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sekai. nc-17. 669 words. sehun takes jongin out into the woods. (originally posted at [livejournal.com profile] exopromptmeme)
warnings: salirophilia, d/s elements(?)







After rain, comes sunshine. Sehun takes Jongin for a walk.

All the way to the forest they walk close close together, side by side, arm pressed against arm, in step, so that nobody’ll see the piece of string connecting them. When straying from the trail and heading down the valley, Sehun takes it out from his pocket and unwinds the length. Jongin dutifully lags behind, stumbling over tree roots and jumping over rocks, until the rope is stretched between them, tugging his arm up and digging lines into his wrist. Sehun makes sure to not look back, so he won’t have to see the smile on Jongin’s face.

Their little dip in the slope has soggied up well. The mud is wet and oily and dark, dark brown. Sehun halfheartedly looks out for joggers while Jongin strips down, and then butt-naked Jongin halfheartedly looks out for joggers while Sehun wears his apron and rubber gloves and tucks his pant legs into his wellingtons.

“Juice, by the way.”

Sehun looks up. “Huh?”

“You’re out of juice.”

“How do you know?”

“I drank it.” Jongin scratches at his buttock. The puddle makes a slick, sucking noise when he falls to his knees and makes himself comfortable, for every movement sinking deeper into the sludge. It swells up against his thighs, pooling fluid in the cracks, creeping bubbles up his skin.

“Okay.” Sehun stands before him, tilts his head up with a nudge at his chin. Strokes his gloved rubber thumb over one of Jongin’s pimples. “We’ll pick some up.” Sehun likes Jongin’s pimples. Likes his wonky nose, his perpetual dragon breath, how shitty he is with people. Likes everything that makes Jongin a little less perfect, a little less out of Sehun’s reach. He presses down a little, wonders if it hurts. “We need dinner anyway.”

He bends down and digs his fingers into the grime, clasps a generous fistful.

“Great,” Jongin says, closing his eyes. The sun falls on his hair, on his full lips, on the dots of scars across his cheek. Sehun lifts his hand. Jongin twitches when a drop hits his forehead. Doesn’t twitch when Sehun releases the handful into his face.

It always takes him some time to get into it. Jongin sits quiet and patient as Sehun’s crouched in front, sprinkling small, artsy splatters across Jongin’s chest. It’s almost pretty. Then Sehun wipes them off, leaving a big swipe of brown instead.

Before long he’s knee-deep in it himself, staggering and panting and hauling entire lumps of mud onto Jongin’s body. Every strike has Jongin swaying faintly, tipping backwards with the force until he finds his balance again. Sehun fills his lungs with air and screams into Jongin’s face.

He feels his body pounding, feels the breaths burn in his throat and he wipes sweat off his brow and gets some mud on it in the process but just tugs the apron up and out of the way and yanks at his fly and starts jacking off with muddy gloves and all.

Jongin sits covered in and surrounded by filth and with his cock hanging thick and swollen and dirty between his folded thighs and he dutifully doesn’t touch it, just smiles up at Sehun — “Don’t smile.” – just looks up at Sehun with thick streaks of dirt over his face and his chest and his entire body, splatters and spots, cakes and clots, smelling faintly spoilt (soil, still water, dead things), and Sehun genuinely, genuinely genuinely finds him disgusting like this—

He lands his load right across Jongin’s face.

When Sehun has wiped himself and his genitals off with kleenexes they lie together in the still damp grass, moist seeping into Sehun’s clothes and making the caking mud on Jongin’s naked skin melt and bleed.

“Chicken, by the way.”

Sehun looks up. “Huh?”

“I want chicken for dinner.”

“Okay.”

All the way home they walk close close together, Jongin with his hood pulled deep over his face so that nobody’ll see the brown covering it.



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