[Naturally, they still wanted each other even after a bout of upset... Even MTT could nearly sigh at their effectiveness on one another. Even though the possibility of them being as insanely erect and painfully needy was unlikely, their moods too tenderized for that brand of madness, it was swift how readily he felt them turn to each other with abject fondness and accompanying want. Defenses dropped, it was easier and easier to find himself with sparks of warmth that settled low in his body, as MTT is easily aspected toward arousal, it's true.
Which he knew would please. And in knowing that it would please, it served to arouse... That's why they were so effective on each other! If they were talking about it, he'd laugh outright.
Their efforts unite toward filling Emet-Selch up, as Mettaton gasps to feel Emet-Selch nudging back into the press of his hips. Like a light switch flicked, he feels heat course through his body, fierce and shocking; there's no way a reading like that couldn't be felt through that psychic connection they've gained, through the help of their little dragon bites. The involuntary jerk of his hips, a somatic response to his mate asking for his cock, might be enough to demonstrate his animalistic desire, a want for Emet-Selch that ran carnal and monstrous, that he couldn't deny. Easy to tap into, regardless of position...
He has no rabbit ears. But the way they'd spring and lean would've been 100% guaranteed.
The heat that seeps from past his lips might be evidence enough of his excitement, as his voice slips his throat in a soft exhale of a groan. To not stop... His fingers flex against Emet-Selch's shoulders, reaffirming his grip on the smaller man beneath him as he further mounts him. Curling around him, he presses a firmer kiss, a heated breath.]
Then don't blame me, if I really start to... get into it...
[He knew Emet-Selch wouldn't hold it against him if he were deriving physical pleasure from something that wasn't as pleasant to him. Mettaton hadn't wanted Emet-Selch to have to hurt, no matter how it was applied... but the result of their blows is that Mettaton understood that Emet-Selch was ready for it, had committed to it. Just as they'd both committed, at least, to filling him, to finding themselves deep. He helps to lift Emet-Selch's hips, curling around his body, a wordless promise that he would remain steady in his insertion.
And his thrusts firm, his presses shorter, gradual. He tries for the least painful insertion, even though he knew it inevitable, a low rumble in his throat.]
no subject
Which he knew would please. And in knowing that it would please, it served to arouse... That's why they were so effective on each other! If they were talking about it, he'd laugh outright.
Their efforts unite toward filling Emet-Selch up, as Mettaton gasps to feel Emet-Selch nudging back into the press of his hips. Like a light switch flicked, he feels heat course through his body, fierce and shocking; there's no way a reading like that couldn't be felt through that psychic connection they've gained, through the help of their little dragon bites. The involuntary jerk of his hips, a somatic response to his mate asking for his cock, might be enough to demonstrate his animalistic desire, a want for Emet-Selch that ran carnal and monstrous, that he couldn't deny. Easy to tap into, regardless of position...
He has no rabbit ears. But the way they'd spring and lean would've been 100% guaranteed.
The heat that seeps from past his lips might be evidence enough of his excitement, as his voice slips his throat in a soft exhale of a groan. To not stop... His fingers flex against Emet-Selch's shoulders, reaffirming his grip on the smaller man beneath him as he further mounts him. Curling around him, he presses a firmer kiss, a heated breath.]
Then don't blame me, if I really start to... get into it...
[He knew Emet-Selch wouldn't hold it against him if he were deriving physical pleasure from something that wasn't as pleasant to him. Mettaton hadn't wanted Emet-Selch to have to hurt, no matter how it was applied... but the result of their blows is that Mettaton understood that Emet-Selch was ready for it, had committed to it. Just as they'd both committed, at least, to filling him, to finding themselves deep. He helps to lift Emet-Selch's hips, curling around his body, a wordless promise that he would remain steady in his insertion.
And his thrusts firm, his presses shorter, gradual. He tries for the least painful insertion, even though he knew it inevitable, a low rumble in his throat.]