(no subject)
Mud
Pairing: PINTO (duh)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slosh/mud kink
Word count: Fuck if I know. Wanna count 'em for me? 2747! Thanks to amerasu1013 for the count!
Disclaimer: Totally not my dudes.
Summary: For monkeyonthelam & this prompt at the kink meme. Zach discovers Chris's particularly... messy kink, and indulges it.
Cross-posted at pinto_fic.
It's just Zach, he keeps telling himself. Just Zach.
Even if he's completely covered with mud, laughing and splashing with squishy noises. Chris can hardly see the color of Zach's shirt on the left side, and Zach's jeans are plastered with mud. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Zach kicked his shoes off before he jumped into the puddle with Noah, so now Chris is watching him squelch through the mud barefoot, imagining-- okay, he's not imagining. He's not going to. He flatly refuses to.
"Chris!" Zach is thrilled with himself, Chris can see; he's stomping around like a kid, enjoying the rain and the mud, totally innocent. "Chris, get your ass out here, we'll make mud angels!"
Chris shakes his head emphatically. "I don't want to get all--" He can't bring himself to say 'muddy'. "I don't want to take my shoes off." Can Zach tell how nervous he is? He feels it oozing off him, apprehension and arousal thick as the mud that sticks to Zach's feet each time he takes a laborious step.
"Quit being a stick-in-the-mud," says Zach, flopping over on his back with a thock. "Or start being a stick-in-the-mud. Come play!"
But Chris refuses, dancing from foot to foot and trying not to look, until Zach gets out of breath and crawls out of the muddy patch of earth. "Okay," he says, gingerly picking up his shoes, "time to hose Noah off and get a shower. A hot shower. I'm freezing."
They head back to Zach's house, Chris with his hands in his coat pockets, Zach merrily dripping globs of mud onto the sidewalk behind him. "Ugh," says Zach, shaking his arm, "there's mud in my shirt. Ugh, it's sliding into my pants."
Chris can hear the mud, a soft slicking sound every time Zach's legs brush each other, an erratic viscous drip from the back of his head down his neck. There's a wet, earthy smell hanging around them, and even the steady fall drizzle doesn't dissipate it.
Zach chatters on as they head up the walk, but when they get to the front door and Zach fumbles in his mudded-over pockets for the key, he seems to realize something's up. Chris's face goes red.
"Is something wrong, man? You really hate mud, don't you?"
"What makes you say that?" Don't look, don't look.
"You were like this that time Karl slipped outside the makeup trailer, too. We all thought you were mad at him for something."
"That was... I was distracted."
"It's not just mud, is it? What about when Anton dumped that smoothie down his shirt? Come to think of it, you did that a lot." They're in the front hall now, Noah bounding to the back door with a dirty wake behind him.
"Did what," says Chris, who can't stop staring at the muddy footprints on the floor, five toes lined with muddy rings. Zach must have mud between his toes, up the legs of his pants...
"Spaced out. You have this look on you, Chris, like you're either going to hit somebody or burst into tears. You okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I've just... been thinking about stuff."
"Hmm. Well, help me get Noah in the back yard so I can hose him off, and we'll talk about it later. If you want to."
So now they're in the back yard, where it's still drizzling and the left half of the lawn has turned into a huge sticky mess, with Chris holding Noah by the collar while Zach sprays him down. "I'll have to mop," muses Zach, who's still muddy, and Noah takes this exact moment to rip out of Chris's hands and tear back into the house, away from the water.
"Dammit," says Zach, and Chris is so distracted by his own thoughts he doesn't see Zach reaching for him, and thus before he knows what's going on he's hurtling shoulder-first into the mud with Zach's laugh in his ears and his shoes still on.
"Oh, god," Chris groans, teetering between horror and dizzy excitement, pulling himself half upright. Mud squelches in his armpit and clings to his entire left side, cold on his ear, oozing into his shoes. He fights the near-desperate urge to kick his shoes off and sink his toes gratifyingly into the sludge, because Zach is lying halfway against him, splattered and chuckling.
