overarching desires Mettaton has in store: he can't get himself too riled up if he wants to outlast Emet-Selch, for all he'll still permit himself the ability to lose himself in his lover. When he pulls away from this kiss, he gasps for air: Mettaton hadn't even realized just how lightheaded he was getting. He gazes down upon the Ascian with a hazy, drunken look, his own lip swollen from kissing so fiercely and features still marked up with his lover. He presses one last kiss between gasps to his lips, taking a moment to exclusively lick Emet-Selch's lips with a pleasant hum on a smooth voice.

With one final look spared for Emet-Selch, Mettaton licks his lips of blood before dipping down. Down further, down to Emet-Selch's chest, where he runs his tongue along skin. Kisses follow, deliberate and loving: Mettaton considers all this body's been for him, such an intimate window into something he's long coveted, somebody he's grown to adore so deeply, a body loved by himself so dearly. A body to express upon, to reach his Bonded in all ways. Each kiss is open-mouthed. For all that he's not biting carnivorously into flesh, that same level of fever is present regardless. There's a persistent ache to each one, a craving insatiable and immeasurable.

He drags his mouth, hot and wet, over his nipple, lightly teasing him between teeth before switching back to tongue. He swirls it around before kissing him, open-mouthed and passionate, providing him suction with more flicks of tongue. Shifting to a supple area of his chest, he takes even that between his lips and sucks a mark into him, all part of a plan to mark him up anywhere that strikes his fancy. He sucks hard before tonguing his work proudly, taking visual stock that he's marked him before moving along to another spot.

They both might be aching for direct gratification, but Mettaton has desires he needs to fulfill. Desires that leave him to further craving of his Bonded, desires he knows will, in the long term, give them both something to always remember. How could either of them forget the view of Emet-Selch's body after Mettaton takes him so thoroughly?]
glitzandglamour: (💣033)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-20 11:15 am (UTC)(link)
[Mark after mark left all over his chest, each sound and shift and writhe another sort of pleasure to soak in. Something psychological to be converted into heat that courses through his muscles, But Emet-Selch's noises give him a different kind of pleasure, one that pools in his abdomen and feels like it only hardens in his cock, further neediness, an itch he needs to rub out. But he won't. Not out of any sense of patience, but the sense of anticipation instead.

Sucking a new mark so close to his nipple, Mettaton idly realizes what he's doing here. And that idle thought quickly turns into one arresting. In this brand new body, temporary though it may be, he's indulging in such carnal pleasures of flesh and blood with his beloved, a man who he's grown so desperately attached to over the months. Months that feel much longer and much shorter simultaneously: shorter because the experience with the Rathmores feels entirely too recent, and longer because of the Ascian and how fond he's become of him. How could he know someone this well in so short a time, and have him know him in return like this? Every conversation, every contact, every meeting of eyes and lips and fingers, so much of it is recorded somewhere precious in Mettaton's mind. Their vulnerability is staggering, he thinks, as he pulls away from skin to kiss at his newest red-purple mark.

He pays mind to how hard Emet-Selch breathes, kisses drifting over his chest until he reaches the side less touched, where he takes his nipple into a mouth hot beyond necessity and sucks again, harder and with firmer strokes of tongue. Letting him pop free, he flicks that nub with his tongue before mouthing him with his lips, something like a sloppy kiss. How much this feels like indulging in his Bonded's body to his inorganic heart's content overwhelms the robot, who remains awestruck by how soft and warm and receptive bodies like these are to the passion of sex. He couldn't get enough of this — specifically, Emet-Selch.

And he drifts slightly, takes unmarred skin between teeth and bites a bruise into him this time, switching so easily between tender to ravenous, the memory of Emet-Selch's furious kissing on the mind. And he hums into his latest claim, sucking hard enough for it to hurt his own mouth.

The idol pushes back somewhat, thumbs stroking the insides of Emet-Selch's wrists as he beholds the marks made on his lover's chest. Not nearly as many as his neck and shoulders, but the very sight has his eyes take on a cloudy sheen, cock absolutely throbbing with each beat of his heart. Emet-Selch's neck drips with blood both clotting and dried, upper body covered in reds and purples. It's hard to see a spot on his shoulder that doesn't have some manner of bruise, focused or extended otherwise, and even his lip is swollen with a cut so enticing that Mettaton licks at his own lips to keep from drooling. His chest is peppered in color, Mettaton appearing to take a special focus around each nipple: bruises, mostly, but a bite mark here and there that never sunk deep enough to break skin. Taken by the sight, the monster sighs, purely in love with the man whose visage he refocuses upon to the best of his ability.]


Oh... Already, I'm sure these will please you for time to come. I won't forget this look...

