[A heavy sigh, as MTT gathers his bearings with little success. The Ascian pushes into him and Mettaton curls close, settling into his arms comfortably, with a pronounced squirm. Fur. That was about all that could help Emet-Selch slide along his body now, as silicone without wetness wasn't very forgiving. But the softness of fur, at least, was more permitting of some kind of slide.
And the rocking of Emet-Selch's hips is provocative and definitely inspiring, even more than a dream. Maddening, too. It reminds him of those times he'd craved something more all over again, as if he hasn't been craving it all along. But this time, it was in that same desperate sense as ever, when he'd wanted something he couldn't begin to fathom. And here, now, his mind races for something that would suit to express his deepest ache, only for his lips to part, for him to gasp in almost a pitiful way, before he groans again.
And he breaks again for a single laugh.]
You're appealing! [GOTTEMMMMM] If you don't think it creative... it's because I want you, plain and simple. Hades...
[He wanted to fill him, to claim him, to stuff him full of himself, and for that Mettaton groans, Mettaton shifts, burying his face into Emet-Selch's neck. He nuzzles deep before kissing him, nipping him, gasping with hot air and none of the same dampness his body had once produced. He could have a fantasy of any kind, and no matter how vanilla, he'd find it arousing, attractive.
Which is why even if he couldn't take Emet-Selch the way he wanted deepest of all, this still does it for him. Mettaton couldn't come; he couldn't be teased into coming. His would be a maddening spiral into deeper and deeper ache, a craving for sensation he can never quite attain, but he'd try against all sense.
The feeling of Emet-Selch's arms around his waist is a reassurance Mettaton thought might render him into putty. Though one hand still grips onto his ass, Mettaton's other works itself around Emet-Selch's shoulder in a half-embrace, clinging to him.
Emet-Selch rocks into him, and Mettaton squeezes his legs together rhythmically while doing just the same. The movement of thrusting is tied to the memory of satisfaction, and he groans just beneath Emet-Selch's ears. Even if he lacked the same sensitivity and raw arousal that came from a body that could perform as desired, memory and psychology were powerful tools, and the affect of Emet-Selch's body beneath his own, his cock hard between his legs, his arms tight around his slight waist, are potent.]
Appealing... Oh, the glances I stole, of- of you dripping down your thighs, Hades... [He kisses him with teeth.] Of your cock peeking out from your short skirts, just because you couldn't keep your hands from me.
[skirts, yes. and yet he still hasn't admitted that it was a maid outfit... But with imagery like that, it was no wonder Mettaton presses deeply against Emet-Selch, no matter how impotent his body is in the moment. He was still a man who desires his husband, no matter what limitations were posed upon him.]
no subject
[A heavy sigh, as MTT gathers his bearings with little success. The Ascian pushes into him and Mettaton curls close, settling into his arms comfortably, with a pronounced squirm. Fur. That was about all that could help Emet-Selch slide along his body now, as silicone without wetness wasn't very forgiving. But the softness of fur, at least, was more permitting of some kind of slide.
And the rocking of Emet-Selch's hips is provocative and definitely inspiring, even more than a dream. Maddening, too. It reminds him of those times he'd craved something more all over again, as if he hasn't been craving it all along. But this time, it was in that same desperate sense as ever, when he'd wanted something he couldn't begin to fathom. And here, now, his mind races for something that would suit to express his deepest ache, only for his lips to part, for him to gasp in almost a pitiful way, before he groans again.
And he breaks again for a single laugh.]
You're appealing! [GOTTEMMMMM] If you don't think it creative... it's because I want you, plain and simple. Hades...
[He wanted to fill him, to claim him, to stuff him full of himself, and for that Mettaton groans, Mettaton shifts, burying his face into Emet-Selch's neck. He nuzzles deep before kissing him, nipping him, gasping with hot air and none of the same dampness his body had once produced. He could have a fantasy of any kind, and no matter how vanilla, he'd find it arousing, attractive.
Which is why even if he couldn't take Emet-Selch the way he wanted deepest of all, this still does it for him. Mettaton couldn't come; he couldn't be teased into coming. His would be a maddening spiral into deeper and deeper ache, a craving for sensation he can never quite attain, but he'd try against all sense.
The feeling of Emet-Selch's arms around his waist is a reassurance Mettaton thought might render him into putty. Though one hand still grips onto his ass, Mettaton's other works itself around Emet-Selch's shoulder in a half-embrace, clinging to him.
Emet-Selch rocks into him, and Mettaton squeezes his legs together rhythmically while doing just the same. The movement of thrusting is tied to the memory of satisfaction, and he groans just beneath Emet-Selch's ears. Even if he lacked the same sensitivity and raw arousal that came from a body that could perform as desired, memory and psychology were powerful tools, and the affect of Emet-Selch's body beneath his own, his cock hard between his legs, his arms tight around his slight waist, are potent.]
Appealing... Oh, the glances I stole, of- of you dripping down your thighs, Hades... [He kisses him with teeth.] Of your cock peeking out from your short skirts, just because you couldn't keep your hands from me.
[skirts, yes. and yet he still hasn't admitted that it was a maid outfit... But with imagery like that, it was no wonder Mettaton presses deeply against Emet-Selch, no matter how impotent his body is in the moment. He was still a man who desires his husband, no matter what limitations were posed upon him.]