The only reason Emet-Selch can do this is because Hyth has no shame. He's wanton in his desire and it incenses him, to rage and passion both. Hands merely gesture and flesh unspins and reweaves itself, until they are tangled up again; this time with hands, first, as Emet rolls with him for a moment till they're wrapped up in each other. He presses him until he's flat-backed on the floor, laying under Emet's mane of tendrils. He's slick and glistening, finding hollows he carved into Hyth and slotting his penile ridges right into them.

But even as they couple like beasts, Emet-Selch holds both of Hyth's hands high above his head, pinning them in his claw, as he takes his pleasure from his lovers' body. Where tendrils brush against each other, biochemical messages pass back and forth, base carnal things that share pleasure and arousal, keeping them both at fever pitch.