"Not so picky now," cackles Zach, scooping up a handful of mud and smearing it down Chris's back. "See? It's fine! Embrace your inner kid!"
It's not Chris's inner kid that he's worried about. He wriggles, trying to get away from Zach, mud seeping through the fabric of his shirt and sticking to his chest, horribly aware of his own mounting arousal. He almost gets away before Zach grips him again, flipping him over on his back with an oof and a slap of mud on skin, and as Chris lies gasping from the shock of cold squishing against his neck, Zach does the unthinkable and looks down.
"Oh," says Zach, and then again, reverently: "Oh."
Chris groans and turns his face away. The entire future narrows into a horrible tunnel of embarrassment; there's no path he can see from here, hard and aching in the mud, that leads to Zach forgetting about this and letting them go on with their lives. His secret is totally out now. Zach's going to tell everyone, and--
"It's the mud, isn't it? You like it squishy."
Chris nods, sitting up with a schlup noise. No point in denying it now.
"So it's not me." Zach sounds... curiously let-down.
"No," Chris manages to say, "no, that's not it, it's you, it's just... you and the mud. It's... pretty intense. For me. Uh." He forces himself to look at Zach, who's still lying in the mud as if in a deep feather bed.
"So if I did this..." Zach starts unbuttoning his shirt, which is certainly ruined by now. It takes Chris a second to catch up with this: Zach is unbuttoning his shirt. Just as his eyes start bugging out, Zach lifts a mud-slathered hand and smears it down the exposed swath of his chest, leaving a trail of mud through his chest hair and across his undershirt.
Chris is going to die, he's sure of it. His chest is seizing up and he feels strangely sick, burning in his abdomen. Zach undoes his shirt completely and writhes out of it without even sitting up, plastering himself with mud in the process, smiling mischievously up at Chris with his eyes, and then strips out of his undershirt. There's mud on his nipples, mud filling his navel, mud painted all over his lean beautiful torso.
He can't help it; Chris lifts a handful of mud and scrapes it, like frosting with a knife, over Zach's ribcage, and watches it slip downward with hallowed awe. Zach watches him, observing Chris's shallow breaths and glassy eyes, and then shucks off his remaining clothing until he's lying there in the mud in his briefs, the outline of his cock clearly visible through the filthy cotton.
It's a tipping moment, both of them gauging the other's reactions and weighing the risks, and then Zach shifts in the mud with a barely-audible sucking sound and the moment is over and Chris realizes Zach's hard too. Chris struggles to his feet.
"Going somewhere?" Zach looks suddenly unsure, self-conscious, but Chris is only getting up enough to shuck off his shoes and socks and toss them toward the drier part of the yard before struggling out of the rest of his clothing. He might have torn a little of it; he doesn't really care. He's naked in seconds, each foot sinking into the mud, wet twists of soaked earth squirming up between his toes.
"Oh god, Zach, this is your last warning," he says, feeling as if his throat is closing up. "If you don't want this, you need to let me know."
Zach just lies back, mud-streaked white throat long and graceful, clenching his hands into the muck until it flows out between his fingers. "Come get me dirty, Chris."
It's all the invitation Chris needs, and he practically falls onto Zach, the soft thwock of his knees hitting the mud leaving him gasping. Zach arches his back as Chris pins him to the mud with his arms, so that Zach's torso is slicking up against his, slippery from the mud and scratchy with his tangled chest hair. Chris groans aloud.
"God, you really like this, don't you?" Zach's smirking at him, just a little, but Chris can also see how bright and dilated his eyes are, and Zach's lips are parting just a bit and Chris kisses him, pressing their chests together so that the bulk of the mud on Zach's chest squishes out to the sides. It's sweet, it's so sweet and it's almost too much, and when Chris moves just a bit and feels the mud-wet bulge of Zach's cock against his hip he shudders.
