[Eyes closed, blocking out everything but the need to move lower, to obtain what they both wanted in its entirety, no matter how much it hurt him to do- the tightness of the embrace Mettaton put him in was at first a comfort. A way of steadying him, even encouragement, supporting him while his body was wracked with intermittent clenching that he couldn't properly control. (Experience, of course, told him to slow down or stop what he was doing; all the familiarity in the world couldn't prevent him from tensing completely in response to pain like this, and desperation like this.)
But it's soon enough that he realizes that it was an embrace so tight that it kept him from moving lower. If anything, it was a hug that lifted him slightly from the erection he was claiming by hard-fought degrees. Not immediately understanding it was intentional, given Mettaton's praise and evident pleasure in what he was doing, he pushes at his body, trying to get him to release him.]
Let- Mettaton, you're--
[In case his squirming wasn't clear enough, he tries to inform the taller man that his affection, though loved, wasn't helping him to impale himself fully on his cock. Voice as tight as his body, it's not very complete as a statement- but he's not thinking of that or much else, trusting that his intent would make it through regardless.
But while Mettaton unwinds his arm somewhat, it's not for the sake of letting him go- and it's then that Emet-Selch realizes that he was being actively stopped. Mettaton's words further confirm it, and for a moment he freezes- before writhing more desperately against his chest, not responding to his attention except to fight it, twitching away from it, but unable to escape being manhandled entirely away from his position atop the other man. Snarling in his panic, it turns into something closer to a whine, sharper still as his hands claw at him, as though he could scrape himself back to where he wanted to be.]
Stop it! I was--
[Of course he tenses; any jostling of the cock he had partially buried within him would have him tensing, but he writhes more than that, the protest in the sound he makes as desperate as it was hurt. Frustrated, he fights him, snaps at his lips when Mettaton tries to kiss him, and as he realizes he was being trapped on his back, he hooks his legs around him, and attempts to force him closer, to give him the rest of himself.
Too upset to even try not to tense, he continues trying to arch his back, to buck his hips- to do anything to force the taller man's erection deeper, these more modest thrusts nothing at all like what he was after. When their eyes meet, his are open again, vividly bright and irrationally furious, betrayed.]
I was managing.
[He spits it out, doing absolutely nothing to make this any easier on himself.]
no subject
But it's soon enough that he realizes that it was an embrace so tight that it kept him from moving lower. If anything, it was a hug that lifted him slightly from the erection he was claiming by hard-fought degrees. Not immediately understanding it was intentional, given Mettaton's praise and evident pleasure in what he was doing, he pushes at his body, trying to get him to release him.]
Let- Mettaton, you're--
[In case his squirming wasn't clear enough, he tries to inform the taller man that his affection, though loved, wasn't helping him to impale himself fully on his cock. Voice as tight as his body, it's not very complete as a statement- but he's not thinking of that or much else, trusting that his intent would make it through regardless.
But while Mettaton unwinds his arm somewhat, it's not for the sake of letting him go- and it's then that Emet-Selch realizes that he was being actively stopped. Mettaton's words further confirm it, and for a moment he freezes- before writhing more desperately against his chest, not responding to his attention except to fight it, twitching away from it, but unable to escape being manhandled entirely away from his position atop the other man. Snarling in his panic, it turns into something closer to a whine, sharper still as his hands claw at him, as though he could scrape himself back to where he wanted to be.]
Stop it! I was--
[Of course he tenses; any jostling of the cock he had partially buried within him would have him tensing, but he writhes more than that, the protest in the sound he makes as desperate as it was hurt. Frustrated, he fights him, snaps at his lips when Mettaton tries to kiss him, and as he realizes he was being trapped on his back, he hooks his legs around him, and attempts to force him closer, to give him the rest of himself.
Too upset to even try not to tense, he continues trying to arch his back, to buck his hips- to do anything to force the taller man's erection deeper, these more modest thrusts nothing at all like what he was after. When their eyes meet, his are open again, vividly bright and irrationally furious, betrayed.]
I was managing.
[He spits it out, doing absolutely nothing to make this any easier on himself.]