#kats motogp blurbs!

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Gentle — Marcmarc oneshot

Marc steadies Marco with a hand on his thigh as he leans over Marc’s lap, reaching for the popcorn on the sitting room table. His boyfriend makes a little questioning noise in his throat, and tilts the bag towards Marc, but Marc just shakes his head with a smile, hand rubbing up and down his thigh affectionately. Marco looks so cute like this, dark curls in his eyes, dressed in just a hoodie and sweatpants, light from the TV highlighting his face every now and then.

Marc doesn’t miss how Marco scooches a little closer to him when he puts the popcorn back down, pressing his body closer into Marc’s side, the two of them comfortable and lazy in Marc and Alex's house. He takes it as permission to keep stroking Marco's thigh, moving his thumb in small circles. His attention is easily diverted from the movie to instead watch Marco pick up one piece of popcorn at a time, nibbling and swallowing before starting the next, like he’s a squirrel or something.

Marco notices him staring quickly, glancing his way with his wide, puppy-dog eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Marc smiles, and leans in to kiss him, tasting the salty popcorn on his mouth. He wants more of it, and kisses him again, longer and slower.

Marco sighs with a happy, low noise when he pulls away, and Marc realises he’s gripping Marco's thigh a little harder than before, though Marco doesn’t seem to mind. “Where did that come from?”

“Can’t I kiss my gorgeous boyfriend?” he asks, leaning forward again to press a kiss to where his jaw meets his neck, burying his nose in Marco's soft hair.

“Of course,” Marco says, voice softer now. “But you could tell me what brought it on. I might need it in the future.”

Marc smiles into his skin, kissing down the length of Marco's jawline just because he can. He wants to, and Marco likes it, tilting his head a little to give in to Marc, and Marc has kind of lost interest in the movie anyway. It was fine, he just has something much more interesting sitting right beside him.

“Why would you need anything special to woo me? You can just ask me for what you want, whenever you want. I’ll give it to you.” He’s made his way back to Marco's mouth, and kisses him there again, before continuing up the other side of his face. Marco turns his head again for him, humming happily.

“Because saying things is hard. But if all I need to do is eat popcorn and you’re all over me, then great, I’ll remember that.”

Marc laughs a little, reaching Marco's neck, and beginning to kiss down it slowly, languid. He’s turned his whole body towards Marco on the sofa now, and plants a hand over the back of the cushions to steady himself, press in a little closer. “I know you can get shy. But I’m so gone for you, amor, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Nothing to be shy about when it’s me, okay?”

“It’s the most scary when it’s you,” Marco says, very softly, almost a whisper.

Marc withdraws. “Really? Was that too much — are you not comfortable with this?”

Marco shakes his head, stumbling over his words. “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not that I’m scared of you — you’ve never made me feel like that. It’s that I’m scared I’m not… that I don’t know… I mean, you know I’ve never seriously dated before…”

“You’re scared of the unknown?”

Marco nods, exhaling. “Not scared to be with you. Just scared to get everything right with you, to be good enough.”

“You’re always good, you’re so good, sweet boy. Never feel like you’re not, because I like you just as you are. Is there something I can do to help you feel at ease?”

“I do feel at ease, I feel so happy with you,” Marco says quietly, and leans in to kiss him, but even this is hesitant, like he’s not sure he can. Marc captures his face with one hand to hold him close, give him confidence that Marc wants this, likes this too.

“Then what is it about me that makes you shy?”

“I just…” Marco is going pinker the more they speak, voice softer, as if Marc might not take it to heart if he doesn’t say it too loud. “I like you so much. I want to make things nice for you too, I want to do things right. But I feel like I can’t when I don’t have any experience.”

"Ricitos, you’ve been so perfect. I'll tell you that every day, if you want. I love being with you because it’s you, not because I want a perfect kisser or someone who gives an amazing blowjob or whatever. When I kiss you and touch you, it’s because I like you so much. When we go further, I don’t have expectations for you, you know that, right? We don’t need to know what we’re doing the first time. Being with someone new is always like that, in a way, so it will be a new experience for me too.”

“It’s not quite the same as never having done anything sexual with anyone, ever,” Marco says, a little self-depreciatingly.

“Hey, don’t do that. Everyone moves at different paces, it’s shitty to shame that. Whenever you wanna go there, we can, and anything you don’t want to do, we don’t have to, okay? You don’t need to be worried about that with me. I want to take care of you first, make sure you’re happy and enjoying what we’re doing. That goes for anything, kissing, touching, any of it. But I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what you do like or don’t like. So that’s the only thing I have to ask of you — try to talk to me as much as you can, okay? Even if you’re shy, know that you’re perfect to me, you’re doing so great. I just want to know what will make you happier, and what you want. Okay?”

Marco's eyes shine a little as they turn on Marc, and his boyfriend leans in again, kissing Marc’s mouth with more confidence and genuine ease this time. It makes him smile, and Maco smiles in return.

“Thank you. That means a lot. I’ll try my best.”

“Anytime, handsome.” His hand is still on Marco's thigh, and he rubs it a few times soothingly, the two of them sitting closely, comfortably. “Okay, now can you tell me what’s actually going on in this movie? I’ve lost the plot.”

Their first kiss had been on their second date, after three weeks of knowing each other. They were having a quiet picnic after the Austin GP, where Marc had bought them hot dogs and they’d talked about whether or not their parents knew they were gay. Marc’s did, Marco's didn’t.

He’d learned a lot more about Marco that day. They finally surpassed flirting messages and shy glances, and while watching the children run through the fountain, he’d learned Marco was homeschooled throughout childhood so he could race but mainly so he could help his dad in his shop, that his best friends were his parents and Rubik, and that, despite appearances, he had never been on a date before.

“But do you mean like, a proper date with flowers and a restaurant and fancy clothes, or do you mean any date at all?”

Marco tilts his head to give him an amused look. “Isn’t this a date?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Are there any flowers or restaurants here?”

“Well, there are flowers over there… but ok, yeah, point taken. I just can’t believe no one has ever asked you out before. That’s crazy, actually insane.”

Marco shrugs. “Not had many opportunities to meet people before I started working. As a teenager I was too shy to even speak to people.”

“So I’m the first boy you’ve said yes to?”

Marco laughs bashfully. “Yeah, okay, I’ve been asked before. Usually by women, though. You’re the first guy I’ve met who seems so… I don’t know. You’ve got such a genuine nature. It made me want to give you a shot.”

“Why thank you,” Marc says, with a little bow.

They buy ice creams after they finish their food, and wander through the trees together. They end up going store to store after that, then to a restaurant for dinner, then the date continues into an arcade downtown. Neither one of them want to call an end to it, and the conversation flows easily.

Eventually, Marco calls ita night, because he has an early flight the following day. Marc is just glad one of them is strong enough to, and walks him to his hotel.

As they’re walking through an alley lit by neon lights, Marc slips an arm around his waist, and Marco returns with one around his shoulders.

“How am I for a good date, then? Do I get a good rating?”

“I’m not a reliable measure of that, since the only other date I’ve been on was also with you.”

“Sure, but I don’t need to know the answer on the scale of universal dates. I just need to know if it was good on the scale of Marco.”

Marco laughs. “It was really, really good. I loved it.”

Marc stops them before they exit the alley, the rush of the main street passing them unawares. “I’m really, really glad to hear that,” he says, pulling Marco a little closer to him. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”

Marco nods, curve of his cheek lit up purple under the lights. Marc leans in and give him a soft, sweet kiss to the lips.

There’s a sparkle in Marco's eyes when Marc leans out, and they both press forward again for another kiss, just as sweet, but a little longer this time. Marco looks up and down his face, and Marc wonders if he’ll go in again.

“Thank you,” he says softly, and Marc strokes a long piece of hair behind his ear.

“No need to thank me. Was that your first kiss?”

Marco nods, and Marc finds him so sweet, he can’t help but lean in to kiss him again.

“You were perfect,” he says, planting a peck to his cheek before leading them both out to the street again, Marco's face perfectly pleased under the lights, his body warm to the touch.

Marc had booked them a table at a nice Italian restaraunt for their 100-day anniversary, and has to go to Alex for help with what to wear for it. Something nice, but not over-the-top. Something that shows he thought about this, and cherishes their anniversary, but not to outdo Marco too much if he turns up in a t-shirt and jeans. He thinks 100 days is a pretty neat milestone for them to celebrate, but they’ve been taking things slowly since the beginning, and he doesn’t want to make it too much of a thing if Marco doesn’t.

That’s all blown out of the water when Marco shows up.

Marc is waiting for him outside the restaurant, all-too pleased with his dark overshirt, white inner shirt, dark jeans combo, and he spots Marco coming from across the street. It’s like there’s a spotlight on him, even in the dim evening light, even in the crowded streets of Romagna.

Marco's dressed in a sheer, sparkly white shirt, long-sleeved, a glittery jacket over it, and white trousers. He's no stranger to more feminine clothes, Marc knew that, but before he was just some coworker in clothing from the womens isle of a department store. Now, with his dark hair neatly pulled back out of his face, he looks like Marc's beautiful, wonderful boyfriend.

“I think I made a mistake coming in all white,” he says as soon as he reaches Marc, taking his hand and giving him a kiss. “There are definitely going to be stains by the time we leave.”

“It’s worth it,” he says, cupping his hand to Marco's cheek and kissing him again, then unashamedly looking his boyfriend up and down. He’d been too polite to do so the last two times he'd seen the Italian all dressed up, but now he knows this is meant for him to look at. Marco's whole chest is visible through the sheet shirt, twinkling under the restaurant lights. “You look amazing, God. I don’t know if I’m hungry for food anymore, baby, I could eat you all up.”

Marco smiles shyly, eyes curving sweetly. “That’s too bad, because I’m starving. Come on.”

As they’re shown to their table, and he sees Marco under better light, he spots the twinkle of glitter on his eyes too. “Did you even do your makeup?” he asks, when the waiter has barely left their table. “Man, now I feel underdressed.”

“You look so good, Marc,” Marco says, half a whine. “Don’t say that.”

“Okay, I look fine I guess. You should’ve told me you were dressing nice, I would’ve done something too!”

“You look really nice already! What were you gonna do, wear a dress?”

“Yeah, point taken. But you seriously went all out. Was it all to surprise me?”

“Maybe,” Marco says, looking down at the menu with a little smile on his face. “It’s nothing too much — I already had the clothes, and I asked Domizia to help me put some makeup on. I’m glad you like it so much.”

“You look out of this world,” Marc says, and Marco laughs again at his earnestness. “And I’m not just saying that cause your outfit twinkles more than the stars. You’re so gorgeous. I can’t believe you’re ever shy about anything, looking like way you do, baby.”

Marco's laugh turns bashful, shoulders rising to his ears. “It’s not that I’m not confident in how I look, I don’t have a problem with that. I just don't know what to actually do with myself, like, ever.”

“Honestly, you could just sit there and look pretty and I’d do whatever you asked of me, gorgeous.”

The waiter reappears at their table to take their order at that exact moment, and Marc suppresses laughter as Marfo goes even pinker than before, stammering out his order. Marc hasn’t taken his eyes away from Marco long enough to check what’s available, but he takes a stab at something on the list and orders it. He’ll be happy with whatever comes.

He’s got more important things on the menu for tonight.

“To be honest…” Marco starts, pulling at his earlobe and glancing at the floor before courageously meeting Marc’s eyes. “Well, I hoped you’d be looking at me tonight.”

It’s the boldest thing he’s ever heard Marco say to him. “I’m definitely looking,” Marc promises, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Did you want my attention?”

“I always do,” Marco says, reaching out over the table, and Marc leans forward automatically to take Marco's hands. He’s got a roundabout way of working up to things, and Marc can taste the anticipation on his tongue as he waits for his boyfriend to arrive at what he wants. “But I’ve been thinking more about what you said to me a few weeks ago.”

“What was that?”

“You asked me to tell you more about what I want,” Marco says, thumb stroking over Marc's hand slowly, looking between Marc's face and their entangled fingers. “And be honest… and ask you for things.”

“I did,” he agrees, voice low. “So what is your sparkly, sheer shirt telling me? What is it you want?”

“I don’t think I should say it here, in the restaurant,” Marco says, through a breathy laugh. “But I want you to come back to my place, and stay over tonight. Would that be okay?”

Marc exhales, feels his own breath shake a little. He and Marco had been to eachothers houses a few times before but neither of them has stayed the night before.

He’s pretty sure he knows what Marco's getting at.

“Amor, that would be more than okay with me,” he says, lifting Marco's hands to his lips. The press of his lips there is a long moment where only the two of them exist, Marco's smooth skin against his mouth. He feels a little heady, knowing just how much more of his skin Marc will get to explore with his mouth tonight.

They slide back into their seats as the waiter arrives back with their drinks, Marc flashing him a smile even though he barely sees the guy. His whole body feels wired up and alert, like he’s just had something injected into his veins. Now that Marco's made the suggestion, all he can think about is taking that sheer shirt off and getting his hands on his boyfriend — but he’s a civilised man. He can wait, and have their nice anniversary dinner first.

Marc manages to tame the feral animal inside him enough that he can relax back into their intimate evening out together, the two of them buzzed off just a little bit of alcohol, and a lot of the high of being in love. God, he is so gone for Marco.

He can tell Marco is wired up all evening, too, and as soon as they get up to leave the restaurant together, he takes Marco's hand and pulls him close. They walk through the streets swinging their connected hands, laughing and talking about anything and everything they'd been ip to. Marco's laugh makes his heart sing, and he can’t wait to get back to the apartment and kiss him silly.

“Am I still staying the night?” he asks when they’re stood in Marco's apartment block elevator, still holding his boyfriend’s hand. “Don’t feel like you have to say yes if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I can tell how excited you are to stay,” Marco says. The elevator doors slide open, and he leads the way across the hall.

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna be upset if you change your mind,” Marc says, putting an arm around Marco's waist as he keys in his apartment code.

“I’m excited too,” Marco admits, pushing the door open, and Marc smiles as Marco turns in his entrance way to face Marc, walking backwards into the apartment to keep their hands interlinked.

“God, I’m so ready,” he says, coming in to kiss Marco on the mouth. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”

“We are talking about sex,” Marco confirms, and Marc shifts his hand back to Marco’s waist, to pull him in close and kiss him deeply, slowly.

He hears Marco inhale as he does, tilting his head into Marc’s kiss, free hand sliding up to hold onto his shoulder. Marc’s hand regrips Marco’s waist until his shirt hitches up, and Marc has his hand on hot, bare skin. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs against Marco's mouth, and gently guides him backwards towards his bedroom.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Marco says, through a breathy laugh, and Marc kisses him again.

“I just wanted to remind you. But also, you’re not going to go down in my estimations if you want to stop at any point…”

“I know, I get it, it’s okay. I’ll tell you. But right now, I really want you, amore.”

“Yeah? How do you want me?”

Marco comes in to kiss under his jaw, and Marc sighs in satisfaction at the touch of his soft lips against Marc’s skin. “I want you to be in charge,” he says, a whisper right by Marc’s ear, like he was too shy to say it aloud. Cute.

“Yeah? You want me to decide everything?”

“Yes, please.”

“No problem, ricitos. I’ll take good care of you, okay? You don’t have to worry about a thing. Take your jacket off for me, and your shirt.”

Marco complies readily, dropping the jacket on the floor and lifting his shirt over his head.

Marc groans, admiring Marco's figure, reaching out to run his hands up his sides. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve been working out more than usual…” he says, as if embarrassed by the fact that he looks sculpted by a God.

“It’s paying off,” Marc reassures him. “Take your pants off and get on the bed, okay?”

Marco unzips his jeans as Marc pulls off his top in one movement, following Marco over to the bed, the two of them never far apart as Marco sits back, looking Marc up and down with round eyes.

“Amore,” he says, catching Marc's attention as he shoves down his own jeans.

“Yes, sweet boy?”

Marco pulls himself back onto his bed, and Marc mounts the bed on his knees, crawling over after him until they come to a comfortable stop in the middle of the bed, Marco sitting up, Marc leaning forward. “I love you.”

Marc hums, and leans forward to kiss him again. “I love you too. Lie down, baby.”

Marco's elbows slowly give way until he’s on his back, and Marc leans over to kiss his collarbones, taking Marco's thighs in his hands to reposition him, so he can plant himself between Marco's legs. He seems surprised by it, making a little noise that makes Marc want to bite down and mark his skin. Instead, he continues kissing downwards, along the divot in his chest, over every mole littering his chest, leading towards his toned stomach. Every inhale throws Marco's hard work into relief, muscles standing out in the lamplight of the bedroom, and something in him loves that Marco is strong but wants Marc to take charge, make him his.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Turn over, let me see all of you.”

Marco goes obediently, and Marc runs his hands over his bare back, feeling every notch of his spine and beginning to kiss along that too. His hands wander to Marco's front as he does, and find his ribcage, pressing his fingers into the divots like he wants to leave his fingerprints all over him, be found at the scene of the crime, clearly flag the signs that he is mine.

“I’m going to take your boxers off, okay?”

“Mhh-hmm,” Marco hums.

Marc leans forward, blowing softly into Marco's ear. Marco shudders with a little whine.

“What was that for?”

“You need to use your words, baby.”

Marco shivers a little at his low tone, and Marc smiles, pressing his mouth to Marco's bare shoulder.

“Yes, please, I want you to.”

“Good boy,” Marc says, kissing the nape of his neck before sliding his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling the boxers all the way off and throwing them to the floor.

He groans as he looks over every inch of Marco, in the position they’re in, Marco slowly pushing to his knees, pink flushed across his cheeks and chest. Marc places a hand reverently on his ass, pushing slightly to see his hole a little better. Marc’s own boxers are becoming uselessly damp and uncomfortable.

“Can I ask you something?” Marc says as he pulls his boxers off, flinging them away without a second thought.

“Yeah?”

“Did you wax for this?”

Marco groans and hides his face in the covers, and Marc gets both hands on his ass, pulling the cheeks apart to breathe over his hole. There’s not a hair on him.

“I get waxed sometimes, but…”

“You timed it, right?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it!”

Marx laughs, and leans in to lick a stripe across Marco's asshole, and he shudders and whines in surprise.

“For the record, I’m happy however you come, okay? You don’t need to do all this for me.”

Marco raises his head, looking back at Marc. “Don’t you like it?”

“My baby, I don’t think I could ever dislike how you look,” Marc says, reaching around to grasp Marco's length in hand, stroking him slowly, spreading his leaking precome up and down his shaft. “You’re perfect, you’re so good. I love it, I just want you not to feel pressured to do anything special for me, okay? Next question is, do you have any lube? Condoms?”

“In there,” Marco gestures, and exhales when Marc releases him to reach over to the bedside table, opening the second drawer and grabbing the bottle. “Do we need… condoms…?”

Marc smiles slyly down at Marco, who doesn’t look back at him. “You don’t want one? I’m clean, I just got checked before we started dating.”

“I’m a virgin… and I got checked anyway, at my last health checkup. I don’t want a condom.”

Marc leans in to kiss him, and Marco tilts his head to meet it. “Okay. Whatever you want, baby.”

“Do you want me on my front like this?”

“You look like a picture right now, amor, unless you don’t like it.”

“I like it,” Marco says shyly, face half hidden behind his arm. “It’s just a bit embarrassing.”

“In a good way?” he asks, uncapping the bottle and getting back into position behind him, running his hands up Marco's thighs. “In the making you more horny way?”

“Yeah,” Marco admits, and Marc grins, and begins pouring lube directly onto his hole before putting some on his fingers too. Marco gasps at the cold contact, and pushes forwards a little as if the move away from it, and Marc steadies him with a hand on his hip.

“You’ve done this much before, right? Played with yourself?”

“Yes,” Marco says, a little whine. “But it’s different with someone else.”

“It is,” Marc agrees, pushing the lube in with his index finger, immediately greedy at the feel of Marco's heat, eager to get himself properly inside his boyfriend. “God, you’re doing amazing, darling, you’re so good for me. You’re gonna feel so good, I promise.”

“Put more in, please,” Marco groans into the sheets, and Marc complies without thinking twice, pushing a second finger inside him.

“You excited too? You want me inside you?”

Marco whines again, almost distressed, and Marc sees the way he’s got the sheets tightly in his fists, like even this is overwhelming for him. “Yes, yes I want you, please.”

“You’re still okay, baby? Want me to keep going?”

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop now, amore…”

“I won’t, baby, just checking.” Marc kisses the small of his back as he pushes in a third finger, and Marco keens, back arching in response. Marc might drool the longer he has to watch this, dick throbbing, and not be inside the most gorgeous boy he’s ever seen. The slide is smooth now, even with three fingers, though Marco's hole keeps tightening around his fingers sporadically.

“Will you please—” Marco says, cutting himself off with a frustrated noise.

“What is it?” Marc asks, withdrawing his fingers and putting his hands to Marco's waist again. He pushes onto his knees and grips himself, to better align with Marco's hole. “What do you want, baby? Come on, tell me.”

“I want you, please. Please, inside me, Marc.”

He places the tip to Marco's rim, rubbing circles into his waist gently. “I want to, baby, but you’re going to have to ease up for me first. Can you do that? Take a breath in, then exhale.” He moves his hand to gently rub Marco's side, help him relax. "That’s it."

After watching him breathe in and out a few times, gently stroking and praising him, he slides inside with a low groan. Marco goes quiet too, panting as Marc bottoms out inside him.

“That okay?” he asks, though he’s starting to lose his train of thought, obsessed with the feeling, the encompassing heat of being inside Marco. “God, you feel amazing, so good. You’re so good for me.”

Marco takes a few seconds to breathe. “You too. You — it’s a lot, but — want more. I want you, please.”

“Yeah?” he kisses his back, over his shoulderblade, and shallowly, slowly pulls out, and pushes back in again. The sound is obscene, and the feeling is divine, and he kind of wants to be here forever. “You want me?”

“Please, I want you,” Marco says, and Marc finally releases him to place a hand over his on the bedsheets, their fingers entwining on the bed.

“I got you,” he says, and begins to thrust into him, enjoying each snap of his hips deep inside his boyfriend, every stroke against his walls, the feel of skin against skin and Marco whimpering under him.

He cries out at one particularly hard thrust, and that motivates Marc to go harder, despite his aching thighs and the sweat collecting between their bodies. He wants Marco to feel good, as much as his own pleasure — he does his best to bring a hand around and begin to jerk Marco off whilst maintaining his balance. He’s getting close embarrassingly quickly, though he has a suspicion Marco is nearly there too.

“Baby, I want to come in you. I’m gonna…”

“Please, yes please,” Marco says and it only takes a few more thrusts for Marc to shudder into an orgasm, groaning and biting into Marco's back lightly. Marco comes only seconds later into Marc’s hand, whimpering like a puppy, and Marc kisses his back once more, waiting for them both to catch their breaths before sliding out of him. He rolls Marco over to see his face, smiling widely, feeling so blissed out and tingly.

That smile is wiped away when he spots the tear tracks on Marco's face. “Oh God, baby, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no. It’s — it’s because I liked it so much. Promise, it was so good. Really.” Marco reaches up to pull Marc into his side, and Marc goes without complaint, burying his face into Marco's neck.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m so sure. You were amazing. You made me feel so good. Did I… was I okay?”

Marc pushes himself up to press a kiss to Marco's cheek, running a hand up and down his chest reassuringly. “You were so perfect. You’re so gorgeous, and you did so well. So good for me, Marco.”

Marc kisses him for a long moment, and when he pulls back, Marco's smile is so bright and wide that he knows nothing is wrong. They really are good tears. He hadn’t realised he’d been feeling so pressured to do well until right now — it was different, being the one with the upper hand. The last person he had dated seriously like this had been Valentino and to say he wasn't gentle when he took Marc's virginity was an understatement. Marc was convinced sex was only about the dominant ones pleasure, only about letting them cum then leave you naked and afraid. Marc never wanted Marco to feel as unwanted as he had that night.

He smiles too, Marco wrapping his arms around him, and Marc does the same. “Thank you, Marc.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Sex takes two — you did so good, really.”

“Really?”

Marc kisses him again. “You were so perfect, I’m serious. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I feel so safe 'nd good, with you. You’re so good to me.” He hums, eyes falling closed

“You deserve it, angel. Never think otherwise.”

He runs a hand up his side to hold him close. Marco curls into him, and the two of them lie there, breathing slowing, naked and safe, comfortably pressed together.

[scrollonso]

You Don't Matter - Alex/Pecco

“I wanted to come in here and say sorry, Francesco,” Alex says, huffing out a breath that’s not quite a laugh.

Pecco turns away, and Alex watches the stiff shake of his head, the sharp clench of his jaw. 

I don’t need to play mind games with you. 

He was lying — or, at least, not being completely truthful — and Pecco knows it, too. To be fair, he did enter the Italians motorhome with the intention of rattling Pecco, just a little. To trap him with no other option but to finally face Alex after so obviously avoiding him since the crash. Wanting to tease him, ever so slightly, to try and bring his defenses down, even if just an inch. Call it leveling the playing field, or whatever.

Alex should’ve known that Pecco wouldn’t let him in that easily. If anything, the closeness between them only served to freeze Pecco further, rather than melt him down the way Alex had hoped. 

He can see the wheels turning in Pecco's head, can see the walls building higher and higher, with how hard he’s trying to not let Alex regain the upper hand. It’s his serve, and he’s not going to let Alex break it without a fight. Not anymore. He knows that all Alex needs is one goddamn inch to wiggle himself back into the advantage. 

Because, even after all these years have passed, Pecco still knows Alex. Whether he likes it or not. 

Really, all they’ve ever done — since they were sixteen years old — is play games with each other. It’s just that somewhere, along the way, it stopped being fun. 

“That makes no sense.”

“I wanted to say that I'm sorry I ruined our races. And I'm glad you're not hurt.”

And fuck, does he mean it. 

Pecco's lips twitch into his cheeks, but not with a smile — no, he’s biting back a snarl. Fighting the urge to show his sharp teeth, a last defense to warn Alex that he’s about to have his heart ripped right out of his chest if he isn’t careful. 

And Alex wants to just — push him to it. To bite. Pecco has always been all talk, and when it came down to the wire he’d just submit. Rolling over, retreating into safety. Never fighting back. Now, he’s so close, Alex can feel the air practically crackle with Pecco's barely-contained rage. 

Part of him is almost proud. It’s nice to see you lit up about something. 

Even if that something is hating me, he thinks.

And besides — he’s already spent his entire life hurting at Pecco's hands. Because of him. Because of the loss of him. May as well finish him off. 

Alex was wrong, all those years ago. Pecco isn’t a snake, slithering around in the grass, hiding below Alex's feet and twisting around him before reaching out to bite. No — he’s more of a tiger. Still hiding in the grass, but stalking, strategizing  — categorizing every weak point in his prey before striking. Before digging his razor sharp claws right into Alex's beating heart, his soft, unguarded stomach. Tearing him apart, all brutal strength and ice cold efficiency. 

It’s what’s been missing from your racing. 

He stares at the bob of Pecco's adam’s apple, glistening with sweat, as he swallows his anger down. And that, right there, is what Alex latches on to. 

“Yeah," Pecco grits out, unable to hide the crack of his voice. He hums, around a mean, derisive leer. 

Even after all the time they’ve spent apart, Alex is so pleased to find that he’s still an expert on reading Pecco. His tells haven’t changed. So he knows that he struck a nerve, has nicked Pecco's icy exterior. Just enough for Alex to see that he’s not the only one suffering here. 

Maybe, Pecco is still just as affected by Alex as Alex is by Pecco. Despite the heat, he shivers at the thought. 

“Well,” Pecco continues, voice steadier. He stands then, right in front of Alex, left hand gripping onto the band of Alex's sweatpants slung low on his hips. Alex's eyes trace down the strong lines of Pecco's body, lingering on the stretch of his pelvis for a beat too long. “I don’t miss playing with you. I’m too mature for it.” 

Pecco starts towards the door, not hesitating to leave his own motorhome if it means getting away from the Spaniard, but Alex lurches to his feet before he can make his escape. One hand stays by his side. The other grasps Pecco's wrist tightly — to ensure that his skin doesn’t slip out of his hold — and yanks, pulling him back into the room while the heavy door slams shut again. 

“No, you don’t get to leave, just like that. You don’t get to run away,” Alex snaps. 

Pecco stares at him for one long second, nostrils flaring, jaw grinding in a furious back and forth, before he’s on him. Twisting out of Alex's hold, he shoves him up against the wall, using his right forearm to push hard along Alex's collarbones — wrist to elbow pressing just under the divot of his throat. 

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” he sneers, letting out a mean laugh right in Alex's face.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Alex tries — albeit halfheartedly — to push back against Pecco's hold, but all it does is earn him another harsh shove. 

Pecco is probably stronger than him, he always has been, he realizes with a start. Now that his body is sculpted by the most expensive trainers and nutritionists and physical therapists money can buy. He’s not even sure he could actually escape Pecco's hold if he tried. 

It’s the closest they’ve physically been since they broke up nine years ago. He isn’t going to try.

His breaths come in and out in short bursts. The slight pressure on his neck limits his airflow, in addition to the heavy heat in the air that already makes it hard to breathe. All of it leaves him a bit dizzy — that, and the fact that all the blood in his body is rapidly rushing downwards. Suddenly he’s glad that his sweatpants are too big for his body, so they can hide the growing hardness of his dick. 

All traces of humor are gone from Pecco's face, sardonic or not, leaving only sharp lines and dangerous anger. 

“You fucking left first, Alex. You’re the one who ran away and never came back.”

“You’re the one who told me to go!” He yells, as well as he can, anyway, given the growing pressure below his throat. “You don’t get to put this all on me, Francesco. Just because you got off scot-free in the end doesn’t mean you get to blame me for everything. You’re at fault just as much as me. Probably more, actually, because you just couldn’t help yourself from blaming me for the fact you're a shit rider.”

Pecco shoves him back again, so hard that the back of his head slams against the wall. Presses up so close that his nose smashes into Alex's, so forcefully that he fears the cartilage is going to shatter. 

“Oh yeah? That's why you purposely crashed into me? To get back at me?” 

Pecco jerks away, and Alex has half a mind to think that he's going to hit him. He recoils as Pecco moves, only for him to turn around and take a rigid step away from Alex, leaving him still pressed against the wall. 

The words sink in, then, and Alex lets out a humorless laugh. He wonders if Pecco realizes that he just showed his hand. Probably not — he was always reckless in his anger. When he finally exploded after bottling everything in for too long, letting the pressure build and build and build. Alex never had to wonder why Pecco was mad when they were kids, he knew that Pecco would let it slip eventually — all he had to do was wait him out or needle it out of him. 

Seems he really hasn’t changed much at all. 

“You know, Francesco,” he starts, aiming to sound detached, even though he’s barely hanging on to a single thread of control. “It might not seem like it, given your entire goddamn life, but if you can believe it, not everything is about you.”

Casually, he pushes himself off the wall. “And besides, you’re not mad that I fucked your race”

He gets one hand on his shoulder, with the other mindlessly toying with the Italians jeans. In one intense move he twists Pecco around to face him, hand swiftly cupping the younger mans crotch. 

He can’t help the smirk that pulls at his lips at the reveal of Pecco's half-hard cock, the way it twitches when he catches sight of Alex's own proud erection, now undeniably visible even through the oversized sweats. 

“No, you’re just mad that I didn’t fuck you too .” Pecco nearly flinches at his words, at the vitriolic way Alex spits them at him, and that’s how he knows he’s right. “It drove you crazy, remembering I'm not only good at fucking you over but also fucking you stupid. I know it did.” 

A rough hand clasps around his throat — fingers and thumb spanning the sides, pressing against his bilateral pulse points. Not squeezing, just adding a firm, constant pressure as Pecco pulls him in close again. He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed at the choked moan that escapes his lips, or the way his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. 

“You don’t fucking know anything.”

Alex's smirk sharpens, dangerous. Maybe he can show his sharp teeth, too. 

“Don’t I?”

Next thing he knows, he’s nearly choking on Pecco's tongue. He doesn’t know who moved first — or maybe they simultaneously closed the gap between them, both possessed by the same magnetic force — but he moans again, a deep, guttural sound all the way from the depths of his soul. 