"Oh, Zach, fuck," Chris says, digging his toes into the mud by Zach's heels, feeling the sick-sinful squelch rushing through the gaps between his big and second toes, letting it rope under and around his curled-back pinky toes, trying to focus on Zach and on the sensation of the mud all at once...
It suddenly becomes a lot easier to focus on Zach as he starts squirming, and aside from the movement (which rubs things together and makes them pretty happy, all right) Chris suddenly realizes that Zach is taking off those mud-saturated briefs. He scrambles up off of Zach, giving him room, and groans again as soon as he sees the imprint of his own body in the muck on Zach's chest, the clear mark of his own nipples just beside Zach's.
The skin under the briefs is cleaner than it should be, just a little dirty, and the underside of Zach's cock as it springs free to lie against his belly is almost perfectly clean. Chris can't stop staring, can't even touch; it's too pristine, and there are too many things he could do to get it dirty. Instead he pulls back further, leans down, and licks it, long and sloppy, from Zach's balls to the head of his cock. There's a bit of grit in Chris's mouth but oh god, he doesn't care. He goes back for more, sucking and slurping, feeling Zach's hands slather and clutch mud into his hair until it drips and dollops down onto his neck and onto Zach's perfect hips and Chris drops until his own cock makes contact, feverish-hot, with the cool soft mud.
And he's rutting into it, relishing the squishy schlucks along with Zach's muffled cries and the slither of muddy fingers through his hair, the angle of his jaw starting to ache, letting the mud work its way through the tangle of hair at his crotch. It's not a lot of friction, but he's pretty sure he could get off this way, looking at Zach writhing all covered with mud, mouth straining around Zach's cock, his own cock slicking through the wet earth--
--but Zach grabs him by the shoulders and flips him over. It's quite a bit of wrestling and Chris gets mud between his asscheeks, but then Zach is kneeling over him and Chris reaches up and grabs his cock, and then stares in awe: Zach's cock, smeared with mud, bobbing gently, straining after his hand. Chris is pretty sure he's going to come right this instant.
Then he knows he's going to come, as Zach smiles wolfishly and sits back on his haunches, trailing one hand through the mud with a series of schhhks, back and forth, and then wraps his muddy hand around the base of Chris's cock.
Chris feels his eyes rolling back, feels the faint patter of the drizzle returning, and feels his hands clutching and stroking at Zach's knees where they rest on the ground, but it's all a cool, luscious blur of mud. Every thrust of his hips as he ruts up into Zach's palm makes little sucking noises, and every time he falls back arching under Zach's confident, mud-smoothed touch, the mud slaps into him and splurts out of the way, droplets flying through the air. It's just a little gritty, mostly clay mud, and as Zach starts smearing more mud across his chest in handfuls, massaging it into his skin, Chris is overwhelmed with the sensation that he's suspended in mud, floating in it, slathered and caressed by its movement, every inch of him slow and weighty with the bulk and squish of it.
Zach scoots forward until he can press his cock to Chris's, wrapping his hand around both shafts; Chris pulls his knees up until he can feel the dirt-slick slide of Zach's ass against his upper thighs as Zach thrusts into his own hand. Chris's feet bury themselves swiftly in the mud, the sucking grasp of it pulling at the mud trapped between his toes, like strange massaging fingers slipping through the sensitive places. Every time Zach pulls back to thrust again, it drives Chris's feet through the mud, forcing his curling toes to spread wider against the onslaught. His neck is slick with it, his breath is heaving, and as Zach's eyebrows rise into a bow of anguished pleasure and his bucking stammers to a halt, Chris grips Zach's knees and squeezes.
Mud, caught between Zach's knees and Chris's sides, splutches in thick ribbons under Chris's grip and pressure, and the combination of friction and Chris's fingers digging into his legs apparently drives Zach right over the edge. "Wanted-- this-- so long," he growls, and his face clenches and he spills across Chris's chest in pearly splatters that mix and swirl with the mud.
