Chapter Text
Fated: KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN
Changmin smacks a branch away from his face after the eighty-sixth attempt in assault by the local flora and growls beneath his breath, cursing himself for being an idiot who never learns. How many times must he tell himself to not let Jung Yunho know things that doesn’t concern the other man, before he truly gets it?
He walks into a spider web, and: “Fuck!” Fucking spider webs. Fucking spiders. Fucking spiders weaving their fucking webs in fucking places where people have to fucking walk through!
“Keep up, Changminnie!” The obnoxiously cheerful voice hailing from a couple of metres ahead has him gritting his teeth so much that he thinks he’ll be pretty much toothless by the time they finish with this… this atrocity.
He didn’t envision this when he blabbed –stupid, stupid!- on national television that he would like to go hiking should he have the time. He had pictured wide, even trails with gorgeous mountain-scapes and clean fresh air. Not teeny, uneven dirt paths that span barely half a metre across. Not twisting trees that grow out in all directions. Not treacherous trenches hiding beneath heaps of loose leaves for the unwary hiker. And certainly not fucking spiders and their fucking webs!
“Changmin-ah! Are you okay back there?”
“I’m fine!” He’s not fine. He should have kept his stupid mouth shut in the first place. Stupid forest. Stupid nature trail. Stupid Jung Yunho and his stupid smile. And stupid him, for being a sucker for every one of Yunho’s hare-brained ideas every time that smile appears.
He catches up to the smile’s owner easily. “Where the hell are we going?”
Yunho glances at Changmin from the corner of his eye and offers a grin, “don’t pout; we’re reaching, Changminnie. We’re near!”
“That’s the eleventh time you’ve said that.” He’s not going to be a sucker this time. He’s going to stand up to that, that… evil thing. It’s just a mouth, Shim, he tells himself in his head, it’s just a mouth stretching and there’s nothing magical about it, it’s just facial muscles moving, that’s all. There is nothing special about it.
“But we are! I promise!” The possessor of said facial muscles exclaims, pointing ahead towards yet another clump of trees. Changmin doesn’t think it looks any different from the countless clumps that they’ve passed, but Yunho, oh, Yunho is bouncing slightly on the balls of his foot. “Can’t you hear the sound of moving water? We’re near the waterfall I read about in that travel guide! It’s really pretty Changminnie, the pictures I saw of it were really pretty! I know we got lost a few times, but this time -well- I can hear it!”
He cannot hear shit except for the crackling of the dry leaves littering the forest floor, with every step he takes. But Yunho’s windbreaker is jiggling every time he jumps, and if Yunho’s clothes are bouncing along with his feet, his chest must be too. That realization is more than a little distracting. If Yunho says he hears the waterfall, then they must be near the waterfall. “Wargh.”
“Come on!” Yunho swings an arm around him, and Changmin nearly stops breathing when he realizes that this presses his upper arm against his favourite part of Yunho’s body. But-
“I fucking hate these clothes,” he grits out through clenched teeth. He glimpses hurt flashing across Yunho’s face with his peripheral vision and immediately feels like killing himself. But the arm across his shoulder tightens within the next second, and Yunho rubs his face against Changmin’s neck like a too-large house cat. If house cats have opposable thumbs and clingy dispositions. “But Changminnie, why? We match!”
He supposes they do match, much akin to a monstrously overgrown version of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Changmin tugs at the side of his horrendously brown-checkered hiking pants irritably and glares at the zipper sitting securely at just below Yunho’s adam apple. “You could have just gotten the jackets alone, you know. That would have been tasteful; green and blue. But colour-coordinated bottoms, too? Yunho, matching green and brown is like putting shit and shit together.”
Yunho flicks at a piece of imaginary lint clinging to the slight of his matching green-checkered hiking pants. “But couple outfits have to match, Changmin. Besides… besides, I kind of like them.” He lifts his gaze up to meet Changmin’s eyes. There’s uncertainty and defiance and a little bit of something else in them. He brushes the pad his index fingers across Changmin’s lips and presses at the slight indent decorating the lower lip. “I think we look good like this.”