The kiss is rough, all teeth and tongue, like they’re mutually trying to devour each other. Alex presses his tongue deep into Pecco's mouth, trying to chase the taste of him. It’s so familiar . Pecco still tastes the same as he did all those years ago. The realization nearly brings him to fucking tears. 

Another moan gets caught in his throat, stuck underneath the grip that Pecco still has on his neck. 

He wants Pecco to press harder. Wants it to bruise, so he can wear Pecco's fingerprints on his skin like a brand. 

Alex's own hands can’t seem to settle. He rakes his fingers up Pecco's strong back, down his pecs that may as well be fucking tits , and across his taut abs, barely grazing the coarse hair that leads down to his groin, and back up again. Crazed with desire, hunger , to consume every inch of Pecco that he can get his hands on. His fingers finally settle in Pecco's hair, and he yearns for his old curls — just so he could really get a good handful and yank . Pecco still groans when he manages to pull at the short strands anyway, when he digs his nails into his scalp. 

Pecco releases his hold on Alex's throat — much to his dismay — and starts tracing a long line down Alex's chest. He scrapes his nails hard across his skin, moving so slowly, making Alex feel every raw pink line that he leaves in his wake. 

Alex whines when Pecco cruelly pinches at a nipple, hand snaked up his Gresini team shirt, while simultaneously biting hard at his bottom lip. He tries to tip his head back, needing to breathe, suddenly so overwhelmed — but Pecco keeps his teeth pressed into his lip, making it stretch painfully between them. Keeping Alex right where Pecco wants him. Eventually, he releases his bite, soothes the sting with his tongue. 

Pecco's hand continues on its downward path, making his abs quiver in response. 

His other hand twists into Alex's hair and pulls, thrusting his head back. Alex finally sucks in a deep breath, nearly heaving with the effort, but all the air is knocked right back out of him when Pecco wraps a calloused hand tightly around the base of his aching cock, while biting hard at the now-exposed sensitive line of his throat. 

Pecco starts pumping his fist at a brutal pace, squeezing so tight that it’s almost painful while his mouth is busy biting and sucking and licking at his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. There’s no way he isn’t leaving marks. Alex whimpers at the thought. Imagines wearing Pecco's claim on his skin in front of anyone and everyone. 

And god, they’ll all know . One look is all it will take to know, without a doubt, that Alex has been claimed by Pecco — mind, body, soul, everything . 

Fuck, it’s almost too much. 

Almost.

“I hate you,” Pecco pants into Alex's neck. He gives a particularly hard bite, punctuating his harsh words. Alex wouldn’t be surprised if he breaks the skin, bleeds him dry right here in his motorhome. “I hate you for going to Moto2. And I hate that you got with that whore after you left me. You were mine first, Alex.” 

“Yeah ,” he moans. He was. He is. 

He's quick to undo the Italians jeans, wrapping his own frantic hand around Pecco's cock, he nearly sees stars at the heavy weight of it against his palm. Matching Pecco's pace, he lets himself squeeze a little bit too hard to be mean back.

“I hate that you don’t give a fuck about anything,” Pecco continues. “That you’re wasting your fucking talent. And for what ? You were supposed to be great, but look at you now. All this time, and what do you have to show for it? Fucking nothing . I already won, Alex, and I really hate that you never cared enough to even play the fucking game .” 

Pecco gives another sharp bite to his throat, over the long muscle that spans its entire length, and digs his thumbnail mercilessly into Alex's slit, drags it across the aching head of his cock. Alex keens — high and needy. Feels his cock drool with precum, even as his hips instinctively try to squirm away. 

“Fuck you, Pecco,” he gasps, breathless. It comes out sounding so pathetic. So weak. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Not a question, just a fact. The sky is blue, grass is green, Alex Marquez wants to fuck, be fucked by — in any and every way — Francesco Bagnaia.

Needs it more than he needs air to breathe. 

He reaches up to the hand Pecco still has clenched in his hair and pulls his fingers back, forcing him to release his grip. With the newfound ability to move his head again, he brings his lips back to Pecco's, kisses him deep and absolutely filthy . Desperate to convey how right Pecco is, how much he wants him. Has wanted him, for so long. 

They continue to feverishly jerk each other off, grips teetering on the knife’s edge of too painful. The frenzied sound of skin-on-skin mingles with the wet smacking of their lips in the otherwise silent sauna. 

It’s fucking obscene.

Pressure starts to build in Alex's gut, too fast too fast too fast . He’s not ready for this to be over, doesn’t want to come like this. He’s a glutton, he needs more . Needs to take everything Pecco will give him, if only for the fear that this is his only fucking chance. 

I don’t matter? 

Gathering a burst of strength, he shoves Pecco away, so hard that he stumbles a few steps backwards.

“What the fuck—”

Alex follows, pushing Pecco again, until the back of his knees hit the sofa behind him, and he just keeps going until Pecco has no option but to sit down. Head tilting back to keep Alex's eye as he towers over him. 

He leans down, nearly closing the gap between them again, but leaves barely a millimeter between their lips. They pant into each other’s open mouths, sharing air in warm bursts. A bead of sweat drips off Alex's nose and lands on Pecco's cheek. 

“You want me to play, Francesco?” He croons, right between his open lips. “Are you sure? Because you know I only play to win.”

“Yeah? That why you’re barely tenth?” 

“Well,” he smiles, pushing a laugh into Pecco's mouth. “I guess I only go for the points that matter.”

I don’t matter?

Not even to the most obsessive MotoGP fan in the entire world.

I don’t matter?

It’s exciting to see you this way. 

He stands back, takes a moment to appreciate the picture before him. And fuck, what a picture Pecco makes. Eyes glassy, cheeks and neck and chest flushed the prettiest pink beneath his glistening skin, his cock hard and nearly weeping between his thighs. And Pecco — he leans back, unabashedly kicks his jeans down and spreads his legs wide, he lets Alex look . 

Fuck, how could Pecco ever think that he belonged to anyone but Alex? 

He’s possessed, the need to take take take completely overcomes him. He needs to mark, to claim, to make sure that Pecco knows that he belongs to Alex just as much as he belongs to Pecco. 

In a sudden move, one that Pecco clearly wasn’t anticipating — see, I’ve always had the upper hand — he grabs one of Pecco's thighs, twists his body so that he’s practically laying sideways on the sofa. He pulls the leg he’s still gripping and thrusts it up, pushing until he meets the resistance of Pecco's hamstrings, nearly folding his right side in half. 

Pecco gasps when Alex places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of his thigh, just above the back crease of his knee. He tries to wrench his leg away, but Alex merely pushes Pecco further into the stretch. He smiles against Pecco's skin, feels the rippling tremor of his muscles below his lips. And then, he sinks his teeth in deep and sucks . Pecco groans, long and broken, as Alex relentlessly works to mar Pecco's sweet skin. 

To anyone else, it’ll just look like a bruise. It’s in an inconspicuous place. Unassuming, normal for an athlete to have. No one will think twice about it. 

But Pecco will know. Alex will know. Hell, maybe even Domizia will know. And tomorrow, when Alex gets a glimpse of his mark on Pecco's thigh, he’ll know he’s playing to win. 

Because he does fucking matter. 

“No matter what you think, Pecco,” he pants into Pecco's skin, too lazy to try to call the other by his full name, too lazy to try and pretend he doesn't care for him as he watches his handiwork turn an angry purple with a satisfied jolt in his stomach. Mine mine mine. “No matter how much you think you’re Domizia's, you know deep down that you belong to me. You’ve always belonged to me.”

He gives one last parting nip, which makes Pecco hiss out a short — hah — from the rawness of the already-forming bruise, and urges him to sit properly on the bench. Pecco splays his thighs out wide again, leaving just enough space for Alex to drop to his knees between them. Lightly, he runs his hands up the tops of Pecco's legs, feeling the rough scrape of his hair as he inches closer to his groin. He stops — just shy of where Pecco clearly wants him.— and drags his hands back down. Does it again, nails scraping this time. 

“Alex,” Pecco whines. 

He rests his cheek on Pecco's thigh, turns his head so he’s gazing up at him through his lashes. 

“Sì, amore, what do you want? Tell me.” 

The pet name slipped out unintentionally, likely a result of his brain short-circuiting from the heat and how fucking horny he is, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it. Not with the way Pecco's cock twitches in front of his face — nearly an invitation. 

Pecco lets out an impatient huff when Alex starts languidly mouthing at his leg. 

“God, you’re such a fucking dick.”

He hums, smiles against Pecco's skin. He tastes like salt, like sweat. 

“That didn’t sound like an answer to my question.”

Pecco growls then, grabs Alex's face and holds it between his hands. It’s almost tender, the way his thumbs caress over his temples, across his cheeks. That is, until he hooks both thumbs into Alex's mouth, pressing hard and forcing his jaw wide open. Pecco scoots forward on the sofa, using his height advantage while Alex is still kneeling on the floor, and leans down until their noses press together, switching their earlier positions. 

“I want you to show me. Show me how badly you want to be mine, Marquez.” 

He spits then, right into Alex's pried-open mouth, right on his tongue. Fuck, he’s going to pass out. He didn’t think Pecco had it in him to be such a nasty freak . 

He fucking loves it.

It’s exciting to see you this way. 

Pecco releases his face with a gentle shove and leans back on the bench. Alex wastes no time, gathers his own spit, pooling it around Pecco's in his mouth, and drops it perfectly over the pink head of Pecco's cock. Watches as it drips down the shaft, utterly transfixed. He desperately wants to burn this image into his retinas, wants to see it every time he closes his eyes. 

This is really happening . For so long, this only existed in the deepest recesses of his mind, only to be accessed in his weakest moments. When the loneliness — the longing — got so intense that he let himself slip up and imagine having Pecco this way. Twisting the knife further and further, deeper into his own stomach. 

And if this is his only chance, he’s desperate to ensure that Pecco knows no one will ever make him feel better than Alex does. 

Maybe then, if he makes it good enough, Pecco won’t try to leave him behind anymore. 

You were mine first.  

With a deep, steadying breath, he lowers his mouth around the base of Pecco's cock. Tantalizingly slow, he presses his tongue along the thick vein and licks a fat stripe up the entire length, tonguing hard at the frenulum. Pecco lets out an aborted moan, unable to stifle the sound completely. 

Alex starts swirling his tongue around the head, dips it into the slit to finally get a taste of the precome collecting there. Laps at the salty sweet taste of him, while tilting his head up to catch his gaze. He’s pleased to see that Pecco's eyes are wide open, locked on Alex with a hungry glint shining in their depths. 

With a final smirk — bottom lip catching against Pecco's cock — Alex gets to fucking work.

Still maintaining the delicious eye contact, in one swift move he takes Pecco's entire length in his mouth, pushing past his gag reflex. He feels Pecco curl up around him at the shock of it, scrabbling for some sort of purchase, eventually finding it with both hands gripping Alex's hair painfully. 

He sets up a ruthless rhythm, bobbing his head up and down Pecco's cock while occasionally opening his throat and swallowing around him, desperate to feel him as deep as he can. He must look like a mess — he can feel tears clumping his lashes and spit spilling down his chin, so fucking sloppy and he doesn’t fucking care . 

Pecco's hands keep a tight hold of Alex's hair, and Alex lets him take control of his movements. Lets Pecco take what he wants. He chokes out a punched-out groan when Pecco forces his head down to the base, as he thrusts his hips even further, nearly suffocating him on Pecco's cock. 

“Yeah ,” Pecco grunts out. “This— this is what you’re made for. This right here,” he gives another harsh jolt of his hips, holds Alex in place as he gags, as he makes him take it . 

“God, you’re so fucking desperate for it.” Alex hums in agreement, shivering in pleasure as Pecco moans from the vibrations. “Just wanna prove that you’re good at something , huh?” 

Tears are streaming down his face, and Alex doesn’t think it’s only from the pressure of Pecco's cock fucking into his throat. He feels like he’s on the verge of a precipice — like he’s one step away from falling off a cliff so high he knows he won’t survive. Still, he presses forward. Because he is fucking desperate for it. 

“That’s right, Alex,” Pecco continues, voice strained. “You’re only good when you’re playing for me . Everyone fucking knows it.” 

Without warning, Pecco forces Alex's head up and off his cock. He sucks in a deep breath, letting out a pitiful whine at the loss. Vision blurring, he tries to focus on Pecco, staring as he starts to frantically pull at his length, wet and shiny with Alex's spit. 

His body must realize what’s about to happen before his mind catches up, because he barely manages to shut his eyes before feeling hot ribbons of Pecco's come land all over his face, in his hair, down his neck and chest. Pecco keeps letting out these sweet, choked little noises — just the same as he did in his motorhome back in Moto3, when he’d jerk himself off after the thought Alex was asleep. 

“God, just look at you.” 

Alex cautiously opens his eyes — hyper-aware of the come matting his eyelashes and dripping off his eyelids — just in time to watch Pecco hold his softening cock in his fingers and drag the head against Alex's face. Rubbing his release into his skin, against his swollen lips. Possessive. Claiming. 

Alex sticks out his tongue, gives a little kitten-lick to the head, where it rests against his lips, causing Pecco to hiss and retreat from oversensitivity. 

He quickly replaces his cock with his thumb, collecting come from the corner of Alex's mouth and feeding it to him. He laves his tongue over the digit, savoring the taste of Pecco in his mouth. He continues to suck and nip at Pecco's thumb as he feverishly gets his hand on his own neglected cock, chasing his impending release. He’s nearly there already, just needs a few long tugs before he’s coming hard, spilling over his fist and the floor with a sob. 

The heat must be getting to him, because he thinks he blacks out — the pleasure from his orgasm nearly blinding him. He loses awareness for a moment, lost in a floaty sensation, finding comfort in the smell, the feel of Pecco around him. 

As he feels himself drift back, Pecco is lifting his body off the floor, hefting him into a seated position on the sofa. His eyes blink open, and he watches as Pecco reaches for the small towel that he quickly grabbed from the bathroom, and uses it to gently — so gently — wipe the remaining come off of Alex's face.

The intimacy of it is what finally cracks him open, right down the middle. He can’t keep up, can’t conflate the tenderness of Pecco's actions with the mean, unforgiving version of him that he’s been this whole time. 

Embarrassingly, his eyes start to well up, and despite blinking to try to keep them at bay, one single tear manages to escape. His bottom lip starts to wobble, so he sucks them both into his mouth to hide it. 

None of it escapes Pecco's notice, though. Once he finishes wiping the remaining come off his chest and his fist, he brings the towel back up to his cheek to collect the tear, face completely void of emotion. 

He turns away, bends down to collect their forgotten clothes, and helps the Spaniard get dressed. As if nothing ever happened.

Panic rips through him, completely filling his gut with the heavy dread of fear. Pecco is going to ask him to leave, is going to go back to his wife and his dog and his fucking penthouse life, and he’s going to leave Alex here — alone, destroyed — again, forever . 

He thought he’d be able to handle it. That even having Pecco once more would be enough, that he’d be able to live on the memory for the rest of his life. But fuck, he was wrong. 

He can’t live without this, he doesn’t think he’ll survive without Pecco in his life. Not now, not again. Not when he finally got a taste of what he’s spent years yearning for. He can’t go back, will do anything to not go back. 

I don’t matter?

His hand reaches back out, lands on Pecco's forearm, where it rests against the knot of the towel. 

“Pecco—” he tries, desperately, but his voice is shot to hell, completely wrecked. “Please ,” he whispers, hoping he can read his mind. He could have, once upon a time. Maybe he still can.

Pecco finally drops the emotionless mask, lets a hint of resignation show on his face. He steps back into Alex's space, eyes flitting back and forth rapidly between Alex's own. He leans down, resting his hands on the sofa behind Alex, effectively caging him in. Slowly, resolutely, he presses his lips back to Alex's. It’s chaste, almost sweet. Alex whimpers into it, prompting Pecco to pull back after barely a second has passed. 

“Shh, just— tomorrow, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow. I promise.” 

Alex lets out a deep, shaky breath as Pecco stands him up, heading back for the door.

He opens the door for Alex who doesn’t turn back as the door swings shut behind him. 

Head swimming, gut swirling, Pecco watches Alex go, eyes caught on the purple marks littering his neck.

Pressing fingers against his thigh, he feels the ache of tender marks littering his own skin, and actually lets himself believe his own promise of tomorrow. Tomorrow they would fix this. Tomorrow they would find a way.

[scrollonso]

Thank You — Strollini

The sun was high over Vale’s ranch, its golden rays beating down on the sprawling landscape. Dust floated in the air, kicked up by the bikes that roared across the dirt track. The heat was intense, making the earth dry and cracked, but the academy riders were unfazed. They were in their element, cutting through the sweltering afternoon with the precision and confidence of those born to ride. The track was their playground, each twist and turn a familiar challenge they eagerly embraced. Laughter rang out above the growl of engines, a sound of pure joy that echoed off the surrounding hills.

Among the seasoned riders, there was one figure who stood out — not because of skill, but because of his hesitance. Lance Stroll, usually at home behind the wheel of a F1 car, was out of his depth. His grip on the handlebars was too tight, his posture a little too stiff. The motorcycle beneath him felt foreign, its power more raw and unpredictable than the refined machines he was used to. But despite the nerves gnawing at him, he was determined. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, though it was more from sheer willpower than genuine confidence. He wasn’t about to back down, not here, not in front of Luca’s brother and friends. The embarrassment of admitting he wasn’t cut out for this would be too much to bear.

“Caro, you sure you’re okay with this?” Luca called out, his voice carrying a blend of concern and encouragement. He slowed his pace, falling back to keep an eye on Lance. He could see the tension in the way Lance handled the bike, the mix of caution and determination that marked every move.

“Yeah, I’ve got this!” Lance’s reply came quickly, his tone firm but betraying a hint of the anxiety he felt. He forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to convince Luca — and himself — that he could handle it.

Luca gave a small nod, though his eyes lingered on Lance, the worry not entirely erased. He knew how stubborn Lance could be, how much pride he took in proving himself. But this was different — this wasn’t the controlled environment of a racetrack he knew inside out. This was something wild, something that could easily go wrong. Even as the others zipped past them, their bikes leaning gracefully into the corners with practiced ease, Luca’s focus remained on his boyfriend. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.

Lance, meanwhile, did his best to keep up. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind blocking out everything except the path in front of him. The roar of the engine, the dust flying in his wake, the sun beating down on his back — it all faded into the background. He was getting the hang of it, finding a rhythm, even if it was slower than the others. The turns were still tricky, each one a battle to stay upright, but he was doing it. He felt a surge of pride with each successful maneuver, a growing belief that he could pull this off.

But as they neared the last stretch, something inside him urged him to push harder, to prove that he could do more than just keep up. He wanted to impress Luca, to show the others that he wasn’t just some car driver trying to play in their world. He twisted the throttle, feeling the bike surge forward, the speed intoxicating. For a brief moment, he felt the thrill of it, the exhilaration of matching the pace of the others.

Then it all went wrong.

As he approached the next corner, Lance misjudged his speed. The bike wobbled, the back tire slipping on the loose dirt. Before he could react, the bike skidded out from under him, the world tilting violently as he was thrown off. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring every bone in his body. Pain exploded through him, radiating from his wrists as he instinctively tried to break his fall. The breath was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping as he lay on the ground, his helmeted head resting in the dirt.

The sounds of laughter and chatter that had filled the air just moments before died instantly. The other riders, catching sight of the crash, skidded to a halt, their bikes kicking up clouds of dust as they did. Everyone, Marco, Pecco, Franky, Cele, and Mig, all turned their heads toward the scene, their smiles fading as they registered what had happened.

Lance lay there, unmoving, his bike a twisted heap a few feet away, smoke curling up from where the engine had stalled. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden, sinking realization.

For a moment, no one really moved. The dust settled around Lance’s prone form, the world eerily still compared to the chaos of just moments before. The academy riders exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.

Pecco was the first to speak, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s probably just winded,” he said, but his voice lacked the usual cocky confidence. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “I mean, he’s not used to this, right?”

Marco forced a chuckle, though it came out strained. “Yeah, he’s probably fine. Just needs a minute to catch his breath.” But his eyes didn’t leave Lance, the doubt creeping in.

Franky and Cele stayed quiet, their attention fixed on Lance, who still hadn’t moved. Mig hesitated, taking a step forward as if to check on him, but then stopped, unsure of what to do.

Luca’s heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of his own pulse loud in his ears. Something was wrong — he could feel it deep in his gut. The others might have thought Lance was just being overly cautious or exaggerating the fall, but Luca knew better. He could see the tension in Lance’s body, the way he wasn’t moving his hands, wasn’t trying to get up. The laughter, the easygoing banter — it all felt wrong now, like a distant memory from a different day.

Without a second thought, Luca pulled off his helmet and dropped it to the ground. He sprinted toward Lance, his boots kicking up dirt as he closed the distance. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts, fear gripping him tighter with each step.

“Lance!” Luca’s voice cracked as he called out, panic lacing his words. He dropped to his knees beside Lance, his hands hovering over him, afraid to touch but desperate to do something, anything. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Lance groaned in response, the sound low and pained. He tried to move, to lift his head, but the effort made him wince, and he collapsed back onto the ground. “Ange… I think… I think I broke something,” he gasped, his voice trembling with the effort of speaking. "God this is so fucking embarrassing" He almost laughed, shaking his head at himself.

Luca’s eyes widened as he saw the unnatural angle of Lance’s wrists. His heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s okay, amore,” he said softly, his voice steady and soothing despite the fear gnawing at him. “Don’t move, alright? Just stay still.”

He reached out, his hands gentle as he took hold of Lance’s arms, careful not to cause any more pain. “I’m right here,” Luca continued, keeping his tone light, almost tender. “We’re going to get you fixed up. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Lance winced but tried to smile, though the effort was weak. “I’m such an idiot… I should’ve just said no,” he muttered, frustration and pain evident in his voice. “This is so embarrassing.”

Luca shook his head, brushing a few strands of hair from Lance’s forehead with a feather-light touch. “Don’t say that,” he murmured, his tone full of affection. “You were amazing out there. You tried something new, and that’s more than anyone could ask for. We’ll laugh about this later, okay?”

The others, realizing the severity of the situation, quickly gathered around. Marco’s usual bravado had melted away, replaced by a concerned frown. Pecco’s earlier smirk was long gone, his face serious as he looked down at Lance. Franky, Cele, and Mig stood a little further back, their expressions grim.

Marco knelt down beside Luca, his voice low and urgent, afraid to freak Lance out. “We need to call an ambulance. He might have broken both his wrists.”

Luca nodded, but his focus remained on Lance. “Marco, can you make the call?” he asked, his voice still calm but carrying an underlying edge of urgency.

Marco fumbled for his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he dialed. “They’re on their way,” he said after a moment, his voice tense. “They’ll be here soon.”

Luca turned his attention back to Lance, who was starting to look a little pale. He kept his hands on Lance’s arms, not moving them but offering a constant, reassuring presence. “Hey, look at me,” he said gently, trying to keep Lance focused. “We’re going to get you to the hospital, and they’ll take care of everything. Just keep breathing, okay? You’re doing great.”

Lance’s breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle against the pain, but he nodded slightly. The fear that had gripped him when he first hit the ground was slowly ebbing away, replaced by the comfort of Luca’s voice, the warmth of his touch. Even through the pain, there was a sense of relief that Luca was there, calm and unshakable.

Luca smiled down at him, his eyes full of warmth and affection. “We’ve got you, Lance. You’re going to be just fine,” he whispered, leaning in closer so Lance could hear him clearly. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

The sound of approaching sirens cut through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Luca didn’t look away from Lance, didn’t let go of him even as the paramedics arrived and started to work. He stayed right there, his voice a constant, soothing presence, guiding Lance through the pain, through the fear.

As the paramedics carefully moved Lance onto the stretcher, immobilizing his wrists with practiced precision, Luca kept talking to him, his tone light and reassuring. He climbed into the ambulance beside Lance, holding his hand the entire time, his touch gentle and steady.

The other riders watched as the ambulance sped away, their faces a mix of guilt and worry. The ranch, once filled with the sounds of laughter and the thrill of racing, now felt quiet and empty, the weight of what had happened settling heavily over them. But even in the midst of their concern, there was a quiet respect for Luca’s calm, for the way he’d held it together when Lance needed him most.

The ambulance ride to the hospital had been tense, but Luca never let go of Lance’s hand, his calm presence a constant source of comfort. As they arrived at the emergency room, the paramedics quickly wheeled Lance through the double doors, the cool, sterile air of the hospital a stark contrast to the hot, dusty ranch. Luca stayed close, his heart racing, but his demeanor steady.

Nurses and doctors took over, assessing Lance’s injuries with swift efficiency. They began speaking in medical terms that blurred together in Luca’s mind, but he stayed focused on Lance, squeezing his hand gently every now and then to remind him he was there. Lance’s face was pale, the pain evident in the way he bit down on his lip, trying not to let it show too much. He’d always been tough, but this was different — this wasn’t a race crash; this was a different kind of hurt.

“Okay, Mr. Stroll, we’re going to take you for some X-rays to see the extent of the damage,” one of the doctors said, his tone professional but kind. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Lance nodded, his eyes flickering to Luca, who smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Luca promised, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Lance’s forehead. “You’re doing great, caro. Just hang in there.”

Lance managed a small, grateful smile before the doctors wheeled him away, disappearing down the hallway. Luca stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched them go. The calm he’d maintained for Lance’s sake was starting to crack, worry seeping through the edges. But he knew he couldn’t let it take over — not yet.

He found a chair in the waiting area, running a hand through his hair as he tried to steady himself. The hospital was busy, the constant hum of activity around him almost soothing in its familiarity. He’d been in places like this before, with racing accidents and close calls, but this felt different. This was Lance, his Lance, and the thought of him in pain, of him being hurt, was almost too much to bear.

Time seemed to drag on as he waited. Every few minutes, he checked his phone, responding to the messages from the academy boys, who were anxiously waiting for updates. They all felt guilty, even though no one could have predicted what had happened. Luca reassured them that Lance was in good hands, that he’d keep them posted as soon as he knew more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Luca. “Mr. Marini?” he asked, recognizing him from the emergency room earlier. Luca stood up quickly, his heart leaping into his throat.

“How is he?” Luca asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The doctor gave him a reassuring smile. “Lance has fractured both of his wrists,” he explained, “but the fractures are clean, and we’re optimistic that with proper treatment and rest, he’ll make a full recovery. We’ve set the bones and put casts on both wrists. He’s going to be sore for a while, and he’ll need some help with day-to-day things, but he’ll be okay.”

Luca let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief flooding through him. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “He’s just coming out of anesthesia, but you can go in. He’ll be in some pain as he wakes up, but we’ve got him on medication to help manage it.”

Luca nodded, thanking the doctor before heading down the hallway to Lance’s room. When he entered, the sight of Lance lying in the hospital bed, his wrists encased in white casts, brought a fresh wave of emotion. But Luca pushed it down, focusing on the relief that Lance was going to be okay.

Lance’s eyes fluttered open as Luca approached, his gaze a little unfocused from the lingering effects of the anesthesia. When he saw Luca, a small, tired smile tugged at his lips. “Hey,” he croaked, his voice raspy.

“Hey, you,” Luca replied softly, pulling a chair up beside the bed and taking Lance’s hand — the one that wasn’t too sore — in his. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a truck,” Lance admitted, his smile fading as the pain began to register. He shifted slightly, wincing as he moved his wrists. “But the doctor said it’s just a few fractures, right? Nothing too serious?”

“Yeah,” Luca confirmed, squeezing his hand gently. “They’ve set the bones, and with some rest, you’ll be back to your old self in no time. But you’ll need to take it easy for a while. No more trying to show off, okay?”

Lance huffed out a weak laugh. “Yeah, lesson learned,” he muttered, though there was still a hint of self-reproach in his tone. “I’m sorry, Luca. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Don’t apologize,” Luca said firmly, leaning in closer so that Lance could see the sincerity in his eyes. “You did your best, and that’s all that matters. I’m just glad you’re okay. I was so worried.”

Lance looked at him for a long moment, the weight of his own fears and guilt slowly easing under Luca’s gentle gaze. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

“Always,” Luca murmured, brushing a soft kiss against Lance’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[scrollonso]

Presumed death that Bez (I don’t know if you like beznaia but imagine crazed anxious horse pecco loosing Bez for like 1 hour and calling him in missing to the police)

Pecco was trying to stay calm, but the clock kept ticking louder in his head. Bez had gone out over an hour ago, saying he’d "be back soon," and had completely disappeared. His texts went unanswered, calls went straight to voicemail, and Pecco’s imagination was spinning a hundred grim scenarios.

What if he got hit by a car? Or was mugged? Or— Pecco felt his stomach twist, and before he knew it, he was dialing the police.

"Hello, emergency services, what’s the nature of your emergency?"

"My boyfriend’s missing," Pecco stammered, clutching his phone tightly. "Marco Bezzecchi. He went out, and he… he hasn’t come back. It’s been over an hour!"

The operator sounded surprised. "Sir, did he say where he was going?"

Pecco blinked, mind racing. "He just said 'out.' But Bez always texts me, even if he’s only gone for a few minutes! He’s… he’s never just disappeared like this!"

"Sir, is it possible he’s just lost track of time or—"

Pecco cut her off, voice rising. "No, he’s not the kind to forget! What if something’s happened to him?"

Just as he was about to spiral further, the front door creaked open, and there was Bez, strolling in like he hadn’t just put Pecco through an emotional nightmare. He looked a bit startled when he saw Pecco standing there, white-knuckling his phone, wide-eyed.

"Ciao, amo! What’s going on?" Bez asked, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Pecco nearly dropped the phone, feeling a surge of equal parts relief and fury. "What’s going on?! I thought you were dead! I called the police, Bez!"

Bez blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. "The police? For me?"

"Yes! You disappeared! I had no idea where you were, and I thought…" Pecco trailed off, face flushed, his heart still racing.

Bez tried to hold back a smile, but a chuckle escaped. "Amore, I just grabbed coffee and got a little sidetracked talking to Cedro and Edo. I didn't realize it’d been that long."

"That long?" Pecco’s voice was a mix of disbelief and relief. "An hour with no text, Bez!"

Bez pulled Pecco into a hug, patting his back soothingly. "Next time, I’ll set an alarm or something. I didn’t know I was dating someone who’d call the cops on me."

Pecco buried his face against Bez’s shoulder, muttering, "If you don’t keep me updated, I will call them every time."

Bez just laughed, squeezing him tight. "Alright, noted."

[scrollonso]

On The Carpet — Pedroscar

“No.” 

Oscar's voice was firm as he said it, shaking his head side to side, but the pink that disappeared under the collar of his shirt felt like it was burning him alive. 

“Why?” Pedro whined, throwing his head back against the arm of the couch with a pout. His arms were crossed and Oscae scoffed at the display from his place on the carpeted floor. 

“Because you’ll die .” 

“I will not die ,” Pedro huffed, moving to meet Oscar's eyes all over again, “And even if I do, it’s quite literally the best way to go.” 

“You’re not instilling me with confidence.” 

“Okay look,” Pedro uncrossed his arms as he sat up properly and Oscar felt his spine automatically straighten at the suddenly serious tone in the other man’s voice, “If you're saying no because you actually don’t want to do it, I’d never pressure you into it,” He started, his eyes analysing Oscar's face as he spoke, “But if you're saying no because you're embarrassed or because you think you’ll hurt me, I feel inclined to tell you that you won't and also that I literally wake up hard dreaming about it so you have no reason to be embarrassed about it.” 

Oscar's shoulders dropped as he let out a groan, “I don't… it not that I don't want to-” 

“Then let's do it!” 

“I just…” He continued, ignoring Pedro's interruption, “It’s my thighs.” 

“I love your thighs,” Pedro shrugged 

“It's not about that,” He huffed, dropping backwards to lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, “It’s… they’re big .” 

“I know,” Pedro grinned, his tongue tracing his bottom lip almost like a reflex, “They're really strong. It’s hot.”  

Oscar kicked at his leg from where it was hanging off the sofa and relished in the pained hiss the brunette let out, “What I mean is that… they’ll…" 

“They’ll?” Pedro urged, quirking an eyebrow as Oscar groaned, throwing an arm over his face. 

“They’ll crush your big stupid head.” 

