#god trying to keep up actual evolving characterization of 2 ppl across over a decade... i love this challenge but also im dying here

[astronicht]

25 + 28 for vale/marc?

For this kink prompt meme! Which at least one person has asked if i'm still doing: honestly feel free to prompt from there whenever. no promises, but no time limit! 25. "Breeding" + 28. "Age gap". Average rosquez sunday. And yet, I feel like I only really winked at both of these? but i DID wink.

At some point around around Jerez Valentino realizes, with three parts bemusement and one part an odd sort of delight, that Marc is getting into the habit of making requests and then waiting to see what Valentino will do about them. They aren’t all overtly sexual. A lot of them are basically games, some of them a little Marc-bloodthirsty: avoid my little love-tap at Chemin aux Boeufs, find out who can set Jorge on Dani the fastest at the riders’ meeting; see who can come the fastest if I suck you off hot and fast and dangerous in the dark Yamaha motorhome shut for the night (the answer: Marc, with a hand down his shorts).

Marc’s latest request is, roughly, translated: fuck me raw.

What makes the way Valentino handles it worse is that Marc doesn’t even say it like that. What he actually says, with Valentino balls-deep in his ass and someone from Honda calling Marc’s sad shitty Nokia — and then, damningly, Vale’s small shitty and even more ancient Blackberry, looking for Marc, is: “I jerk off thinking about it sometimes.”

This is mumbled. Marc's face is pressed into the blankets. Valentino, thirty-five and insane and in the midst of about eight months spent delirious with the return to Yamaha and the way Marc looks when he comes around Valentino’s cock, says, “What?”

He gets something about the angle right and Marc whines and tips his hips instead of answering, chasing it. Valentino gets distracted, briefly, adjusting so Marc can’t hit what he’s trying to get, and then giving it to him only when he’s getting desperate.

Marc’s phone goes off again. Marc is, aside from being twenty-one and the kind of lay that has Valentino doing stupid things like fuck instead of nap on a race weekend, a professional. If he’s ignoring calls then he knows he can, so Valentino doesn’t even pause.

“What?” Valentino says again, getting a knee up on the bed and bending over to speak into Marc’s mouth. Marc is trying to latch his ankles behind Valentino’s back. Once he does he’ll start working with Valentino’s rhythm, and it will get blindingly good. Teasingly: “Can’t you say?”

Marc blinks his eyes open. His mouth is open, gasping. For a moment it looks like he really can’t say, which is nice for Vale’s ego, and then his face breaks open on a wide smile like he remembered something so good, and says, “Oh. You come in me bare by accident—”

Vale fucks him harder in self-protection, but he’s realized the danger too late.

Marc goes limp and lets Valentino’s sudden hard pace simply happen to him, head tipped back, mouth parted, bouncing against the blanket at the foot of Vale’s motorhome bed. They are splayed awkwardly sideways across the bed, with a stuffed porpoise Valentino once thought was cool stuffed under Marc’s hips, half the blankets already on the sticky floor. He’s still talking: “--maybe your dick—ah!-- breaks the condom?”

Valentino grits his teeth and really puts his back into it. He says, “Please tell me know—you know what STDs are.”

Marc looks up at him, wide-eyed and sweating and smile fading softly and happily from his mouth. Their phones stopped ringing what suddenly seems like it was a long time ago. It is just the two of them in this motorhome, Marc late for something like team lunch or worse, lunch with his father, who is the reason they have to fuck in Vale’s motorhome. They breathe harshly into each other's faces. Valentino has a moment of feeling like he has wildly miscalculated. They are sweating and the slap of Vale’s thighs and hips on Marc’s ass is loud. Vale’s hips are flushing red from it, and Marc’s ass too. The AC has even clicked off. His abs ache from fucking and he wants to keep going, that fast, that hard.

That’s the point, he reasons, of doing this with a twenty-one-year-old. That must be it.

Marc leans up for a kiss, which Valentino gives him before he even considers whether or not to give it to him. It’s like that.

It is just a brush of Marc’s mouth, and then Marc says, smiling, “Oh no, what do you mean? Will you knock me up?” It’s a joke; Marc is already starting to laugh by the end of the sentence, but it doesn’t matter. Some hollow part of Valentino suddenly floods. He yanks Marc’s legs from around his ribs and pushes Marc’s knees up around his ears. Instead of spreading Marc, he pushes Marc’s legs up and his knees together, as if he’s coy, as if he’s trying to preserve the decency of his asshole, which is nicely lubed and carefully if inexpertly shaved, just for Vale.

“Fuck,” Marc moans, head tossed back.

Vale holds very tight to the edge of the condom as he fucks back in, unable to dissemble, grunting, clenching his jaw through the feeling of Marc letting him in easily. He starts fucking hard and it’s horribly clear that this time it is not because he can, or to try to distract Marc. It is because his mind is one long hot line. He gets his hands on Marc’s ass and hauls him up, grinds in deep. His breath is coming too fast

“Oh god,” says Marc, high and tight, eyes shut and then open again, looking up. He is there with Vale: right there with him. It is almost jarring to realize. “Will you—”

And Vale says, “Yes, yes—” even though he won’t, and this is previously the sort of thing that only comes up sometimes in stress dreams.

“In me?” Marc breathes, and Vale is nodding like a madman. "You'll get me—"

"Yes," Vale says, horrified at himself and so close to coming that he feels it in his teeth, "Yes, yes."

Marc makes a little needy noise and catches one of Valentino’s wandering hands. He twines their fingers together and puts their hands above Marc’s head on the bed, so Vale can pin him, so Vale has someplace to hold on tight. It rips through him. And for Vale, at least, the hot heat of it is there, like Marc imagined: his own come squeezing into the condom, wet all around him.

“Oh,” Marc says, his hand frantic now on his own big cock, neglected. Valentino can’t feel his hands. “When I—when I was growing up, I didn’t think you could knock anyone up if it was just one time.”

Valentino, who had been trying to get a numb hand on Marc’s cock, feels his hips jolt forward like someone has forced them, fucking his oversensitive, softening cock against Marc’s ass like he wants back in. The condom crinkles gently.

Fortunately, right then Marc stops telling stories because he comes, hard and loud and eyes open, looking right at Vale.