Chris, tight and liquid and near the edge himself, holds his breath and watches, soaking up every fluttering nuance of Zach's mouth as he gasps his way through orgasm and sags back against Chris's knees. His hands drop, releasing the delicious schlick of mud and frot on Chris's cock, and Chris is about to groan and beg for more when his eyes dart from Zach's wrung-out face to Zach's cock, which is still dripping from the last spasm, beading come drooling from the tip, and a thick smear of gray-brown mud sweeping from the left side of his balls, a clear imprint of the downstroke of his hand, all the way to the crown.
With a desperate clench, Chris realizes he's falling over the edge, a sick sweet delirious hurricane of blood washing through him and boiling up in his abdomen and he's going to-- he's going--
Zach, lips still parted and damp with his gasping, half-smiles down at Chris and wraps his other hand, which is so thick with mud that it's dripping in clods onto Chris's hip, around his own cock, and milks. A dribble of come trickles from the slit just before the whole thing is engulfed by a squidge of mud cascading in gorgeous succulent dollops from the grip of his hand, and Chris slips out of his mind and is burning in the coolness of the mud, filled up in every cranny and crevice of his being, choking out a tortured cry as he shoots across his abdomen. It's so forceful that he feels his cock jerk and feels the warm sling of his own come striking his neck and jaw, and then he hears Zach muttering something like oh god fuck yes and it's like he's drowning in the thick flowing undulation of his own coming, pushing upward for air, feeling it pull and suck at all his limbs--
--and then he's lying in the mud, panting and heaving, while Zach looks down at him with an expression of such self-satisfaction that Chris has to laugh at him.
"God, you really liked that, didn't you?" Zach is wiping mud from his cheek, scrambling upright, offering Chris a hand to pull him up from his lethargy in the mud. "I had no idea or I'd have jumped in the mud every chance I got. I guess you'll be up for regular sex sometimes, right?"
Chris can only nod, exhausted and giddy with the idea of "sometimes."
"Great," says Zach, naked and filthy and bare in the muddy backyard. "Now let's head in for a hot shower, and we can try out one of my kinks."
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Pairing: PINTO (duh)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slosh/mud kink
Word count: Fuck if I know. Wanna count 'em for me? 2747! Thanks to amerasu1013 for the count!
Disclaimer: Totally not my dudes.
Summary: For monkeyonthelam & this prompt at the kink meme. Zach discovers Chris's particularly... messy kink, and indulges it.
Cross-posted at pinto_fic.
It's just Zach, he keeps telling himself. Just Zach.
Even if he's completely covered with mud, laughing and splashing with squishy noises. Chris can hardly see the color of Zach's shirt on the left side, and Zach's jeans are plastered with mud. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Zach kicked his shoes off before he jumped into the puddle with Noah, so now Chris is watching him squelch through the mud barefoot, imagining-- okay, he's not imagining. He's not going to. He flatly refuses to.
"Chris!" Zach is thrilled with himself, Chris can see; he's stomping around like a kid, enjoying the rain and the mud, totally innocent. "Chris, get your ass out here, we'll make mud angels!"
Chris shakes his head emphatically. "I don't want to get all--" He can't bring himself to say 'muddy'. "I don't want to take my shoes off." Can Zach tell how nervous he is? He feels it oozing off him, apprehension and arousal thick as the mud that sticks to Zach's feet each time he takes a laborious step.
"Quit being a stick-in-the-mud," says Zach, flopping over on his back with a thock. "Or start being a stick-in-the-mud. Come play!"
But Chris refuses, dancing from foot to foot and trying not to look, until Zach gets out of breath and crawls out of the muddy patch of earth. "Okay," he says, gingerly picking up his shoes, "time to hose Noah off and get a shower. A hot shower. I'm freezing."
They head back to Zach's house, Chris with his hands in his coat pockets, Zach merrily dripping globs of mud onto the sidewalk behind him. "Ugh," says Zach, shaking his arm, "there's mud in my shirt. Ugh, it's sliding into my pants."