Pedro let out a laugh, tilting his head to the side and pinning Oscar with his eyes, “Baby, if you think that isn't exactly what I’m looking for you’re fucking insane.” 

Oscar looked back up at the ceiling and felt himself squeeze his legs together entirely without his consent, his body moving to indulge, even minimally, in the pressure that was building there. Pedro noticed, because of course he fucking did . 

“Please amor,” Pedro murmured, sliding off the couch until he was kneeling on the floor before crawling towards Oscar. He moved closer, placing his hands on the Aussie's knees and spreading them slowly. When Oscar relented and dropped them apart Pedro leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to where he knew from memory exactly where Oscar's dick was. His lips lingered against the spot, gentle and barely there, but as he spoke Oscar still felt the rumble of his words directly against him, “Want you to sit on my face.” 

He was begging, which was something Oscar didn't have the pleasure to indulge in usually, as Pedro was normally the one making him plead to just touch him , but now, Pedro was here, quite literally on his knees, asking Oscar to just let him make the Spaniard feel good. Who was he to deny him? 

“Okay.”

Pedro's head shot up, eyes meeting his as a grin pulled at his lips, “Seriously?”

“If that’s what you want.” 

“Now.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes, “I’ve got to be in the sim in like thirty minutes.” 

“Skip it. Text Lando and ask him to send you his stats,” He whispered, moving forward to blanket his body over Oscar's and the older man's legs moving to automatically wrap around his waist. Pedro's lips brushed against his and he had to fight the urge to grind up against him, “Want you so bad, baby. Please let me make you feel good.” 

Oscar groaned, his eyes falling shut as Pedro's hand moved to pull him closer, pressing Pedro's erection against where Oscar was steadily dampening in his pyjama shorts. 

“Please let me taste you.”

Oscar's head dropped back against the carpet and sighed, “Get me my phone.”

Oscar didn't think he’d ever seen Pedro move so fast, — not even on his bike — barely gone ten seconds before he was back kneeling between Oscar's thighs and passing him his phone. 

He called Lando, listened to the ringing through the phone as Pedro moved to start pressing kisses and bite lightly at his neck, grinding down against Oscar and watching as the blonde squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hi!” He said brightly through the phone, but Pedro could see the way his hand was clenched into a fist and he was trying to keep his hips still, “Yeah, no I’m not gonna be in today. I was wondering if you’d be able to send your results over after- ah! ”

Oscar cut himself off with a loud whine as Pexro bit down against his shoulder and pressed his thumb, that Oscar hadn't even noticed had moved, directly against his hole through his shorts.

“Sorry, no I just…” Oscar trailed off and choked out a laugh, “Fuck off, I’m sorry! Can you just… Yeah, okay, thanks.” 

He hung up and essentially threw his phone across the room, sinking his fingers into Pedro's hair and pulling him away from his neck, relishing in the pained yelp it drew.  

“You’re an asshole. He’s gonna bully me about this for months,” He gritted out, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as Pedro pressed his thumb down again.

“But you sound so pretty, mi amor,” He murmured, kissing down Oscar's chest as the blonde let out small gasped breaths, “Can we do it now? Please?”  

“Here?” 

“What?” Pedro scoffed, “Like we’ve never fucked in the living room?” 

“We have two perfectly comfortable beds down the hall,” He grumbled, sighing as Pedro reached between his legs again, this time not holding back as he pressed his tongue and his mouth against Oscar through the fabric. 

“Sure,” Pedro murmured, and Oscar's breath caught in his throat at the vibrations, “But you're dripping, baby. Can taste you through your shorts.” 

Oscar went to reply but was cut off as Pedro flipped them, moving to catch himself with his hands against the carpet and letting out a loud yelp. Oscar could feel Pedro grinning from where his mouth was directly under his crotch, arms hooked over his thighs and biceps pressing into the flesh. 

As Oscar found balance, he let out a loud moan, lifting himself slightly and letting out a breath, “I hate that that was really hot.” 

Pedro laughed and Oscar tried to get his breathing back to normal, “Should've waited till you got your shorts off for that, would've been so much hotter.” 

Oscar nodded, but suddenly he had no more fight left in him as he let Pedro tilt him backwards till he was sat on the other man’s chest, sliding his shorts from his hips and grinning as Oscar's breath caught in his throat when he pulled him back up to straddle Pedro's face. 

“Demon,” Oscar breathed, his chest heaving at being manhandled and Pedro's firm grip on his thighs, “Utter plague." 

“C'mon baby,” Pedro murmured, lifting his head up to press a kiss to Oscar's dick before dragging his tongue through the wetness that was gathering, “Take it. Make yourself feel good. Use me.” 

Oscar slid a hand into Pedro's hair, gripping it tight and shuddering at the moan Pedro let escape.  

“Okay just… If it’s too much you can… Make sure you push me off, okay?” 

Pedro nodded eagerly, his eyes shining as they took in Oscar's face. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip and Oscar finally relented, slowly lowering himself until Pedro pulled him the rest of the way down, the pair of them moaning at the contact.

It was like a switch had flipped, like all of a sudden if he didn't get this he would die , and Oscar was using his grip on Pedro's hair to grind against his mouth, letting out choked-off curses as the brunette’s tongue flattened and Oscar's dick smoothed across it. It was like Pedro was fucking starving for it, the way he was pulling Oscar down harder, lips moving and groaning out as the blonde’s hips moved faster.  

“Jesus Christ,” Oscar hissed, his eyes rolling back as Pedro let out a loud noise of agreement and his fingers dug into his hips harder, “That, do that again-”

Pedro curled his tongue, pressing it up against Oscar's dick and grinned at the whine the boy let out. Oscar was close almost embarrassingly quickly, just riding Pedro's face and letting out pathetic sounds, it was enough to ruin him.

He’d never thought about how good this would feel, just being allowed to take his pleasure, take what Pedro was willingly offering, and melt into it. That’s what he was doing. He was taking, and Pedro was letting him, was practically begging him to use him. He felt powerful, and simultaneously like Pedro was using him right back. This was what Pedro had wanted, for Oscar to let loose, for him to stop thinking about it and just take it , so okay… he would. He’d take it, just like Pedro asked. He could be good for Pedro. He wanted to be good for Pedro. Really, it's all he ever wanted to be.

The Spaniard moaned again, pressing up against Oscar where the older man was pressing down, and relishing in the way his thighs began to tremble.  

“Pedro, god- fuck ,” Oscar choked, pulling at the other man’s hair harder and letting his eyes roll back, “ 'M gonna come.”

Pedro moaned, egging him on as he pressed his tongue inside Oscar, letting out further muffled but equally pleased noises at the taste.  

That was enough, apparently, because all of a sudden the trembling of Oscar's thighs turned to full-on shaking and he was curling forward and- oh. 

Oscar tried to pull up slightly to not fucking waterboard Pedro entirely, but his orgasm was still racking his body so Pedro used his hands, just his hands, to pull the larger man up slightly, swallow whatever cum was left in his mouth, and gasp for air.

He was still letting out small sounds, hips moving against his will as Pedro stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” Oscar managed to choke, eyes unfocused and hand loosening in Pedro's hair as the other man kept holding him up.  

“Holy shit,” Pedro gasped, and Oscar finally looked down and winced. The carpet was stained, cum having landed around Pedro's head and, humiliatingly, even further. Pedro's face was covered in wetness, — whether it was his own spit or Oscar's cum — his chin glistening in the mid-morning light, and the collar of his shirt was sodden. Pedro, however, looked like he’d just met God, “Fucking… fuck .” 

“I’m really sorry,” Oscar murmured again, moving to dismount his face but being held in place by Pedro's hands, still keeping him up on his knees. 

In less than a second, Oscar was sprawled out on his back, Pedro's hand under his head to ensure he didn't hit it on the floor and his legs splayed open, now around Pedro's waist. 

“Can you go again?” Pedro asked immediately, voice rough and his tongue poking out to taste the wetness that covered his lips. He looked hungry. 

“I don't-” Oscar's mind was still foggy, but he was catching up enough to realise the extent of what had happened, "We've never done it this quick.” The we to it made Pedro throb, Oscar was right. This was a thing they'd never done together and asside from being intimate with Pedro, Oscar had never done anything.

“Fuck, that was…” He trailed off, and Oscar would feel totally self-conscious about the way Pedro was eyeing his dick if he had the brain capacity for it, “I wanna make you do it again.”  

“The carpet-”

“Fuck the carpet,” Pedro growled, and the tone made Oscar's eyes fall shut, “I’ll pay for it. I don't care. I need you to do that again. Please .” 

Oscar nodded, grimacing as Pedro shook his head violently and his, now damp, hair flicked droplets of sweat, cum, and saliva across the room. He pushed it back from his face and smirked, tongue peaking out over his lip again. Any words Oscar wanted to say died in his throat when Pedro shuffled down his body, led on his front as he pressed his middle and ring finger into where Oscar was wet and loose from Pedro's tongue. 

“Take me so well, baby,” Pedro murmured, pressing kisses to where Oscar's thighs were still shaking, “Are you sensitive?” 

Oscar nodded, his eyes squeezing shut as his fingers curved up and he used his thumb to press up against his dick, smoothing over the hot skin in small circles. Pedro began to suck bruises into the porcelain skin, relishing in the quiet noises Oscar let out and full-on grinning as they grew louder. When his mouth moved from Oscar's thighs to smooth his tongue over Oscar's dick, the boys thighs snapped closed around his head. 

“C’mon baby,” Pedro murmured, his fingers picking up speed as he pulled away for just a second, “You can do it for me, hmm? You can make a mess?” 

“I can!” Oscar yelped, his back arching slightly as he tried to push back against Pedro's fingers, “I promise, I can be good!” 

“I know,” Pedro whispered, pressing his tongue back against Oscar's dick and grinning as he cried out, “So close, hmm?”  

“Yeah-” Oscar panted, nodding violently as Pedro pressed into him harder, faster, and murmured praise, “Love your hands.” 

Pedro's laugh was strained, and Oscar looked down to see him grinding against the carpet, still fully clothed, and pressing his tongue against where Oscar was stretched around his fingers, “I know baby.”

“Your fingers are so big ,” He whined, back to grinding against Pedro's tongue as he flicked it over Oscar's dick, “Need another.” 

“You sure?” Pedro asked, his own voice breathless as he pressed his hips into the carpet. It was true that Oscar never really asked for more than two fingers, two was more than enough given the fact they were Pedro's fingers and they were ridiculously big, but he needed… he needed to be full. 

“More,” He whined, pressing back and letting his hands move back to Pedro's hair, gripping the strands and pulling his face back to his pulsing hole, “ Please!  'm so close just- gimme another! Need it!” 

Pedro hummed, increasing his pace with his mouth as he slowly eased in another finger, grinning with his lips wrapped around Oscar as his heels scrabbled across the floor and his back arched. He was a sight to behold and Pedro had meant it when he said that if there was any place he was most willing to die, it was between Oscar's thighs. 

“Jesus, okay- fuck,”  Oscar could feel it, could feel the pressure building and his dick twitching and Pedro was everywhere , “Just need-” 

Pedro crooked his fingers up and sucked lightly on Oscar's dick, and then he was pulling his fingers out and rubbing all four of them over Oscar's dick as he came, side to side, extending his orgasm as his sounds pitched up into an almost-scream. 

When Oscar could breathe again, his legs were trying to shake, pinned apart by Pedro's bruising grip as his eyes tried to refocus. When they finally, finally, did, he watched as Pedro — beautiful, dirty, lewd Pedro — let his lips fall apart. It was just barely, but more than enough to let the fluid, Oscar's cum, his brain clarified, slip from between his lips and drip back down against the Aussie's dick with a horrifically lewd noise. What didn't make it to his tip dribbled down Pedro's chin, sliding down his neck and further wetting the collar of his t-shirt. Oscar let out a loud whine at the feeling, his legs trying to close but hissing at even that contact.

“Sensitive?” Pedro murmured as he pressed his lips to the inside of Oscar's knee, entirely comforting, all of the previous sexual energy drained from the room.  

“Very,” Oscar said shakily as he sighed, “Do you need…” 

“Already finished,” Pedro grinned, his eyes looking down at his crotch as he moved to kneel, “You make the prettiest sounds. Couldn't help it.”

“I actually can't get up,” Oscar gasped, his legs still shaking as Pedro stood and stretched out his back, groaning at the loud ‘pop’ it let out, “You're gonna have to let me rot on the carpet for a bit, love.”

“I’ll get a wash cloth and clean you down then we’ll see if we can get you into bed,” Pedro murmured, vanishing for a second and coming back with a damp cloth, a freshly washed face and in a change of clothes.

He began cleaning Oscar down, pressing light kisses to the skin in his wake and murmuring quiet apologies as he tried to clean down his dick when Oscar hissed and his legs shook slightly. 

“Doing so well for me baby,” He mumbled, finally tossing the cloth to the side, “We can shower later, hmm? Let's get to bed.” 

Oscar nodded, letting Pedro bear the majority of his weight as he struggled on shaky legs, “Jesus, I think you broke me.” 

“I literally came in my pants like a fucking teenager,” Pedro scoffed — as if he hadn't just turned twenty — as he helped Oscar down onto the bed, “I think you broke me.” 

“One of us can use their legs,” He deadpanned, watching as Pedro crawled in next to him and dragged the covers over them both, “And it's not me.” 

“We should do that more often. Was a big fan,” He grinned, pulling the older man in close and pressing their lips together for the first time in what felt like hours , “Can't believe you were holding out on me.”

“I didn't even know I could cum like that ,” Oscar huffed, but pressed another kiss to Pedro's lips and smiled at the content hum he let out at the action, “But yes , it was very nice.” 

“Nice, he says, like I didn't nut in my underwear just getting to make you do it.”  

“Piss off,” He huffed, but pulled him closer anyway, “I'm fucking exhausted.” 

“Mmm,” Pedro murmured in agreement, “Bedtime me thinks.”

Oscar snorted but snuggled down, “Shower sex when we wake up?” 

“Like it's even a question,” Pedro replied, and as Oscar felt himself pulled to sleep with a wide grin on his face and a pair of arms tight around his waist, he didn't think he’d ever been happier.

[scrollonso]

Ride, Cowboy — Marcmarc

Pecco's bachelor party was in full swing, and the academy boys were set on making it a night to remember. They had chosen a popular country-themed bar for the occasion, its rustic decor and vibrant atmosphere setting the perfect stage for one final evening of freedom. The bar was adorned with wooden tables, vintage signs, and checkered tablecloths. A live band played upbeat country music, their melodies mixing with the hum of conversations and clinking glasses. The centerpiece of the night was the mechanical bull, positioned prominently in the center of the room, promising both challenge and entertainment.

Pecco, dressed in casual attire that subtly hinted at his upcoming marriage, was surrounded by his closest friends — Vale, Marco, Luca, Franky, Cele, and Mig. The guys were in high spirits, their laughter filling the room as they enjoyed shots and swapped stories. Racing was momentarily forgotten as they indulged in playful banter and reminisced about past adventures. Even Pecco, who usually preferred a more low-key presence in such settings, was swept up in the energy of the night.

As they navigated through the crowd, the music shifted to a heavier beat, drawing their attention to the mechanical bull as the lights dimmed. A group of incredibly attractive girls had taken over the area, each one more stunning than the last. They were taking turns on the bull, their laughter and cheers creating an infectious buzz throughout the bar. The guys couldn’t help but watch, half-impressed, half-entertained by the scene.

“Dio mio,” Luca muttered, his eyes widening in admiration. “They’re amazing!”

Vale, ever the responsible older brother, gave Luca a playful slap on the back of the head. “You’re married, Luca! Keep your eyes where they belong.”

Luca quickly apologized, his face reddening as he assured his brother he was just appreciating the spectacle.

Marco, grinning, elbowed Pecco. “You sure you’re ready to settle down? Because it looks like we’ve got some serious competition here.”

Pecco chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, man. Domi’s the only girl for me. But... I can appreciate the view.”

The group erupted in laughter as one of the girls — a tall blonde with a dazzling smile — took her turn on the bull. She managed to stay on longer than anyone else, her skill and confidence drawing cheers from the crowd. The boys exchanged glances, silently daring each other to give it a try.

“Alright, Pecco,” Franky said, nudging him toward the bull. “Last night of freedom — let’s see what you’ve got!”

“Yeah, show us how a pro rider handles a bull,” Cele added with a smirk.

Pecco raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing as he shook his head. “I’m not getting thrown off that thing tonight. But if you guys want to make fools of yourselves, be my guest!”

And then he took the stage.

Stole the show.

And then this absolutely gorgeous man jumped into the ring and easily swung himself up on the bull. Marco couldn’t see a whole lot of details from this far, but what he could see definitely woke the beast in him.

The man was fit, legs deliciously bowed as if he was made to ride a bull or a horse. The man was a cowboy, and Marco's childhood fantasies of the cowboys in old western movies came flooding back.

The man gripped the handle on the bull with his left hand, muscles bulging enough for even Marco to see. He pressed his heels against the sides of the bull, scooting forward in the saddle, and held up his right hand, arm in the shape of an L. He took a deep breath, sagged down in the saddle as he breathed out, and nodded to the person operating the bull for the group.

And rode for an astonishing 12.72 seconds. It had to be a sign.

His movements were completely fluid, he was one with the bull, there was no doubt about it and Marco found himself completely entranced. He couldn’t honestly say that his jaw didn’t drop because he could focus on nothing but this Adonis of a man riding the shit out of that bull, his movements flawless.

Marco had no idea what the group was speaking about anymore, all he knew was he wanted to be that bull. He needed to be that bull. His whole body flushed hot, his dick taking an abnormal amount of interest in the whole thing, and his brain demanding that he march down there and claim the man.

He rode the whole time with a cocky grin on his lips, eyes trained on the back of the bull’s head, and just as the clock signaled twelve seconds, the man changed his body position and tumbled gracefully off the bull in the next moment, seemingly by his own choice, rather than being flung off like all the others had been.

Marco was on his way over to the man before he had even made a conscious decision about it, his scotch abandoned precariously on the table he'd reserved for the party.

He slowed his steps as he was closing in on the crowd around the mechanical bull, pacing himself as if approaching a business proposal. Hell, he didn’t even know if the man was interested in sleeping with men and Marco recognized how it could be a sensitive topic, so he wanted to approach this in a suitable fashion. But on the other hand, he had never been this aroused from just watching someone before. He could only hope it wasn’t noticeable, on his face or otherwise.

The group of people had grown since Marco first started watching them, and even though they all congratulated the man on his excellent time, it was clear that most of them were strangers. There was a small group that seemed to be the man’s friends, though, and Marco came upon them just as the man was walking over, grinning widely.

How unfair, Marco thought, that the man was so stunning and not his.

“That was great, Marc,” a young man with long, brown hair was saying just as Marco walked up to them, clapping the man on his shoulder.

Marc. What an appropriate name, Spanish from the sound of the groups accents. What a good cowboy name.

“Not my best,” the man — Marc — answered in a tone that suggested he was trying to be modest. “But definitely best so far tonight.”

So he was competitive, this Marc. Marco liked that in a man. Liked it even more when competitive men bent over for him, not because they thought they had to but because they desperately wanted to. Oh, just the thought of having Marc turn into putty in Marco's hands made him hot all over again.

Also, competitiveness was one of the most easily manipulated personality traits, in Marco's experience.

“So good,” he said in a strong, dominant voice, “that you won’t be able to repeat it.”

Marc's whole entourage turned to Marco, collectively giving him a once over, and he straightened, not the least frightened. Just to be certain Marc would rise to the bait, Marco lifted his chin high, looking down his nose at Marc and, as predicted, that made Marc's hackles rise.

“Excuse me?”

Marc had a very pleasant voice. A low, threatening baritone that made Marco vibrate much more pleasantly than that godforsaken bass.

Marco shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying, if you’re as good as you seem to think, you should be able to repeat your performance.”

Marc snorted, turning fully to Marco, without a doubt the head of his group, shoulders squared and cocky grin back.

“Twelve seconds is nothing, man. That was just warm-up.”

By the look the older man with the wavy hair threw Marc, Marco suspected that twelve seconds was actually a rather good time and one that might be hard for Marc to beat. And Marco wanted Marc to win. Wanted him cocky and sure of himself as he submitted to Marco's touches.

“It was pure luck,” he challenged in a haughty tone, enjoying the twinkle in Marc's eyes.

“And who are you to say that?” a bigger man behind Marc asked in a gruff voice, the same man that congratulated him earlier. “Some kind of expert, are you?”

Marco spared the man a glance. Twinky, but a decent face. Marc sure knew how to pick handsome friends Marco would give him that. But they all paled in the face of Marc's appearance.

“Oh, I’m certain I would fall on my face if I ever tried,” Marco answered in a calm voice, smiling to himself when him admitting that made the man’s face fall. Marc, however, looked at Marco with sudden interest. “I was merely proposing a bet, since you impressed me and seem so sure of your own abilities,” he directed the last words to Marc, who drew himself up.

“Bull riding isn’t a joke.”

“So, you’re afraid?” Marco enjoyed seeing Marc flounder. “Well maybe it’s for the best. You must be tired; I doubt you would even last five seconds now.”

“Five seconds?” Marc spluttered, some of his group laughing, though it was unsure whether they were amused by the situation or Marc's suddenly squeaky voice. Marc walked into Marco's personal space and puffed out his chest. He smelled incredible. “I’ll last much more than that on any day.”

His low growl made Marco's whole body tingle. “Is that so?” he murmured, letting his eyes roam Marc's face and body. Marc definitely noticed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Marc grunted and Marco's eyes snapped up to Marc's, captivated by their beauty for a moment.

“I would, actually,” he easily admitted, voice low and inviting. “I would like to know that very much.”

Time seemed to stall for a moment, each caught in the other’s gaze, and Marco felt a thrill go through him. This was interesting, this was worth his time. Much more so than snorting tequila and salt from a random woman’s slick body or dancing poorly on rickety tables. Marco felt more alive in this moment than he had in years.

“Five seconds isn’t even a challenge,” the larger man said, interrupting them.

Marc seemed to shake himself.

“Eight, then,” Marco said with a confident smirk. “I bet you fifty euro you won’t last another eight seconds.”

“Fifty euro,” Marc muttered, eyeing Marco's clothes for the first time and seemingly only now realizing it wasn’t a cheap knock-off. “You better be able to fork that up, mate.”

“Don’t you worry about that, cowboy,” Marco winked and watched with satisfaction how Marc's pupils dilated slightly.

He muttered something that sounded like “whatever” and turned to go back to the bull. It had been busy in the background, flinging people off it left and right, and the crowd around it had grown even more but Marco easily found an empty seat where he could comfortably watch from afar.

Marc was talking to his friends, some of them throwing Marco looks, but Marc seemed determined to do this. Marco hoped they weren’t trying to talk him out of it because they thought he would hurt himself, Marco would be devastated if he inadvertently caused Marc harm. Most likely they were talking about the money, though, on the off-chance that Marc lost the bet. Marco really hoped that wouldn’t happen. No this was a battle he was willing to lose, to win the war, so to speak.

When it was finally Marc's turn to mount the bull again Marco was buzzing with anticipation, although he concealed it well enough. He saw Marc's friends tossing him glances from where they were standing, up by the ring, but he paid them no heed. He was perfectly comfortable back here, where he could pull one leg up and rest the ankle against his other knee, to hide inappropriate body reactions.

Because Marc was of course just as splendid the other time around. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as Marc expertly rode the bull. He was either a natural or he had done this a lot, Marco easily concluded. Maybe he had even ridden real bulls? Now there was a thought.

A thick, muscular, frothing animal bucking as Marc worked every muscle in his glorious body just to stay on.

Marco grabbed his ankle and pulled on his leg a little, his dick swelling to ridiculous proportions just imagining Marc working the animal. Marc's face and body told of experience and Marco watched with hooded eyes as Marc frowned down at the fake bull, concentration wearing on his handsome face.

Would he look as concentrated when he rode Marco? Most likely not, not if Marco had any say in what went on. No, if he — when he was in charge, Marc would be completely relaxed, face slack as pleasure crested inside him.

Marco let out a shaky breath. He needed to calm down or Marc would be more disgusted than intrigued and Marco didn’t want that at all. Suddenly he felt as if he would suffocate if Marc looked at him with hatred and he was momentarily stunned by his own feelings. What did he care, really, what Marc thought of him? Marc was essentially a nobody, a stranger whose station was so below Marco it wasn’t even funny.

Except, when he watched Marc ride that bull, all of that seemed inconsequential. They were just two men in that moment, and Marco desired to stay like that almost as much as he desired Marc, as much as he coveted the man’s pleasure.

The ride ended somewhat more abruptly this time, compared to when last Marc rode. It still looked as if Marc had been in control of when to end it but as if he had been a bit more tired this time around and his tumble off the bull was less graceful and it took him a moment longer to get up off the padded area around the bull.

The long-haired man helped Marc off the stage and Marco stood up just as Marc walked over to him on adorably wobbly legs. A quick glance to the digital clock revealed an astounding 9.57 and Marco made sure to show appropriate surprise and awe, instead of the actual relief and arousal he actually felt.

“There,” Marc said, hands on his hips and voice delectably breathless. “Piece of cake.”

“So I see,” Marco said smugly and walked over to Marc, much too close even for acquaintances. “I’m man enough to own up to my loss,” he said with a smile and pulled out his wallet to fish out a fifty, one among many, though he didn’t show Marc that, not interested in catching the man that way.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings?” Marc said as he accepted the bill, their fingers brushing.

Marc's hand was shaking slightly, no doubt from exertion, and Marco was happy he had lowered the time for the bet so as not to force Marc to match his old time.

“None at all,” Marco said with an intimate smile, leaning in and speaking in a lower tone. “You should know, I’m also man enough to admit that I only wanted to see you ride that bull again.”

That made Marc's eyes flick down to Marco's mouth and up again. Marco enjoyed the fact that Marc actually was a bit shorter than him, if only an inch, and definitely smaller.

There was a beat of silence and then, “Are you sure you’re only interested in seeing me ride bulls?”

A pleasurable wave so forceful it almost choked him washed over Marco and he swallowed once to be sure his voice was under control.

“I can imagine you’re apt at riding all sorts of things.”

Marc shifted from foot to foot. Marco's blood rushed in his ears, drowning out every sound except Marc's.

“You content with imagining it or do you want a demonstration?”

Marco arched an eyebrow, enjoying Marc's challenging tone and squared jaw, but not as much as Marc's reaction to the look Marco gave him. There was clear arousal in Marc's eyes now and Marco reveled in it.

“I have a car outside and an apartment not far from here.”

Marc flashed him that wonderfully cocky grin of his. “Deal.”

Marco took a moment to check his phone when Marc turned to talk to his friends. A quick message ensured that his friends knew he was leaving and not to wait up. Marco smiled to himself as he heard Marc explain that he would “take a hike”.

“Marc, are you sure that’s—”

“Gotta live a little, Alex,” Marc said happily and slapped the man on his back before walking over to Marco. “Good to go?”

“If you are?” Marco said but started walking through the crowd around them without waiting for a reply. Marc easily kept up with his pace, as Marco had suspected he would.

“Don’t mind Alex, he’s just being an overprotective little brother.”

Marco nodded, not having much experience with that but understanding it anyway. “Maybe he’s right to worry a little, considering the things I have in mind for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Marc smirked just as they exited the club, the fresh summer air a blessing compared to the scorching heat of the club. Marco breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What are you planning anyway? You seem pretty vanilla to me.”

Marco smiled at the playful insult. “And yet you came with me.”

“Hey,” Marc said, voice suddenly low and seductive. “You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, I don’t care what you wanna do, I’m in.”

Not that Marco was really planning anything more outrageous than rimming Marc until the man cried from the need to have Marco's hard dick inside him, but it was good to know Marc felt inclined to trust him.

“You know my name, but I don’t even know yours,” Marc murmured as they settled into the Italians car, eyes on his lips. “I’m kinda stupid for even getting in this thing with you, huh?”

“My name is Marco Bezzecchi,” Marco said, other hand brushing down Marc's front, catching on the edge of the man’s jeans. “And please don’t call yourself stupid.”

Marc shifted so that they were sitting almost facing each other, Marc's hands working on opening Marco's jacket as he drove.

“That's too long for me to scream when I come,” he said, voice making Marco's body vibrate with desire. “I’m gonna call you Bez.”

“Please do,” Marco answered, voice equally hushed, and nosed closer so that Marc turned his head just as their hands found each other’s hard-ons. “My friends do.”

Marc moaned into their first kiss, low and sweet and all for Marco as the car parked. He swallowed it greedily, pressing closer as Marc pressed the heel of his hand against Marco's dick. Their lips slid together, noses bumping, but Marco was too wound up to keep to sweet kisses for long. Marc seemed just as eager in the way he opened up when Marco licked his lips and Marco pushed in deep, owned Marc in that one gesture and felt a chilled heat pool in his groin.

Marc, for all his physical strength, sagged against Marco, moaning into the kisses and pawing at Marco's dick. Marco's plan was simple in this moment: get Marc hot and bothered so that he would be pliant and willing by the time they got inside.

Too bad his own pleasure was spiking almost dangerously already.

“Fuck you’re good at kissing,” Marc groaned when they pulled apart. “I’m so hard already, god damn.”

“I got hard from watching you ride the bull,” Marco was surprised by his own sincerity but Marc seemed only pleased.

“I could feel your eyes on me the second time,” he murmured. “I liked it.”

Fuck it, Marco would just have to come up with a way for them to get hot and hard again when they arrived. He needed Marc too much right in this moment to show any kind of restraint.

With one tug and a push, he had flipped them so that they were in the back with Marc on his back, Marco comfortable between the man’s strong legs. Legs that had hugged that bull like they wanted to crush it were now around him. Marco's dick jumped in his dress pants and Marc no doubt noticed.

“You like me watching you?” he asked, voice a low rumble and Marc parted his lips, nodding and looking up at Marco with big eyes. “Do you want me to see you in your pleasure, Marc?”

“Fuck,” Marc pressed out, one hand grabbing Marco's arm and the other digging between them to start opening his jeans. “I can’t wait, Bez.”

“You don’t think you’ll make it, is that it?” he asked, rising to help Marc get their dicks out. “Do you want to let some out now?”

“I’m riding you tonight,” Marc shot back, eyes glinting and Marco shuddered with pleasure.

“I’ll remember that, little cowboy.”

Marc opened his mouth to no doubt banter back but instead a deep groan forced itself out when Marco pressed their hard dicks together for the first time. Marco's whole body sagged with pleasure and he pressed his knees harder against the seat, sitting up a little and putting one hand on the back of the seat for support as he took their dicks in his other hand, squeezing them.

Marc arched his back, gasping and grabbing the seat under him as his body shuddered. His dick jumped in Marco's grip, pressing against Marco's and there was really no stopping him now. Yes, he wanted to wait, and no, they didn’t even have lube, but the desire was choking him, and Marc was making all the right sounds as Marco started jacking them. Marc was apparently one of those guys who had a lot of precome because Marco's hand got sticky fast enough to replace the need for lube.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” Marco huffed out, breathless now as the pleasure burned white-hot inside him. “Rim you, prep you, fuck you.”

Marc moaned, legs flexing around Marco. “I’m gonna ride you until you cry,” he pressed out through gritted teeth and Marco felt an unexpected surge of arousal at the challenge. “Gonna ruin you for all other asses.”

Oh sweet Lord, Marco was going to come soon. He had never been this attracted to someone, the way Marc challenged him even while submitting was blowing Marco's mind.

“You’ll never want another dick,” he managed to quip, words clipped, and sped up his hand.

They rocked together in the dim light of the car, the world outside forgotten as they came together, hands grabbing each other and dicks aching, yearning to release. Marco's balls had pulled up, so prepared to shoot all over Marc, and Marc's dick was leaking a continuous stream of precome that Marco craved to taste.

His spine burned with his arousal and he panted hotly, leaning down over Marc again, one hand on the seat beside Marc's head as Marc grabbed his body to pull him even closer.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Marc grunted, pushing away Marco's hand and wrapping his legs around Marco's hips, bucking up. “Kiss me.”

Marco readily indulged Marc, hips working to grind their hard dicks together and though it was rough with their clothes and zippers in the way, it was the most glorious Marco had ever felt. Marc kissed him as if he were a man parched and Marco cradled Marc's head, one hand on Marc's hip, encouraging his movements.

