[Could they each blame themselves for going at each other with wild abandon despite their recently-downward spiral? After all, they'd been deprived for months. There was no amount of disagreement that would keep them from going at each other, in the end, and this was proof of that. Just as there was no situational decorum that would truly prevent them from finding some way to sate their lust for each other, either... They've proven that, too.
As soon as he demands that Emet-Selch wait his turn, he knew that no matter how he threatened him, he would obey. To say he'd surpass him was a lie, but it still provokes a more prominent growl out of the monster, kissing him with vicious affection as he humps Emet-Selch into the mattress. Emet-Selch squeezes him between his legs, but similarly clenches around his cock, and that growl evolves into a low, husky moan as he trembles, thrusting short and deep into his bonded lover.
If Emet-Selch wanted more of his heat, he couldn't even begin to warn him for it. Which was good, then, that he commanded it of him; Mettaton's lips part, but he only moans, unable to speak.
Heat pools hard enough to dizzy him right before he finds it searing him pleasantly, spilling from his body enough to dig fingertips into skin. Shuddering, gasping, MTT remains close to Emet-Selch's lips while he stutters a cry, thrusting deep to leave his mate full of his release. An inexorable release that he knew Emet-Selch would have no choice but to receive, and he realizes sickly he'd have it no other way right now than for him to lay back and take his cock and all the heat he had to give. (Maybe he did want the control; later, though, he'd understand that this wasn't the way to have gotten it, nor did he not want to have Emet-Selch sitting on him, fucking himself on his lap, which was undeniably, terribly, and overwhelmingly attractive. Worthy of a wet dream...)
Full, thick, his release spurts hot from the very tip of him, deposited cleanly in his husband and out of sight. Mettaton grinds himself against Emet-Selch, the root of him the only bit of his cock even visible at all. If Emet-Selch wanted to be scalded, this would do it, this would outdo all other heat between them, a plentiful load that would rival an organic being's output. As though pent up for months—as he has been.
Slamming into Emet-Selch isn't quite as vigorous as it's been in their past, where he'd draw his length in broad strokes, but it's no less feverish for what it is. It's deep and short, barely withdrawing now that he was lodged inside, as he leaves Emet-Selch slick and fuller for it. Curling into his husband, the robot grips onto him for dear life right back, even as his climax eventually fades.
The pleasure of having done it, however, doesn't, and Mettaton's grip remains strong, his thrusts ardent and adoring. His pants sound like syllables of Emet-Selch's name, a mishmash of sound all intended to be for him in the end. And all the while, he smiles against his lips, dizzied and stunned by their sex.]
no subject
[Could they each blame themselves for going at each other with wild abandon despite their recently-downward spiral? After all, they'd been deprived for months. There was no amount of disagreement that would keep them from going at each other, in the end, and this was proof of that. Just as there was no situational decorum that would truly prevent them from finding some way to sate their lust for each other, either... They've proven that, too.
As soon as he demands that Emet-Selch wait his turn, he knew that no matter how he threatened him, he would obey. To say he'd surpass him was a lie, but it still provokes a more prominent growl out of the monster, kissing him with vicious affection as he humps Emet-Selch into the mattress. Emet-Selch squeezes him between his legs, but similarly clenches around his cock, and that growl evolves into a low, husky moan as he trembles, thrusting short and deep into his bonded lover.
If Emet-Selch wanted more of his heat, he couldn't even begin to warn him for it. Which was good, then, that he commanded it of him; Mettaton's lips part, but he only moans, unable to speak.
Heat pools hard enough to dizzy him right before he finds it searing him pleasantly, spilling from his body enough to dig fingertips into skin. Shuddering, gasping, MTT remains close to Emet-Selch's lips while he stutters a cry, thrusting deep to leave his mate full of his release. An inexorable release that he knew Emet-Selch would have no choice but to receive, and he realizes sickly he'd have it no other way right now than for him to lay back and take his cock and all the heat he had to give. (Maybe he did want the control; later, though, he'd understand that this wasn't the way to have gotten it, nor did he not want to have Emet-Selch sitting on him, fucking himself on his lap, which was undeniably, terribly, and overwhelmingly attractive. Worthy of a wet dream...)
Full, thick, his release spurts hot from the very tip of him, deposited cleanly in his husband and out of sight. Mettaton grinds himself against Emet-Selch, the root of him the only bit of his cock even visible at all. If Emet-Selch wanted to be scalded, this would do it, this would outdo all other heat between them, a plentiful load that would rival an organic being's output. As though pent up for months—as he has been.
Slamming into Emet-Selch isn't quite as vigorous as it's been in their past, where he'd draw his length in broad strokes, but it's no less feverish for what it is. It's deep and short, barely withdrawing now that he was lodged inside, as he leaves Emet-Selch slick and fuller for it. Curling into his husband, the robot grips onto him for dear life right back, even as his climax eventually fades.
The pleasure of having done it, however, doesn't, and Mettaton's grip remains strong, his thrusts ardent and adoring. His pants sound like syllables of Emet-Selch's name, a mishmash of sound all intended to be for him in the end. And all the while, he smiles against his lips, dizzied and stunned by their sex.]