Ngk
Er, I bring a repost from the Kink Meme! I wrote it sometime last year.
PWP: Chernobyl, starring Pollution. Most likely the most explicit thing I have ever written, so concrit would be appreciated! :)
Disclaimer: Pollution belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Chernobyl is an actual historical event, and Dmitry is an OC.
Dmitry stumbled over a stone, falling to his knees, feeling the rough gravel scratch already scabbed knees through threadbare trousers, and he shivered.
What was the point of running? Either way, he would die. And perhaps it might have been warmer there. There might still have been food. Instead, he was separated from the other Pripyat refugees, starving, not daring to approach any houses. He didn't know exactly what this thing, this radioactivity, was; only that it was dangerous, and he had been exposed. Dmitry slumped against a locked door, pulling his dirty clothes closer.
He blinked. There was a being approaching, a being so pure and pale despite the stained clothes that he wondered if it was an angel. Long, fair hair blew across the delicate features, and a small, dreamy smile quirked those lips. He shivered, though, as he beheld the pale eyes, the expression on the being's face as it caught sight of him. No, this was no angel.
Pollution smiled, the radioactive taint on this man calling to him, tickling the edges of his aura deliciously. He was so proud of himself for Chernobyl; he’d deserved a reward anyway. He approached the man, breathing in deeply, savouring the faint scent of radioactive fallout, and for a moment the trefoil symbol of radioactivity flashed in his silver-grey eyes as he knelt and trailed a sticky finger down the cheek of the shivering man, leaving a trail of crude oil in its wake. "What is your name?" he murmured, in fluent Russian, smooth as oil.
"D - Dmitry," Dmitry stuttered. There was a strange smell, sickly-sweet, that seemed to be coming off this man, clouding his senses.
"Dmitry," Pollution repeated, rolling the syllables on his tongue. "A beautiful name, for a beautiful man." He leaned forward - Dmitry wanted to move, to run, but that strange scent hovered at the edge of his dulled senses, leaving his limbs so very pliant in the pale stranger's hands, whispering to him that it was quite alright - and pressed his lips to Dmitry's, tilting his head, tongue flickering in and out. Dmitry tasted oil, and chemicals, and yet he found himself parting his lips willingly, letting his mouth be plundered.
In one smooth movement, Pollution was straddling his hips, pressing their bodies together; he rolled his hips forward, sinuously, and savoured Dmitry's choked moan. Pollution’s questing fingers trailed over the buttons and zippers of Dmitry's clothes, which rusted at his touch, and he pulled away the clothes which were suddenly more stained and threadbare than they had been a moment ago.
Dmitry should have been cold, but there was a pleasant haze in his mind, and he didn't register anything other than the oddly addictive touch on his emaciated chest, trailing lower, stopping at his abdomen just as he jerked bony hips up. Pollution was leaning back, now, slowly pulling away his clothes to reveal pale skin slick with sweat and oil and toxic substances with multisyllabic names that hadn't been discovered yet. His eyes fluttered shut as he ran teasing fingers over his own thighs and cock, and Dmitry, by now only half-conscious, groaned. Pollution smirked, fingers now circling Dmitry's nipples, giving one a hard tweak as he began to lick his neck, sucking at the prominent Adam’s apple.
"Patience, now, you pretty thing,” he murmured against damp skin. “Oh, you look a bit like Famine, you'll be so delicious..."
His fingers were now coated in a strange, slick substance, and he wrapped them around Dmitry's cock, sliding up and down, coating it thickly, his smile widening at each weak moan. The fingers abruptly disappeared, but Dmitry's half-formed wordless protest was cut off as Pollution shifted, and in one smooth move his cock was enveloped in heat and friction.
Dmitry found himself flat on the ground, Pollution straddling him, his cock gripped so deliciously, and he watched Pollution lean back, impaling himself still further, and begin to run light, teasing fingers over his own body, skittering over his thin torso and thighs and circling his own cock. As those clammy hands took up his hips, gripping hard, as Pollution began to ride him languidly, hips rolling forward like an oil slick spreading upon the ocean’s surface, his own eyes went unfocused.
It was lucky the street was deserted, because nobody watching could doubt that Pollution was not human, not with the sunlight reflecting off the oleaginous substances oozing from his skin, with the way his eyes gleamed, the trefoil symbol so clearly visible now, with the way the filthy nothings tumbling from between his lips bore echoes of rusting oil drums and crackling plastic wrappers and acid rain eating away slowly at statues.
Pollution threw his head back and moaned, long and low, as each roll of his hips brought Dmitry’s cock brushing against his prostate, and he began to move in earnest now, hips rocking forward, breath coming in short, toxic bursts as the pleasure built up. One hand left Dmitry’s hips, gripping the base of his own cock, as Dmitry’s soft, mewling cried indicated his closeness to the edge; he didn’t want to finish just yet. He wanted to play with his new toy for a little longer.
His lips crashed against Dmitry’s, greedily sucking at his tongue, swallowing Dmitry’s cries as his hips jerked convulsively, spilling within Pollution. The Horseman pulled away and began to crawl up the Ukrainian’s body, now covered with the same substances as Pollution’s own, thanks to roaming hands.
Dmitry’s eyes widened at the way Pollution was positioned over him; Pollution braced himself and thrust forward, into Dmitry’s mouth, and moaned at the warm wetness. He let his fingers weave into Dmitry’s dark hair, the other hand cupping the side of Dmitry’s head, smiling as the man began to suck dreamily, lips closing around the base, tongue wrapping around him, and vaguely wondered if he should let the humans discover the aphrodisiac scent rolling off his skin. Dmitry sucked, working on instinct, barely aware of what he was doing, and Pollution gave a throaty groan, fingers twisting sharply in dark hair as he thrust forward, into the man’s mouth, pleasure rising like the rapid spread of a forest fire.
As Pollution felt the back of Dmitry’s throat, his back arched, taut, a name that was not Dmitry’s - it had only two syllables - spilling from his lips, as he thrust frantically into the wet heat of Dmitry’s mouth and spilled his toxic seed.
Slowly, he pulled away and stretched out, watching curiously as Dmitry began to choke on the poisonous substance coating his mouth and throat. Pollution pressed languid kisses to Dmitry’s skin, slowly turning blue from the cold, fingers toying absentmindedly with the flaccid cock.
“Ssh,” he murmured into Dmitry’s ear before sucking on the lobe, still lying on the convulsing body. “You were very good, you know. I want to keep you, but you’ll die soon anyway.” Dmitry coughed, trying desperately to get rid of the poison, but his mouth was quickly covered by toxic lips, licking away the poison but doing just as much damage. As his body began to still, Pollution finally got off, looking almost regretful as he dressed.
THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR.
“Hello, Azrael. I don’t see what you’re complaining about. He would have starved anyway. It was practically mercy.”
INDEED.
Death raised his scythe, and Pollution strolled away, absentmindedly humming to himself.