[Unconscious and immediate is the way he groans as he's pushed harder into the bed- and Mettaton, harder into his body at the same time. It grew harder to squirm this way, while being so restricted, but every bit of motion was worth fighting for. Even if Mettaton couldn't pound into him as on old occasions, the memory and imagining of it in itself was a powerful source of arousal. And when it could be paired with the very real sensation of his lover's cock within him, it wasn't even frustrating that he couldn't have that specific thing.
Emet-Selch wouldn't claim that Mettaton had a wilder libido... but he would complain about it, even when it ever incited him to keep up to whatever degree his body was capable of. Which was plenty, at the moment, given that he'd only climaxed once so far. The rawness of his body was an unrelated issue, and so long as he remained aroused it was endurable.
More than that, it was worthwhile because it came with the comfort of being full, of having something ground into him so inescapably to have him gasping. Writhing gets him nowhere but feeling that much more impaled, so he writhes more.]
I can feel it. [He whispers; there was little chance of him doing more than that, between hitches of breath and strokes of lips together.] Your dedication to this... to me.
[And he treasured both of those things in him. And he expected, of course, for Mettaton to remain hard enough past release, whether it was due to the composition of his body or some inherent Mettatonness. Hard enough to keep him feeling stuffed, to be an extra thrill to be wrapped around (even if he enjoyed no less the process of feeling him get as soft as he ever did, before hardening up again while still in his body). Hard enough to work him into his own completion.
Though the mage felt that he was plentily firm himself, swollen enough to impress, and something that he increasingly wanted relief from. There was only so much he could thrust, could push and rub his erection to Mettaton's unforgiving body, but he claims what direct stimulation he could manage. Milky precome leaks from him, renewing a little of the slickness that existed between their bodies, and with each beat of his heart he throbbed.
Breath quick against Mettaton's lips, it grew harder to kiss him when every push, every tense of his own body interrupted him with another sound he couldn't keep from making. It was even harder to collect himself enough to reply in words as he tries to knead himself on his length, a feeling irresistible.]
[If they were with the proper lubricant there wasn't any doubt that MTT would fulfill his desires and pound him hard into the mattress. It's what he wants too, even while he's basking in the afterglow of orgasm, and the way he curls around Emet-Selch's form is evidence of it.
Yet with his upper body he presses; with every thrust, he pushes against him, Emet-Selch's cock gliding slickly against glass. Mettaton exhales shakily against the other man's lips, body so tense that an unknowing onlooker might guess that he was searching for his own release as well. And each time he feels Emet-Selch grinding into his lap, squeezing around the tip of his cock and pressing into it to take the edge off, Mettaton can't help but moan against his cheek while Emet-Selch speaks his plea.
A reward: imitating the exact rolls of Emet-Selch's hips, the way he fought for movement just so that he could press even harder against the robot, Mettaton tries to knead Emet-Selch down hard into the bed, rubbing firmly into his lover's body, curving with each thrust. A low, guttural groan escapes his throat and he grips down on Emet-Selch, sinking deep between his legs.]
Hades... Ah... [He kisses him sloppily, as sloppy as he can without saliva.] Come for me, my dearest! Let me feel you come undone...!
[And let him feel him tense and squeeze, sensations he's spurred toward such great anticipation of that Mettaton wasn't sure he'd be able to simply... not sport another erection after this. The way the memory pools low and hard and sudden would dizzy him if he had blood to sink into his cock, and the overall warmth that hugs his cock, the limbs that wrap around him with maddened need... Mettaton groans against skin, similarly too sloppy to manage any coordinated kisses.
He feels still the heat of his ejaculate, and that groan veers low, possessive, tension alight in his body as he all but pounds Emet-Selch into the mattress. Since drawing out and pushing in wasn't viable, though, the robot kneads himself in place, strokes becoming that bit more robust given the seed he can use to glide along with. But ultimately he presses deeper, stuffing himself so fully that he can feel the weight of his balls squeezed against Emet-Selch's body—a much-desired outcome, to be completely impaled. Mettaton couldn't deny the lust it filled him with to claim Emet-Selch, and to feel him leak liberally against his front, as though milked by the thick cock he has to squeeze around.]
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Emet-Selch wouldn't claim that Mettaton had a wilder libido... but he would complain about it, even when it ever incited him to keep up to whatever degree his body was capable of. Which was plenty, at the moment, given that he'd only climaxed once so far. The rawness of his body was an unrelated issue, and so long as he remained aroused it was endurable.
More than that, it was worthwhile because it came with the comfort of being full, of having something ground into him so inescapably to have him gasping. Writhing gets him nowhere but feeling that much more impaled, so he writhes more.]
I can feel it. [He whispers; there was little chance of him doing more than that, between hitches of breath and strokes of lips together.] Your dedication to this... to me.
[And he treasured both of those things in him. And he expected, of course, for Mettaton to remain hard enough past release, whether it was due to the composition of his body or some inherent Mettatonness. Hard enough to keep him feeling stuffed, to be an extra thrill to be wrapped around (even if he enjoyed no less the process of feeling him get as soft as he ever did, before hardening up again while still in his body). Hard enough to work him into his own completion.
Though the mage felt that he was plentily firm himself, swollen enough to impress, and something that he increasingly wanted relief from. There was only so much he could thrust, could push and rub his erection to Mettaton's unforgiving body, but he claims what direct stimulation he could manage. Milky precome leaks from him, renewing a little of the slickness that existed between their bodies, and with each beat of his heart he throbbed.
Breath quick against Mettaton's lips, it grew harder to kiss him when every push, every tense of his own body interrupted him with another sound he couldn't keep from making. It was even harder to collect himself enough to reply in words as he tries to knead himself on his length, a feeling irresistible.]
I need- I need to- you....
no subject
Yet with his upper body he presses; with every thrust, he pushes against him, Emet-Selch's cock gliding slickly against glass. Mettaton exhales shakily against the other man's lips, body so tense that an unknowing onlooker might guess that he was searching for his own release as well. And each time he feels Emet-Selch grinding into his lap, squeezing around the tip of his cock and pressing into it to take the edge off, Mettaton can't help but moan against his cheek while Emet-Selch speaks his plea.
A reward: imitating the exact rolls of Emet-Selch's hips, the way he fought for movement just so that he could press even harder against the robot, Mettaton tries to knead Emet-Selch down hard into the bed, rubbing firmly into his lover's body, curving with each thrust. A low, guttural groan escapes his throat and he grips down on Emet-Selch, sinking deep between his legs.]
Hades... Ah... [He kisses him sloppily, as sloppy as he can without saliva.] Come for me, my dearest! Let me feel you come undone...!
[And let him feel him tense and squeeze, sensations he's spurred toward such great anticipation of that Mettaton wasn't sure he'd be able to simply... not sport another erection after this. The way the memory pools low and hard and sudden would dizzy him if he had blood to sink into his cock, and the overall warmth that hugs his cock, the limbs that wrap around him with maddened need... Mettaton groans against skin, similarly too sloppy to manage any coordinated kisses.
He feels still the heat of his ejaculate, and that groan veers low, possessive, tension alight in his body as he all but pounds Emet-Selch into the mattress. Since drawing out and pushing in wasn't viable, though, the robot kneads himself in place, strokes becoming that bit more robust given the seed he can use to glide along with. But ultimately he presses deeper, stuffing himself so fully that he can feel the weight of his balls squeezed against Emet-Selch's body—a much-desired outcome, to be completely impaled. Mettaton couldn't deny the lust it filled him with to claim Emet-Selch, and to feel him leak liberally against his front, as though milked by the thick cock he has to squeeze around.]