Chris can hear the mud, a soft slicking sound every time Zach's legs brush each other, an erratic viscous drip from the back of his head down his neck. There's a wet, earthy smell hanging around them, and even the steady fall drizzle doesn't dissipate it.
Zach chatters on as they head up the walk, but when they get to the front door and Zach fumbles in his mudded-over pockets for the key, he seems to realize something's up. Chris's face goes red.
"Is something wrong, man? You really hate mud, don't you?"
"What makes you say that?" Don't look, don't look.
"You were like this that time Karl slipped outside the makeup trailer, too. We all thought you were mad at him for something."
"That was... I was distracted."
"It's not just mud, is it? What about when Anton dumped that smoothie down his shirt? Come to think of it, you did that a lot." They're in the front hall now, Noah bounding to the back door with a dirty wake behind him.
"Did what," says Chris, who can't stop staring at the muddy footprints on the floor, five toes lined with muddy rings. Zach must have mud between his toes, up the legs of his pants...
"Spaced out. You have this look on you, Chris, like you're either going to hit somebody or burst into tears. You okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I've just... been thinking about stuff."
"Hmm. Well, help me get Noah in the back yard so I can hose him off, and we'll talk about it later. If you want to."
So now they're in the back yard, where it's still drizzling and the left half of the lawn has turned into a huge sticky mess, with Chris holding Noah by the collar while Zach sprays him down. "I'll have to mop," muses Zach, who's still muddy, and Noah takes this exact moment to rip out of Chris's hands and tear back into the house, away from the water.
"Dammit," says Zach, and Chris is so distracted by his own thoughts he doesn't see Zach reaching for him, and thus before he knows what's going on he's hurtling shoulder-first into the mud with Zach's laugh in his ears and his shoes still on.
"Oh, god," Chris groans, teetering between horror and dizzy excitement, pulling himself half upright. Mud squelches in his armpit and clings to his entire left side, cold on his ear, oozing into his shoes. He fights the near-desperate urge to kick his shoes off and sink his toes gratifyingly into the sludge, because Zach is lying halfway against him, splattered and chuckling.
"Not so picky now," cackles Zach, scooping up a handful of mud and smearing it down Chris's back. "See? It's fine! Embrace your inner kid!"
It's not Chris's inner kid that he's worried about. He wriggles, trying to get away from Zach, mud seeping through the fabric of his shirt and sticking to his chest, horribly aware of his own mounting arousal. He almost gets away before Zach grips him again, flipping him over on his back with an oof and a slap of mud on skin, and as Chris lies gasping from the shock of cold squishing against his neck, Zach does the unthinkable and looks down.
"Oh," says Zach, and then again, reverently: "Oh."
Chris groans and turns his face away. The entire future narrows into a horrible tunnel of embarrassment; there's no path he can see from here, hard and aching in the mud, that leads to Zach forgetting about this and letting them go on with their lives. His secret is totally out now. Zach's going to tell everyone, and--
"It's the mud, isn't it? You like it squishy."
Chris nods, sitting up with a schlup noise. No point in denying it now.
"So it's not me." Zach sounds... curiously let-down.
"No," Chris manages to say, "no, that's not it, it's you, it's just... you and the mud. It's... pretty intense. For me. Uh." He forces himself to look at Zach, who's still lying in the mud as if in a deep feather bed.
"So if I did this..." Zach starts unbuttoning his shirt, which is certainly ruined by now. It takes Chris a second to catch up with this: Zach is unbuttoning his shirt. Just as his eyes start bugging out, Zach lifts a mud-slathered hand and smears it down the exposed swath of his chest, leaving a trail of mud through his chest hair and across his undershirt.
Chris is going to die, he's sure of it. His chest is seizing up and he feels strangely sick, burning in his abdomen. Zach undoes his shirt completely and writhes out of it without even sitting up, plastering himself with mud in the process, smiling mischievously up at Chris with his eyes, and then strips out of his undershirt. There's mud on his nipples, mud filling his navel, mud painted all over his lean beautiful torso.