Changmin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but there is something flickering at the edge of his vision and he turns. They’ve entered a clearing after walking all this time; and the retort ready at the back of his throat stills. “I think we’re finally at your waterfall.”
“It’s not my waterfall,” Yunho protests, but he looks towards the direction that Changmin is pointing and Changmin cannot help but stare at the smile spilling across Yunho’s face like liquid sunshine. “Oh, oh! It’s my waterfall, Changminnie! We found it! We found it! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Changmin replies, eyes fixed on Yunho’s face. “Yes, it is.”
Yunho turns from on top of the boulder he’s scrambled onto, hand still dragging through the spray of water from the waterfall. His smile fades slowly as he meets Changmin’s eyes, but he doesn’t look away even as Changmin strides towards him in deliberate steps from the other side of the clearing, the sound of his hiking boots muffled by the leaf-strewn forest floor.
Changmin comes to a stop right in front of him; their bodies barely an inch from each other. “Beautiful,” he repeats. He is standing so close to Yunho that he can count each individual lash framing those eyes, eyes that curve sweetly into half-crescents whenever their owner laughs. He is standing so close that their noses almost touch. And yet Yunho doesn’t look away. Yunho doesn’t close his eyes.
He leans in closer still, so close that their breaths mingle. “I. Fucking. Hate. These. Clothes,” he breathes in the same tone. Yunho’s eyelids tremble, but he keeps them open even as Changmin reaches a hand out to tug at the zipper holding Yunho’s jacket closed.
The sound of the metallic teeth clacking together then apart is obscenely loud in the muffled silence of the clearing. Yunho bites his bottom lip, and Changmin can feel the soothing murmur of the waterfall fading into the background even as his focus sharpens, ears cataloguing Yunho’s every sigh and whisper.
Yunho utters a soft gasp and finally allows his lashes to rest against his cheeks, tilting his face towards the sun as shadows cast by the canopy of trees above them dance upon his temple. Changmin presses the edges of the jacket open and urges Yunho backwards, until the other man is lying down on the boulder, with Changmin’s arms caging Yunho’s shoulders. “I hate this jacket,” he enunciates each word more clearly than necessary against Yunho’s chest, and moves Yunho’s hands until they’re clasped with each other above his head. “Don’t move your hands.”
Yunho squirms, the stretchy fabric of his cotton-nylon mix T-shirt smooth against Changmin’s lips. He brushes his knuckles over Yunho’s front, dawdling. “I hate this T-shirt,” and sneaks a hand beneath the garment, feathering fingers across Yunho’s stomach. He chuckles as the muscles contract with every pass of his digits, and pushes the hem up until the material is mostly pooled at Yunho’s throat.
“Good afternoon,” Changmin greets Yunho’s nipples politely. He hasn’t seen them in hours, and he quite misses them. They perk up at the sight of him, and he rewards them for their eagerness by giving the left a hello kiss and the right, a little I-missed-you pinch. He rests his chin on Yunho’s belly button, watching in slight amusement as Yunho shifts, trying to bring his chest closer to Changmin’s mouth. Trailing a finger down the middle of Yunho’s chest, he feels his mouth curve at the sight of Yunho arching into the caress with a quavering groan, hair tousled and lips parted. “Changmin!”
Changmin thinks his –disgusting shit brown coloured- pants are too tight to be comfortable.
“I also,” Changmin says conversationally into the trail of hair bisecting Yunho’s lower abdomen, “hate these pants.” He sits up suddenly, yanking at the fabric with such strength that they slip down to Yunho’s knees with just one tug.
Eying the wet spot decorating the front of Yunho’s white boxer briefs with some glee –good that he’s not the only one suffering here, Changmin hooks a finger into the elastic band at the top and lets go, smiling wider at the sound of elastic hitting flesh. A chuckle escapes him as Yunho lets out a low moan and rocks his hips forwards, upwards to Changmin. “But I can’t hate these briefs because they’re mine, can I?”
