[(Indeed, if this remained a clinical transaction with an objective to reach, it wouldn't have been easy. Mettaton could've remained stiff enough but it would've been difficult for a full, satisfying insertion.
The nature of insertion, however, is enough to rile him up... And with his husband, increasingly pliant and goading him on, Mettaton was bound to get into it.)
It wasn't bad. It was easier than when they were in the house of mirrors, especially the more erect he got; trying to use spit at that time was... something. This was a material slicker, and there was plenty of it, thanks especially to Mettaton's abnormally productive releases. As he found himself stiffer, he could only become moreso with the eagerness of their bodies and the sensation of filling Emet-Selch out, and of the deliberate welcoming the Ascian willed out of his body for MTT's insertion. That he liked this was mirrored: Mettaton liked it, too, and he went from reluctance to eagerness readily.
He knew it was hurting Emet-Selch. But where his gasps weren't free from pain, neither did they seem separate from pleasure.
Neither of them consciously thought about their dragon bites, but each time he incidentally found his arm brushing over his side, Mettaton couldn't help but feel something sharp—but not unpleasant, which fueled this request. Even though he adored the feeling of fingers raking and pressing direly into his back, he was compelled to ask for this—and his request fulfilled jars him, causing him to gasp for sound, for thought.]
Ah...! Ohhh...!
[This close to its partnering tattoo, it was as good as an erogenous zone. A touch intimate, the circular markings linked the two lovers and did much to enhance the pleasure between them. Mettaton squirms under the rake of fingers that urge him close, a firm, harsh thrust of his hips the answer to his own hardening ache.
And though he hears Emet-Selch and comprehends him, it felt as though he spoke directly into his mind, hearing occupied with the sound of his own moaning as he curls hard around Emet-Selch, stuffing him deep. His thrusts aren't the sort that draw back and push in as they might enjoy, more cyclical and deliberate, small lengths of himself pulled then pushed to (as gradually as he can) ease Emet-Selch around him. But his thrusts, spirited as they are, plunge that bit deeper, that bit more uncontrollably, as he answers Emet-Selch's answer with a kiss more hot than damp.
But damp all the same, with how involved Emet-Selch's made to be. And Mettaton takes advantage of that, kissing him hard, interrupting his speech with a low, heady groan. Shifting his hands away from Emet-Selch's shoulders, Mettaton decides to grip him by the hips—not because of the marking there, but because he wanted to impress upon the smaller man that he had him well in hand, and would fill him. Nearly a growl, possessive and low, slips between their lips in the midst of a kiss as Mettaton wraps his fingers around Emet-Selch's hips, drawing the Ascian close and holding him steady for his gradual penetration.]
Oh, I'll... I'll keep doing you, is what I'm doing.
[Obvious. But he's impassioned, voice low and husky. The monster shifts his knees closer, forcing Emet-Selch into an even tighter curl as he rocks his hips—as he forces him into riding down his shaft, practically down to the root.]
no subject
The nature of insertion, however, is enough to rile him up... And with his husband, increasingly pliant and goading him on, Mettaton was bound to get into it.)
It wasn't bad. It was easier than when they were in the house of mirrors, especially the more erect he got; trying to use spit at that time was... something. This was a material slicker, and there was plenty of it, thanks especially to Mettaton's abnormally productive releases. As he found himself stiffer, he could only become moreso with the eagerness of their bodies and the sensation of filling Emet-Selch out, and of the deliberate welcoming the Ascian willed out of his body for MTT's insertion. That he liked this was mirrored: Mettaton liked it, too, and he went from reluctance to eagerness readily.
He knew it was hurting Emet-Selch. But where his gasps weren't free from pain, neither did they seem separate from pleasure.
Neither of them consciously thought about their dragon bites, but each time he incidentally found his arm brushing over his side, Mettaton couldn't help but feel something sharp—but not unpleasant, which fueled this request. Even though he adored the feeling of fingers raking and pressing direly into his back, he was compelled to ask for this—and his request fulfilled jars him, causing him to gasp for sound, for thought.]
Ah...! Ohhh...!
[This close to its partnering tattoo, it was as good as an erogenous zone. A touch intimate, the circular markings linked the two lovers and did much to enhance the pleasure between them. Mettaton squirms under the rake of fingers that urge him close, a firm, harsh thrust of his hips the answer to his own hardening ache.
And though he hears Emet-Selch and comprehends him, it felt as though he spoke directly into his mind, hearing occupied with the sound of his own moaning as he curls hard around Emet-Selch, stuffing him deep. His thrusts aren't the sort that draw back and push in as they might enjoy, more cyclical and deliberate, small lengths of himself pulled then pushed to (as gradually as he can) ease Emet-Selch around him. But his thrusts, spirited as they are, plunge that bit deeper, that bit more uncontrollably, as he answers Emet-Selch's answer with a kiss more hot than damp.
But damp all the same, with how involved Emet-Selch's made to be. And Mettaton takes advantage of that, kissing him hard, interrupting his speech with a low, heady groan. Shifting his hands away from Emet-Selch's shoulders, Mettaton decides to grip him by the hips—not because of the marking there, but because he wanted to impress upon the smaller man that he had him well in hand, and would fill him. Nearly a growl, possessive and low, slips between their lips in the midst of a kiss as Mettaton wraps his fingers around Emet-Selch's hips, drawing the Ascian close and holding him steady for his gradual penetration.]
Oh, I'll... I'll keep doing you, is what I'm doing.
[Obvious. But he's impassioned, voice low and husky. The monster shifts his knees closer, forcing Emet-Selch into an even tighter curl as he rocks his hips—as he forces him into riding down his shaft, practically down to the root.]