He can't help it; Chris lifts a handful of mud and scrapes it, like frosting with a knife, over Zach's ribcage, and watches it slip downward with hallowed awe. Zach watches him, observing Chris's shallow breaths and glassy eyes, and then shucks off his remaining clothing until he's lying there in the mud in his briefs, the outline of his cock clearly visible through the filthy cotton.
It's a tipping moment, both of them gauging the other's reactions and weighing the risks, and then Zach shifts in the mud with a barely-audible sucking sound and the moment is over and Chris realizes Zach's hard too. Chris struggles to his feet.
"Going somewhere?" Zach looks suddenly unsure, self-conscious, but Chris is only getting up enough to shuck off his shoes and socks and toss them toward the drier part of the yard before struggling out of the rest of his clothing. He might have torn a little of it; he doesn't really care. He's naked in seconds, each foot sinking into the mud, wet twists of soaked earth squirming up between his toes.
"Oh god, Zach, this is your last warning," he says, feeling as if his throat is closing up. "If you don't want this, you need to let me know."
Zach just lies back, mud-streaked white throat long and graceful, clenching his hands into the muck until it flows out between his fingers. "Come get me dirty, Chris."
It's all the invitation Chris needs, and he practically falls onto Zach, the soft thwock of his knees hitting the mud leaving him gasping. Zach arches his back as Chris pins him to the mud with his arms, so that Zach's torso is slicking up against his, slippery from the mud and scratchy with his tangled chest hair. Chris groans aloud.
"God, you really like this, don't you?" Zach's smirking at him, just a little, but Chris can also see how bright and dilated his eyes are, and Zach's lips are parting just a bit and Chris kisses him, pressing their chests together so that the bulk of the mud on Zach's chest squishes out to the sides. It's sweet, it's so sweet and it's almost too much, and when Chris moves just a bit and feels the mud-wet bulge of Zach's cock against his hip he shudders.
"Oh, Zach, fuck," Chris says, digging his toes into the mud by Zach's heels, feeling the sick-sinful squelch rushing through the gaps between his big and second toes, letting it rope under and around his curled-back pinky toes, trying to focus on Zach and on the sensation of the mud all at once...
It suddenly becomes a lot easier to focus on Zach as he starts squirming, and aside from the movement (which rubs things together and makes them pretty happy, all right) Chris suddenly realizes that Zach is taking off those mud-saturated briefs. He scrambles up off of Zach, giving him room, and groans again as soon as he sees the imprint of his own body in the muck on Zach's chest, the clear mark of his own nipples just beside Zach's.
The skin under the briefs is cleaner than it should be, just a little dirty, and the underside of Zach's cock as it springs free to lie against his belly is almost perfectly clean. Chris can't stop staring, can't even touch; it's too pristine, and there are too many things he could do to get it dirty. Instead he pulls back further, leans down, and licks it, long and sloppy, from Zach's balls to the head of his cock. There's a bit of grit in Chris's mouth but oh god, he doesn't care. He goes back for more, sucking and slurping, feeling Zach's hands slather and clutch mud into his hair until it drips and dollops down onto his neck and onto Zach's perfect hips and Chris drops until his own cock makes contact, feverish-hot, with the cool soft mud.
And he's rutting into it, relishing the squishy schlucks along with Zach's muffled cries and the slither of muddy fingers through his hair, the angle of his jaw starting to ache, letting the mud work its way through the tangle of hair at his crotch. It's not a lot of friction, but he's pretty sure he could get off this way, looking at Zach writhing all covered with mud, mouth straining around Zach's cock, his own cock slicking through the wet earth--
--but Zach grabs him by the shoulders and flips him over. It's quite a bit of wrestling and Chris gets mud between his asscheeks, but then Zach is kneeling over him and Chris reaches up and grabs his cock, and then stares in awe: Zach's cock, smeared with mud, bobbing gently, straining after his hand. Chris is pretty sure he's going to come right this instant.