True to his word, Marc came only moments later, body locking up and a shaky moan escaping his parted lips. Wetness spread between them but far from being tacky, it only spurred Marco on and he came too, a handful of thrusts later.

“Well, that was something,” Marc panted after a moment.

Marco blinked and did his best to pull back but his head was swimming a bit. “It wasn’t what I had planned,” he admitted and couldn’t help but grin down at the mess they had made. It was all over their clothes. Marc of course looked ravishing covered in Marco's come. “But then, the night is young.”

“Definitely,” Marc grinned up at him, cocky as ever. “You aren't getting out of that ride.”

Marco felt a renewed wave of arousal just as the overhead light flashed around them. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he smirked, thinking that for all its faults, the night couldn’t have turned out better in the end.

Marco walked them up to an apartment and then knocked on the door, he turned to Marc and smiled.

“Do you live with someone?” Marc asked, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn’t the ideal plan.

Marco snickered, taking out a large ring of keys and trinkets from his jacket. He put the key in the lock and then turned to Marc before turning the key.

“No, I’m just scared of walking in on someone robbing my apartment so I knock to make sure they’re gone by the time I go in.”

Marc took a step back, “Are you serious?”

“Nope,” Marco said, opening the door and gesturing for Marc to enter. “It’s just a habit.”

The corners of Marc’s mouth turned up a little, amused, he poked Marco in the ribs as he walked past to show his mild annoyance with the bad joke. Marc chuckled, and then walked past Marco, letting the door stay wide open for some reason.

Marc's first impression of Marco's apartment was that it was well lived in, a loved space. Wherever he looked, there were pieces of personality shining through. It felt memorable, interesting. Full of care.

Marco stood still by the door, closing it behind himself. He took in the warm colors and the decorative knick-knacks that he could see all over. Potted plants kept high and low, posters and art in many styles and varying ages.

"Nice place. Have you lived there long?" Marc asked, pushing his hands down in his pockets just to have something to do with them. The space felt perfect, and Marco felt more perfect each second he spent with him.

"A few years," Marco turned to Marc, scratching his neck, and looked over this own space like he hadn't done that in a while. "It's too much, I know, but-"

"No, no. It's perfect." Marc felt the blush come alive again. "I like it."

Marco looked at him with some sort of surprise, nodding. He looked around again and then back at Marc. The looks changed almost immediately. 

He moved closer, a few steps to his side as he placed his hand on Marc's side. His fingers kneading down into the muscle there. Marco cornered him, making him back up until he was pinned to the wall. The pressure made Marc's breath catch in his throat. Marco's grip was light, fingers pressed down. And that was all that was holding him in place. 

"Hey," Marco said. He looked good like this, Marc thought. Standing over Marc. The light fixture above them made it look like Marco was wearing a halo.

"Hi," Marc answered, breathy and low. He had to lean his head back to the wall to get a good look at Marco when they stood this close. The closeness also made him in perfect view of the movement of the muscles in Marco's neck and jaw. Constantly moving, like Marco had tension built up that just couldn't escape. 

Marco moved his hands, placing them at the back of Marc's head. The moment felt like it could last forever. 

He pulled Marco's head down toward himself. Their noses touched for a second before their lips finally made contact. 

Marc sighed into it. The softness in which Marc stilled at that let Marco take the lead even further. Marco tasted sour, Marc needed more. The sensation of moving muscles under his hand and a grin against his lips filled Marco's mind with sparks. He quickly wanted more of all of it. 

With a light bite, he asked Marc for more. The question was answered by Marc opening his mouth and meeting him halfway, tongues brushing carefully together as Marco pulled Marc even closer, pushing both arms over Marc's shoulders to minimize the room between them. 

Marco had gone home with people before. The men had all just been distractions. Something to pass the time and release the stress of his day-to-day life. 

Kissing Marc, touching him, felt like something was coming into shape. Like the mass under his hands was clay ready to be molded into something. It felt different, and it made him feel desperate. 

"Bedroom?" Marc asked, 

"Yeah…" 

"No, where is your bedroom?"

"Oh, it's right there-"

Marc took Marco by then hand and pulled Marco after himself, turning when he got close to the door and pulling Marc close for another kiss as he fell with his back against the closed door. Marc met the kiss openmouthed and wanting, his hand going to the doorknob to open the door. He held Marco up with a hand on Marco's lower back, keeping his from falling backward as the door flew open and Marc lead him into the room.

Marc was stronger than Marco had anticipated, which gave him many ideas that he needed to explore.

Marco continued to move backward, Marc guiding him. When the back of his knees his something soft, he allowed himself to fall backward and Marc helped him lay down softly.

He pulled at Marc's shirt hem, annoyed by the extra layers. "Take this off," he said, mumbling his words and lazily flicking the fabric between his fingers.

Marc did as he was told, and the clothing was quickly discarded. Marco did the same, unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it in the same direction as Marc had started throwing his clothes. He started to unzip his pants, stopping only to motion for Marc to do the same. 

Marc was quick here too, the jeans falling down to the floor and then a fast two-step out of them. Toes catching the fabric and kicking the jeans to the side.

Marco snorted, pulling his pants down and off, letting them fall to the floor. He motioned for Marc to come closer, a beckoning finger asking him to come here. And once again, Marc did precisely what he was told, in record time. 

He crowded Marco, chests pressed against each other as Marc took hold just under the curve of Marco's ass and hoisted him more onto the bed. Then placing himself on top of Marco. 

"All good?"

"I'm great," Marco said, feeling his stomach flip as his mind replayed the light manhandling of the movement. So many possibilities, the opportunities were stacking up in neat little piles in his brain. 

"Good," Marc said, followed by a kiss. A quick peck, something to sign the deal. 

Marco could feel something in his lower belly start to form too early. He bit down, swallowed it, and placed his hands on Marc's shoulders as he hovered over him. He pushed Marc to his side, turning his own body so they were facing each other again. Legs still slightly tangled, feeling each other. The lack of pressure from another body helped, and Marco went in for another kiss.

The kissing got deeper, more rushed. Mouths open, small bursts of breathing against each other's lips to catch their breaths. Marc's hand graced Marco's cheek, moving along the jaw and then down over the side of his neck. Moving from the side and back to his nape, then back to the side in a slow movement.

Marc pulled away, already sounding out of breath. "Hey, so... What do you want?" he asked, his hand still moving over Marco's neck and into his hair. "Tell me what you like."

The touch felt deliberate to the point of almost being too much, too deep of a connection. Marco still leaned into it, acting like he'd been touch starved, and he was ready for a feast. 

"Well, you're the bull rider-"

"You want me to ride you?" Marc asked, raising his brow and trying to hide his grin. Marco was still touching him, looking at him like they'd known each other for all their lives, and not like this was something new, not some one-time thing. 

"I wouldn't mind that," Marc said, his eyes falling closed for a second as he composed himself. "But after seeing you in the car, I think you'd kill me — that… everything you did was… I don't think I can handle that happening again."

"Want to make another bet?" Marco asked, moving in close.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that you always cheat when making bets."

"Is that a no?" Marco smirked. "I can show you a good time, I promise." 

"Jesus christ, are you always like this?"

"No, you're special," Marco said, smiling. He knew his words sounded insincere, but there was a knot in Marc's throat that scared him. Not of what he said but what he wanted it to mean. 

Marc leaned in, closing the short distance between them with another kiss. He positioned his body more on top of Marco, pressing him down into the mattress by his shoulders as he slowly made his way to fully straddling Marco. He could feel Marco half hard against his ass.

He pulled away from Marco's lips, his mouth gracing over Marco's chin and down his neck — making small stops to peck more kisses as he went. He found pleasure in this, feeling Marco's breath catch under him, the heat and taste of Marco's skin against him. It felt nice, felt needed. 

His hands squeezed Marco's shoulders before moving down to feel along Marco's sides, feeling and pressing his fingers down into the mass under himself to make it known that he was there. 

Marco's breathing was coming out in heavy bursts. Hitching and catching. Marc wanted him to talk, say something. Make a sound, something to tell Marc how he was feeling.  

Marc liked the sound of him, reveled in it.  

"This ok?" Marc asked. "You're quiet." 

Marco shuddered, letting out a gasp. "I'm just — this is good, it's good," Marco said, looking down at Marc. His lashes looked so dark like that. Heavy and thick, eyes studying. 

"Yeah?"

"Stop that," Marco laughed, pressing Marc's face down into his chest so that Marc couldn't look at him. "You fucking know it's good."

Marc didn't try to move against Marco's hand laying on his head. It wasn't holding him down, more holding him in place. There was no force, just the weight of Marco's hand. He grinned into Marco's skin, then continued his way down, down, down when he felt that Marco wasn’t going to hold him.  

Marco's hand was still placed on his head as he moved, and he didn't do anything until Marc reached Marco's lower stomach. His fingers tangled up in Marc's hair and pulled, stopping him from moving. 

"Give me a second," Marco said, so close to begging Marc wanted to tease the rest out immediately. "I just need to collect myself. Just one... One second."

With how Marc's head was placed, he still couldn't see Marco's face. The sound of his voice was thick, heavy and a bit slurred. Marc could feel Marco's pulse through his skin, feel the quickness of his breath. 

"That's fine," Marc said, moving his hands below Marco's hipbones and holding on with a firm grip. "I can wait."

"Fuck, Marc,"  Marco said. "How are you so good at this."

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

"God fucking damn it, ok… ok," Marco pulled his hand back, his grip moving from Marc's hair to the sheets. "Ok, do your worst. I'm ready." 

"Worst?" Marc asked, smiling up at Marco again, their eyes meeting. Marco looked flushed, his pupils blown and his bottom lip wet and marked. Marc wondered for a second if he was the one that had left the marks on there or if it was Marco biting down. Either way, Marc really liked the way it looked. 

"Best, whatever," Marco huffed and then threw his arm over his eyes. 

"I always do my best," Marc said like it was stupid of Marco to assume anything else. 

Marc's fingers moved under the elastic of Marco's boxers, pulling them down as he laid another kiss just below Marco's belly button. He then sat up, seated on his knees between Marco's legs. He looked at Marco lying there in front of him — bare, needy. Skin pink and shiny, a blotchy blush over his chest and neck. 

Marc's eyes moved further down, placing over chest hair that became a light sprinkling over a softer middle, which then became thicker as it went below his belly button. His eyes glanced lower, admiring his view as his eyes settled on Marco's dick.

"Can I touch you?"

"You've been touching me."

"Ha ha, can I touch your dick, you dick?" Marc pressed his thumbs into the soft skin by Marco's hipbones - making sure that Marco knew he was there. Desperate to leave a trace. 

"Please don't be funny right now. I’m already so turned on I’m scared to become a heart attack statistic.”

Marc laughed, "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, for fucks sake, touch me, please."

The room felt like it was filled with sparkling electricity as Marc bent down again, kissing from his last spot under Marco's belly button and continuing lower. He could hear Marco breathing heavily, his breaths falling into a steady, recognizable rhythm. Marc stopped, smiling against Marco's skin.

"Are you Lamaze breathing?" Marc asked between kisses, placing a last one at the base of Marco's dick. Marco let out a light groan.

"Yeah, I'm pacing myself." He sounded out of breath, flustered. 

"You're so weird." 

"You're such a tease."

"And you're so easy," Marc said, smiling up at Marco. "If you don't enjoy it, you can just tell me to stop."

Marco shook his head, "No, no, fuck no. I enjoy it.”

Marc crawled back up on Marco, placing himself so that they were face to face. Marco starred at him. Marc wasn’t sure what Marco could see, he was so close he was sure it would be blury, especially in the dimly lit bedroom they'd found themselves in.

“Hola,” Marc said, floating over Marco. His hands were placed on each side of Marco's head, keeping him up yet so very close.

“Ciao,” Marco said back, smiling. Marc sat back up, straddling Marco's middle. He reached for the curls covering his face and pulled them back, gently. “Thank you.”

“You need to see this part,” Marc said, leaning back to settle himself better over Marco's hips.

He started to move his hips softly, feeling Marco's dick press against the cleft of his ass. The fabric of his boxers was the only thing between them. Marco hissed, letting out small noises as Marc adjusted. 

"What you do is, you follow the motion of the bull with your hips," Marc said, lifting himself up and then moving over Marco's crotch again with an easy flow in his hip. "The trick is to find the motion the bull is giving you, feel it with your hips, and then let it all move through your spine. You don't fight it."

"Inter- ah! -esting," Marco said through gritted teeth, a low moan splitting the word up. Marc smiled.

"I've been told I'm a great teacher." Marc didn't stop moving, grinding down smoothly over Marco and feeling his squirm.

"Cazzo, you're killing me," Marco said, voice pleading. 

"Listen," Marc said, giving Marco a light slap on his cheek so he'd focus. "Just look at me, see what I'm doing?"

"Yeah," Marco said, voice breathy and low. 

"I want you to do this for me, ok?"

Marco blinked, looking confused. "I thought we'd already established that I'm stiff as hell."

Marco looked down at Marc, "yeah, I can feel your dick against my ass. I know."

"I meant the riding."

Marc chuckled, ”I know, the bet is that I can teach you ride the bull.” Marc pressed down harder, making Marco tilt his head back as a hollow sound left his throat. "and, as I said, I've been told I'm a great teacher." 

Marco took a deep breath, grabbing Marc by the hips and rolling them over. Marc felt like the heat was radiating from him when his back hit the sheets. Marco was on his knees between Marc's thighs, he kissed Marc once before leaning back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

"Well, let’s see what you can teach me, teach.”

Marc reached for the bottle of lube and slicked himself up by giving himself a few strokes as Marco positioned himself. Positioned over Marc, he leaned slightly forward — aligning himself with Marc's dick and then slowly pushing down.  

Marc gasped, mouth falling open at the feeling. The slow movement up and down as Marco took more and more of him was excruciatingly hot. When Marco bottomed out, he stilled. Looking at Marc with heavy eyes and wetted his lips as he was getting used to the feeling. He looked amazing like that. 

Marco adjusted, making Marc catch a moan in his throat. 

"You good?" he asked, placing one of his hands on Marc's chest and the other on Marc's hip — finding his balance. 

"Si," Marc said. "You can move." 

Marco did as he was told, lifting himself up and then slow down again. Marco watched him closely, his hands on Marc's hips to help his movement, not for control.

"Fuck," Marc said under his breath, sounding like a whine.

Marc bit down on his bottom lip, his fingers digging into the meat on Marco's hip as he thrust up at the same time Marco came down. It made Marco let out a surprised moan, his rhythm halting. Marc thrust up again, deep and hard, his hands on Marco's hips helping him find the pace again.

"Is it- fuck… Is it good?” Marco asked, moving again. He was stiff in his movement, not to the point of making any of it less enjoyable, but Marc was trying to make a point.

"It’s good, it’s so - Marco, Bez," Marc said, moving his hands down Marco's thighs and feeling the muscle work. "Remember what I said, just feel it and follow. Just – Fuck!" Marc threw his head back as Marco, again, did just as he was told, finding the flow with Marc's thrust and met him seamlessly in the movement. Moving in a wavelike pattern, his hips loosening straight away.

Marc felt tension pooling in his lower stomach, a coil heating up lower down. His grip on Marco's thighs tightened, begging Marco to go faster. Marco was making all kinds of sounds, low moans that grew to almost a shout. Marc wanted to taste the sounds he was making.

He tried to speed up even more, desperate to hear what else would come out. 

"You look so good. You look amazing," Marco groaned, feeling sweat run from his forehead and down his temple. "Fuck Bez, you sound amazing." Marc gripped Marco by the hip again, feeling up his sides. “Just like that, exactly like that. You’re doing so good.”

Marco smiled, not slowing his movement. "You like this?" he asked, more a question than a tease. Marc thrust up harder, hitting Marco deeper, and he fell forward. Gasping and whining.  

"Oh god, I'm so fucking close-" Marco said, digging his face deeper into Marc's chest. His fingers on the hand that used to steady him pressed down into Marc's sternum and left marks. Marc didn't stop, the angle was weird, but it seemed to get the job done just fine. Marco's face still buried in his chest, mumbling nonsense and breathing hard. 

The coil in Marc's lower belly was tensing up even more, he was close.

In the heat of the moment, he rolled them around. Changing positions so that he was on top and Marc fell on his back. He gasped, sounding like he was choking on air. Looking flushed all over, his eyes were almost entirely black and his curls ended up littered around, framing his face. Marc reached out and fixed them, wanting Marco to see, and then leaning down to kiss him as he started to move at a quick pace again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marco said, his hands gripping into the sheets for leverage. "Touch me. Please, touch me."

One of Marco's hands grabbed Marc's, moving it over himself between them. Marc followed without question, placing his hand on Marco's dick and giving him slowly paced strokes. Marco's bottom lip quivered, his mouth open and a guttural sound came out. After a few more strokes, Marco started to cum roped between them. His body tensed, contracting on Marc as he tried to keep his pace going. 

"You feel so fucking good, Holy-" With what he was seeing, sensing, smelling, Marc came. His eyes slammed shut as the orgasm took over. When he came to, he felt light and boneless, lying chest to chest with Marco. Both still breathing heavily, both sweaty and sticky. 

After a moment, Marco cleared his throat, "Thank you for showing me the proper technique for doing that, I…." He laughed. "No, I can't even make up a joke right now. That was amazing. fucking hell."

"Yeah," Marc said, feeling like he was made of cloud. Marc Cumulus. Don't mind the double entendre. 

They lied in silence for a few minutes after that, Marc realizing he was still inside Marco much later than was probably acceptable. He slowly pulled out, both of them hissing at the sensation. 

"Sorry," Marc said, rolling off Marco and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I think I lost most of my brain cells when I came, that was... Fuck, that was perfect.” He looked over at Marco, eyeing the shape of him. The size and the curve. He never wanted to stop looking, really wished he would be able to never stop. 

Marco pulled the sheet up over his chest, followed by Marc quickly pulling it down again. Like they are playing a game. Marco smiled softly and with a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed shy now. Like looking at Marc was too much, but he couldn't make himself stop. 

"Alright," Marco pulled the sheets up again, covering his chest up to his collarbones.

"That was good," Marc said, again. "Thank you."

Marco let out a full-body laugh, curving inward on the bed as he rolled over on his side towards Marc. He gave Marco a slow kiss on the cheek, and Marco wanted to follow him when he pulled away. 

"Well, you’re welcome." 

"Thanks," Marco said again, mortified by the sound of his own voice. 

Marco felt hot all over still, not in the same way as earlier but like a teakettle ready to start whistling. The light of the outside streetlight showered Marc's face in a soft yellow. It felt like a sign. Marco had just not realized what for yet. 

"All my pleasure, Bez." Marc said, rubbing the sheet over his belly. Really ruining them.

"No, don't say it like that!" Marco laughed, picking up the pillow from under his head and hitting Marc over the side of his face. "Don't be gross." 

"I think you like a little gross," Marc said. "I think you're a little freak that's just waiting to get out."

Marco hit him with the pillow again, "Shut up!" 

His laugh traveled from the middle of his chest, up and out in the open air of the bedroom. It ended in a smile, easy and genuine. Marc couldn't remember when he laughed like this last. 

Marc waved his hands over his head in retreat, laying the pillow down, and then rolled over on his side, face to face with Marco. 

"I'm not a freak."

"I know," Marc said. "Just a little bit weird and a lot of bossy." 

Marco felt himself blush, "Bossy?"

"Great quality, as I love to be told what to do." 

Marco narrowed his eyes on Marc, shaking his head slightly. "You don't seem like someone who does what others tell you."

"Oh, no. I'm not. I just like to be told to do stuff. It's different than actually doing what I'm told."

Marco laughed again, pressing Marc's face away from him with a  playfulness he didn’t know he had in himself. The night was dark and quiet. Marco could lie like this forever. But he remembered what it was, a quick hook up after some quick flirting in a bar.

The feeling of bliss didn’t leave him though, and Marc didn’t stop smiling at him.

"So," Marc started, turning his head and staring up onto the ceiling. "Can I call you sometime?"

Marco looked at Marc's side profile. The downturn of his nose, the double curve of his lips. He wanted to thank Marc's parents for their excellent work. They really did a great job with the gene composition. They should get a prize, some kind of award for their work. 

"Sure," Marco said. "You could do that."

"Nice, ok," Marc cleared his throat, still saying straight up. "And if I asked you out to dinner tomorrow, would that be ok too?"

Marco felt something flip in him, a flutter. "That would be ok."

"Great."

"Great."

Marc laughed, followed by Marco laughing too. 

"Good cause if this had been a one-time thing, I think I'd have to go celibate," Marc said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't think anyone else can live up to that. Ever." 

"Stop flattering me. I already said yes to dinner." Marco laughed, poking Marc in the ribs. 

"Hey, stop," He said, laughing too. "Maybe I'm flattering you for a second round?"

Marco let out a tired sigh, pressing his face into the middle of Marc's chest. Creating a burrow for himself to sleep. "Absolutely, I just need a nap first," He said. "Maybe a glass of water or a snack."

"I can accept all those things,” Marc said, his fingers moving through Marco's curls. “All those things are acceptable to me."

"Good, wake me up in like 45 minutes, ok?"

"Fine, yeah," Marc said, his fingers continuing to move through Marco's hair. "I'll do that."

[scrollonso]

Pastries — Pedroscar

Pedro doesn't know when he crossed the line from staying the night to practically living in Oscar’s loft. It happened sometime around stolen kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s, and in his blissful ignorance, half of his closet ended up here. It works out well for him — there's an amazing little coffee shop right around the corner with the best coffee he can easily grab in the mornings on his way to the airport before either going to fulfill his wag duties or taking Oscar to fulfill his.

It's much more convenient, and that's why he's here so often. Obviously.

It has nothing to do with the fact that being around Oscar feels like being complete. When Oscar looks at him or touches him, his heart jumps into his throat, and he loses all hope of sanity. This was supposed to just be fun, and he doesn’t know when it turned into something so beautifully serious, something that occupies his every waking thought like the haze of a wonderful dream.

It’s Saturday morning. Pedro spent his Friday night FaceTiming with Aleix and Jorge, watching movies together on different coasts but pressing play at the same time, laughing and joking and chatting like they were in the same room despite the true distance between them. Of course, they’d given him hell for being in Oscar’s apartment when he was half way across the world and hadn’t let him live down the fact that he was down bad for that man, and they could see right through his flimsy excuses.

“Really, Pedro? He needs you to water his plants? We don’t see any plants!”

He’d helped himself to the craft beers in Oscar’s fridge and had nowhere to be today, so maybe he’d had one more than he should have, and maybe now he’s paying for it with a headache and a late morning in bed. If he were feeling a little better, he’d maybe crawl out from under the duvet and have a meal prepped for Oscar when he gets back, but before he could even complete the thought, he’d fallen back asleep, unbothered and unworried. There will be plenty more Mondays he can make them breakfast.

Oscar loves knowing that Pedro will be waiting for him back at the loft when he gets back. It’s just so much more convenient, knowing that Pedro will be right where he needs him, especially after a race like last night’s. Another fucked up race strategy, little to no sleep, not much time to get any food down either. He’s exhausted and ready to be in his bed with his soft boyfriend wrapped up in his arms. The fact that he doesn’t have to call Pedro and explain why today he needs a little bit more physical affection is just one of the pluses of Pedro practically living with him.

They haven’t had the talk yet, but maybe they should. Maybe it’s time, and maybe it isn’t too soon, and maybe, just maybe, this is the natural progression and the way things are supposed to go. Oscar knows he always tends to care too much too quickly, but with Pedro, things feel real. Like this isn’t just an infatuation, this isn’t just someone to warm his bed. He’s in this for the right reasons, and he trusts that Pedro is too because he thinks this one will really break his heart if he finds out that’s not the case.

After parking his Mclaren in his usual spot, — Pedro's bike parked in the spot next to it — Oscar uses the fumes he’s running on to hurry down to the Spaniard's favourite spot and grab Pedro a coffee and an assortment of pastries, already preparing himself for the joke the younger boy will make about his last name. He’s too tired to think about pumping himself with caffeine right now, so for himself, Oscar orders an herbal tea. Oscar makes small talk with the baristas while they get his order together, gives them tired smiles, and laughs when they ask how Pedro is doing. It feels right, domestic even, chatting with these women, thanking them for the coffee and profusely insisting they only need a few pastries, that a few extra are unnecessary because it’s just the two of them, but he appreciates their generosity. He’s backing out of the door, calling goodbyes, lips upturned in a permanent smile that seems plastered onto his face these days.

The walk back to the apartment takes him only a minute, and Oscar takes a sip of his tea but wrinkles his nose, unimpressed. He’s never been much of a tea drinker, and this is just a reminder of why. Oscar’s keys jingle as he unlocks the loft and hurries inside, trying to be as silent as possible. Pedro hasn’t responded to his texts this morning, which probably means he’s still sleeping, and Oscar doesn’t want to spoil that. He toes his shoes off at the foot of the stairs, then creeps up, coffee in one hand, box of pastries in the other, silent but deadly as he approaches his sleeping boyfriend.

The pastries and coffee are dropped on the bedside table. Oscar hurries out of his jeans and t-shirt and practically dives under the covers as quickly as he can, laughing as Pedro startles and lets out a surprised sound that’s muffled by his pillow. “Sweetheart,” the word is groggy as Pedro fights the covers to sit up, his eyes squinting against the morning light. Oscar takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Pedro’s torso and drag him back down into bed, his face buried into the juncture of Pedro’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the smell of clean sheets and a rich musk that’s all Pedro. They fall back into Oscar’s bed, legs tangling together, arms tightening around each other, fingers grasping for any purchase they can get. Oscar’s hand runs up Pedro’s spine, and his fingers tangle into Pedro’s hair at the base of his neck, and he just holds him there, their breathing falling into sync, the sheets tangled around them.

For a few seconds, they just lay there, silent and motionless. Oscar’s eyelids grow heavy, and he's on the verge of sleep when Pedro’s husky voice breaks through the haze.

“ ‘S that coffee?” His head pops up from the pillows, curls a beautiful array of bedhead. Pedro in the morning is gloriously unkempt, a true sight that Oscar loves to behold.

“Mmm, it is. Just how you like it.” Pedro reaches across them and paws at the bedside table, nearly knocking over the box of pastries in the process, and manages to wrap his fingers around the warm to-go cup with a small sound of relief. He pushes himself up on an elbow and takes a long sip, and Oscar watches while he savors the flavor and inhales the steam rising through the lid. “Good?”

He just gets a grunt of affirmation as Pedro takes another deep drink. He’s limned in morning light, his olive skin shining golden and his silhouette shadowed against the loft’s wall, and Oscar thinks he might be the luckiest guy around, to get to come home to this.

After another sip, Pedro sets the cup aside and huffs as he flops back down onto the pillows. He’s facing Oscar now, eyes hooded as he looks up at him through thick lashes. There’s an old hickey on Pedro’s collarbone that’s fading into a blushing lavender, and Oscar’s thumb finds it as he remembers making the mark the other night, which sends a shiver down his spine. His thumb traces downward, and he places a gentle kiss on Pedro’s bed-warmed skin and savors the feeling of satin beneath his lips.

Pedro’s fingers rake through his hair, and one of his legs hooks over Oscar’s waist, entangling them further. The bed is a mess of sheets and pillows and duvet, and this, Oscar knows, is what absolute bliss feels like. He buries his face in Pedro’s chest, pressing an abundance of kisses to Pedro’s sternum as Pedro’s leg curls around his waist and locks them together. Oscar’s arms move to wrap around his torso, and Pedro returns the movement, interlocking them completely. Slowly, tenderly, Oscar’s fingers trickle down Pedro’s spine, then back up, and Pedro huffs out a noise of contentment as his head falls back into the pillows once more.

“We should just never get out of bed,” Pedro muses, eyes closed against the light, lashes fanned against his cheek, Oscar’s golden boy.

“The good news is… I have nowhere to be for the next, ehh, eightish hours?”

“Eight hours, huh?” Oscar feels Pedro’s fingers against his shoulder, the other hand tracing through his hair in a way that makes him hum deep in his chest, like a cat purring out its pleasure.

“Eight hours. Mclaren want me to go down to the tech centre to talk, so theres that.” Each word he says into Pedro’s chest, still too comfortable to move, and while his lips are smashed against Pedro’s skin and the words come out a bit muffled, he doesn’t care. This closeness, this beautiful contact, is exactly what he’s been craving the past 96 hours.

Oscar used to miss the car when he was back home. Being in the garage was like being with his family. He got to come home to an empty loft and a tired life that felt like a rinse-repeat most days. The excitement was for work, and his passion was in his job. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle, but it did get him through a lot.

Now, the loft is never empty. It echoes with Pedro’s laughter and is brightened by his ever-present light that shines when Pedro walks into the room. Pedro is the breath of fresh air he was longing for; he’s the rays of sunshine at the end of a rainstorm, beckoning him home. Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a person, or people, and Oscar is so lucky to be surrounded by so many people who feel like home. Pedro included.

Pedro hums out a chuckle and nods into the pillows before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Oscar’s head. “That sounds nice. I have no plans today either. Though I was thinking maybe we should hit up that farmer’s market in Birmingham today. Remember that lady selling ham croquetas? I need more of those in my life, like, yesterday.”

“But that would require getting out of bed.”

“They're are worth getting out of bed for,” Pedro says solemnly. It pulls a laugh from Oscar, and he nods.

“Croquetas it is, then. When does the market start?”

Pedro’s arms tighten around Oscar, and he shrugs, eyes still closed, face blissfully calm. “Noon, maybe? We have time.”

Oscar leans his head back to stare up at Pedro, taking him in and really appreciating this moment. The silence stretches, and Pedro cracks open one eye, nose wrinkling when he catches Oscar staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Oscar shrugs and kisses Pedro’s shoulder, then down his collarbone, nipping at his favorite spot right above Pedro’s heart where that mark already pools like a sunset. “I just love you, is that alright?”

Love is a big word between them, one they’ve never taken for granted. Pedro grew up knowing that love could be weaponized and used against him, and Oscar grew up wondering if love was really worth much, if he'd ever love a person how he loves cars. Between the two of them, their laundry list of problems is long, but somehow they’ve found and created a beautiful love out of it.

“I guess that’s alright,” Pedro agrees, shrugging slightly. But his smile is radiant, all white teeth and pink gums, stretching at the corners of his lips like he might burst. That smile says more than words ever could, and Oscar feels his chest swell with pride that he could be the one to put it there.

One of Oscar’s hands cups Pedro’s cheek, and he shifts, pushing himself up the bed so they’re at eye level now. He meets Pedro’s dark gaze head-on and doesn’t back off or look away, as if to prove his point. “Alright? Just… just alright?” His tone is lightly teasing, and his fingers skate along Pedro’s stubbled jawline before he presses a kiss against his neck. His teeth nip again, and Pedro sucks in a breath.

“Just alright,” Pedro agrees nonchalantly, his smile replaced by a smirk, his leg that’s wrapped around Oscar tightening, pulling their hips together deliciously. Oscar trails his lips down the column of Pedro’s neck, his tongue teasing at Pedro’s pulse point, soothing after the soft sting of teeth. It draws another small noise from Pedro’s lips, and his head falls back, exposing more skin to Oscar’s ministrations. There’s a beat of silence as Oscar’s lips continue back up Pedro’s neck, and then his lips are on Pedro’s, a soft, yearning kiss that conveys just about everything Oscar is feeling.

They kiss lazily, like this morning. It’s a bright, sunny thing, a feeling of warmth that starts in Oscar’s chest and spreads into his fingertips and toes, lighting him up from the inside out. Kissing Pedro is like laying in the sun, basking in its warmth and hoping not to get burnt. His lips move against Pedro’s, and one hand comes up to curl through Pedro’s hair, tugging him impossibly closer, closing all of the distance between them. They make out for a minute, lips working against each other, tongues tangling together.

Oscar pulls back, head falling onto the pillows as he looks at Pedro again. “I love you, too, you know.” Hearing those words from Pedro’s mouth is like the sweetest melody.