[Hungry for that punctured lip of his Bonded, Mettaton leans in to recapture it, to rebreak any healing that could've possibly taken place between Emet-Selch's gasps and writhes: blood flows anew, and Mettaton shivers, moans into the kiss, feels for how his blood itself feels molten hot. Next, he thinks, he absolutely needs to take his thighs and his abdomen. He decides it here: he'll suck Emet-Selch off once, then take to his recovering body thereafter with his own pounding arousal. The thought is delicious: Mettaton shudders again, this one full-bodied and harsh against the Ascian's lips.]
glitzandglamour: (💣131)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-20 06:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[A parting lick: the Puca drags his tongue along Emet-Selch's lower lip, firm and full. This body is so fully his that he has no reservations about treating it to any pleasure, tease, damage, indulgence, marking, or otherwise. Their bodies each are possessions, and Emet-Selch's soul is his, too; it follows that his body should be the least of his concerns, though it ranks among Mettaton's top concerns. Concluding this harsh drag of tongue, Mettaton can't help himself when he smiles down at him and gives him a kiss (or three), pressing into him solidly with each. A short, giddy laugh falls upon his exhale: for all that Mettaton's riled up beyond belief in an erotic desire for his Bonded, each kiss is so laden by his love and fuels it in the process that it's an endless loop of experiencing and expending that love, leaving him dizzy with it and smiling further.

As he ducks back down again, he does it with a dreamy sigh. A few kisses spared to his chest, practically following the haunts of that incision down his middle, down his belly, and ending up above Emet-Selch's hips.

The first thing Mettaton feels is the presence of Emet-Selch's erection, painfully aroused as he is, poking directly into his neck. Mettaton hums, drawn to it instantly; his fingers tighten around wrists as his thumbs continue to work into the soft underside of them in fond circles. The idol tips his head somewhat and captures the very tip of his lover's cock between his lips, a slight smacking noise from the way he sucks a small kiss into him. It's an example of how he'll tease his body to his heart's content, too, and Mettaton hums affectionately at how much he knows the gesture will only serve to frustrate. And he's pleased with that, as he gets to work on other parts of his body.

Starting from his hip, Mettaton kisses and kisses, shifting just above the bony protrusion to take more pliant tissue into his mouth. Once more, the idol sucks a bruise into him, one after the other, intent on leaving him with as many as possible while each exhale of his is accompanied by a note of pleasurable fondness. As time goes on, the painful ache of his cock is translated into a controlled heat, one that, were he to feel any sort of direct stimulation, he knows would lead to a slippery descent into voracious hunger. An unstoppable, incurable thirst for contact, one he's only been able to scrape the surface of over this past year, the majority of it concentrated into just a number of months, baring all of this want and need and craving before Emet-Selch. He trembles at the thought of a time before this. And how sympathetic and knowing Emet-Selch was when he first came clean about it... It still has his breath hitching.

So much to catch up on, even to this day. So much he wants to do, to lavish his love upon this body so that it might reach the soul within. To ravish him for his own pleasure, to watch the Ascian come undone. They both have such an expansive build-up of... need, Emet-Selch's taking on a form different than his own for certain. But Mettaton knows how desperate he is for any of this. How deeply he craves it, how much deeper it gets when it has to do with his Bonded more than anything else. He described it once as a pandora's box, and that proves to be true. To never be satisfied, to always want more, and worst of all, to keep acting up on that want endlessly.

He sighs, expelling all of the breath in his lungs that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He trembles again, overwhelmed, oversensitive, and terribly, terribly hard.

With a hum, Mettaton drifts to tissue softer yet: he drifts lower along his abdomen, close enough for the head of Emet-Selch's cock to graze his cheek when he smiles, to feel heat radiating from his skin, and Mettaton eagerly takes tissue here into a kiss that marks. When he switches over to kneading the area with a press of tongue, he finds himself smiling fondly and tilting his head, once more bumping against the tip of his arousal with his cheek.]


Ah.

[Mettaton turns toward his cock, deliberately parting his lips close enough to breathe on him, close enough to tease, and intentionally close enough for any thrust to be rewarded with his mouth. He can almost anticipate the shape of his head pushing between, the way his lips would be forced to ride over a smooth curve and just barely pop over the ridge of his glans. And were he to do that, Mettaton knows he'd reward him further yet with a hard suck: he almost prepares for it, wondering if Emet-Selch would give into temptation. He should: Mettaton almost wills him to, in his mind.]
glitzandglamour: (💣103)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-20 09:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[The pleasure he experiences in sympathy from Emet-Selch's indulgence is immense, enough to turn his world on its head as his eyelids flutter shut, a somatic response to such commanding desire. Mettaton moans into his mouthful of cock, sucking on him with more passion than even he expected out of himself. His tongue rubs against the slit while it tries to adjust for this intrusion, both an intentional and entirely automatic gesture, before it slides against the underside of his erection in an attempt to accommodate. The experience in itself has his own abdominal muscles tensing, his excitement skyrocketing as he sucks some more, losing himself to this desire too soon, even while he has desires yet unmet.

