#god bless valentino viagra's best customer

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

4 and 9 for rosquez, especially with. vale getting overstimulated / multiple orgasms...

rosquez: 4 (multiple orgasms/overstim) + 9 (heat/rut)

Valentino’s so tired that he barely even twitches when Marc grinds his slick, waxed thigh against his cock. It hurts—but it’s a disconnected, abstract hurt. Except it keeps hurting, now with a dizzy underside, Marc baring his neck and releasing another flood of his scent. Caramel-thick, urgent, sharp.

He thinks his body is trying to get him hard again, but he can’t. Finds it funny, almost, in a vaguely hysterical twist, blinking the dryness of his eyes.

“Hm?” He asks intelligently.

Marc seems wired, grinds out this impatient noise against the hinge of his jaw. “I need,” he starts, then gives up halfway through. Valentino hears him through a downpour of water.

It clears up fast, though. Marc grabs his hand and shoves three of his fingers inside him. It’s hot inside him, he thinks, stupid and blurry around the edges. Valentino has no idea how he still wants to fuck.

“Again,” Marc says, low, pitiless.

He swallows. “If you give me twenty minutes.”

Valentino tries to roll away, to reach for the bedside table. He should still have some pills, he thinks. But he doesn’t go far—Marc pins him in place, swings himself until he’s straddling Valentino, sodden wet between his legs and manic, drenched in a silvery sheen of sweat.

“No,” he says petulantly, grinds against Valentino’s mostly soft dick.

He flinches. Grunts. It goes by him like an electric shock, nerves in overdrive, tears—maybe, maybe—clinging to his lashes.

“Marc,” Valentino pleads.

To no use. Marc keeps riding three of his fingers, rubbing slick and heavy across his cock. The room falls out of focus around him. Breaks into loose, colorless shapes when Marc leans forward and shoves the scent-leaden crook of his neck against his nose, so that everything Valentino can feel and smell and swallow is how fucking needy he is.

He gets hard mostly despite himself—slowly, too, somewhere between Marc coming on his fingers with a spasm and Marc biting down hard over the scarred imprint of his teeth on Valentino’s neck and Marc sitting on his cock.

Valentino has no idea what kind of noises he’s making through the pound of blood in his ears, only that they must sound strangled, because Marc is grinning, shark-like. Starts riding him like he’s going to die without it, nails scrabbling hard against the skin of his inner wrists.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” Marc asks, devilish, singsong, smelling like Valentino can bite into him and tear a piece.

“Allora, you’re horrible,” he chokes.

Marc’s grin widens a fraction. He reaches for Valentino’s spasming, unsteady hand to work one of his fingers inside again, pressed tight against his cock.

Which—

Christ.

“I’m probably not going to knot you,” Valentino manages to pant out, shudders against the hellfire heat raking over his nerve endings.

Marc’s mouth pulls, and he clenches around him, fever-hot, a delirium. “You are.”

It’s sort of horrible. Valentino bucks up, fucks into Marc as far as he’ll get.