“I kinda figured,” he jokes, his hands going under the covers to poke at Pedro’s side lightly. Pedro wriggles, giggling as he moves away. Oscar takes the opportunity to sit himself up and roll on top of Pedro, knees bracketing hips, hands on each side of his head. He presses sweet kisses to Pedro’s cheeks and forehead, down his jaw to his neck, his lips tracing constellations along Pedro’s skin. Pedro presses one hand to Oscar’s chest, still laughing, head falling back as he meets Oscar’s gaze and smiles tenderly up at him.

“Eres un gilipollas. Get off of me so I can enjoy my coffee,” Pedro teases as he gently pushes at Oscar’s chest again and sits up on his elbows.

With a pout, Oscar falls back over to his side of the bed. Pedro adjusts his pillows so he’s sitting up and leaning against the headboard, then reaches for his coffee. “What are my pastry options?” he asks as he sips, letting out a contented sigh before looking over at Oscar. "Besides you, of course."

There it is. Oscar passes him the box, then wraps his arms back around Pedro’s middle and buries his face into his side. Pedro selects a croissant and takes a few bites, carefully eating over the box so as not to get crumbs on Oscar or in the bed. They sit in the blissful morning silence for a minute, Pedro enjoying his breakfast and Oscar just breathing in and out, relaxing after the rough shift he had. There’s a beauty to this moment, a kind of peace that isn’t easy to find amidst the stressful days, long work hours, and tragedies he sees. But for as much sadness as there can be, he’s also found joy right here, a little pocket of calm and serenity to come home to.

They have places to get to, things to do today, but for now, Oscar is content to just exist in this space with Pedro, to soak in these moments full of warmth and be. It doesn’t take long before his eyes droop and his breathing evens out, lulled by Pedro’s fingers carding through his curls. They'll get out of bed eventually, but for now Oscar is going to let himself enjoy this moment of peace.

[scrollonso]

Forgive Me, Father (6/??) (23k words)

As loyalties shifted, it felt like a moment of reckoning, where paths split and trust in a mentor faltered. Bez found himself drawn to a darker path, enticed by Marc's persuasive words promising a new direction.

One

Two

Three (smut)

Four

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Six (smut)

[scrollonso]

Heaven

A marcmarc fluff oneshot (1.7k words)

Pecco had won, and despite Bez finishing eighth, seeing his best friend on the top step of the podium washed away all his disappointment. Seeing his boyfriend smiling so brightly with his brother standing just one step below probably helped too. Bez couldn't help but shift his focus from Pecco to the Spaniard beside him, he looked perfect up there.

A few hours had passed since the podium celebration, and now Bez was heading out to celebrate the way he liked best, with alcohol and the rest of the academy. As soon as he entered the bar, Pecco greeted him with a bright smile. They hugged without hesitation.

"Feeling good, amo?" Bez grinned at his friend, who nodded, still on cloud nine from his earlier win.

"Andavi fortissimo," Bez praised. It was true, Pecco had been incredibly fast, beating Marc was a big deal, especially to Vale's boys.

They made their way through the building, joining the others and striking up conversations.

It didn't take long for Bez to get drunk, becoming more giggly than usual as he clung to anyone who got too close.

Cele was the closest, not minding the arms wrapped around him as he continued to drink, far less drunk than the curly-haired boy attached to his hip. Everything was funnier to Bez in this state, whether it was Vale coughing or a girl coming over to hit on one of them, he couldn't stop the giggles that followed.

As the night went on, the bar became livelier. Bez's laughter filled the room. Cele, amused by his friend's antics, tried to keep Bez upright as they navigated through the crowd.

"Hey, Bez, maybe slow down a bit," Cele suggested, chuckling as Bez nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Wowww" Bez groaned, his words slurring slightly. "Are you making fun of me for getting eigth"

"Oh shut up" Cele rolled his eyes, pushing him into a seat in a quieter area of the bar, not wanting him to get too drunk. The last thing he wanted to do was be on "Babysit Bez" duty.

Pecco joined them, a drink in hand and a wide grin on his face. "Looks like someone's having a good time," he teased, hand patting the back of Bez's head.

Bez frowned up at him. "Cele's making fun of me, this isn't fun anymore" The trio knew he was just being dramatic, this is how it went for Bez. Clingy, overdramatic, then sad.

Bez leaned heavily against Cele, his head resting on his shoulder. Cele's arm wrapped around Bez's shoulders, keeping him steady.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Pecco asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Training," Cele replied, rolling his eyes. "Break just started and I can't even enjoy it yet."

Bez groaned dramatically as if he was the one scheduled to train, he had a week until his turn. "Do we have to? Can't we just stay here and drink forever?"

Pecco laughed. "Don't think you need any more to drink ever."

The night continued with stories, laughter, and more drinks, to Pecco's dismay. Eventually, Bez's energy began to wane. Cele noticed and leaned closer, having to speak louder into his ear to make his voice clear over the music.

"You okay?" Cele asked, concern in his eyes.

Bez nodded, though his eyelids were drooping. "Just tired," he mumbled.

Pecco sat down beside him. "Maybe it's time to call it a night. You've had enough fun for one evening." Bez sighed but didn't argue.

With Cele's help, Bez managed to stand up. Pecco took his other side, and together they guided him out of the bar. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stuffy bar, and Bez took a deep breath, feeling a bit more alert.

"Thanks," Bez said, his voice soft. "You guys are so nice to me."

"Of course," Cele replied, smiling.

As they walked back to their hotel, the streets quiet and empty, Bez began to perk up at the thought of seeing Rubik. When they finally reached the hotel and made their way to Bez's room, they were greeted by an enthusiastic dog, who immediately bounded over, tail wagging furiously.

"Hey, buddy," Bez mumbled, kneeling down to cup Rubik's face, kissing all over the dogs fur. His excitement was contagious, and Bez's tired eyes lit up.

"Looks like someone missed you," Cele said with a smile, watching the joyful reunion, no matter how long the two were apart it was always like this when they came back together.

Pecco gave Bez a quick hug once he finally let go of the Pitbull, "Sleep well, Bez. We'll see you in the morning?"

Bez nodded, having no plan of falling asleep as he fell onto his bed, Rubik settling down beside Bez as he pulled his phone from his back pocket to call Marc.

The phone rang a few times before he heard a familiar voice on the other line, curls falling back as he rolled onto his back. "Cucciolo, where are you?"

"I'm on the way to my hotel, is everything okay mi cielo?" Marc asked, picking up on Bez's drunken state just by the way he spoke

"Come to mine?" He asked, slightly whining as he thought about being alone, now he was sad.

"Okay, I'll be there soon Marco" He confirmed before hanging up, he was about a 10 minute drive from Bez's hotel.

Bez waited impatiently, the Spaniard couldn't get there soon enough. He pulled Rubik closer, muttering in Italian about his boyfriend. Where was he? Was he close? Was he not coming? Did Marc not want to see him?

It was silly, really, Marc adored being with Bez, he was happiest with the Italian in his arms and Bez was well aware of that, Marc made sure to vocalize his feelings whenever he could so there was no need for him to get so worked up over this, though the alcohol wasn't working in his favour.

Having a dog like Rubik was great when Bez was alone, he could be as clingy as he wanted to the pitbull and he never cared, more than happy to be smothered by the racer.

Time passed by slow for both of them, Marc eager to get out of his car and hurry inside, knowing exactly where to go to find Bez's room, it was easier when they were staying in motorhomes by the track but because the two were staying in Germany a little longer than the others their managers made sure to book them hotels instead.

He soon reached the boys door, knocking three quick times before stepping back to wait for the door to swing open.

Like clockwork both Bez and Rubik shot up, greeting Marc with smiles on their faces. Before the Spaniard could even speak the Italians arms were wrapped around his shoulders, light kisses being pressed on the side of his face as he was pulled back into the room

"Hi, cielo, hi" Marc laughed, leaning into the touch as Rubik waited impatiently for some attention to be on him, too.

"I missed you so much" Bez confessed between kisses, pulling back to look at Marc, "missed your face."

He couldn't stop his lips from curling up as he looked at Bez, eyes shining as he examined his boyfriends face. Cheeks still flushed red from his activities earlier in the night, curls now frizzy from laying on his back while waiting.

"Did you have fun? You celebrated with Pecco, no?" Marc asked, looking away to give Rubik what he wanted, nice scratches under his jaw

Bez hummed, cheeks hurting because of the smile stuck on his face, he loved seeing Rubik and Marc together, his two favourite boys getting along. "Yeah, everyone went to a bar together, drank too much"

"You always drink too much" He responded playfully, laughing at the expression on Bez's face, he knew it was true but he'd never admit it.

It wasn't long before they ended up laying down together, Rubik curled up on Marc's left, Bez on his right with his head on his chest as if he wasn't nearly 10 centimeters taller than him. To them it didn't matter, this is how it went. Marc always made sure Bez knew he was his, his baby, his heaven, his Marco.

Marc's hand found its way into the Italians hair, nails softly scratching Bez's hair. He hummed contently, eyes closing as he focused on the feeling, something so comforting about the position they were in, they'd stay like this forever if they could.

The room was filled with a quiet sense of peace as they lay together. Bez's breathing started to even out, and Marc could feel the tension melt away from his boyfriend's body. Rubik snuggled closer to Marc's side, his warmth adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Marc softly whispered, "Te amo, Marco."

"Ti amo, Marc," Bez murmured back, a sleepy smile on his face. He felt completely at ease, surrounded by the two people he loved most.

After a few moments of silence, Bez spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for coming, amore."

Marc pressed a gentle kiss to Bez's forehead. "I'll always come to you. You know that."

Bez nodded, feeling his eyes grow heavier. He clung to the comfort of Marc's presence and Rubik's warmth. It was moments like these that made having to keep this a secret worth it. He was loved, cherished, and supported, and he knew that.

As the night deepened, Marc continued to run his fingers through Bez's hair, humming quietly as he gazed lovingly, Marc could look at him forever. Bez's breathing became slow and rhythmic, signaling that he had finally fallen asleep. Marc glanced down at him, his heart swelling with affection.

"Sleep well," Marc whispered.

The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional snuffle from Rubik. The chaos of the day had faded, leaving only the serenity of the night. Marc stayed awake a little longer, savoring the moment and the sense of completeness it brought him.

Eventually, he too closed his eyes, letting sleep take over. Tomorrow could wait. For now, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

[scrollonso]

Untitled 3 — Rosquezecchi

Marco sat on the couch in their shared living room, one hand resting protectively over the curve of his stomach, the other clenched into a tight fist against his thigh. The room was too quiet, almost suffocating in its stillness, broken only by the faint ticking of the wall clock that seemed to mock him with each passing second. He hated how much he waited for them, how desperate he felt, but he couldn’t help it. Marc and Valentino had promised they’d be back soon. But soon never seemed to come.

Every minute dragged, each tick of the clock becoming louder in his mind. Marco’s foot tapped against the floor, a small sign of the restless energy building inside him, the frustration he kept swallowing back. His eyes flicked toward the door every few moments, his heart jumping every time he imagined hearing footsteps or the faint jingle of keys. But nothing changed. The door remained stubbornly shut, the silence oppressive.

His mind spiraled. They were probably out together again, laughing, reminiscing, sharing some joke he wasn’t part of. That thought gnawed at him, twisting his stomach into painful knots that had nothing to do with the life growing inside him. He had imagined this would be different — that when he told them he was pregnant, things would change. That they would be here, with him, through every sleepless night and every anxious moment. But he had been wrong.

He had never been jealous before. Clingy? Yes. But not jealous. The three of them had always done everything together for the past few years, sharing their lives in a perfect balance. But now, with Marco deemed too fragile to ride, to be at the track with them, he was stuck alone. Alone, watching them live their lives without him while he sat here waiting like some obedient dog. He hated it — hated himself for needing them so much. For feeling so lost without them.

He shifted on the couch, his grip tightening around the curve of his belly. The babies kicked softly, a reminder of the life growing inside him, but it didn’t bring the comfort it should have. Instead, the movement only amplified the fear. What if they didn’t want this anymore? What if they didn't want to be parents yet? What if they didn’t want him? Marco’s breath hitched at the thought, his mind racing to the worst possibilities, the insecurities that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

His throat tightened, and he felt the sting of tears pressing at the back of his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn’t cry again. Not for them. Not for the promises they had broken without a second thought, there had to be a reason, something he was missing. But the excuses he made for them were wearing thin.

He had always been good at pretending. Pretending that everything was fine, that he was strong enough to handle the distance, the nights they spent away from him at races, wrapped in each other’s arms while he lay awake, alone. Their history together never bothered him. But now, with the weight of their absence pressing down on him, and the uncertainty of the future hanging like a shadow over his every thought, he couldn’t keep it together anymore.

His fingers tightened on his stomach, feeling the faint stir of life inside him. He should have been happy. He should have felt loved. This was supposed to be their moment, a new beginning for all three of them. They have two babies on the way. But instead, it felt like he was crumbling, piece by piece, while they were somewhere else, living their lives without him.

The ticking of the clock grew louder in the stillness of the room, each second dragging on endlessly. Marco buried his face in his hands, his breath hitching as the tears he had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over. He was tired. So tired of waiting, of hoping that this time, things would be different, that they'd come home in time and hold him. Cherish him.

But he was alone. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending that he wasn’t.

Marco’s breath shuddered as he wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He felt so raw, like everything was falling apart, even though nothing had really happened. It was just the waiting — always waiting, always feeling like he wasn’t enough.

But then, the door creaked open.

He didn’t lift his head at first. His heart leaped into his throat, hope rising despite himself. He heard the sound of boots being kicked off, hushed voices — Marc’s low, warm laughter followed by Valentino’s familiar, teasing tone. They were home. But the joy that should’ve filled him didn’t come. Instead, something twisted deep inside him, and he felt the overwhelming wave of frustration and sadness crash over him again.

“Marco? Mio amore, we’re back,” Valentino called softly as he came into the room, Marc just behind him.

Marco didn’t move. His hands stayed clenched on his stomach, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry again, or maybe both.

Marc crouched beside him, his warm eyes full of concern. “Hey, what’s wrong? You okay?”

Marco’s throat tightened at the simple question, his emotions bubbling to the surface uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out, thick with anger and pain. “Where were you?” His voice cracked. “I’ve been sitting here waiting like some idiot while you’re both out… doing whatever you want. Do you even care?”

Valentino’s brow furrowed, and he sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Of course, we care, Bez. What are you talking about? We just went to get some food and check on things at the ranch. We didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what?” Marco snapped, shaking off Vale’s arm. Feeling the older mans touch linger, burn. "Didn’t mean to leave me here, didn’t mean to make me feel like I’m not even important?” His voice was rising, trembling with every word, hyperventilating. He felt ridiculous even as he said it, but he couldn’t stop. The hormones, the fear — it all came pouring out. “I’m here, pregnant with both of your babies, and you just leave me? I’m scared, I’m tired, I need you, and you don’t seem to care at all!”

Marc and Valentino exchanged a glance, stunned by the intensity of Marco’s outburst. Marc quickly moved to his other side, his hand resting over Marco’s where it gripped his belly. “Marco, we didn’t mean to make you feel that way. We’re here. We’re not leaving you.”

Valentino brushed his curls out of the way before kissing his temple, his voice soft. “We’re so sorry, amore. You’re everything to us.”

But Marco wasn’t listening. He couldn’t hear them past the overwhelming weight of his emotions. “I hate feeling like this! One second, I’m fine, and then I’m… I don’t know! I just want you here, and it feels like you’re slipping away.”

His chest heaved with sobs now, the weight of everything — the pregnancy, the fears, the loneliness — too much to bear. He hated this feeling, hated how irrational and scared he was, but he couldn’t help it.

Marc pulled him into his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. We’re not going anywhere, I promise.”

Valentino squeezed his hand gently, his thumb brushing over Marco’s knuckles. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll be right here.”

For a moment, Marco just let himself cry, let the warmth of their presence wash over him, even as part of him still felt so fragile, so uncertain. He felt Marc’s hand tracing slow circles on his back, Valentino’s steady breathing beside him. And slowly, his sobs began to quiet, his breath evening out.

“I’m sorry,” Marco whispered, his voice thick. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Marc said softly, his lips brushing against Marco’s hair. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“We’re here now,” Valentino murmured, kissing his cheek. “And we’re not leaving you alone again, okay?”

Marco nodded, though he still felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle these wild mood swings and this constant fear, but at least, for now, they were here. They weren’t going to leave him alone again — not tonight.

Marco clung to them, the warmth of their bodies pressed against his providing a fragile comfort. The room seemed to soften around them, the harsh ticking of the clock becoming a distant, insignificant noise. The only thing that mattered now was the feeling of Marc’s hand soothingly rubbing his back and Valentino’s steady presence beside him.

He took shuddering breaths, trying to piece himself back together. “I’m just so tired,” he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tired of feeling like I’m not a part of this, like I’m just waiting around for you both to notice me. I- I don't want to just be a third in this, I want you two to love me too.”

Marc tightened his embrace, his voice low and earnest. “Marco, you're so much more than a third. More than you know. We’ve been caught up in our own world, but we never meant to make you feel neglected. We’re sorry for that.”

Valentino nodded, his hand gently stroking Marco’s arm, tracing the ink embedded in his skin. “We should have been more mindful. We should have known how much you needed us. You’re not just waiting around — you’re carrying our future. And that means everything to us.”

Marco’s heart ached at their words, but a part of him still struggled to fully accept the reassurance. “I just wish you’d been here more. I don’t want to be alone with all this. It’s overwhelming, and sometimes, I can’t handle it.”

“We’re here now,” Marc said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “And we’re committed to being here for you. We’ll figure out how to balance everything, so you don’t feel left out again. We'll take you to every race, have you in the academy team's garage so no one suspects anything weird, hm?”

Marco hummed, he liked the sound of going with them again. The sound of someone besides himself holding him while he slept.

Valentino leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Marco’s ear. “We’ll do better. We promise. We’re in this together, and we’ll make sure you feel it every day.”

Marco nodded, his eyes still red but the tears slowly subsiding. He felt the exhaustion weighing on him, but the presence of Marc and Valentino provided a glimmer of relief amidst the chaos of his emotions. He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Grazie,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere. “I needed to hear that.”

Valentino kissed his cheek, a gentle, reassuring gesture. “We love you, Marco. More than anything. And we’re here to support you, no matter what.”

Marc gave him a reassuring smile, his eyes full of warmth and understanding. “We’ll make sure you never have to feel alone again. We’re in this together, we always will be after the twins are born.”

The room seemed to grow warmer, the harshness of the silence fading as Marco allowed himself to relax into their embrace. For now, he could let go of the fear and the pain, knowing that Marc and Valentino were committed to being present with him. As they held him close, Marco felt the first real sense of peace he had experienced in days, a fragile but comforting assurance that they were there for him, ready to face whatever came next together.

They sat like that for a long while, the three of them wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and love. Marco knew the road ahead would be challenging, but for tonight, he allowed himself to take solace in the fact that they were by his side, ready to face it all as a family.

[scrollonso]

Fanboy — Pedroscar (Ft. Sargecchi)

Oscar had been pacing in front of Logan's hotel room for what felt like hours — though in reality, it had barely been five minutes. His mind raced as he replayed the same scenarios over and over, trying to figure out how to frame his request without sounding too desperate. Every time he thought he had the perfect approach, doubt crept in. What if Logan laughed at him? Or worse, what if Logan told Marco and then Marco told Pedro? The sheer thought of it made Oscar feel like a schoolboy with a crush, which, in a way, he kind of was.

Logan had been seeing Marco for a while now — well, kind of. They weren’t official yet, but Oscar knew it was only a matter of time. Hell, Marco already had a small tattoo on his thigh dedicated to the American, a tiny symbol that Marco swore was just for them. It was the kind of thing that made Oscar simultaneously cringe and feel envious. Logan had it all: a blossoming relationship with a MotoGP star, the perfect insider access, and now, by extension, a way for Oscar to meet Pedro Acosta.

Pedro Acosta. The name alone made Oscar’s pulse quicken. Pedro had captivated him from the first moment he saw him on his bike back in 2021, far before he got to MotoGP. The way he handled himself on the track, the sharp focus in his eyes, the post-race interviews when his accent was at its thickest — it was all too much. Oscar had tried to brush it off as a passing infatuation, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. And now, thanks to Logan’s connection with Marco, Oscar saw a golden opportunity he couldn’t let slip through his fingers.

Gathering every ounce of courage, Oscar finally stepped up to Logan’s door and knocked. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, each second stretching out painfully. When the door opened, Logan stood there, fresh from a shower, hair slightly damp, looking as relaxed as ever.

“What’s up, mate?” Logan asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Oscar didn’t even bother with small talk. He was too wound up for that. “Logan, you have to ask Marco to get me a pass to the next Grand Prix,” he blurted out, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. He crossed his arms, giving Oscar a curious look. “What? You’re not even into MotoGP like that.”

Oscar sighed, feeling like the weight of his crush on Pedro was the worst-kept secret in the world. “Look, I just really, really want to meet Acosta, alright?” he admitted, his voice dropping a notch. “You know I’ve had a crush on him forever.”

Logan's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, that’s what this is about,” he said, drawing out the words for effect. “You want me to get Marco to invite you so you can swoon over Pedro? You could’ve just said that, mate.”

“Yes!” Oscar’s desperation was fully on display now, his hands coming together in a pleading gesture. “I’m begging you, Logan. Please. You know Marco can get us into the paddock, right? Just mention it to him. Please!”

Logan snickered, clearly enjoying the sight of his normally composed friend unraveling like this. “Alright, alright, don’t get all dramatic,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll talk to Marco, but no promises. Besides,” he added with a mischievous grin, “if Pedro notices you, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Oscar’s eyes lit up, his earlier anxiety melting away. “You’re a legend, Logan. Seriously, I owe you one. I’ll do anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Just don’t embarrass me in front of Marco or his rider friends. I’ve got my own reputation to think about.”

Oscar nodded eagerly, already imagining what it would be like to finally meet Pedro. The thrill of being in the paddock, seeing Pedro up close, maybe even having a conversation with him — it was almost too much to handle. But for now, all he could do was hope that Logan’s connection with Marco would come through.

A few days later, Oscar's phone buzzed with a message from Logan.

"Marco’s picking us up at 8. Be ready."

Oscar barely slept that night. His mind kept replaying the scenarios — meeting Pedro, what he’d say, what he’d wear. When his alarm finally went off, he was already wide awake, pacing again, but this time in his own apartment. He double-checked his outfit at least three times before heading downstairs to wait for Logan and Marco.

Right on time, Marco pulled up in front of the building, the rumble of the engine making Oscar’s heart jump. Logan was sitting in the passenger seat, his window down and a grin plastered on his face.

“C’mon, mate, let’s go!” Logan shouted, motioning for Oscar to hop in the back.

Oscar slid into the backseat, immediately hit with a mix of nerves and excitement. Marco glanced at him in the rearview mirror with an easy smile. "Ready for your big day, Oscar?"

Logan chuckled before Oscar could respond. "Oh, he’s been ready for days now. Can’t stop thinking about his beloved Acosta."

Marco raised an eyebrow and laughed, the sound light and teasing. "So that’s why you were so eager for me to bring you to the race." He glanced over at Logan. "You didn't tell me your friend had a thing for Pedro."

Oscar felt his cheeks flush instantly. "I- it's not like that," he stammered, trying to sound cool, but failing miserably. "I just, y'know... respect his racing skills."

Logan snorted, twisting in his seat to look back at Oscar with a wide grin. "Mate, you were literally begging me the other day. 'Please, Logan, you have to introduce me to Pedro!'" He teased, reaching over and shaking Marco's arm as he mocked the Aussie.

Marco chuckled again, shaking his head as they started down the road toward the track. "You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. Pedro’s a great rider. But I hope you’re ready for all the chaos that comes with the paddock. It's not just racing; it’s a circus. Especially with him. "

Oscar let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off, but inside, his stomach was in knots. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just... don’t, you know, mention anything about the crush thing to Pedro."

"Oh, don’t worry," Logan said, his tone dripping with mischief. "We won’t say a word." He paused for dramatic effect. "Not unless it comes up."

"Logan!" Oscar groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You promised!"

Marco laughed again, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Don't worry, Oscar. Pedro's a good guy. Besides, he'll probably be too focused on the race to notice anything."

"Yeah, focused on winning, not on some random fanboy," Logan added, earning a glare from Oscar.

"I’m not a fanboy," Oscar muttered, slumping back into his seat. "I just... appreciate talent."

"Sure, mate, sure," Logan said with a wink. "But hey, if Pedro does notice you, you better be ready. MotoGP riders are a different breed." He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows as Oscar's face scrunched up.

Marco nodded in agreement, his voice soft but teasing. "And if he doesn't notice, you’ll have to try harder. Maybe bring a sign next time? 'Pedro, marry me!' or something like that?"

Oscar groaned again, his face now a deep shade of red as both Logan and Marco burst into laughter.

As they neared the track, Marco shot Oscar another playful glance in the mirror. "Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy on you — at least until you meet Pedro. Then all bets are off."

When they pulled into the paddock area, Oscar felt his heart rate pick up again. The sight of the gleaming trucks, bikes, and riders milling around was almost surreal. It was a dream come true, but also terrifying now that he was so close to meeting Pedro Acosta.

Marco parked the car and turned around to face Oscar, who was still gripping the seatbelt tightly. "Alright, we're here. Just breathe," he said, his tone now a bit more reassuring, though the teasing glint in his eyes hadn't fully faded.

Logan hopped out of the car with his usual easygoing demeanor, but as Oscar stepped out, he felt the weight of his nerves pressing down on him again. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his stomach still felt like it was doing backflips.

Logan tossed an arm around Oscar’s shoulders, grinning like a kid in a candy store. "You alright, mate? You're looking a bit pale."

Oscar swatted his hand away, trying to act casual. "I'm fine. Just... excited, I guess."

Marco joined them, adjusting his jacket before nodding toward the pit lane. "Alright, let's go find the others. I’m sure Pedro’s around somewhere."

At the mention of Pedro, Oscar’s heart gave another lurch, but he forced himself to keep it together. He couldn’t make a fool of himself in front of Logan and Marco — or worse, Pedro. As they walked through the paddock, Oscar’s eyes darted around, taking in the sights. Mechanics were bustling around, riders were in various stages of preparation, and journalists hovered nearby, trying to catch interviews.

Marco waved at a few familiar faces as they passed, and soon enough, they spotted Pedro’s bike being prepped by his team. Oscar’s heart stopped when he saw Pedro standing nearby, deep in conversation with one of his mechanics.

Logan elbowed Oscar gently, smirking. "There he is, mate. Your knight in shining leather."

Oscar swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah, I see him," he muttered, trying to sound calm, but the anxiety was creeping back in full force.

Marco leaned in closer and whispered, "Now’s your chance. You want an introduction, or are you going to stare at him from a distance all day?"

Oscar hesitated, feeling like his feet were glued to the ground. "I— I don’t know," he stammered. "Maybe I should wait until after the race? I don’t want to distract him."

Logan shook his head with a laugh. "You’re hopeless, Oscar. Pedro’s a pro. He won’t even bat an eye."

Before Oscar could respond, Pedro turned around, noticing Marco, Logan, and Oscar standing nearby. A bright smile spread across Pedro's face as he walked over to greet them, his relaxed confidence making Oscar’s nerves spike even higher.

"Hey, Marco!" Pedro called out, clapping Marco on the back before turning to Logan. "Logan, good to see you."

Then, his eyes landed on Oscar, and for a split second, Oscar forgot how to breathe. Pedro extended his hand toward him, smiling warmly. "And you must be Oscar, right? Marco’s mentioned you before."

Oscar blinked, his brain short-circuiting as he took Pedro’s hand, trying not to let his palms sweat too much. "Uh, yeah, that’s me," he said, forcing a smile and hoping his voice didn’t crack.

Pedro chuckled lightly, his grip firm but friendly. "Nice to meet you, man. Hope you’re enjoying the paddock."

Oscar nodded dumbly, still trying to process the fact that Pedro Acosta knew his name. "Yeah, it’s... amazing. Really cool."

Logan, clearly enjoying the whole situation, smirked and leaned in toward Pedro. "Oscar’s been dying to meet you, mate. He’s a big fan."

Pedro shot Oscar a playful glance, his smile widening. "Is that so? Well, I’m glad I could make your day."

Oscar felt his face burning with embarrassment, but Pedro’s friendly demeanor was starting to ease his nerves — just a little. "Yeah, I’ve followed your career for a while," Oscar admitted, managing to find his voice. "You’re, uh, incredible on the track."

"Thanks, man," Pedro said, sounding genuinely appreciative. "I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’m doing my best out there."

Logan, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist one last jab. "Careful, Pedro. Oscar might ask for a selfie and then frame it on his wall."

Oscar groaned, glaring at Logan. "I hate you," he muttered under his breath.

Pedro laughed, clearly amused by their banter. "Hey, no worries. I’d be honored to be on someone’s wall," he said, winking at Oscar.

Oscar’s heart nearly exploded at the gesture, but before he could respond, the sound of engines revving nearby reminded them all that there was a race to prepare for. Marco clapped Pedro on the shoulder. "We should let you get back to it. Good luck out there."

"Thanks, Marco," Pedro said, giving a quick nod to all of them. "I’ll catch you guys after the race. Enjoy the show."

As Pedro walked away, Oscar let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his body finally relaxing. Logan and Marco both turned to him with matching smirks.

"See?" Logan said, clapping him on the back. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

Oscar shook his head, a dazed smile on his face. "No," he admitted softly, "not bad at all."

As Pedro disappeared into the crowd, the hum of the paddock returning to its usual buzz, Oscar felt like he was floating. The nerves had faded into a dizzy sort of euphoria. He’d just met Pedro Acosta. He shook his hand. And Pedro knew his name.

Logan leaned against a nearby barrier, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "You look like you just met the Queen or something, mate."

Oscar rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. "Shut up, Logan. I’m allowed to be excited."

The race was a blur of excitement and tension, and by the time it was over, Pedro had finished third — an impressive podium finish considering the tough competition. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Oscar felt a sense of pride wash over him, even though he barely knew the guy.

As they started making their way back down to the paddock area, Oscar’s phone buzzed with a text, an Instagram notification. He glanced at the screen and felt his heart skip a beat.

"Hey, if you guys are still around, come by the garage. Would love to chat."

Oscar stared at the message for a moment, disbelief written all over his face. "Logan…"

Logan peered over at Oscar’s phone, his eyebrows shooting up. "No way. Pedro just texted you?"

Marco smirked. "Looks like you made quite the impression, Oscar."

Oscar couldn’t even process what was happening. He barely remembered how to breathe. "He wants us to come by his garage…"

Logan clapped him on the back. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go see your new best mate."

With Logan and Marco in tow, Oscar made his way from the VR46 garage to the KTM one. The excitement in the air felt even more electric now. When they reached Pedro’s garage, the young rider was waiting, still in his racing suit, talking to a few team members. His face lit up when he saw them approaching.

"Hey!" Pedro greeted them warmly, stepping away from his team. "Glad you guys could make it. What’d you think of the race?"

Oscar, still starstruck, fumbled for words. "You were… incredible," he managed, trying not to sound too overwhelmed. "Third place is amazing."

Pedro smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Thanks, man. It was a tough one, but am happy with the podium."

Logan, ever the smooth talker, chimed in. "Oscar here couldn’t stop watching you. You’ve got yourself a loyal fan."

Pedro laughed, glancing at Oscar with a wide grin. "Well, I appreciate that. Always good to know someone’s got my back."

Oscar felt his face heat up again, but he managed a sheepish smile. "You’ve got a lot of fans, not just me."

Pedro shrugged, still looking at Oscar with an amused glint in his eye. "Maybe, but not all of them get a personal invite to the garage."

Oscar blinked, stunned for a moment. Was Pedro flirting with him? He couldn’t be sure, but the way Pedro was looking at him felt… different. Before he could spiral too much into that thought, Pedro nodded toward the bikes.

"Want to take a closer look?" he asked, his tone casual but kind.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, come on," Pedro said, waving him over.

Oscar followed Pedro toward the bikes, feeling like he was in some kind of dream. Meanwhile, Logan and Marco exchanged knowing glances behind him, smirking as they watched their friend live out his wildest fantasy.

Oscar's excitement was palpable as he approached the bikes. Pedro's demeanor helped calm his racing heart, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was something special, even if he was acting like a highschool girl.

