[Mettaton moans, and Emet-Selch still snarls between pants, feeling that his long-coveted solace was being denied him. That he was reacting with anger towards the same person he was desiring so terribly, for the cruelty of preventing him from hurting himself further- that was irrelevant. The anger was there, and the more he fought and failed to take back what he was after, the hotter it grew.
Mettaton taking his fury with good humor, of course, did nothing to ease it. To maneuver him onto his back with casual ease, smiling and looking at him as if everything was well, deciding for them both what he was willing to take- insulted. That he was still being fucked at all wasn't consolation, and the usual comfort he found in this position was entirely missing, as he hadn't wanted to be there.
(So he'd desired earlier to give everything to Mettaton, to devote everything to him- that was, in its way, still in play. Operational. Emet-Selch was going to take his cock, and he was doing to do so on his lap to his own detriment. This was his devotion and he'd fight Mettaton to achieve it.
Except he'd failed in this too, Mettaton's responses as good as mockery in his ears.)]
You'll have to. [He snaps back at him, his tenseness as much about agitation as discomfort- though there was plenty of both.] We would have been joined by now, if you hadn't interfered.
[But if it was going to be on Mettaton's terms, he wasn't going to help at all, his body seemed to indicate. Though his legs remain tight around him, he gives up fighting him- stops trying to force himself onto his length. His fit had been intense enough to tire him, for one thing; he could also feel it wasn't getting him anywhere.
From staring at him with the same unmoving anger as before, he turns his head to the side, demonstrably away from him as he felt his body worked to the same depth that he already had. Incessant rocking that he doesn't relax any more for, impatient in a way that had nothing to do with the want for release.]
I should have... when I still had the chance....
[It's muttered, barely audible, speaking more to himself than to Mettaton. If he'd known the other man was going to take it upon himself to change their position, he would've driven him down to the root before he had a chance to stop him. Even if it might've damaged him; even if it would've hurt, more than it did already. He was spiteful and needy, in ways beyond what his cock was asking for- as arousal was barely even a thought at this point, a background irritation, for all that it had helped to drive him to this point.]
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Mettaton taking his fury with good humor, of course, did nothing to ease it. To maneuver him onto his back with casual ease, smiling and looking at him as if everything was well, deciding for them both what he was willing to take- insulted. That he was still being fucked at all wasn't consolation, and the usual comfort he found in this position was entirely missing, as he hadn't wanted to be there.
(So he'd desired earlier to give everything to Mettaton, to devote everything to him- that was, in its way, still in play. Operational. Emet-Selch was going to take his cock, and he was doing to do so on his lap to his own detriment. This was his devotion and he'd fight Mettaton to achieve it.
Except he'd failed in this too, Mettaton's responses as good as mockery in his ears.)]
You'll have to. [He snaps back at him, his tenseness as much about agitation as discomfort- though there was plenty of both.] We would have been joined by now, if you hadn't interfered.
[But if it was going to be on Mettaton's terms, he wasn't going to help at all, his body seemed to indicate. Though his legs remain tight around him, he gives up fighting him- stops trying to force himself onto his length. His fit had been intense enough to tire him, for one thing; he could also feel it wasn't getting him anywhere.
From staring at him with the same unmoving anger as before, he turns his head to the side, demonstrably away from him as he felt his body worked to the same depth that he already had. Incessant rocking that he doesn't relax any more for, impatient in a way that had nothing to do with the want for release.]
I should have... when I still had the chance....
[It's muttered, barely audible, speaking more to himself than to Mettaton. If he'd known the other man was going to take it upon himself to change their position, he would've driven him down to the root before he had a chance to stop him. Even if it might've damaged him; even if it would've hurt, more than it did already. He was spiteful and needy, in ways beyond what his cock was asking for- as arousal was barely even a thought at this point, a background irritation, for all that it had helped to drive him to this point.]