[(Even when he'd suggested that he leave, or demanded that he be left to himself, it wasn't because Emet-Selch actually wanted to be alone. In its own way, it was another method of hurting himself (and Mettaton with him, in his spite), to choose to malinger in his grief and unwanted but familiar solitude. Sometimes it was still the better option, his agitation of the sort that refused to be moved.
More direct, and more honest had been his desperation to give his throat, his life to Mettaton. Anything to ease his lover's madness; anything to keep from being alone. Mettaton had hurt him terribly by abandoning him instead- and though he knew it had been for the best, it was difficult for his emotions to agree. Even now, some part of him would have preferred to have the memory instead of teeth tearing him apart. (He already had that memory, of times when another sort of insanity had prevailed.)
One way or another, remaining in each other's company could be destructive. He was relieved to be spared that much now, to feel Mettaton's presence and company impressing on him still, a distraction from himself.)
To hear a groan from the other man was its own pleasure, as any sign of anything other than clinical resolution... helped. Not only when it came to enduring the more uncomfortable sensory aspects of their combining, but in continuing to sooth the parts of his temper that remained ruffled, disturbed.
And devoted kissing helped, taking and giving one after another- if they could ever be properly divided into distinct 'kisses', given how reluctant they were to pause in them once started. But the Ascian occasionally required breath, and Mettaton graciously permitted him a little, for all that neither of them seemed inclined to give him opportunity for much. Being out of breath, searching out that faint, familiar dizziness, the accompanying quickness of his heart- it helped too, as his body reluctantly was made to take progressively more of his husband's thickness again.
Being properly aroused would've made this easier still... but he didn't have his hopes raised that far, for all that his mood had improved somewhat. Emet-Selch could tell (after all, he was in a rather specific position to feel it directly) that Mettaton was similarly not nearly as full as he had been, not as rigid as he could be, the kind of stiffness that he could ache to observe. But he was still somewhat hard, and naturally so, given that his cock was receiving some manner of treatment, even if it wasn't exactly pleasant. (And the robot seemed aspected towards arousal as a default.)
And their position was, now that Emet-Selch was no longer as upset, undoubtedly an attractive one. That much he would agree with. Closely pressed and gently rolling together, they would make a visibly erotic sight, even when more than their hearts were tender. Lips frequently locked and sounds blended, he embraced the less-uncomfortable tension that his body made some attempt to feel, as the simple concept of what they were doing was worth every bit of attraction.
Shivering when he's allowed a little more air as Mettaton speaks, their lips remain close, damp, heated. Even with breath, it was difficult to reply, distracted as he was by wanting to kiss him, by the pleasure he could take in this, soft and wanting both.]
You know- just as well as I do, that I'd never ask for that.
[Calling himself out... but they both recognized his stubbornness. Especially now, when there was additional baggage around his being willingness to be hurt if it meant being filled by Mettaton's cock, he was absolutely not going to ask him to slow down or stop. His fingers tense against him at even the idea, as he felt a mix of apprehension and anticipation on guessing that the robot was only about halfway in... which meant there was still plenty to go. Reminding himself to give in past every protesting twinge of his body, he manages to nudge his hips upward with a small noise that wasn't entirely pained.]
If there's anything I need, it's for you not to- to stop.
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More direct, and more honest had been his desperation to give his throat, his life to Mettaton. Anything to ease his lover's madness; anything to keep from being alone. Mettaton had hurt him terribly by abandoning him instead- and though he knew it had been for the best, it was difficult for his emotions to agree. Even now, some part of him would have preferred to have the memory instead of teeth tearing him apart. (He already had that memory, of times when another sort of insanity had prevailed.)
One way or another, remaining in each other's company could be destructive. He was relieved to be spared that much now, to feel Mettaton's presence and company impressing on him still, a distraction from himself.)
To hear a groan from the other man was its own pleasure, as any sign of anything other than clinical resolution... helped. Not only when it came to enduring the more uncomfortable sensory aspects of their combining, but in continuing to sooth the parts of his temper that remained ruffled, disturbed.
And devoted kissing helped, taking and giving one after another- if they could ever be properly divided into distinct 'kisses', given how reluctant they were to pause in them once started. But the Ascian occasionally required breath, and Mettaton graciously permitted him a little, for all that neither of them seemed inclined to give him opportunity for much. Being out of breath, searching out that faint, familiar dizziness, the accompanying quickness of his heart- it helped too, as his body reluctantly was made to take progressively more of his husband's thickness again.
Being properly aroused would've made this easier still... but he didn't have his hopes raised that far, for all that his mood had improved somewhat. Emet-Selch could tell (after all, he was in a rather specific position to feel it directly) that Mettaton was similarly not nearly as full as he had been, not as rigid as he could be, the kind of stiffness that he could ache to observe. But he was still somewhat hard, and naturally so, given that his cock was receiving some manner of treatment, even if it wasn't exactly pleasant. (And the robot seemed aspected towards arousal as a default.)
And their position was, now that Emet-Selch was no longer as upset, undoubtedly an attractive one. That much he would agree with. Closely pressed and gently rolling together, they would make a visibly erotic sight, even when more than their hearts were tender. Lips frequently locked and sounds blended, he embraced the less-uncomfortable tension that his body made some attempt to feel, as the simple concept of what they were doing was worth every bit of attraction.
Shivering when he's allowed a little more air as Mettaton speaks, their lips remain close, damp, heated. Even with breath, it was difficult to reply, distracted as he was by wanting to kiss him, by the pleasure he could take in this, soft and wanting both.]
You know- just as well as I do, that I'd never ask for that.
[Calling himself out... but they both recognized his stubbornness. Especially now, when there was additional baggage around his being willingness to be hurt if it meant being filled by Mettaton's cock, he was absolutely not going to ask him to slow down or stop. His fingers tense against him at even the idea, as he felt a mix of apprehension and anticipation on guessing that the robot was only about halfway in... which meant there was still plenty to go. Reminding himself to give in past every protesting twinge of his body, he manages to nudge his hips upward with a small noise that wasn't entirely pained.]
If there's anything I need, it's for you not to- to stop.