Pedro stopped in front of one of the bikes and gestured for Oscar to come closer. "Alright, let's get you on it," Pedro said, his voice gentle but firm. "I'll help you mount it."

Oscar nodded hesitantly, he'd watched Pedro ride hundreds of times but he'd never thought of even sitting on a bike himself. Pedro placed a steadying hand on the bike and carefully guided Oscar into position. With a practiced touch, he helped Oscar swing one leg over the bike, ensuring he was seated comfortably.

"How's that?" Pedro asked, his proximity making Oscar's pulse quicken.

"Good," Oscar managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He adjusted his position, trying to get a feel for the bike beneath him.

Pedro’s hands lingered on Oscar’s waist for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away. "You look like a natural. You look good sitting on my colours."

Oscar nodded, his face flushed with both excitement and a touch of embarrassment. "Thanks, Pedro."

Pedro gave him a reassuring smile. "Anytime. And hey, if you ever want to learn more, you know where to find me."

Logan and Marco watched the scene unfold, their smirks widening. It was clear to them that Pedro's attention to Oscar went beyond mere courtesy, and the way Oscar was responding made it obvious that the connection was mutual.

[scrollonso]

Untitled 2 — Marcmarc

Logically speaking, it doesn't make much sense. Marc is literally his boyfriend.

But there's still that nagging voice, that feeling in his stomach that has persisted since the time he was old enough to know about the pleasures that come with touching oneself. There's that desperate need for self preservation. There's still that guilt.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” Marco says, trying his best not to sound suspicious as he stands from the living room couch.

Marc playfully kicks at the back of Marco's shin as he passes in front of him. “Want me to pause it?” he asks.

Marco shakes his head. “Nah, I think that ice cream I had earlier is catching up to me. I might be gone for a while.”

Marc makes a funny face. “Gross.”

Marco forces a laugh before he's down the hall, locking himself in the bathroom.

Marc's has always been attractive, that's a fact that's completely undeniable. Marco isn't even usually a love-at-first-sight kind of guy, but he remembers the very moment he first laid eyes on Marc. Not to be dramatic, but the feeling could only be akin to staring directly at a sun parting gray clouds. Or maybe the feeling of finally surfacing from beneath an oppressive wave in the deep ocean. After dating for a year and a half, and now finally living together, one might think the shattering infatuation would eventually simmer down. But it's been quite the opposite if one were to ask Marco how he feels about the whole ordeal. If anything, the infatuation has become worse.

The guilt burns beneath his skin as he loosens the drawstring of his shorts, pushing the waistband down to his mid-thighs. He can still hear the muffled sounds of the corny action flick playing in the background. Good, Marco thinks, it'll serve as the perfect distraction.

Marco knows feeling horny is normal. It's taken a good amount of years to rewire his brain in terms of not feeling completely guilty about wanting to touch himself. But his history with the church obviously must still have some form of hold over him, because he still can't bring himself to tell Marc about when he gets this way. Or rather, all the times he gets this way. Which seems to be damn near every day at this point.

Being horny for your boyfriend when you live apart is one thing. But living under the same roof has Marco feeling like his skin is constantly on fire. All thoughts that consume his mind is just how badly he wants Marc's hands on him, everywhere, at all times of day. Is he becoming some sick sex addict? Or maybe it's his brain making up for all the years of being sexually stunted. Whatever the case, he just can't bring himself to tell Marc about every single time he has sexually depraved thoughts about the man. So he makes up for it like this, hiding in the bathroom to get himself off.

He bites the hem of his shirt to keep himself quiet as he slips two fingers inside. He's already so wet that he doesn't need to wait. It's quite pathetic, actually, the way this has become so easy for him.

He closes his eyes and imagines that it's Marc's fingers stretching him full. He imagines that it's Marc's thumb grazing his clit, driving him insane.

He moans quietly around the hem of his t-shirt, spit beginning to soak the fabric as he desperately rolls his hips to the image in his mind.

And on the other side of the bathroom door, just a few feet away is Marc, none the wiser, dressed in a simple pair of loose-fitting shorts and a white tank top. The outfit had been so unassuming, something completely normal to wear on a hot summer day. Yet here Marco is fingering himself in the guest bathroom of their shared apartment because he can't get his brain to stop thinking like a horny teenager.

He picks up the pace, adjusting his stance as he plunges his fingers into his drooling cunt. He pictures Marc fucking him from behind, he can almost feel Marc's hands gripping against his waist, and the tickle of Marc's stubble against the back of his neck.

He should probably just walk out of the bathroom and let Marc know he wants his dick right now. But how ridiculous would that sound?

“Hey, Marc. I know we're in the middle of watching cars explode and bad guys getting their heads blown off, but I'm really turned on right now. Let's fuck.”

No way, there has to be some level of decorum.

When he finally cums a few minutes later, the post-nut clarity is enough to humiliate him even without the haunting echoes of some past preacher going on about the sanctity of sex. Yikes.

It's gotten bad. It's gotten really bad. They're in the middle of having dinner with Marc's parents when the sudden need overcomes him again. It's ridiculous, really. Not a single thing about the situation is sexy in the slightest, but Marc's parents are going on about the antics Marc would get himself into when he was a teenager and suddenly Marco has this deep feeling of 'wow, this is the man I'm in love with and I'm learning about this part of him that existed before I knew him and I really want to keep him in my life and I really need him inside of me.'

That's the thought that has Marco awkwardly excusing himself to the bathroom, yet again.

He closes the door quickly, doubly making sure the door is locked behind him before he's fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

He doesn't even need to slide his fingers inside this time, that's how bothered he is. He coats his fingers good and well with saliva before rubbing against his clit in fast circular motions, mindful of the noises he makes.

If God hasn't judged him before, He's for sure judging him now. Your boyfriend's parents are down the hall and you can't keep yourself together for just one night?

He cums ridiculously fast to the point that it almost startles him, leaking over the palm of his hand and into the lining of his briefs. He can only laugh at himself when he struggles to quickly wipe the cum from the fabric of his clothes.

When he finally flushes the toilet paper and washes his hands as thoroughly as he can, he can only hope the timing of it all hadn't been too suspicious.

He should've anticipated this. Four months of living under the same roof, he was bound to eventually get caught.

The thing is, neither of them are really that fond of the kitchen. As much as it strains their wallets, eating out is usually the go-to. Especially when they're both exhausted from long days of work.

But for whatever reason, today Marc had wanted to pretend he was some gourmet chef cooking up the finest steak meal he could muster. And really, who was Marco to say no? It's not like he was any good in the kitchen.

He'd been watching Marc throw down from the bar of their kitchen counter, and there had just been something about the image of it all – the concentration set between Marc's brows, the flex of his arms under his black tee, the way his fingers moved with a sense of skill that Marco just never could gather when it came to cooking – it was all too much. Something primal pooled in Marc's stomach, a flame flickering beneath his skin. A sense of deep possession overcame him. My man, my man, he's really all mine.

But Marc was setting the plates after so much work that he'd put in. And Marco wasn't going to make this nasty. At least not in front of the man.

“I'll be right back,” Marc said.

Before Marc could ask where he's going, Marco was already down the hall, locking the bathroom door behind himself.

He really couldn't get his pants down fast enough. His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, struggling to pull it free of the loop. When he finally managed to get his pants down to his ankles, he awkwardly stumbled out of them, nearly tripping as he kneeled down to reach beneath the cabinet sink in search of something secret he'd hidden there about a week ago.

He found it right where he'd stashed it, behind a basket of spare toilet paper and tucked between miscellaneous cleaners. It was packed in a small box, small enough to blend in with the bathroom supplies and go unnoticed by his boyfriend in the event that he'd ever go exploring for something beneath their guest bathroom sink.

The hidden item in question? A vibrator.

Yes, that's how ridiculous this has gotten. Like some sort of nicotine fiend who hides their pack of smokes behind a windowsill so as not to get caught by their parents, Marco is hiding his vibrator.

It's pretty unassuming, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand with a satisfactory, pink bulbous head. He rinsed it off quickly before putting it to his mouth to generously coat the thing with saliva.

When it was soaked well enough, he wasted no time bringing it to his pussy, spreading his legs and sliding the head of the vibrator between his slit. His cunt was already clenching, wetting itself from the contact of the vibrator, and Marco could only imagine it as Marc's cock that got him this way. He closed his eyes, breath growing deep and rapid as he worked to get himself off quickly, pushing the vibrator through his folds and teasing against his clit.

Heat coiled in his stomach. His thighs shook as he balanced himself, leaning back against the sink. When he finally pushed the vibrator inside, he pictured Marc sliding into him. He pictured Marc fucking him on the kitchen counter, not caring to knock over the delicious meal he'd just slaved away making. He pictured Marc kissing him hungrily, one fist tight in his hair and the other gripping Marco's thigh, holding him open and taking whatever he needed from Marco regardless of how prepared Marco was for the size of his cock.

Marco gasped, trying his best to stay quiet as he rolled his hips, plunging the vibrator into himself at a fast, even pace.

He felt himself getting so close already. So close to reaching the edge that he began to feel dizzy. He sunk down further, widening his legs even more. The angle allowed the toy to push into him further, not as deep as he knew Marc could get but deep enough to have Marco's stomach tightening in pleasure nonetheless.

“Marc,” he cried, head leaning back and knocking against the sink's cabinet door. He was far too lost to even care.

He pressed the vibrator all the way in, to the hilt. With his thumb, he found the switch to turn it on, setting it to a medium speed and holding it there, pressing it up at an angle that set his nerves on fire. With his free hand, he drew lazy circles against his clit, making his jaw drop in a silent moan.

This was it, he was really nearing his end now. He imagined Marc ruining him on the counter. He imagined Marc's thick fingers working over his clit, making Marco's cunt drool over the linoleum and pool onto the wood flooring beneath them.

“Like that?” Marc would ask, voice tight and strained with pleasure.

“Yes, yes... fuck. Right there, perfect. Right there!”

Marco's walls tightened, his head swam with pleasure. His thumb slides the vibrator up to high, and he's right there, right on the edge. So close. So, so close. And–

Presently, a loud thud bangs against the bathroom wall.

Marco's eyes shoot open to find the bathroom door wide open and Marc standing before him, eyes blown wide in shock. Marco yelps in embarrassment, almost crying as he quickly pulls his legs shut. The vibrator slips from his cunt, falling heavy to the bathroom floor and tumbling across the dark wood towards Marc's feet.

“Marc!” The fear has Marco speaking before his brain can catch up to what's happening.

He'd been caught. How could he have forgotten to lock the bathroom door? That was so damn stupid.

“Shit, sorry,” Marc stutters. He steps back awkwardly. “I thought– I heard you making noises. Sorry, I thought you were hurt in here or…”

Marco stands up fully on shaking legs, trying to step back into his pants. Slick is dribbling down his inner thighs but he feels far too humiliated to do anything about how uncomfortable it feels. The vibrator is still buzzing at Marc's feet. Marc's face looks pale.

So this is how it ends, huh? Marc finding out that his boyfriend has become nothing but a sex addict who can't keep himself in check long enough to even have a simple dinner? God had warned about lust, the potential ruin it could have on people's lives. Marco had tried to put that all behind himself, but maybe he was finally facing his damnation.

“I'm sorry,” Marco cries.

He makes for the door, ready to run off and hide himself in their bedroom because, really, he doesn't think he can face this right now. But before he can get past Marc's position outside the bathroom door, Marc's hand is grabbing him and holding him in place.

“Woah, hold up,” Marc says.

And thankfully, he doesn't sound angry. Despite the wave of prickly heat beneath Marco's skin, he can at least feel okay that Marc doesn't seem upset. But is the look of confusion he holds on his face completely better?

“What's this all about?” Marc asks. He picks the vibe off the floor. Marco cringes internally as the thing keeps buzzing resiliently, covered in the sheen of his slick.

“I'm–” Truthfully, Marco isn't even sure what to say.

“Your cooking made me horny,” didn't exactly sound like a reasonable answer.

“I didn't know you were into toys. Were you hiding this from me? I wouldn't judge, you know?”

Oh, that's what he thinks this is about? Hiding toys?

To be fair, Marc has never used toys with him in the bedroom before. Most of their sex has been pretty vanilla, and really it's never bothered Marco. Quite the opposite, even. Marc has always made him feel good. And that's the issue. Maybe it's all too good. Too good to the point that all his body craves is sex. It was almost terrifying when Marco finally ordered that vibrator online after having it sit in his cart for weeks debating on buying it. And the fact that he'd had the package delivered to his personal P.O. Box instead of letting it show up at their apartment's doorstep? It's gotta be considered some level of deranged at this point.

Marco stammers, “No, it's not the toy… it's me.”

He takes the vibrator from Marc's hand, wondering if maybe he should just throw the thing away.

“What do you mean?” Marc asks. “Are you okay?”

Marco is silent as he turns back to the bathroom sink. The vibrator's box is sitting on the counter, open and mocking. Marco fumbles to put the toy back inside.

“Marco, what's going on?”

Marc places a hand over Marco's. It stays there, and Marco isn't sure if he should run or stay still until Marc lets him go.

“Talk to me,” Marc says, voice soothing. “If somethings wrong, let me help you. I'm just kind of lost here.”

“I'm really sorry,” Marco apologizes yet again, to Marc, to himself. The whole situation makes Marco feel dizzy and off kilter.

Marc looks at him, eyes softening. He slides the box from Marco's grip, placing it gently on the bathroom counter. He takes a step closer to Marco, still holding his hand.

“What are you saying sorry for?” Marc asks. “Seriously, what's going on?”

Marco takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. If this is going to be his demise, he may as well get it over with now. "I... I can't stop thinking about you. About us. All the time.” Marco sinks down to the floor, legs nearly giving out from the anxiety of it all.

“What do you mean?” Marc lowers after him.

“I don't know, it's like I'm constantly on fire, and I feel so guilty about it. I guess I grew up being told that these feelings were wrong, and now... living with you... constantly feeling turned on, it's overwhelming."

Marc's expression softens even more as he listens. “You're saying you feel guilty about sex?” He asks.

Marco rakes a nervous hand through his sweaty curls, feeling frustrated at how ridiculous it sounds to hear himself say all of this out loud.

“Yes… and no. Not exactly about sex. I guess, the constant need for it? Like, it just feels wrong,” he tries to explain, but even he feels like it makes very little sense.

Marc pulls Marco into a gentle hug, holding him close. "Marco, it's okay to want to have sex. We're together, I think it's natural to have feelings like that. I mean, trust me,” Marc laughs. “I think about having sex with you too. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. And I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. Ever."

Marco leans against Marc's shoulder, feeling the weight of his guilt start to lift, slightly.

"Sorry,” Marco mutters. “I guess I'm just scared you'll think I'm some kind of sex addict or... or that you'll get tired of me."

Marc pulls back slightly, just enough to look into Marco's eyes. "I love you, Marco. All of you. I promise if there's anything that's upsetting you, I want to work through it together. And I hope you'd want the same for me too, right? We shouldn't hide things like this from each other.”

Marco stays silent for a moment, taking in what Marc has to say. It should be that simple. Maybe he's overthinking it. If Marc had come to him with a “Hey, Marco, I constantly think about you when I jack off,” Marco knows wouldn't have judged Marc for it, so why is it so hard to give himself the same level of grace?

He lets out a shuddered breath, trying to get the tightness in his chest to go away completely. With Marc's hand in his, it helps.

“Thank you, Marc. I love you too.”

“Of course.” Marco slightly nudges Marco's rib with his elbow, his face easing into a smile. “I mean, how could you resist someone as cool and sexy as me?”

Marco laughs, pulling his hand from Marc'd to playfully swat at him. “Shut up,” he says, not an ounce of malice in his voice.

Marc pulls him closer again, kissing his cheek before standing, holding out a hand to help Marco up off the bathroom floor. “I guess the dinner I made is going to have to go cold for a while,” he says.

He grabs the vibrator box from the counter, turning the thing in his hand as looks over the label.

“What do you mean?” Marco asks.

Marc looks at him with a mischievous grin. “Well, aren't you interested in finishing up what you started here?”

Oh!

It takes Marc's fingers only a few strokes to get Marco ready again. And Marco, who's still grossly wet from previous endeavors, has very little time to feel embarrassed about it before Marc's tongue is already where he needs it most.

“Oh my god,” Marco gasps, head lolling back against the pillow beneath him.

His hand finds the crown of Marc's head, gripping tight in his hair to ground himself as he angles his hips upwards. His breath goes shaky as Marc's tongue teases at his entrance, dipping in only slightly, enough to have Marco's hole drooling in anticipation.

“Please,” Marco begs.

Marc squeezes his clit gently, catching it again and again as Marco's body trembles with oversensitivity. When Marc's tongue slides up to warm his clit, Marco's body is reacting all on its own, fist clenching in Marc's hair and knee jerking up against his side. Marc groans into his cunt, using one hand to push Marco's leg aside and hold him open at full display.

“Sorry,” Marco breathes.

Marc hums in return, the heat of his breath melting Marco to his core. It's moments like this when Marco really feels insane, letting go of all his convictions and letting Marc take control of his body. It's nice to let his mind slip, muddled in a fog of pleasure. It makes him feel hot all over and wonderfully weightless.

“Feels good,” Marco says, shutting his eyes.

Marc's lips wrap around his clit, sucking softly and kissing against it, longingly and desperately like it's his long-lost lover. It brings tears to Marco's eyes. He feels them rolling down his cheeks, but he's too lost in how good it all feels to wipe them away.

Marco loses the ability to control his moans completely when Marc's fingers push inside. He works them expertly, sliding them with a satisfying ease from Marco's wetness. The vibrator had felt great, but this feeling is unmatched. The way Marc eats him is akin to devout worship. Marvo can feel him in a way that a toy couldn't replicate, fingers crooked in at just the right angle, exactly where Marco needs them to be.

Marco bites his lip, trying to control himself not to come too quickly, but he doesn't really have to because Marc knows him all too well. As Marco nearly reaches his climax, Marc's tongue slightly pulls away, lapping against Marco's clit at a slower pace. Unhurriedly, like he has all the time in the world.

Marco finally swallows the spit that had built up, opening his eyes to protest, meeting Marc's heated gaze from between his thighs.

“Don't tease me,” Marco begs.

Marc fully pulls away with a grin. “Oh, don't like that?”

“Not when I'm so close.”

Marc licks his lips before moving up to sit on his knees. From this angle, Marco can see just how hard Marc is. The full mast of his cock standing at attention making Marco's cunt throbs at the image.

“Marc, I really need you inside,” Marco says.

Possession overcomes him again, that same feeling he had watching Marc cook for him in the kitchen earlier. He pulls Marc into a kiss, uncoordinated and full of teeth. Marc moans into his mouth, gripping Marco's waist to pull him down and flip them over.

Marco renegotiates himself, pushing his legs up to straddle Marc's waist as their mouths move together hungrily. Marco doesn't even care that he can hardly breathe.

Marc's cock slides against Marco's ass, streaking his skin in wet, sticky precum. He wiggles his hips, pushing his ass against Marc's stiffness, finding satisfaction in the way Marc seems to be losing it too, his breath becoming more labored, mouth falling open and saliva spilling down his chin.

“Now you're the one teasing me,” Marc murmurs.

Marco smiles against Marc's lips, but doesn't break their sloppy kiss.

Marc's hands slide down his sides. He grips Marco's ass, kneading harshly into the meat of it, holding Marco in place as he adjusts his hips. His cock slides between Marco's cheeks as he cants his hips upwards, in long fluid strokes. Then he's lifting Marco up higher before settling him down over his cock slowly, pushing himself up to breach Marco's hole.

The fit of it has Marco groaning, drooling over Marc's lips.

“Fuck, you're not wearing a condom,” Marco notes, but doesn't make a move to stop anything from going forward.

Marc forces Marco down to the base, where they finally become fully connected. They both pant in unison, unmoving. Giving themselves a moment to adjust to their new position.

Marco sits up, balancing himself by placing his hands on Marc's chest. Marc's cheeks are flushed red and he has this misty, half-lidded gaze that's got Marco feeling butterflies deep in his stomach. Along with Marc's dick.

“You're so beautiful,” Marco says.

Marc's lips ease into a grin and he laughs, reaching up to cup Marco's face. “You're one to talk, sweet boy,” he says, low and breathless.

Marco pulls Marc's hand away from his cheek to kiss the inside of his palm.

“I love you,” Marco says.

“C'mere.”

Marc pulls him down to bring their lips together again, and this time it's less rushed. A soft peck leading into a nice, languid kiss. Marc's hand slides up to the nape of Marco's neck, guiding Marco deeper into the kiss. It makes Marco's thoughts slow. Marc hums softly when Marco nibbles at his lower lip.

Slowly, Marco begins rocking himself in Marc's lap, rolling his hips and lightly lifting himself on Marc's cock. He feels so full this way, he almost wishes Marc could stay inside of him like this forever.

Marc grips Marco's waist with both hands to help him balance, allowing Marco to take what he wants.

Marco sits up, leaning his head back to give himself more leverage to fully move his hips. He rises higher, beginning to ease into a faster pace. And Marc watches him ride, eyes soft with affection.

Heat coils in Marco's lower abdomen, and he feels his cunt tighten around Marc's cock inside of him. The heat spreads over him, then through his limbs. It's like his body is melting all at once.

“Ah– ahh,” Marco moans, bringing his fingers to his clit as he rocks himself in Marc's lap.

“That's it, baby,” Marc says. His hand slides up to thumb against Marco's pierced nipple, rolling the bud and metal beneath his fingertip. “Keep going like that. You feel so good.”

The speed increases, the wet between them becomes disgustingly loud. The room becomes hot with the labor of their panting bodies, moving in tandem, skin slapping against skin.

“God, I'm so close,” Marco gasps, closing his eyes and massaging his clit faster.

“Cum for me. You're so pretty, baby. Make yourself cum on my cock,” Marc says, voice sending a pleasant wave of heat though Marco's tired muscles.

The heat makes Marco's cunt tighten then relax as a wave of intense, white pleasure washes through him. He chokes through a sob on his release, thighs trembling and nearly giving out.

“Marc, Fuck,” he cries, body going rigid as he finally cums.

Marc fucks into him, fast, chasing his own orgasm soon after. The heat of Marc's cum fills him and it's the first time in a long while that he and Marc have fucked without a condom. The feeling of being coated on the inside with Marc's fluids makes Marco feel wonderfully euphoric. He sighs happily, riding out the rest of Marc's orgasm before he falls forward against Marc's chest. He buries his face against Marco's neck, kissing there and rolling his hips lazily to milk Marc's cock for all he can.

After a while, Marc's moans turn into overstimulated grunts.

“Fuck, that's enough, baby” Marc breathes, rolling them over and letting his cock slide from Marco's hole.

He feels Marc's cum spilling between his legs, soaking the sheets beneath them. It's not exactly comfortable, but Marc's lips are on his again and that's enough of a distraction.

Their kissing goes on and on until Marco is genuinely feeling lightheaded, like he just might pass out. He pulls away with an airy laugh, cupping Marc's cheek to look at him.

Marc looks just as fucked out as Marco feels, but he too has a smile on his face.

“What's so funny?” Marc asks.

“Nothing,” Marco says. “I just remembered our food is going cold.”

[scrollonso]

Before — 4 out of ? (last part)

Marc leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the telemetry in front of him. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow on the screens that displayed endless rows of data: throttle percentages, brake pressures, lap times.

Normally, this was where Marc found solace — in the precision, in the control. The data was supposed to make sense, to provide answers. But today, it was just noise. Just meaningless numbers and lines that blurred together, his mind refusing to process any of it.

He had managed to push through practice, forcing himself to focus on the track, on the bike beneath him, even though his heart wasn’t in it. The adrenaline of the session had carried him through, numbing the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. But now, sitting alone in the garage, the silence was deafening. The tension from two weeks ago still weighed on him, a heavy, invisible force that pressed down on his shoulders and made it hard to breathe.

Marc glanced at the door of the garage, half-expecting Marco to walk in at any moment. But he knew better. Marco was next door, in the VR46 garage with Valentino. Marc hadn’t see him yet, and a part of him was grateful for that. He didn’t want to see him, not after everything that had happened. It was easier this way — or so he kept telling himself. Easier to avoid the confrontation, to pretend that nothing had changed. But deep down, Marc knew it was a lie. Avoidance didn’t erase the memories. It didn’t make the guilt of goinh down on Marco in the same bed he slept next to Gemma in go away.

He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him as he tried to focus on the telemetry again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Marco standing at his door, bruised and broken, asking for comfort that Marc had ultimately pushed away. That Marc had sworn he'd give him. Sworn he'd be different than Valentino. It was foolish, thinking he was better than the older Italian man. Valentino's love was the only kind he'd ever known. He didn't know how to give Marco the softness he so deeply craved.

From the thin wall separating their garages, Marc could hear faint voices seeping through the cracks. Valentino’s unmistakable tone drifted in first, that easy, confident cadence laced with amusement as he laughed at something Bez had said. The sound was light, casual, but it gnawed at Marc in a way he couldn't ignore. His gut twisted, an all-too-familiar mix of jealousy and regret creeping up on him like an unwanted shadow.

Marc gritted his teeth, trying to push it down, trying to focus on the telemetry in front of him, but the noise from the other side of the wall was relentless. It filled the silence of his own garage, drowning out any hope of distraction. He clenched his jaw and turned his attention back to the screen, desperately clinging to the numbers, the data, anything to anchor him in the present and away from the memories that threatened to surface.

But then, cutting through Valentino's laughter, he heard it — Marco’s voice. Low, tense, with an edge that made Marc's heart skip a beat. It wasn't like the playful tone he usually associated with Marco in the paddock, where he bantered with the other academy riders and the teams mechanics. No, this was different. More serious. More strained. The sound of it sent an involuntary shiver down Marc’s spine, his body betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

He leaned forward in his chair, instinctively straining to hear more, to catch even a fragment of what Marco was saying. It was a ridiculous impulse, he knew that. Eavesdropping wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t make the past two weeks any less painful, but he couldn’t help himself. Marco was so close — just on the other side of that thin wall — and yet he felt a million miles away. That wall might as well have been a fortress for all the good it did Marc.

The familiar ache settled in his chest, that gnawing emptiness that had taken root ever since Marco had left his room that night in Silverstone. And now, hearing Marco's voice, his Marco's voice, knowing he was right there with Valentino, only made it worse.

Marc’s fingers dug into the edge of the seat below him, the metal biting into his skin as a surge of jealousy flared up inside him. He could hear Valentino’s voice so clearly now, the way he laughed and encouraged Marco, and it twisted something deep in Marc’s gut. He hated it. Hated that Valentino was the one there with Marco, the one offering him comfort and support.

It should have been him. Marc clenched his jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it was impossible. He was the one who understood Marco’s pain, who knew what it was like to carry the weight of the crashes, the injuries, and the pressure to keep going despite it all. Ok, sure Valentino understood all of that, too, but he was the one who had held Marco when he was vulnerable, who had seen the cracks beneath his confident exterior. And now, Valentino was swooping in, offering the comfort that Marc had denied Marco two weeks ago.

The sound of Valentino’s voice grated on his nerves, each word a reminder of how much he had been hurt by the man who now sat just on the other side of the wall. Valentino had been everything to him once — mentor, lover, rival — and the way things had ended between them had left scars that still hadn’t healed. Marc had been crushed by Valentino’s coldness, by the way he had been discarded when things got tough. And now, to see Valentino playing the supportive figure for Marco… it was too much.

Marc’s grip tightened on the desk, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t stand the thought of Valentino anywhere near Marco, not after everything that had happened between them. He couldn't stand the thought of Vale manipulating a handful of riders just because he knew he could. They didn't deserve that. Marco didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be hurt the way Marc had been.

But at the same time, Marc knew that he had pushed Marco away. He had been the one to tell him to go to Pecco, to find comfort elsewhere. And now, here he was, wishing he could take it all back. Wishing he could be the one by Marco’s side, reassuring him, holding him the way he had that night. But he had made his choice. He had drawn the line, and now he had to live with the consequences.

Through the thin wall, Valentino’s voice cut through again, this time softer, more intimate. “You’re doing great, Bez. Just keep pushing. You’ll get it.”

Marc’s stomach churned at the words. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to picture Valentino kneeling before the younger man, hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. It brought back too many memories, too much pain. He wanted to be the one telling Marco he was doing great, that he would get through this. But he wasn’t. And now, Valentino was filling that role, the same way he had once done for Marc before everything fell apart.

Marc exhaled sharply, trying to shove the emotions down, trying to focus on anything but the voices coming through the wall. But it was no use. All he could think about was Marco, and the fact that Valentino was the one offering him comfort, the way he had once offered it to Marc before leaving him behind.

In the next room, Marco forced a smile as he nodded along to Valentino’s words. He could feel Marc’s presence, even though they were separated by a wall. He saw the Gresini colours through the cracks, heard the quiet Catalan from the other side, heard that name. He wished it was Alex sharing a wall with him, leaning against the same cutout of drywall as him, it would hurt less if that was the case. Every laugh from Valentino stung, every word of encouragement felt like salt in a wound he couldn’t quite heal. But he kept his head down, pretending that everything was fine. Pretending that Marc’s rejection hadn’t left him feeling more alone than ever.

Valentino clapped a hand on Marco’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “Don’t let it get to you, Bez. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think.”

Marco offered a weak smile in return. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.”

The words felt hollow in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Especially with Marc just on the other side of the wall.

In Marc’s garage, he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, his elbows digging into the tacky leather of his suit. The weight of his own guilt pressed down on him like a vice, making it hard to breathe. Gemma had stopped by earlier, offering him soft words of encouragement, but her presence hadn’t lifted the oppressive cloud hanging over him. If anything, it had only made things worse. She had looked at him with so much concern, so much love, and all Marc could think about was how undeserving he was of any of it.

He didn’t deserve her kindness, her loyalty ��� not when he was still so tangled up in thoughts of Marco. Not when every time he looked at her, all he could see was the betrayal in her eyes if she ever found out what he had done. He had cheated on her with another rider, and no amount of excuses could erase that. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how far he had fallen.

Marc clenched his fists, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. He could hear the murmur of voices through the thin wall separating his garage from VR46, muffled but unmistakable. Marco’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation, softer this time, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“I’m trying, Vale. I really am.”

The quiet desperation in Marco’s voice pierced through Marc’s defenses, driving a sharp ache into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the words lingered, wrapping around him like chains. He knew what it was like to try so hard, to push through the pain and the doubt, only to feel like it was never enough. He knew how much Marco was struggling, both physically and emotionally, and it tore at him that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He wanted to reach out, to tell Marco that he understood, that he knew exactly what it was like to fight against your own body and mind. He wanted to tell him that he was trying too, that every day was a battle just to keep going. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The line had already been drawn, and he couldn’t cross it now, no matter how much he wanted to.

So instead, he sat there, listening to Marco’s voice through the wall, every word cutting into him like a knife. He could hear Valentino’s low, reassuring tone, could imagine the way the older man was probably looking at Marco right now, offering him the kind of comfort that Marc had refused to give. It twisted something deep inside him, a bitter mix of jealousy and regret that he couldn’t shake.

Why had it come to this? Why was Valentino the one Marco turned to now? After everything that had happened between them, Marc didn’t want Valentino anywhere near Marco. He didn’t trust him, didn’t believe for a second that Valentino wouldn’t end up hurting Marco the same way he had hurt him all those years ago. Marc had been in Marco’s shoes once, desperate for validation, for affection, and Valentino had taken that and twisted it into something painful, something damaging. The scars from that time still lingered, buried deep beneath the surface, but they were there. And Marc didn’t want Marco to go through the same thing.

But what choice did he have? He had pushed Marco away, told him to find comfort elsewhere. And now, that comfort was coming from the one person Marc didn’t want involved. The one person who had left him broken and alone.

Marc’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, the pressure grounding him, keeping him from spiraling too far into his own thoughts. He couldn’t let himself go there, couldn’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now, not when everything was so precariously balanced. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it, no matter how much it hurt.

Through the wall, he could hear Marco’s voice again, quieter now, like he was struggling to keep it together. Marc’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, the urge to get up, to go to him, almost overwhelming. But he stayed where he was, forcing himself to remain still, to do nothing. Because that’s all he could do now — nothing.

