umn. so. I wrote a small lil something. almost two years of hiatus from writing anything narrative and I have uber brain fog now so please pardon the unpracticed pros but uhhhh I read this post and my brain kinda went off the rails and took me to obscene places lmao. anyways
!!SEVERE SNOTFUCKERY AND CONTAGION WARNING!!
I’m not kidding like filthy nasty stuff. only one snz sorry guys it’s mostly abt the mess. also contains some dry humping (the clove signature apparently), makin out, and allusions to sex. mwah ~
—
The Velvet Dress
It’s nearing dusk, and the park has cleared, save for the two of you. You’re both already in your formal wear, but luckily the breeze is warm, and relenting somewhat as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. Her nose has been twitching ever since you left the station. Despite yourself, your attention springs to it each time, each scrunch, that whisper of anticipation. It’s gotten more persistent since you’ve settled here in the park to eat your takeout dinner. This morning, it had just been a sore throat, and she’d opted to push through. Not without anxiety, but the consequences of missing tonight’s presentation were too much to risk.
But now, she’s been sniffling every few minutes. The evening air probably doesn’t help, and you have both bemoaned your failure to grab any napkins with dinner to help with the situation. You’ve just begun to pick up to leave, dispensing your dinner trash in the nearby bins. But as the two of you make your way back to park bench to fetch your bags, she freezes. Taking in a shuddering breath, she tilts her head up to the sky, hastily bringing her hands to her face, before -
“hhHHEESSGGxchiew!
She sneezes, full body thrown forward with the force of it, hands cupped tightly around her nose. You can hear the squelch, as all the snot she’s been hopelessly sniffing back all evening escapes, unrelentingly, into her palms. Still keeping her hands carefully cupped, she swipes at her nose with the top of her fingers, and you can see a glint of the clear, glistening snot that she slinks away from it, the way someone might with a tissue or handkerchief.
Slowly, she lowers her hands, palms still together, and a look of unease sinks across her face as she stares down at them. Her nose is still shining, and wet, and she lets out a little whimpered sniffle before looking up at you, eyes panicked.
“I-I don’t know what to do now, with…this”
The poor thing is completely paralyzed with discomfort. Her body is rigid, arms glued to her side to keep her hands from moving, from spreading the contaminant anywhere beyond its enclosure. She glances down at her dress, and flinches. Black velvet, just pressed last night and pristine for the tonight’s engagement. No, baby, you think, not there, but she makes no move to act on the thought. Too horrible to imagine, walking into that place with snotty snail trails shining all over her, under those bright hotel lobby lights.
Her nose is already starting to run again, and her eyes go wide in even greater panic. She sniffles, hopelessly and to no avail, and then lifts her two hands as one, attempting to wipe the excess snot on the back of one of her cupped palms, elbows jutting out in the maneuver. It’s such an awkward movement that it might make you giggle if it weren’t for her distress. Instead, it makes your insides sting with pity…and maybe just a little bit of something else, something deeper. But you can’t bear to watch her struggle anymore, so you step forward, bridging the gap between you.
“Sweetie, hey...”
You make to reach out for her cupped hands, but she instinctually flinches away.
“I don’t want you to g - it’s fine, I’ll just…“
She glances down at the dress again, and stays fixated, gears turning as she tries and fails to muster the resolve to use it, her only option. So instead you bring one hand to her face, and she only hesitates a little this time before accepting the touch, lifting her pained, searching eyes back up to yours. He nose is still dripping, but the steadiness of your touch is enough to still any more desperate attempts at containing it. After a moment of hesitation, gauging her reaction to the touch, you let your thumb gently slide down her cheek, and underneath her running nostrils. The dampness sends a warm thrill through your body. This girl. She breathes a soft, shuddering sigh, part releif, part newfound worry, and whimpers again, almost a whisper,
“You could get sick…”
You let out a quiet laugh at that, and bring your other hand up to cup her whole face, holding her gaze with yours
“Do you I look like I’m worried about that?”
“Mmmn” she whines, an admission, and holds your gaze back, steady, waiting.
“Let me help you,” you coo. You don’t try to hide your desire now, her sniffly, red face this close to yours, shining snot coating your thumb underneath her beautiful, twitching nose. She takes another shuddering breath, and nods.