Then he knows he's going to come, as Zach smiles wolfishly and sits back on his haunches, trailing one hand through the mud with a series of schhhks, back and forth, and then wraps his muddy hand around the base of Chris's cock.
Chris feels his eyes rolling back, feels the faint patter of the drizzle returning, and feels his hands clutching and stroking at Zach's knees where they rest on the ground, but it's all a cool, luscious blur of mud. Every thrust of his hips as he ruts up into Zach's palm makes little sucking noises, and every time he falls back arching under Zach's confident, mud-smoothed touch, the mud slaps into him and splurts out of the way, droplets flying through the air. It's just a little gritty, mostly clay mud, and as Zach starts smearing more mud across his chest in handfuls, massaging it into his skin, Chris is overwhelmed with the sensation that he's suspended in mud, floating in it, slathered and caressed by its movement, every inch of him slow and weighty with the bulk and squish of it.
Zach scoots forward until he can press his cock to Chris's, wrapping his hand around both shafts; Chris pulls his knees up until he can feel the dirt-slick slide of Zach's ass against his upper thighs as Zach thrusts into his own hand. Chris's feet bury themselves swiftly in the mud, the sucking grasp of it pulling at the mud trapped between his toes, like strange massaging fingers slipping through the sensitive places. Every time Zach pulls back to thrust again, it drives Chris's feet through the mud, forcing his curling toes to spread wider against the onslaught. His neck is slick with it, his breath is heaving, and as Zach's eyebrows rise into a bow of anguished pleasure and his bucking stammers to a halt, Chris grips Zach's knees and squeezes.
Mud, caught between Zach's knees and Chris's sides, splutches in thick ribbons under Chris's grip and pressure, and the combination of friction and Chris's fingers digging into his legs apparently drives Zach right over the edge. "Wanted-- this-- so long," he growls, and his face clenches and he spills across Chris's chest in pearly splatters that mix and swirl with the mud.
Chris, tight and liquid and near the edge himself, holds his breath and watches, soaking up every fluttering nuance of Zach's mouth as he gasps his way through orgasm and sags back against Chris's knees. His hands drop, releasing the delicious schlick of mud and frot on Chris's cock, and Chris is about to groan and beg for more when his eyes dart from Zach's wrung-out face to Zach's cock, which is still dripping from the last spasm, beading come drooling from the tip, and a thick smear of gray-brown mud sweeping from the left side of his balls, a clear imprint of the downstroke of his hand, all the way to the crown.
With a desperate clench, Chris realizes he's falling over the edge, a sick sweet delirious hurricane of blood washing through him and boiling up in his abdomen and he's going to-- he's going--
Zach, lips still parted and damp with his gasping, half-smiles down at Chris and wraps his other hand, which is so thick with mud that it's dripping in clods onto Chris's hip, around his own cock, and milks. A dribble of come trickles from the slit just before the whole thing is engulfed by a squidge of mud cascading in gorgeous succulent dollops from the grip of his hand, and Chris slips out of his mind and is burning in the coolness of the mud, filled up in every cranny and crevice of his being, choking out a tortured cry as he shoots across his abdomen. It's so forceful that he feels his cock jerk and feels the warm sling of his own come striking his neck and jaw, and then he hears Zach muttering something like oh god fuck yes and it's like he's drowning in the thick flowing undulation of his own coming, pushing upward for air, feeling it pull and suck at all his limbs--
--and then he's lying in the mud, panting and heaving, while Zach looks down at him with an expression of such self-satisfaction that Chris has to laugh at him.
"God, you really liked that, didn't you?" Zach is wiping mud from his cheek, scrambling upright, offering Chris a hand to pull him up from his lethargy in the mud. "I had no idea or I'd have jumped in the mud every chance I got. I guess you'll be up for regular sex sometimes, right?"
Chris can only nod, exhausted and giddy with the idea of "sometimes."
"Great," says Zach, naked and filthy and bare in the muddy backyard. "Now let's head in for a hot shower, and we can try out one of my kinks."
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