#also 'pants' instead of trousers feels Weird but matteo is so american i had to

[cannibaltamau]

okay with the somno chat on the dash recently... anyone fancy 1.3k of rapidly written matteojonas after the 2024 tour?

“Thank you again for letting me stay with you, Matteo,” Jonas smiles, once he’s in bed. In Matteo’s bed, he has to remind himself. They’ve shared enough over the course of camps and the Tour, but this is completely different, seeing Jonas under the duvet covers he sleeps under, head on the pillows Matteo rests his head on.

Matteo chuckles. “Anything for you, boss,” he puts his hand up in mock salute, then climbs into bed next to Jonas. His apartment was a convenient alternative to finding a hotel in Nice after the final time trial – and if that meant they got to spend another night together without the pressure of racing the next morning? Well, Matteo wouldn’t be where he was if he was the type to turn down opportunities when they presented themselves to him.

“I mean it,” Jonas says, hand drifting to Matteo’s waist, “You’ve been so good all Tour. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

When they’re laying so close, beneath Matteo’s covers on Matteo’s bed, it’s hard for him to look anywhere than at Jonas’s mouth as he talks. This happens pretty often, Matteo thinks. One minute they’re chatting idly, sharing perhaps more than a captain should even to his most loyal domestique; the next Jonas has one hand in Matteo’s hair and one at his hip, guiding Matteo on top of him and bringing their lips together for a kiss that soon becomes heated.

Matteo gets light-headed with even the light touches, after weeks of falling into bed together almost mechanically, no time for anything beyond maximising rest and recovery. Jonas brings a hand to his jaw and teases Matteo’s mouth open, running his tongue over Matteo’s lower lip. Matteo moves his elbow to beside Jonas’s head, covering his captain’s smaller form almost completely, and as a side-effect bringing their hips together. He moans into Jonas’s mouth, desperate for anything he’ll give.

They continue like that, grinding dirtily against each other for a few minutes until Matteo snakes an arm down between them, fingers ghosting over the waistband of Jonas’s pajama bottoms. Jonas taps him on the shoulder. Matteo pulls back immediately. It comes naturally to him, to follow when Jonas leads.

He’s pink-cheeked and a little dazed, flush visible even in the dim light of Matteo’s bedroom. “I don’t – I don’t think I’m going to be good for much now, to be honest,” Jonas says, touch light against Matteo’s cheek. Matteo props himself up with a hand next to Jonas’s head, arm shaking slightly with the effort.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that – you were fuckin’ amazing this Tour, after the spring you’ve had, y’know, there was no more anyone –”

Jonas laughs loud and full-bodied, Matteo feeling his body move underneath him. “No, no – I mean now!” He nods down between them, “For sex. It’s just – I’m so tired. And usually I can’t get it up for a few days after a Grand Tour, I’m not much good in that… department until I’ve eaten a bit more.”

With that, Jonas chuckles weakly, letting his eyes drift closed and Matteo clamber off him. No one worked harder throughout the entire Tour – no, the entire year, no one in the peloton has had to overcome so much as Jonas has had to. Matteo’s at least been able to be at Jonas’s side through much of it, through the erosion and attrition that turned into outright bullying from Pogačar and the rest of his cronies.

And now Matteo can offer relief (if not release) in the form of a warm bed in Nice and the physical comfort of a familiar body. So many nights before have they fallen asleep like this, Jonas curled into his side or Matteo’s arms around him before they wake up separate and sticky with the summer night heat. Matteo brings one hand to Jonas’s hair, petting down the blonde that he’d messed up earlier.

A few minutes pass, Matteo hearing only their slow breaths and distant traffic outside. Then Jonas cracks one eye open, peers up at Matteo with his chin on Matteo’s chest, “You can still get yourself off, though,”

“What?”

Jonas shifts around on the bed so the tangle of their legs brings his thigh to between Matteo’s, pressed up against his crotch. “If you want. I don’t mind.” His expression is one of arousal still, even as he’s getting sleepier by the minute.

Matteo’s still half-hard from their earlier antics, and the pressure and friction is just the right side of too little to be deliciously teasing.

“You sure?”

Jonas presses his leg down slightly and Matteo’s hips twitch involuntarily at the contact.

“I’m sure,” Jonas hums, settling down against his chest again. Matteo stares at the ceiling, mind blank. If some of the longer bus transfers in the third week taught him anything it’s that Jonas was probably out like a light moments after he stopped talking.

“Okay– oh, fuck,” Matteo mutters, grinding slowly against Jonas’s thigh. His body hardly weighs anything against Matteo’s, worn down through a long July into the narrowest, strongest version of himself. The same thing’s happened to Matteo, if to a lesser extent. Every part of himself was given over in service, and now Jonas is giving him some kind of exchange.

It’s good – too good, almost, for what amounts to nothing more than cautious dry-humping through his pajama pants. Something about Jonas being so close to him, maybe, letting Matteo use his body for pleasure when so often their relationship is the other way around. Maybe it’s because he’s asleep, Matteo’s reminded of some shameful jerk-off sessions at their first training camp together. Jonas always looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping

“Please,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s asking for and surprising himself with how desperate his voice sounds. He repeats the word over and over, between whines and whimpers he’d be a little ashamed of if he was in any other situation, if he was with anyone else. But Jonas has already seen all of him, on the road and in the team-bus showers, in shared hotel rooms across what feels like most of France. Now Matteo’s getting to have Jonas to himself, unshielded and unguarded, completely vulnerable with only Matteo looking out for him. The thought makes his cock throb and his head feel fuzzy.

Matteo forces himself to be still, to look down at Jonas still half-draped across him. He’s properly asleep now, face completely relaxed and breathing slowly. There’s even a shine of drool pooling at the corner of his lip, threatening to drip onto Matteo’s shirt. He swipes his left thumb over Jona’s lower lip carefully then almost unthinkingly brings his hand to his own mouth, savouring even the smallest part of Jonas he can get. His other hand’s still between Jonas’s shoulderblades, and he shuffles slowly, delicately, to find a better angle without waking Jonas.

Sometime tomorrow, Jonas will leave. Either for the Swiss mountains or back home to Denmark, he’ll be gone again until December camp and Matteo will be busy with the national team and the road to Paris. For now, though, Matteo bites down on the edge of his palm to stop himself making some truly embarrassing noises as he ruts against Jonas’s thigh, pushing himself desperately against him until he comes with a groan.

Jonas still doesn’t wake, just shifts and sniffles as Matteo shudders and tries to steady his breathing. “Fuck. Next time – when you can, you get to do that, huh? While I’m asleep, maybe, however you want,” he whispers, even though Jonas can’t hear. Matteo pats his hair again, gently stroking behind Jonas’s ear

Sticky and vaguely uncomfortable in his pajamas but with a dumb grin on his face, Matteo drifts toward sleep himself. Thoughts of next July become dreams of next July, of letting Jonas use him again in the mountains or on the flat roads; any which way he wants Matteo, Jonas can have him.