She watches, captivated, as you bring the soiled finger to your mouth. That taste, that little bit of salt, it sends an intoxicating buzz through your whole body, and any echo of shame at doing something so obscene melts away at the unbelievable pleasure of it. She bites her bottom lip as she watches you, shy but with a little glint in her eye, like excitement, maybe surprise, that you actually did it. And you need more, it’s so good, so you lean in, and she receives you with a pleased little gasp as you take her lips in yours. You kiss her long, and deep, her tongue tasting yours, mirroring your need for more, more. You break away, just briefly, to pepper her upper lip with little licking kisses, cleaning off the rest of the mess that’s been pooling just under her nostrils, and she giggles at the feeling, and then nudges her lips back to yours, kissing you harder. She’s separated her cupped hands now, instead balling them up into fists, still containing the mess she’s made of them, and when she tries to rest a set of closed knuckles against your waist, needing traction, you stop her, gently grabbing them.
One arm around her waist, you walk her backwards, guiding her back to the bench behind you. She hangs on with her other hand balled up behind your back, carefully protecting your own dress as she slides onto the bench and urges you on top of her, knee jutting purposefully, needily between your legs. You settle into it, half straddling the bench, and let out an involuntary groan at the pressure as you pull her closer, sliding your own bent knee beneath her. You plant your other leg on the ground, both of you in each other’s laps now, pressing against each other. She chases your lips as you break away to look down at her fist, cradling it now in both your hands. You turn it over, palm upwards, and delicately brush your fingers across hers.
She doesn’t fight it, doesn’t say anything, just whimpers in need as you gently lift her curled fingers, revealing the glimmering wetness hiding beneath them. Almost trance-like, you lift her open palm to your tongue, and run it down the length. You feel a moan escape your throat, and she shudders beneath you and presses into you harder. You moan again, voice catching a little this time, and press back, licking faster and quickly making a clean job of it before grabbing for her other hand. She gives it willingly, entirely captivated, panting as she watches you lap at her mess, savoring each lick, needing it, in you, needing all of her. All her yuck, all her gross, her discomfort. Her running, leaking, crackling, contagious filth. Maybe you’re getting carried away, judgment clouded by horny, indulgent revelry, but in that moment you want it all, to give your body away, to be taken, fully, by what she’s giveng you.
After you’ve thoroughly cleaned both hands, she grabs your waist freely now, and lets you kiss her again, and whimpers in your ears. Tugging at your shirt, she says your name like a swear, and then like a plea, and ruts against you harder, and you rumble back, thickly,
“I know darling, later, I promise” and taste her mouth once more, sealing your promise before finally, against all raging desire to slip your hand under her dress in this empty but very public city park, you pull away, sliding off of her knee and sitting back.
Her cheeks are flushed, nose red as ever, and hair just a bit rustled. But her dress - clean as a whistle. You can’t help but stop, take her in for a sec, like this, all done up and undone. Her eyes twinkle back at you, and she smirks,
“You’re such a good problem solver”
Her expression is teasing, and you break into a grin yourself, pleasure still buzzing through your body like a sizzling sparkler, not quite out.
“Yeah I am. But I’m not done yet”
You reach for the little purse sitting at your feet, and unclasp the small bottle of hand sanitizer you keep hanging from your keychain, wordlessly holding it ready for her. She holds up her hands, breathing a “thanks” as you dispense it into her open palms, rubbing it in while you do your own, for good measure.
“And for that nose,” you lean in and kiss the bright red tip of it, already threatening, tantalizingly, to start dripping again,
“I’ll find you bundle of tissues when we get there, mnkay?”
“Okay,” she agrees, lip turned down a little, feigning sheepishness, or maybe truly feeling it again, now that the rush of the moment is starting to ware off.
“Hey, look at me,” you lift you chin to meet her eyes,
“You’re gonna do great, okay? You’re gonna look great, you’re gonna sound great, you’re gonna be amazing. And I’ve got you, the whole time, yeah?”
“Yeah”
“Good. Now we should probably get going or I’ll have kept you too long”
She hums in agreement, and lets you give her a hand, pulling her up off of the bench, and hastily helping her smooth the ruffles in her un-soiled skirt.
You check your time, take her hand in yours, and with the thrill of it all still buzzing hazily between you, you make your way into the night, towards the glittering city lights.