Of course Emet-Selch's supposed to take this opportunity and milk it for all it's worth. Mettaton acknowledges it wholly: his body, his lips and his mouth are for him to conquer just as much as his is for Mettaton to captivate and overtake. They shouldn't have to hold back around each other unless it's with some greater intention in mind. And if this isn't a delightful sensation for them both. Absolutely worth it, Mettaton thinks, as he soaks in the sound of Emet-Selch's voice on a cry of unrestrained pleasure. He takes a deep, shaky breath through his nose even while he suckles on the end of his arousal, taking that same energy he puts forth toward bruises and kisses and directing it here, upon his lover's sensitive cock.

He lets go of the head after a few good, hard sucks, another smack of his lips as he releases it to the air, only to push his lips against the slit again, to slide the heat of his mouth over him once more. (This time, it's because he himself can't resist the temptation; the Puca shivers, sighing a note of lust even as he mouths his cock.) Mettaton's tongue rhythmically rubs from slit to ridge, following along the underside of it as a low hum slips from his throat as he imagines the sensation of his arousal pressed to the back of his mouth. He releases him again to give him a few more luscious laps of his tongue, the kind of passionate mouthing belonging to someone deeply aroused by his partner and equally as wanting.

But he pulls away, not nearly finished with his body. He glances up to give Emet-Selch a knowing narrow of his eyes and a smirk, aware that he's given him an inch... But he has to wait, suggested by a soft kiss to his hip, maintained eye contact with his Bonded's face, a dark, simmering desire burning in his gaze. His fingers grip down upon his wrists.]


You'll have more of that, dear... Keep enjoying me, in the meantime.

[It's not a matter of being patient or holding off on this more direct pleasure. Mettaton wants Emet-Selch to have this whole experience and take it the way he does, no matter how wound up he is, or perhaps especially because of how wound up he is.

He dips even lower, arms laying over the other's thighs while he keeps him pressed to the bed as he buries his face into the inside of Emet-Selch's thigh, leaving a warm, wet kiss there. Teasingly close to his groin, the robot slides his tongue along skin before biting down against such tender, supple flesh, finding a spot he wants to mark with teeth this time: and he does, hard enough not to break skin (yet), only to bruise, to mark him with teeth. He groans at this release in his jaw, his jaw which aches preemptively — less for any exertion, and more for how he wants to be exerted.]
glitzandglamour: (💣121)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-05-21 02:21 am (UTC)(link)
[Further nuzzling his face between his legs, Mettaton takes care not to make too much contact with his arousal as he sucks yet another bruise into his thigh. The knowledge that there's so much room to mark up is a consideration he makes, a beat of satisfaction overcoming him that has him sounding a noise of contentment into his kiss at the prospect: the thought of his lover later being able to regard himself a mess of purples and reds is a favorable one. If he's not sucking, he's kissing, open mouthed and entirely too close to his cock. He imagines what it must feel like, having his mouth tend to his thighs and so very close to his ache, but offset, the point of focus close enough to taste. He smiles into his next claim, humming in his approval.

A bruise kissed here, the pattern of teeth there, and here, the puncture of a canine: Mettaton tastes blood and he relishes it, as small as the wound is for him to lick from. He sighs, enchanted by this access and the way that the flavor of him feels electric across his scalp, Monster that he is. It encourages him into a firmer bite, one that may have been deep enough to sink in far were it not for these blunted human teeth. At this, Mettaton emits a loud, unchecked noise of delight, succumbing to its influence over his body. A slip in control overwhelms him.

Blood leaks from this mark and he sucks at it, bruises to accompany punctures, driving the Puca all the more wild in his manner. He sucks in air between licks of blood out of reflex. MTT's quickly able to calm, however: such magic from his Bonded Witch could sedate, please, pleasure, or entice him, and it does all of the above.

With a heavy exhale against his skin, a line of drool drips from Mettaton's lips and onto Emet-Selch's thighs, where it mingles with blood as he zones back into the moment. His manner is nearly drunken off of magic with how much he's taken over the night, unaccustomed and newly hooked as he is, atop all of the physical contact that charges him otherwise. The robot settles his body and regards his work, a mess of purples and reds already along his thighs.

What a sight he is, he thinks. If it were himself beholding so much color upon his legs, he'd be incapable of not recalling the moments responsible for such dedication — and Mettaton's sure he'll get to see it for himself in days to come. How could he resist this look of claim on his Bonded? Mettaton gives into more want, shoving his face against his cock with a fierce sort of yearning, pressing lips to his balls and angling his face to push against his shaft. He tongues a hard line from his balls to the base of his arousal, nuzzling into him with a groan of satisfaction as his eyelids shutter closed. He kisses, rubs, stakes further claim upon him, absolutely shameless. A gasp of bliss accompanies his kisses, and with how much he clearly indulges, it would be impossible to make him feel humiliated over such brazenness. He mouths him some more, burying his face deeply between the Ascian's legs, breathing him in, feeling his heat, testing textures against his lips.

Speaking against the base of his cock, Mettaton presses a kiss there with a hum.]


Hades... I hope you think of this every time you look down.

[He glances up in the midst of his dedicated ministrations, hoping to see that Emet-Selch's watching him. He should be, he thinks. He's a sight to behold, and what better way to associate the acts of bruising and biting than to watch him take him apart?]

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