Marco leaned back in the chair in the corner of the garage, his legs bouncing with nervous energy. He stared at his phone, willing Alessandro to respond. His mind was racing, and the weight of everything he was carrying felt too heavy.

"Ale," he typed out, his fingers moving faster than he could think.

"ALESSANDRO."

"Pls come back."

"Sto impazzendo."

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Marco bit down on his lip, glancing up at the team bustling around him, seemingly oblivious to the storm inside him. He needed Alessandro here. Alessandro was the only one who knew. The only one he could talk to about… Marc.

Finally, his phone buzzed with a reply.

"omw 🤙"

Marco let out a shaky breath, his body sagging in relief. Alessandro would understand. He always did. He was the only one that could.

A few minutes later, Alessandro appeared in the doorway, his face immediately softening when he saw the look on Marco’s face. He walked over quickly, concern etched in his features.

"Hey, what’s going on?" Alessandro asked, his voice low as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Marco, the garage emptier now, safer without Vale lingering since he had found his way to the Ducati garage by now.

Marco looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. "It’s… him," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Alessandro sighed softly, leaning in closer to hear him better. "What about him?"

Marco took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I heard him. Through the wall. I know he’s there, Ale. And I can’t stop thinking about him."

Alessandro frowned, glancing at the wall Marco had mentioned. "Did he say anything?"

"No… not really. But… he’s there. And it’s just…" Marco trailed off, his voice catching in his throat. "It’s stupid. You know?"

Alessandro nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

Marco swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I keep trying to move on. To focus on racing, on the team, on anything else. But every time I hear his voice, it’s like everything comes rushing back. Everything that happened between us. Especially last time."

Alessandro leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he listened. He had been there when things had fallen apart between Marco and Marc. He had seen the aftermath, the pain that Marco had tried so hard to hide from everyone else. And he had been the one Marco had confided in when it all became too much.

"What do you want to do about it?" Alessandro asked gently, his voice calm and steady.

Marco shook his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. "I don’t know. I want to talk to him, but I can’t. Not after everything. It’s just… too much. And then there’s Vale, and… I don’t know what to do, Ale. I feel like I’m losing my mind."

Alessandro reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Marco’s shoulder. "You’re not losing your mind, Marco. You’re just dealing with a lot right now. But you’ve got me, hm? I’m here. Whatever you need."

Marco looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and despair. "Thanks, Ale. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Alessandro gave him a small smile, squeezing his shoulder. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Take it one step at a time. And if you need to talk to him… maybe that’s something you’ll do when you’re ready. But don’t push yourself too hard."

Marco nodded, though the uncertainty still lingered in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to face Marc again. But for now, having Alessandro by his side was enough.

But don’t push yourself too hard.

Don’t push yourself too hard.

Marco soaked in Alessandro's words, or at least he tried to. He didn't care once he stood up from his chair and left the garage, shamelessly wandering to catch even the slightest glimpse of Marc.

Marc didn't notice Marco at first. He was too absorbed in the numbers on the screen, trying desperately to find solace in the familiarity of his data. But something tugged at the corner of his consciousness, a familiar presence that he couldn't ignore. He looked up, and there, standing in the doorway of his garage, was Marco.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the buzzing of the lights and the hum of the paddock fading into the background. Marco looked at him, his eyes shadowed with an emotion Marc couldn’t quite place — anger, hurt, maybe even regret. Marc’s breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in weeks, he felt completely exposed, as though Marco could see right through him.

Just as he processed the other mans presence he turned around, caught off guard by the sight of Ale filming the sunset.

All he could do was smile and look away. Fuck. Knowing him, this was going to be posted and everyone would see him acting a fool. Looking at Marc. Looking for Marc.

The day had dragged on with a suffocating heaviness that clung to the atmosphere of the paddock. The tension in the air was palpable, and Marco had tried to lose himself in the routine of race preparation, but his mind was elsewhere. Despite Alessandro's comforting words, Marco couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was spiraling out of his control.

It was late afternoon when Marco finally stepped out of the back of the garage. The sun had almost set, casting long shadows across the tarmac and bathing everything in a golden hue. The cool breeze offered little comfort as he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.

As he rounded the corner, he froze. Marc was standing just a few feet away, having stepped out of his own garage at the exact same moment. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Marc looked as tormented as Marco felt. His usually sharp, confident gaze was clouded with guilt and something else — something that made Marco’s heart clench painfully in his chest. They stood there, neither of them saying a word, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Marco couldn’t take it anymore. "Marc," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the paddock. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, didn’t know how to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding this, couldn’t keep letting the silence fester.

Marc took a hesitant step forward, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he should. "Marco," he replied, his voice rough and strained. "I—" He stopped, his expression twisting with frustration and regret. "I’m sorry," he finally said, the words spilling out in a rush. "For everything. For pushing you away, for… for everything I did."

Marco swallowed hard, the apology hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had wanted to hear those words, but now that he had, they felt hollow, empty. "Why now, Marc?" he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. "Why are you sorry now, after everything? Before the race?"

Marc’s face fell, and he looked away, unable to meet Marco’s gaze. "Because I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was scared of how much I felt, scared of losing control. We slept together, Marco. I have a girlfrienf and I continue to come crawling back to you." He whispred, as though he was full of shame. He should be, Marco thought. Though he knew he didn't mean it. "I hurt you because of it. I didn’t want to admit how much you meant to me, how much you still do."

Marco’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. He had dreamed of hearing Marc say those words, but now that they were out in the open, they didn’t bring the relief he had expected. Instead, they only deepened the ache inside him.

The tension between them was unbearable, the air thick with everything they weren’t saying. Marc's apology hung in the space between them, raw and full of regret. Marco’s heart pounded in his chest, torn between the pain he felt and the pull he could never fully escape.

“Marc…” Marco whispered again, his voice wavering as he tried to hold onto his resolve. But something in Marc’s eyes, the depth of his guilt, the vulnerability he so rarely showed, shattered the last of Marco’s defenses.

Before either of them could think, before the weight of their words could push them further apart, Marco stepped forward. His hands found their way to Marc’s face, cupping his jaw with a tenderness that belied the turmoil inside him, a tenderness that Marc never dared to think about giving Marco. He saw Marc’s breath hitch, his eyes wide with surprise and something deeper, something they both had been avoiding for too long.

And then, Marco kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle; it was fierce, desperate, like trying to hold on to something slipping away. Marc responded instantly, his hands gripping Marco’s waist as he pulled him closer, closing the distance that had kept them apart for so long. The kiss was messy, full of pent-up emotions, a mixture of anger, sadness, and the undeniable love that neither of them could deny any longer.

Marco could feel Marc trembling against him, could feel the way Marc was pouring everything into this one moment, as if trying to make up for all the hurt with a single kiss. He kissed back with the same intensity, letting himself get lost in the sensation, in the taste of Marc that he had missed so much.

For a fleeting moment, it was just them, lost in a world where nothing else existed. The noise of the paddock faded into the background, drowned out by the rush of blood in their ears and the rapid beating of their hearts. The world outside the garage — the spectators, the cameras, the relentless demands of the race — ceased to matter. In that kiss, the pain, the misunderstandings, and the mistakes that had plagued them melted away, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection they had began to share.

They clung to each other as if trying to capture something they had both feared was gone forever. Marc’s grip tightened on Marco’s waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of Marco’s shirt as if afraid to let go. He poured everything he had into that kiss, desperate to convey the feelings he could never quite articulate, the feelings he'd never dare to articulate. Not with Gemma still determined to stay by his side. The love that had always been there despite everything. Despite Marco's hurt. Despite Marc's hesitance to love another man in fear that he would hurt him how Vale had all those years ago. Marco responded with equal intensity, his hands trembling as they cradled Marc’s face, holding him close as if he could anchor himself in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

But as the kiss deepened, as Marc’s lips moved against his with a need that bordered on frantic, Marco felt something else rising within him — something cold and sharp that pierced through the warmth of their embrace. The tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and with them came the cruel reminder of the reality they couldn’t escape. The weight of everything unsaid, of every moment of doubt, of every wound they had inflicted on each other, came crashing down on him with a force that stole his breath.

He pulled back suddenly, gasping for air as if he had been drowning and only now resurfaced. His forehead rested against Marc’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, and Marco struggled to steady himself, to hold on to the fragile moment before it shattered completely. “Marc…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words trembling on the edge of a sob. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, each one a testament to the depth of his pain. “This… this doesn’t fix anything.”

Marc’s eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto Marco’s as if searching for something — anything — that would tell him they still had a chance. His hands, which had been holding Marco so tightly, softened their grip but didn’t let go. He was afraid, Marco realized, afraid that if he did, this fragile connection between them would break forever. “I know,” Marc said, his voice hoarse and heavy with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “But I needed you to know… I still need you, Marco. Please.”

The plea in Marc’s voice cut through Marco’s heart like a knife, and he had to close his eyes against the flood of emotions threatening to pull him under. The tears came faster now, spilling down his cheeks unchecked. He knew Marc meant every word, knew that Marc’s need for him was as real and as powerful as his own feelings. But he also knew that words and desperate kisses couldn’t undo the damage that had been done. They couldn’t erase the betrayal, the lies, the hurt that had driven them apart in the first place.

Yet, in that moment, with the echo of Marc’s lips still lingering on his, Marco allowed himself to believe, if only for a fleeting heartbeat, that maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. It was a dangerous, fragile hope, one that wavered like a candle flame in the wind, threatening to be snuffed out by the harsh realities of their past. But still, it flickered, offering a glimmer of warmth in the cold uncertainty that surrounded them. Despite the hurt, the betrayal, and the countless times they had torn each other apart, Marco wanted to believe that the love they shared — something that had always been so raw, so intense — might still be strong enough to mend the fractures that time and pain had wrought between them.

The memory of their kiss lingered like a bittersweet melody, playing over and over in Marco’s mind, making it hard to think of anything else. It was the taste of what they could be, of the connection that had always drawn them together no matter how far they strayed. But as much as he wanted to cling to that hope, as much as he yearned to believe that they could find their way back to each other, the fear was still there, dark and insistent. It whispered doubts into his mind, reminding him of every time they had tried and failed, of every promise that had been broken. The fear that this fragile sliver of possibility might only lead to more heartache loomed large, casting a long shadow over the hope that flickered in his heart.

Marc seemed to sense the hesitation, the conflict that warred within Marco, and his hands tightened their hold just slightly, as if by sheer force of will he could keep Marco from slipping away. The desperation in his eyes had softened into something more tender, more pleading, as if he understood the weight of the decision Marco was wrestling with. “Let me take you back,” Marc whispered, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet intensity that spoke of how much this meant to him. “I’ll get us a hotel. Please, Marco.”

The words hung in the air between them, filled with a mix of hope, longing, and a deep-seated need for something that had always felt just out of reach. Whether or not Marc’s offer was just about finding a place to be alone together, Marco didn't care.

But as Marco stood there, looking into Marc’s eyes, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing uncertainty that gripped him. Could they really start over? Could they just pick it up where they left off and pretend like the hurt had never happened? The fear of repeating their mistakes, of falling into the same destructive patterns, weighed heavily on Marco’s chest. Yet, despite it all, there was something in Marc’s voice, in the way he looked at Marco with such unwavering determination, that made it hard to say no.

Marco searched Marc’s eyes, feeling the weight of the choice before him. The pull between them was undeniable, stronger than the pain, stronger than the doubts that plagued his mind. And despite everything, despite the voice in his head warning him of the risks, Marco found himself nodding, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Marc to see.

Marc’s expression softened with relief, his breath escaping in a shuddering exhale as if he’d been holding it all this time. “Thank you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over Marco’s cheek. There was no need for more words; they both understood what this meant.

Marc reached out, taking Marco’s hand in his, their fingers intertwining naturally as if they belonged together. With one last glance around to ensure no one else was watching, Marc led him away from the garages, their pace quickening as they moved out of sight. They walked side by side, neither speaking, but the silence between them was comfortable, laden with the unspoken understanding that they were heading toward something they both needed—somewhere they could be alone, where the weight of the outside world couldn’t reach them.

The drive to the hotel was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Marco’s mind raced, his thoughts a jumble of emotions — anticipation, fear, hope. He kept his gaze focused on the road ahead, but every so often, he’d glance over at Marc, catching the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. It was clear that Marc was just as nervous, just as uncertain about what came next, but there was also a quiet resolve in his expression, a determination that gave Marco a sliver of comfort.

They arrived at the hotel, a discreet place on the outskirts of town, far from prying eyes. Marc parked the car, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The gravity of what they were about to do settled over them, heavy and palpable. Then, without a word, Marc got out of the car, walking around to open Marco’s door. He extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Marco took it, allowing Marc to help him out. Their fingers remained laced together as they made their way inside.

Marc handled the check-in quickly, keeping his voice low as he spoke to the receptionist. Marco stood a little behind him, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in the surroundings. Everything felt surreal, like they were in a bubble removed from reality, where the usual rules didn’t apply.

When Marc returned with the key, he offered Marco a small, reassuring smile before leading him toward the elevators. They stood close together as the doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the elevator the only sound between them. Marc’s hand found its way back to Marco’s, squeezing it gently as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

The room they entered was simple, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the privacy, the sense of sanctuary it offered. Marc closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the room. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, both searching for the right thing to say, but words seemed inadequate.

Finally, Marc took a step closer, his hand cupping Marco’s face as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. It wasn’t rushed or desperate like before, but slow, careful, as if Marc was savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of Marco’s lips against his. Marco’s eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed back, the tension in his body slowly easing as he let himself be pulled into the warmth of Marc’s embrace.

They moved together, Marco’s hands finding their way to Marc’s shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become uncertain. The kiss deepened, but this time there was no urgency, no need to prove anything — just a quiet, shared understanding that whatever came next, they would face it together.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little unsteady, Marc rested his forehead against Marco’s, their breaths mingling in the space between them. “Stay with me tonight,” Marc whispered, his voice low, laced with a vulnerability that Marco hadn’t heard from him before.

Marco nodded, unable to find his voice, but the answer was clear in the way he tightened his hold on Marc.

Marc’s eyes softened at Marco’s silent agreement, and for a moment, all the tension between them seemed to dissipate. He let out a shaky breath, pressing a gentle kiss to Marco’s temple before pulling back slightly to look at him, really look at him. The uncertainty in Marco’s eyes was still there, but there was also something else — something that gave Marc hope.

Slowly, Marc led Marco to the bed, their hands still entwined. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamps casting a warm, intimate light over the space. Marc sat down first, pulling Marco down beside him. They sat there, side by side, their shoulders touching, both of them acutely aware of how close they were, yet neither making a move to close the remaining distance.

Marc turned his head slightly, his eyes searching Marco's face, lingering on the curve of his lips. There was a quiet tension between them, an unspoken understanding that had been building for so long. Marc's breath hitched as he lifted a hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from Marco's face, his fingers lingering on Marco's cheek, the touch light, almost hesitant.

Marco leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidded as he let out a shaky breath. The air between them felt charged, electric, and Marc could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the intensity of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He knew what he wanted — what they both wanted — but still, he hesitated, as if waiting for Marco to make the first move.

Marco, feeling the weight of Marc's gaze, finally turned to face him fully, his lips parting slightly as he met Marc's eyes. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the world around them fading away until it was just the two of them, alone in the quiet of the room.

Then, almost as if drawn together by an invisible force, Marc leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against Marco's in a tentative, searching kiss. Marco responded immediately, a soft sound escaping his throat as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

The world seemed to slow down as their mouths moved together, lips and tongues exploring each other with a mix of tenderness and hunger. Marc's hand slid to the back of Marco's neck, pulling him closer, while Marco's hands found their way to Marc's chest, clutching at his shirt as if to ground himself in the moment.

The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as if they were both trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments they had held back. Marc's hand tangled in Marco's hair, tilting his head back to gain better access as he kissed him deeper, their breaths mingling, hearts racing.

Marco wants to bite him.

He doesn’t — he feigns smugness instead, a confidence he doesn’t have right now as their lips part, his body feels like it’s about to crumble under Marc's touch. He grabs the headboard behind Marc with both hands, one arm on each side of Marc's head — it’s either this, or his hands will start wandering, touching and grabbing and exploring because they have seen each other naked, but Marco wants everything. He wants to swallow Marc in the physical and metaphorical sense, he wants Marc to be his and also a part of him at the same time, he wants Marc in his mouth and down his throat and around his neck.

Marc lifts a hand and grazes the fingertips on Marco’s cheekbone to move some tendrils of hair that have escaped his fluro yellow claw clip, of course it's the vr46 colour, which he then tucks behind Marco’s ear. Marc looks at him like he knows that Marco would splay himself open for him - does he know? Marco wants to tell him, but he fears he’ll run - and Marco feels that gaze right in the middle of his sternum.

“I know I might fail,” Marc rests his hand on Marco's cheek now and Marco's grin freezes on his face, “But do I have permission to try?”

Fuck.

Marco doesn’t even know why Marc is asking— well, he does know, and it’s because Marc is being way too fucking nice, and will keep asking for consent until his throat is dry, and god if that isn’t so fucking sexy of him. Marco swallows and nods frantically, suddenly unable to make a sound — but he knows what Marc is going to want from him, so he takes a deep breath to ready himself for the demand.

“Words, lindo.”

Marco only has one word, and that’s “fuck” yelled out loudly for an hour straight ideally — but he’s ready, so he clears his throat to answer.

“Yes, please.”

Marc smiles contentedly. “Good boy. Come here?” He says in a low tone, sliding his fingers along Marco's cheek and then under Marco's ears until he can gently hook them behind Marco's neck to pull him into a kiss.

And what a kiss, Marco thinks when he leans down for it, bracing himself by wrapping his arms around Marc's shoulders.

Marc always kisses him like he’s delicate, like he’s the most succulent of meals, like he wants all of him and at the same time wants to make sure he’s kept safe. One hand on Marco's cheek and the other on his thigh, Marc holds him through the kiss as if Marco was even thinking of going anywhere.

Marc's kisses almost make Marco think Marc would want to keep him.

Marco pushes the thought away by deepening the kiss and tightening the hold of his arms around Marc's shoulders, using them to push himself against Marc's chest and also give Marc's crotch a little rub with his own. It can’t hurt, can it?, to make Marc feel how much Marco wants him at all times, including right now when all he had to do was have Marco sit in his lap and Marco is desperately hard in his sweatpants.

Marc's fingers dig into Marco's skin in all the spots Marc is touching him — Marco feels them on his jaw and right behind his knee. He drinks the little “mmhh” that Marc releases in the middle of the kiss like it’s ambrosia, he can almost physically feel it fill up his mouth and slide down his throat, leaving fire in its wake. And Marco would burn, he would do it gladly if only Marc asked him to — but Marc doesn’t ask. He'd never dare to beg for anything. Never again. Instead, he pulls back from the kiss just a little, leaving Marco's lips open and wanting.

“You need to learn how to slow down, darling.” Marc whispers, lifting a hand to rub his whole palm on Marco's forehead to brush more strands of hair back. He’s smirking, still, and Marco can’t help but huff out a little laugh in response. He’s been caught red-handed, but this is not news for either of them: they’ve known each other long enough for it not to be a big revelation — he’s the one who wants things and wants them right now, Marc is the patient soul who reins him in. Except, this whole dynamic has gained a whole new layer now that one of the things Marco is allowing himself to want is Marc himself. It has made Marco more demanding, and Marc more firm.

And Marco loves it.

“You know me, amore. I haven’t slowed down one day in my entire life.” Marco grins, cupping Marc's jaw with one hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb on Marc's lips. Marc purses them to kiss Marco's finger, and Marco's eyelids and chest and stomach flutter.

“I know.” Marc nods, resting both hands on Marco's sides. He rubs them up and down until Marco's team shirt lifts up enough for him to slide under it and press his fingers into the softness just above his hips. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way. But I wonder—” Marc inhales sharply, furrowing his brows in the exaggerated expression of someone who is concocting the most articulate thought (he’s an absolute loser, Marco adores him), “Is there any way I could perhaps help you do that? Pause, for a moment?”

It’s a twinkle in Marc's eyes, and Marco catches it immediately. His whole body lights up.

“Maybe.” He arches an eyebrow, “You could try. You’re a very resourceful person.”

“Well. I do have something in mind.” Marc sits up, wrapping his arms around Marco's waist and straightening his back up until their faces are incredibly close again. “But I’m going to need you to be a very good boy for me. And some lube.”

It’s a good thing that Marco is being securely held in Marc's lap, because the bout of dizziness he feels all at once almost sends him flying straight to the floor. Fuck, is he actually insane? Marc knows by now the effect he has on him — and the bastard knows how to use it to his advantage too, because why would he call him a ‘good boy’ from that distance, lips that almost touch, breaths that almost combine?

“Gesù. Yes.” Marco breathes out, starting to reluctantly slide a leg off of Marc lap to turn around. “It’s just—”

“Now, now.” Marc grabs him promptly by his hips and Marco stops immediately, eyes fixed on him and his shit-eating grin that Marco wants to bite, “What did I just tell you? You need to settle down.” Marc tells him, and his tone is gentle but doesn’t give Marco any room for complaining. Not that Marco would want to, anyway — he feels his bones melt at the vigorous hold on his sides and at the rumble in Marc's voice, but he still manages to slide back into place and sit where Marco wants him.

“Where is it?” Marc asks him, running his hands over the small of Marco’s back purely because he wants to touch him. Marc has never been the tactile one between them, but Marco's love language is touch — which basically means that he has subjected Marc to his hugs, touches, caresses, to his fidgeting with various edges of various pieces of Marc's clothing until the whole thing rubbed off on Marc, and now every time he runs his hands over Marco's body, his skin goes up in flames.

“There’s a small bottle in the smallest pouch of my zaino.” Marco’s voice isn’t even stable right now — it trembles just as his body is doing — but he knows that Marc wants him to be present, and he doesn’t want to let him down.

Luckily his whole being is shaken back into existence the moment Marc's hand on the small of his back slides around his waist so that Marc's arm can hug him, holding Marco against his toned chest with one firm movement; Marco feels Marc's torso lean forward and instinctively wraps his arms around Marc's shoulders to avoid falling backwards, a surprised yelp escaping his lips.

“Marc, cristo—” Marco chuckles as he hugs him, pressing his cheek against Marc's as the man leans over and stretches an arm out to reach the bag.

They’re both laughing now, and Marc's laughter so close to Marco's ears makes Marco's insides feel like they will never be solid again. How could he live without this?

“See? It worked, and you didn’t have to move a muscle.” Marc chirps happily and kisses Marco right under his ear — then on his jaw, on his cheekbone, on the corner of his lips while he sits back again and takes Marco with him. Marco's eyelids flutter closed and he holds Marc's face again, a soft breath breaking against Marc'z lips a few moments before Marc kisses him once more.

It really feels like Marc kisses him because he likes to do it, and Marco lets himself believe it; one hand still splayed open on Marco's back, Marc holds him as he savours Marco, sucking on his bottom lip, taking up all the space that Marco has in his mouth — Marco gives it up gladly — until he breaks the kiss with one of his little moans that make Marco's ears tingle.

“You took my fingers so well last time,” Marc whispers right against Marco's lips, and wow, shit, he’s going straight for it, okay, “Do you want to show me how good you are with my cock?”

At this point, the hold Marco has on Marc's face is more of an anchoring point than something borne of affection, because he feels like he’s going to tumble right off Marc's lap even though he’s securely sitting on it. Who taught him to speak like that?!

“Cazzo, mate—” Marco drops his head forward, eyes closed as if it’s enough to soften the blow of the fucking punch in the chest he just received, “God, yes. I want nothing more. Please.” He remembers, in the haze of the moment, what Marc had told him to do the last time they had found themselves in this situation — he likes it when Marco asks nicely, and Marco is hellbent on not letting him down.

And sure enough, Marc smiles — Marco would fight a thousand wars if it meant he could always see him like this — and he pops the lube open with the flick of a thumb. They don’t even look at the bottle — they only have eyes for each other, with Marc's hand still in the small of Marco's back and Marco's hands delicately resting on the line of Marc's jaw. They stare at each other in what frankly looks like a silent battle for who can hold the most affection for the other in their gaze. Marco hopes it’s a tie. Convinces himself it is.

He shifts his hips back a bit and reaches for the band of Marc's jeans, but Marc tuts, arching his eyebrows. “Ah-ha. Don’t move.” He says, slow and low — and they’re so close that the words roar in Marco's chest. He puts his hand back on Marco's upper arm, finger grazing lightly over the scars litering his skin as he forced himself to keep as still as possible. It’s quite the undertaking for him, as someone who wants to touch, move, get things going. He has no patience and that is especially true when what he wants is right in front of him, but Marc has made it very clear what the rules are, so Marco waits. The last thing he wants is to be kicked aside again.

He waits, but he watches — he watches as Marc wriggles his hips enough to be able to slide his bottoms down. Not all the way, because of course he wouldn’t want Marco to move an inch — but then he takes his cock out, which is already half-hard just by making out with Marco, and he can’t help but feel a tinge of pride at the sight.

“You are so beautiful.” It comes out of Marco before he can even stop it, and his breath hitches a bit at the end of the sentence, but now it’s too late to take it back anyway. They’ve always had words of praise for each other, regardless of the context in which they were said — and yet these words now taste like a brand new thing. Like something that isn’t blooming yet but it’s desperately asking to, something that feels tentative and shy and that maybe Marco should’ve kept for himself, on second thought.

He searches for Marc's gaze in a subtle panic — he needs to know immediately if he has ruined everything, if he has given away too much, if Marc hates him—

He finds Marc's hazel eyes staring straight back at him, and for a moment Marco could swear something flashes in them, just as Marc's eyelids flutter for an instant. His lips part ever so slightly, almost as if Marc would like to say something but he's stopping himself at the last second. his stomach drops a bit, because what is Marc thinking right now? Perhaps that he's not beautiful? That he doesn't deserve the compliment? And he doesn't know how to fix it, he doesn't know how to tell him without breaking the atmosphere of the moment, so Marco holds his face gently, softly, fingertips subtly rubbing the skin under them. You are, you are, you are, one small rub, and then another, then another, you are, you are, you are.

Marc takes a deep breath, slowly, and Marco feels the hand on his back give him a very quick caress. “Nothing, compared to you, tesoro.”

No, no, no, Marco pulls him into a kiss, his thumbs rubbing Marc's cheekbones, you are, you are, you are, and he vaguely registers Marc drizzling the lube on his cock and his own fingers as they kiss, you are beautiful, you are so beautiful, you are the most beautiful, and now one of Marc's hands is wrapping around his waist and ending up on his back and it’s sliding, lower and lower and lower, you are the most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on, and it slips inside Marco's pants and surpasses his boxers, and Marco is still kissing him, there’s no one more beautiful than you, and then the first finger breaches him, and the whimper he lets out into Marc's mouth sounds a lot like his name.

“Si, amor?” Marc murmurs and oh, maybe Marco did say his name.

“I— I want— I need you, Marc, please—”

In a different universe - one where the mere act of looking at Marc doesn’t make Marco want to drop to his knees — Marco would be telling himself to get it together. That the state he’s in after a short makeout session and one mere finger is way too much, that he needs to reel it in — but in this universe, the one where Marc is smiling at him as he adds a second finger, Marco is not holding back.

“You need to be patient, Marco.” Marc's words follow Marco's moan almost in one unified sound — they’re an extension of Marco's noises, Marc fits them in between one whimper and the other like they belong there — and they do, like puzzle pieces perfectly coming together.

Patience, patience — by the time Marc has added a third finger Marco is a writhing, whimpering mess, desperately seeking some sort of relief by attempting to push his hips against Marc's fingers. He can’t, though, because Marc told him not to, he told him to stand still and be patient, and Marco feels like his head is about to explode. He knows why Marc is doing that — he wants Marco to learn to take his time, to not rush things, to wait, but all Marco wants is this beautiful man to be inside him and he is not sure if he’s learning any lessons here.

“Right,” Marc breathes out just as his fingers still, earning a disapproving moan from Marco, “You’re being so very good for me”, Marco squirms ever so slightly as the fingers slide out with ease, “But last time I forgot to ask you something very important and the mistake has been eating at me.”

Marco's brain is way too liquified to even focus properly on Marc's words, but what Marco knows is that there is nothing he would change about their first time. He has been replaying that night over and over in his head, and if Marc asked him what he would change, he wouldn't have an answer.

“What—” Marco swallows, trying to get his words out, “What is it? You were perfect.”

Marc shakes his head. “No, Marco, and I'm sorry. I'm— still learning.”

Marco catches a hint of hesitation in Marc's voice. He doesn't understand why, but if Marc doesn't tell him immediately what the issue is, he's going to go insane.

“I didn't ask you what your safeword is,” Marc sighs, rubbing Marco's side with his other hand. “And I'm so sorry. I should have.”

Leave it to Marc Marquez to apologise for not properly taking care of him. Leave it to Marc Marquez to realize he was far too similar to Valentino. To realise he'd rather die than continue to hurt Marco how Vale had hurt him.

God, Marco could start crying.

“Amore, it's fine, I promise,” Marco tries to reassure him, cupping his jaw with both hands to direct Marc's gaze into his own — and oh, Marc's eyebrows are knotted in the middle, and he's concerned, so very concerned. “I know you wouldn't hurt me—”

“Marco, please, don't brush it off.” Marc's hand on Marco's hips grabs him firmly enough to get Marco's attention, “It's always important to know. I— people— should be asking you, and you should make it known.”

It doesn't feel like Marc is telling him off — rather, this sounds a lot like something he's been reprimanding himself about for days.

“I— I want— I need you to be safe, Marco, please—”

Marco's hands almost scramble to grab Marc's face to pull him in until their foreheads touch.

“I am, I promise, I am.” Marco tells him gently, rubbing circles into Marc's skin with his thumbs.

Marc speaks as if Marco would be able to sleep with anyone else now — as if he could desire someone else the way he desires Marc, viscerally, primordially— and Marco knows it's true that Marc would never hurt him — not physically — but his heart still swells up at the thought that Marc is being so attentive towards him.

Their faces are still close when Marco speaks again.

“Lavender.”

Marc looks up at him. “Mh?”

Marco smiles. “Lavender. My safeword.”

Marc's shoulders relax all at once, his face painted with relief.

“I’m sorry,” He says, low and soft, “I’m trying.”

Marco frowns. Trying what? Marc doesn’t have to try, not with him at least. No one knows Marco more than Marc does, embarrassingly enough, and there is nothing he could do wrong when it comes to dealing with him in Marco's eyes. He could do no wrong. His pedestal was far too high for him to be making lowly mistakes.

But the words are cut off right from Marco's throat when Marc wraps a hand around his own cock, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he slowly strokes it a couple times. It is a vision to behold — this perfect man with this perfect face and these perfect hands and this perfect cock — and Marco's jaw falls open, quite literally. He fears he’s going to start salivating in a moment, and he’s thankful for Marc manoeuvring him to lift himself up just a little while he pulls the elastic of Marco's pants and boxers low enough to leave his ass uncovered.

“Just like that… good boy.” Marc's voice guides Marco as he sits back down, the praise making him feel dizzy — as if the feeling of Marc's cock sliding inside wasn't exhilarating enough.

It fills Marco up, inch by inch, and he feels like he's not taking it fast enough — he wants Marc inside him, and he says it with a whimpering moan as he tries to take him to the hilt. But Marc isn't only dictating Marco's movements with his voice, no — his firm grip on Marco's hip is deciding the speed at which Marco is going, and it's too much and it's not enough.

“Marc—” Marco moans in frustration, receiving a gentle shush and a hand stroking his hair in response.

“It's okay, mi amor. Patience. There's no rush. You're being so good for me.”

Marc's praise stays with him until Marco has taken him to the full length, until he's sitting back down in Marc's lap with a groan and he's full, and Marc is all around him and inside him and outside of him, and he's safe.

“Well done, good boy.” Marc strokes Marco's sides gently with both hands, in stark contrast with Marco's fingers gripping Marc's shoulders for dear life.

He wants to move — he wants to make Marc feel good, to show him what a good boy he is for him — and he tries it, he pushes himself up just slightly, even though it doesn't last long. Marc's hands are promptly back on his hips, keeping him down and still.