“Changmin-ah, don’t tease.” Yunho moans again in answer. Changmin stifles his grin against Yunho’s inner thigh, dragging the pair of briefs in question down until they joined their –disgusting shit green coloured- compatriots at around Yunho’s knees. Changmin blinks with feigned innocence at the angry redness of Yunho’s cock.
“Oh look, what is this, I think I finally found something edible in this forest. But what is it?” he comments brightly, and Yunho whimpers and thrusts up, his cock smacking lightly against Changmin’s cheek and hardening even more at the –so filthily wet- sound produced.
Changmin nuzzles at the head and licks along the side, placing little butterfly kisses down, down to the base. He reaches down with one hand surreptitiously to adjust himself, while using the thumb of his other hand to stroke at the little slit on top of Yunho’s cock. “I think it’s a banana. It looks like a banana, doesn’t it?”
Yunho digs his nails into his entwined knuckles, feeling hazy with pleasure. Desire pools, hot and sweet, low in his abdomen. “L-less talking. More- more s-sucking.”
“You’re the one who’s still talking,” Changmin drums a staccato beat gently against Yunho’s balls while mouthing at the underside of the head; and Yunho can feel his mind going blank from the need for Changmin to do more- suck his cock harder, fondle his balls harder. Anything. Everything. “I—”
He chokes out a garbled shout as Changmin sinks his mouth down on his cock, taking him all the way in, in. Wet. Hot. Tight. Hot. Wet. Wet. Tight.
Changmin rubs his nose against Yunho’s crotch, revelling in the ticklish sensation of Yunho’s pubic hair. Focusing on breathing deeply, Changmin pulls off slightly and brings his mouth down again, again and again on Yunho. Even though he’s had practice in doing this, it isn’t long before his gag reflex kicks him, milking a hoarse moan and a particularly hard thrust from Yunho as the smooth muscles of Changmin’s throat work around him. It leaves Changmin coughing, saliva trickling from his mouth down his chin down, down to his neck. His throat muscles are convulsing even more about Yunho because of the coughing and he moves to pull off, to pull away, one hand reaching down to palm himself through his –still disgusting- pants but-
“No, no, I’m close, keep your head down, yes, yes, like that,” Yunho pants, his fingers tunnelling through Changmin’s hair and gripping down hard as he gives himself over to mindless pleasure. He tugs hard enough to pull Changmin’s head back, changing the angle of his frenzied shoves to result in his cock bumping against Changmin’s palate every upstroke. The friction is arousing, Changmin thinks, as he grips himself through his pants and bucks hard into his own hand.
“Keep it down, keep your head down, close, so close,” Moaning, gasping, pleading, Yunho works Changmin’s perfect mouth and throat over himself harder, and he knows he must be hurting Changmin, but he doesn’t want to stop, and Changmin is gripping his thighs hard and pulling Yunho back to himself whenever Yunho pulls out, so Changmin doesn’t want to stop too- at least he thinks so- and oh God hot wet tight perfect- oh God- now Changmin’s scraping his teeth along the underside every time- wet wet tight hot- every single time Yunho shoves himself back in-
“Changmin-ah!” Yunho comes so hard that black spots dance in his vision.
Changmin tries to pull off of him, but Yunho’s fingers are too tangled in his hair. They clench reflexively, forcing Yunho’s spurting cock even further down his throat. It’s too much for him to swallow, and his throat overflows to flood his mouth. The taste of Yunho’s semen on his tongue, pungent and slightly bitter, is enough to set him off, and his hand tightens upon his own neglected cock.
Warm heat seeps from his pants to his hand as he chokes out a scream around the softening cock in his mouth. He pulls off when Yunho finally goes limp, hands immediately moving to flip the other around and wrench his hands behind his back. Yunho utters a weak whimper in protest, too drained to do anything else.
“Didn’t I tell you to not to move your hands?” Changmin hisses, voice raspy. Yunho manages a nod against the mossy surface of the boulder, breath hitching as Changmin trails his fingers in between the cleft of Yunho’s buttocks. “Bad boys who disobey commands get punished.”
Yunho whines, feeling himself hardening again at the steel lining Changmin’s tone.