It is strange lovemaking, but it's love making all the same. Emet-Selch dips his head to bite at that bared throat, mouth full of sharper teeth with which to nibble and graze, scraping them over the collarbone that Hyth still has.

He does have words, though, past silver'd lips. It mostly comes out as Hyth, Hyth, Hyth, because it's the only word he knows right now. Each roll of his undulating body brings it from him, stolen and precious.

One thing was missing from the creation, though: a means of climax. So there's no ending-- no plateau, no bodily release. It's literally going to just keep building until they're whited out with, till they give out and lay in tingling ecstasy, too fucked out and exhausted to even move. A bit of impatient oversight on Emet-Selch's part, but... it's hardly the first time they've fucked so hard that they couldn't feel their legs after.

Or anything else, really.