“It's alright, darling. Just sit still for a minute. You feel so good around me.” Marc says softly as he's smiling at him, and jesus fuck, does he want him dead? Not only is he talking to him like that, but now he’s stopping him from moving, from allowing Marco to give him what he wants, and Marco whimpers again. He likes Marc so fucking much, and the mere idea that Marc might like him back enough to at least want to do this with him makes him want to scream — fucking god, why is Marc Marquez so hard to understand.

“Marc, I—” Marco wants to say it, he wants to ask him why and when and why again. Why does Marc take care of him like this, why does he love him and cherish him and touch him in a way no one has ever touched him before, and when will Marc tell him that this is all just for fun, just so they can fool around for a while, and why.

And what's more frustrating out of this whole fucking situation is that Marco is still hellbent on giving Marc all that he can and all that he has, he wants to see Marc lost in the throes of pleasure because of him and his body, he wants Marc to look at him the way he looked at him before his crash — the lump that forms inside Marco's throat is heavy and painful and Marco lets out a choked noise.

“You'll be okay, amor. I promise. Sit still, I'll take care of you.” Marc's words slide across Marco's skin just like Marc's hands are doing, touching and caressing and caring, “Please, let me fix this. I'll make it up to you. I'll never hurt you again, tesoro.”

Deep down, Marco knows that Marc is right — that things are not as dramatic as he’s making them out to be, that they're both adults who aren't even commited to eachother how Marco so deeply wishes they were — but in reality, Marco's hands are itching and his brain is buzzing.

And if it’s because of the thought of that night or because of Marc, Marco doesn’t want to investigate this further either; all he knows is that he’s trying really hard to be good for Marc, to stay still like he’s asking him — and he doesn’t even realise that his hands have slid from Marc's shoulders to his chest and are now holding Marc's shirt in two tight fists. Marco wants Marc to kiss him, he wants Marc to fuck him into the cheap hotel bed, he wants Marc to tell him he loves him— oh fuck, he loves Marc, doesn’t he? Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

The sob leaves his throat before Marco can even notice, and when he does, his hand flies to his mouth to try and stop himself from releasing any more. His eyes are warm and his vision is getting blurry, and— shit, this is a terrible time to start crying. What would Marc think? He is equipped to carry the weight of Marco's emotions - though he wasn't the best as sticking around - but this is a completely different situation they find themselves in.

He’s sitting on Marc's cock, crying over the fact that he's not so different from Eos, the goddess of the dawn. He feels powerless in this love he has for Marc, much like Eos's unrequited feelings for Ares. No matter how hard Eos tries, Ares will always return to Aphrodite. Just as Marc will always go back to Gemma.

“Marco, oh, amor—” Marc's soothing voice reaches him very quickly and so do Marc's hands, cupping his face and drying a tear with the pad of a thumb. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

Marco knows that he could use the safeword at any point. They have never been in this predicament before, but just by knowing the type of person Marc is, Marco knows he can trust him fully to respect their agreement. He knows that, and for some reason the thought makes him feel much better about his decision.

He shakes his head, uncovering his mouth. “No,” he says, voice quivering, “No, I’m okay. I’m just very overwhelmed.”

Marc strokes rebel strands of hair away from Marco's face with so much care and softness that Marco could genuinely sob about it for a day or two; he knows Marc is trying to calm him down though, and he wants to stop crying before his brain starts telling him he’s ruining everything, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Good job.” Marc whispers, and it takes Marco all his willpower not to whimper in the midst of his own tears, which would be absolutely ridiculous.

“You are doing so well.” The Spanish man continues. Marco decides to keep his eyes closed for a while longer, to focus on Marc's voice and hands stroking his face. “I know it’s hard for you to calm down. But it’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe. No need to be scared right now. I just want to feel you around me for a little while longer. You feel so good. I wish you could stay here forever.”

Marc doesn’t know, but Marco would. Marco would stay there, in his lap, in his hands, for the rest of time if necessary.

He does his best, anyway: he breathes in and out slowly, and soon it feels like Marc is breathing in sync with him — maybe to regulate Marco's breaths, maybe because they just do that, but it helps a lot, and soon Marco calms down fully. It’s like magic.

The sensation of Marc filling him up is still very much there. Marco comes down to Earth with another whimper, his back arching when a little giggle from Marc makes both shake slightly.

“There you are.” Marc coos. Marco finally opens his eyes, his vision still a little blurry, but he’s blushing like a schoolgirl now, because Marc is smiling at him with that smile Marco keeps so close to his heart — the slightly crooked one, with his eyebrows gently bending upwards in the middle like he’s constantly looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.

Marco wants to be that, for him.

“Good boy. See? You did it.”

Marco feels his brain snap into place.

He wraps his arms around Marc's shoulders and pulls him in, slowly, almost lazily, their bodies impossibly closer now and then kisses him. He realises only halfway through opening his lips up for Marc that he didn’t ask for permission, he didn’t say please — but Marc's hands immediately run up his torso, from Marco's hips to his shoulder blades and take Marco's shirt with them; the fabric bunches up in Marc's fists and leaves the lower part of Marco's torso bare.

Without breaking the kiss, Marc keeps Marco's shirt up with one hand, while the other one slides lower and lower until it reaches Marco's entrance, fingertips running over his outstretched rim, right in the spot where their bodies are, statically and frustratingly so, joined together. Marco moans into the kiss, biting down on Marc's lower lip.

“Mh,” Marc smiles, pulling back just a bit, “You really feel so good, you know?” He continues, using his fingers to push onto the underside of his cock so that it sinks even further inside, eliciting a begging moan from Marco.

“You can ask me, now.” Marc smirks.

Marco needs to take a deep breath before speaking. “Ask what?”

“Ask me to fuck you, Marco.”

And it comes out of Marco like a landslide, like something Marco can’t run away from: he pushes his knees into the mattress at Marc's sides, pressing even further against him with a long, drawn out moan as he arches his back, ready to start moving the moment Marc allows him to.

“Amore, please— please, fuck me.”

He thinks Marc is going to grab his hips, to finally allow him to start bouncing up and down like his body is craving to do — instead, Marco feels Marc's arms lock around his waist and, in a moment, he finds himself being lifted up and laid on his back on the bed quicker than his brain can even begin to process.

“Good boy.” Marc growls into Marco's mouth before reclaiming it with the hunger of a man starved; Marco's mouth and body and soul are all for him — they open up for Marc like a blossoming flower, letting the man in as much as Marco is able to handle.

Which — turns out — is more than Marco imagined, because Marc is soon thrusting into him, half-kneeling on the bed, one foot planted on the ground. Marco barely has time to gasp, kick his pants all the way off to wrap his legs around Marc's waist and arms around his shoulders, and then his brain fully disconnects once more; Marc pounds into him like he’s trying to mark him — Marco likes to think that Marc is making him his own, and even if Marc's thrusts mean something else to his friend, to Marco they’re saying mine, yours, mine, yours, mine.

“Oh, tesoro, you feel so good—” Marc pants in Marco's ear and Marco closes his eyes; maybe, if he doesn’t look, he can pretend that Marc is saying this as he lazily wraps his arms around his waist on a warm Sunday morning in their bed in the house they share, pressing himself against Marco's back and leaving a kiss behind the shell of his ear, both of them smelling of sex and fresh sheets, right before Marc gets up to cook breakfast.

And then Marc's cock hits that spot inside Marco that makes him let out a moan that is much louder than the others and arch his back, and Marco really doesn't know if the ringing he hears is from Marc's phone or from his own ears — but it doesn't matter. He tightens the grip of his legs around Marc's hips to get him to go deeper, deeper, deeper, and Marc does — he plants his knee into the duvet and his foot solidly on the floor and shifts his hips forwards just enough to pound into Marco with a relentlessness that makes Marco feel dizzy.

Marc's cheek is still pressed against Marco's when he cups his jaw on the opposite side with a hand; Marco turns his head into the touch, eyes closed, until Marc's thumb grazes his bottom lip. He opens his eyes, then, and without hesitation, he tilts his head forward to take the finger in his mouth, wrapping his lips softly around it. He feels Marc's thrusts stutter and has to do his best not to smirk around Marc's digit, especially because Marc is now lifting his head up to look at the pretty picture in front of him and Marco is not going to miss the opportunity to employ his best doe eyes if he can.

He looks up at Marc, thumb in his mouth, and gives the pad a quick lick before sucking on it. Marc is looking at him like he has never seen anything so beautiful — at least, that’s what Marco makes himself think in order to stay sane — with his lips parted in surprise and a little gasp that escapes them when his eyes land on his finger being enveloped by Marco's supple lips.

“Fuck,” Marc mutters, pushing the thumb deeper — Marco feels it slide across his tongue and thinks about Marc's cock doing the same — “You are so beautiful, amor. I’m so - ah - I’m so lucky I get to have you like this—”

Marc isn’t the lucky one, Marco thinks. Looking up at him, brunette locks falling over his forehead and bouncing to the rhythm of his thrust, mouth agape in the throes of pleasure — Marco wants to tell him. He wants to tell him that he’s pretty sure he loves him, and that he’s sorry if this ruins everything between them, and that it’s fine if Marco doesn’t love him back — it’s not fine, but what else is he going to do? Lose him? Again?

He says nothing, though. He hums around Marc's thumb as his lips hit the base of it and he keeps sucking and licking just as he feels Marc's thrust get faster and more frantic. Marc presses the other four fingers against Marco's jaw and now he’s practically holding his head, and Marco's eyes roll to the back of his head at the thought of Marc handling him that way. He slides one hand away from Marc's side to try and reach his own neglected cock, but Marc is faster, always. He pushes Marco away with his free hand and wraps his own fingers around Marco's erection instead.

“No. Mine.” Marc growls, and Marco would cry again if he wasn’t too busy trying not to come on the spot.

Marco is literally everywhere, he’s inside Marco and around his cock and in his mouth and on top of him and Marco sucks on his finger like it’s the source of the oxygen he needs to live; Marc looks mesmerised and Marco believes him, he believes that Marc loves him back within the confines of the orgasm that is building up inside both of them — that it’s real for a moment, for a brief, intense moment where their bellies tighten and the pressure builds up and their moans almost become one, and Marc is pounding and pounding and pounding and saying Marco's name over and over again — and then Marc comes, and then they both come, and Marc is filling him up and Marco is spilling all over his stomach and Marc's fist, and it’s bliss.

Marco loves him, in the space of their panting breaths. Marco loves him, with their cheeks pressed together once Marc flops forward for a moment. Marco loves him, with his fingers carding through the waves of his hair.

And he imagines that Marc loves him too, with his thumb slipping out of Marco's mouth but his hand still firmly pressed against his face. He imagines that Marc loves him too, with the little sigh of relief when Marco mindlessly and softly scratches his back with his nails, delicate as he can be. He imagines that Marc loves him too, in the little giggle he releases before kissing his neck.

“Did your phone ring?” Marco asks lazily, as if they’ve just woken up from a good night’s sleep.

“Mh,” Marc hums, face still hidden against Marco's neck.

“Want me to leave you alone while you call them back?” Marco asks, Marc only throws but a glance at his phone on the bedside table next to them. He thinks about the idea of leaving, and he feels like things matter a little less.

It can wait.

“No,” He mumbles, turning his head again and wrapping Marc into a hug, closing his eyes so that he can smell him. “I'll stay.”

And he did, for that night. Stayed in bed with Marco, their limbs entertwined the whole night before they had to wake up and return to the paddock. Before Marc had to return Gemma's calls.

[scrollonso]

Watch It — Pedroscar

"Not fucking happening."

Pedro chuckled, glancing at Oscar. "Hey, watch the language. No cuss words, remember?"

Oscar rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Seriously, Pedro? You’re really gonna nag me about that right now?"

Pedro shrugged, still in a lighthearted mood. "Just keeping you in check."

Oscar huffed, folding his arms. "Maybe you should worry about something else for once."

Pedro’s expression shifted, the joking tone fading. "Osc, what’s with the attitude?"

Oscar glared back at him. "Why the hell do you care? Just drop it."

Pedro’s voice grew firmer. "I’m not going to just drop it. What’s going on with you?"

Oscar clenched his jaw, refusing to answer.

Pedro stepped a little closer, his tone serious now. "Watch your mouth, okay?"

Oscar stared at Pedro, the tension between them thick. "Fuck off"

And then Pedro knew exactly what Oscar was doing.

He stepped forward, crowding right into Oscar's space and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back so the Aussie was kneeling slightly, having to look at him as he towered over his boyfriend.

"Do as I fucking say, Oscar," he said, voice dangerously low.

Oscar stared back up at him, defiant expression betrayed by the clear excitement in his eyes. "Make me."

"Nasty little thing," he spat, pulling harshly on Oscar's hair again and leaning down over him. "Listen, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm going to go speak to Zak Brown, since you've given up your only chance to act right, and you are going to take your ass home, undress except your boxers, and you're going to wait for me like that. And you are not to touch yourself, and you know that I will know if you have, you fucking hear me?"

Oscar visibly shivered at the hard edge in Pedro's voice. "Fine."

"Can I say- " Pedro put a hand at the base of Oscar's throat, a shadow of a hold with just enough pressure that he could tell the driver was getting wet in his trousers over it. "Do as I say. Go."

He let go of Oscar's hair and neck at the same time, unable to resist the urge to give him a sharp little spank as he turned to walk away. Oscar glared at him, feigning indignation, and stalked out of the room, leaving Pedro alone with his now extremely tight trousers to think over exactly how he was going to put Oscar in his place when he got home. The Aussie was going to enjoy this more than he would community service.

Half an hour later, Oscar was laid out on their bed exactly as Pedro had told him to be, wearing nothing but Pedro's favorite pair of boxer briefs that Oscar had stolen out of his drawer just for this occasion, knowing that having taken something of Pedro's without asking would be extra cause for punishment.

He rubbed at himself impatiently through the fabric, his thoughts on how Pedro would react once he got home — how rough the Spaniard would hopefully be with him considering how he was acting.

Oscar closed his eyes and sighed; he was hard and dripping wet, leaving a spot he knew Pedro would see as soon as he looked at them when he got home. He'd been dying for this since the day they'd talked about doing it and had decided that morning that he couldn't wait any longer. A flutter of anticipation rippled through him just knowing he had broken rules — serious or not — on purpose and that he was about to get caught and punished for it. He rubbed himself a little harder, just to make sure the wet spot would be nice and visible.

After what felt like hours — but was only about ten more minutes — he heard Pedro's keys scraping in the lock and the front door opening. He sat up on the bed, trying to arrange himself to look both sexy and defiant.

He settled for leaning back against the pillows with his legs closed and bent to one side, hiding the damp spot he knew had appeared by now.

Pedro was apparently feeling just as impatient as he was, as he was quickly striding into the room, boots and jacket still on.

He looked Oscar up and down, gaze both scrutinizing and hungry. "Why're you sitting like that? What're you hiding?" He said, eyes focused on Oscar's crotch as he quickly pulled his — Oscar's — jacket off. "Couldn't stay out of my drawers either; nasty. You've been wearin' those all day, haven't you? Just takin' my things without asking?"

Oscad pulled his bitchiest face and refused to say anything, throbbing as Pedro pulled his boots off, sacrificing grace for speed. "Disobedient. Spread your legs."

Oscar huffed a sigh, keeping his legs together as he extended them back out in front of himself.

"That wasn't a suggestion, Piastri," Pedro said, standing firmly at the end of the bed with his arms crossed. "Legs. Open. Now"

Oscar's expression flickered as he felt a flare of deep-seated desire to be punished and finally, bitchy face back in place, he spread his legs out wide, putting the wet spot he'd intentionally rubbed into the fabric on display.

"Called you disobedient too soon," Pedro said, walking around one side of the bed and bending over him to look more closely at it. He pressed a firm hand onto the inside of Oscar's thigh to hold him open wider, using his other to touch the wet spot, shaking his head.

"Little brat can't keep his hands to himself, gonna have to restrain them for him," he said, opening up the drawer of the beside table and pulling out a small box.

Oscar held his breath as Pedro took the lid off; they'd ordered this together but he'd promised not to look until they were using it. He let out a breath and felt himself pulsate as Pedro took out the black leather collar, thick silver chain, and two leather cuffs held together by a thinner chain.

Pedro picked up the collar and inspected it for a moment, looking down at it with enormous smugness before flicking his eyes up to Oscar. "On," he said, turning it so that Oscar could see the back, which in large gold metal letters read 'Pedro's.'

Using all of his self control not to moan like a whore at being told to put on a collar with his boyfriend's name on it, Oscar stared right back at Pedro as he took the leather and placed it around his neck.

"Thats fucking right," Pedro said, self-satisfaction dripping off every syllable like molasses. He grabbed each ring at the end of the collar and jerked Oscar forward with them. "Now put the chain in," he said, nodding at the thick chain on the bed between them.

"Hmph," Oscar spat as if he didn't want to. He kept staring defiantly up at him as he picked the chain up, fumbling slightly as he threaded it through the two metal rings, leaving each end to dangle freely.

Pedro released the collar, trailing his fingers down either side of the chain and taking each of the clasps in one hand as he reached the bottom. He stared Oscar down for a silent moment before giving the chain a short, sharp tug, forcing the collar to tighten.

Oscar couldn't help it, he gasped at the sudden light pressure around his throat, throbbing at the feeling of giving Pedro so much control over him. He let out just a hint of a whine when Pedro hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head further up while he looked down his nose at him.

"Begging to be broken," he said, accent infecting his words in the way that never failed to get Oscar soaking in his pants. He loosened his grip on the chain as he picked up the cuffs, letting them hang off one finger and holding them out to Oscar. "On."

Oscar hesitated for a second before snatching the cuffs up, the thin chain connecting them just long enough that he was able to get them both on himself. His breaths came quick and shallow as Pedro took his time clipping each end of the heavier chain onto one of the handcuffs, securing them so that any downward pull of Oscar's hands would force the collar tighter around his throat.

"There we go," he said, pulling at the section of the chain at the collar, loosening it while forcing Pedro's hands up towards his neck. "Restrained like you fucking deserve. Come sit on the edge of the mattress."

With a huff and an eye roll, Oscar scooted to the edge of the bed, holding his hands stiffly in front of his chest to keep the collar loose. He kept his face carefully arranged in a careless sneer while Pedro reached back into the still open drawer and pulled out a curved, purple vibrator with a magnet on the back. It was about two and a half inches long, like a flattened out crescent moon, and Oscar knew exactly what Pedro was going to do with it.

"Spread your legs," Pedro instructed, knocking one of Oscar's knees to the side with his own to make a point. The boy did as he was told, looking up at his boyfriend impatiently.

Pedro took his time disconnecting the magnet from the back of the vibrator, unnecessarily fidgeting with it for an extra moment before taking the toy between his first two fingers and slipping it beneath the waistband of the red boxers, chuckling when Oscar squirmed as the still-off toy rubbed along his dick. "Yeah, impatient for it, aren't you, amor?" He taunted, getting it into place and sticking the magnet on the outside of the panties to hold the toy in place. "Trust me, you got a lot more waiting to do."

"Says you," Oscar spat, hips wriggling a bit despite himself at the new friction of the toy.

Pedro slowly leaned forward until his lips were hovering over Oscar's, placing a finger on the thin chain connecting the soft handcuffs and gently pushing it down, giving Oscar just a little bit of pressure around his throat again. "Yes, Piastri," he said, all confidence and surety. "Says. Me."

Oscar let out the smallest hint of a whine; he absolutely refused to break this early on.

Pedro breathed a laugh. "That's right, good and ready to be punished. Nasty thing." He leaned back, picking up the small clicker control for the vibrator. "You'll get what you deserve when I say so."

Oscar feigned a small struggle against his restraints, impatient and acting like he wanted to take control back from Pedro.

"You alright?" Pedro said, giving Oscar a more meaningful look.

Oscar nodded, face open and sincere. "Yes, definitely."

Pedro nodded back, holding the control for the vibe up. "Good," he said, giving the button a slow, purposeful click.

Oscar lurched forward and curled in on himself a bit; the stimulation was practically heaven after waiting for so long but fuck this was the lowest speed and they were only just getting started -

"Feels good, does it, amor?" Oscar tried to clamp his legs shut to force the toy up against himself harder but Pedro quickly moved between them, keeping them open. "Answer me, Piastri."

Oscar squirmed again, desperately rocking his hips forward to chase further friction. "Yes," he admitted, still doing his best to look defiant and like he wasn't enjoying himself too much.

"Yes, what?" Pedro prompted.

Oscar stayed silent for a beat, pushing the boundary of what if would take for more punishment.

Pedro held up the clicker again, this time as a warning. "Oscar."

"Yes, sir," Oscar said, practically spitting out the honorific as if it meant nothing to him.

"Better," Pedro said, lowering the clicker and setting it down on the bed. "Think I'll take my shirt off, hm? Bit hot in here."

Oscar watched hungrily as his boyfriend made a small production of slowly untucking his t shirt and pulling it up and off over his head, tossing it carelessly over towards the clothes hamper. "Lovely when you listen," he said, putting a finger until Oscar's chin to tilt his face up, "now I wanna see you work harder. Get yourself there for me."

"Hmph," Oscar huffed, face recalcitrant even as he did as he was told, trying to angle his hips downward to push it against himself harder.

"Good lad," he said, picking up the control again and with another click upping the speed, giving a small smile when Oscar's whole body jolted at the sudden change, hips stuttering while he smeared slick deeper into the fabric of the briefs and all over the singular ridge in the center of the vibrator.

Pedro just kept staring down his nose at him, forcing his chin up, calmly watching as his brat did exactly as he was instructed to, slipping closer and closer, hands squeezed tightly into fists still held stiffly at his pecs, collar loose around his throat. Oscar felt it coming on already; he was far more worked up than usual from the build up of being allowed to act out and knowing he would be punished for it -

"Tell me when you get close," Pedro said, cocking his head slightly to the side as he considered Oscar.

"F- fuck, I'm- I'm fucking close, you- "

With a quick raise of his hand and click of the remote Pedro shut the vibrator off. "Stop," he demanded, pulling his hand out from under Oscar's chin. The Aussie let out a loud, indignant whine, hunching forward again as he throbbed at the abrupt end to the sensation.

"Look at me," Pedro said, unbothered by Oscar's irritation.

When he saw the older man's head turn further away he knew only one thing would make him listen.

SLAP.

It practically echoed through their bedroom, the first thing he noticed on Oscar's face as he looked up was the deep red mark already lingering on his skin

"See, was that so fucking hard, bitch?" He started undoing his pants, taking a step back from the edge of the bed and the taller man. "On your knees."

Oscar took his time shuffling forward, distracted by Pedro's newly exposed bulge, and apparently that was too slow for his boyfriend, who used one fluid motion to hook his finger around the chain between the cuffs again and give it a short, sharp yank.

Oscar moaned loudly at the sudden constricting of the collar around his throat, eyes fluttering shut at the medium pressure.

"Oh that feels good, doesn't it sweetheart," Pedro said, leaning forward so that his smirk was hovering right over the gasps slipping out between Oscar's lips. "Yeah, I know what you need. You can have it if you learn how to behave like a good boy and take your punishment. What do you say? How bad do you wanna suck me off?"

He let up on the cuffs to make sure Oscar could speak comfortably. "I- I wan' it," he said, defiance in his voice weakened to a mildly protesting tone.

"How badly, amor?" Pedro let go of the cuffs entirely to put his fingertips back under Oscar's chin, softly sliding his hand down the front of his throat to toy with the slack of the heavier chain in the collar. He loved feeling larger than Oscar who — in every way — was larger than Pedro. "Good boys use their words and ask for what they want."

"I- I want it," Oscar repeated, "I want it and I want it now."

Pedro shook his head. "I'd hardly call that askin' nicely; try again, baby."

Oscar bit back a moan as he slowly pulled on the thicker chain, getting just enough tension that his bound hands started to move up towards his collar bones and the collar pulled him forward. "I want it now- sir," he whined, a mix of demanding and needy.

"Better," Pedro said. "Not perfect, but we'll get you there. Now do as I said, on your knees. Since you want it so bad," he taunted.

Glaring up at him, Oscar did as he was told and dropped off the edge of the bed onto his knees, licking his lower lip as his eyes flicked between Pedro's face and the tent his erection was making in his boxers.

"Sweet," the Spaniard teased, running his fingers through Pedro's hair. "See, you know how to behave."

"Ugh," Oscar huffed and rolled his eyes. Pedro's fingers tightened hard in his hair and brought his face forward to practically smash into his clothed hard on; Oscar moaned and opened his mouth immediately, dampening the fabric with a long, hard lick over the underside of Pedro's dick.

"Bad boy, talking back," Pedro chastised, "gonna have to fuck that rude little mouth of yours to teach you some manners."

Oscar moaned shamelessly into Pedro's cock, still mouthing at it like a popsicle through his pants; he'd been dying for Pedro's dick down his throat all day.

"Pull them down," Pedro demanded, yanking Oscar back by the hair. The older man let out a hard exhale of pleasure as his scalp burned from having his hair pulled so hard.

He reached up and pulled down Pedro's underwear, practically drooling at how heavy his cock hung in front of his face, leaning forward with an open mouth but finding himself being tugged sharply backwards by the hair again.

"What do we say when we want something?"

"Fucking give me-"

Oscar gasped and almost gagged when Pedro jammed his free thumb into his mouth and pressed down hard on his tongue. "Try again."

"Hnnggghhhhhh," Oscar whined around the hand prying his mouth open, looking up at his boyfriend with something hovering between bitchy irritation and genuine pleading.

"I said, try. again," Pedro said, forcing his head back by the hair until Oscar was looking directly up at him.

Oscar gave his first pout of the night. "Hhhleaahhhh?" he managed around Pedro's thumb.

"One more time for us, love," Pedro said, letting up on Oscar's tongue to let him talk more easily.

Oscar paused. "Pleathze?" he said more clearly.

"Much better," Pedro praised. Keeping Oscar's mouth held open for another moment, he pulled him forward and, one hand still tight in his hair, fucked almost his entire length into Oscar's mouth.

Oscar took every inch with greedy enthusiasm, straining forward further to try and get it further back into this throat.

The grip on his hair tightened, pulling hard on his scalp, and Pedro pulled his hips back ever so slightly. "You'll get more if you keep acting right," he said calmly, death grip holding his boyfriend's head in place as he started slowly fucking in and out of his mouth. "This is enough for now."

Even after as long as they'd been together Oscar still had to fight not to gag on just how big Pedro was; he was only three quarters of the way in but his tip still teased just down Oscar's throat on every thrust.

"Nice and quiet now," his boyfriend hummed. "Let's see how well you hold together for me with a bit more from my briefs."

Oscar's composure slipped as Pedro clicked the vibrator back on, gagging on his cock. Pedro took the opportunity to fuck further into his face, tip slipping all the way back until the end of Oscar's nose was just barely touching his bush.

"Good fucking boy," Pedro growled, "gonna fuck your throat harder 'til you've learned your lesson about mouthing off at me, sí? You ready for it?"

Oscad tried to reach out to grab at Pedro's thighs but was stopped by the chain tightening the collar around his throat, moaning at the tightness combined with half-choking on Pedro's dick.

"Trying to choke yourself, hm?" Pedro asked, pulling all the way out and forcing Oscar's hands back up to loosen the collar again. "Good boys ask their daddies permission first. Be a good boy now."

Heaving a few breaths at suddenly being able to breathe again, Pedro's hips jerked and he squeezed his thighs shut to force the vibrator up harder onto his dick. He took one last deep breath to try and steady himself.

"Please," he finally said, voice a bit thin from the way the younger mans cock had been shoved down it.

"Please what?" Pedro said, lazily stroking himself and holding up the vibrator control again.

"Please daddy," Oscar said quickly, not wanting the toy to shut off yet. "Please daddy let me choke myself a little."

"Aw, there he is," Pedro said. He patted Oscar twice on the cheek, making the boy scowl and harrumph. "Asking like a sweetheart. Just be careful, ey?" He loosened his grip on Oscar's hair for a moment. "You remember the sign for stop?"

Oscar nodded and held both his hands up, palms towards Pedro's legs, and closed his fingers into a full-hand pinch.

"Good," Pedro nodded. "Now open up."

No sooner did Oscar open his mouth back up than Pedro was ramming back in, this time fucking fast and hard to the hilt, quickly setting a punishing pace as he used his boyfriend's mouth.

"Take it baby, just like that," he said, fisting Oscar's hair hard again and exhaling sharply every time he slipped back into his throat. "And don't you fucking dare cum, I know you get off on having your throat used like this."

He grunted at the way Oscar's whining made his mouth vibrate around his cock: "That's right, feels fucking incredible; little bitch getting punished like he fucking deserves."

Oscar started to whine harder and louder as he got closer to cumming, pulling the collar just tight enough on his throat that he could feel the added pressure just barely restricting his breathing. Pedro felt himself throb hard watching Oscar's eyelids fall shut while he squirmed against the toy between his legs, fuck they were both close from enjoying this so much, fuck-

Oscar cried out again when Pedro suddenly pulled back out of his mouth, cock angry and rock solid and dripping with Oscar's saliva, and quickly clicked the vibrator off.

"Up on the bed," Pedro demanded, tugging on the heavy chain at Oscar's throat. "On your back for me, now."

Pouting, Oscar did as he was told and hurried up onto the bed, lying back against the pillows and looking furiously distraught. "Come on, I've been good enough, how much longer are you going to keep-"

"Enough." Pedro practically ripped the boxers that Oscar had made a sopping wet mess of off of him, pulled the vibrator off, and quickly stuffed them into Oscar's mouth as a makeshift gag.

"You can have that out when you're ready to stop talkin' back," Pedro said, shoving his own pants down to his knees as he climbed on top of his boyfriend, betraying how eager he was to keep going. "Gonna fuck this sweet little hole til you're beggin' me to let you get off."

Oscar was so slippery and wet from being edged so hard that the shorter man had no issue slipping inside him, getting halfway in on the first stroke. He let out an animalistic moan as he pulled out and thrust back in harder, grabbing his little toy by the hips for leverage as he bullied his way in, deeper and deeper.

"Gonna take every fuckin' inch of me," Pedro growled, watching as Oscar's cuffed hands bounced on his chest and his eyes rolled back, groaning deep and hard around the makeshift gag. "That's right; know how to act right once you're on your back with your legs open, hm? Ready to tell me you're done bein' a brat yet?"

"Mmm- mm-mmm," Oscar hummed out a protest, shaking his head no for extra emphasis.

"Nasty," Pedro chided. "Not to worry, I'll fuck that attitude all the way outta you."

Oscar's eyebrows contracted up hard as Pedro hoisted him up by the waist so that his ass was just hovering off the bed, wrapping his legs tightly around his boyfriend.

Pedro bent further over him, caging him in with his arms and pounding him so hard that the room was full of nothing but the lewd slapping of their skin, their heavy breaths and groans of pleasure drowned out by the ruthless fucking Oscar was getting.

"Hmmmph- hmmm," Oscar whined, tapping up on Pedro's chest.

The pre-arranged signal was promptly recognized; Pedro propped himself up on one arm and thrust all the way in again, grinding deep and hard until Oscar was twitching and gasping around the underwear again.

"Ready to tell me you're done talkin' back?" Pedro asked, running a finger over Oscar's lower lip.

Oscar nodded and whined, looking all too ready to give in.

"One more, hm?" Pedro reached down and put his fingers over Oscar's cock, waiting for the other's approval.

Oscar gave him a meaningful nod and Pedro started rubbing hard circles over his erection, twitching as Oscar clenched around him as he got closer and closer-

Pedro ripped his hand away when he could feel that Oscar was right on the precipice, savouring the almost tortured moan he let out and the denial.

He gently took the panties with one hand and slowly pulled them out of Oscar's mouth. "Say it."

"I... fu- god," Oscar struggled to catch his breath. "I'm done, I won't-"

"Come now, say it proper," Pedro said, tossing the panties to the side and grinding deep and hard up against Oscar as a punishing distraction. "Say, 'I won't talk back to daddy anymore.'"

"I won't- I won't talk back to daddy anymore," Oscar repeated, hips jerking desperately as he fought for more friction on his cock. "Please, I- I promise I won't talk back to daddy again, I promise-"

"Now that's a good fuckin' boy," Pedro said, "and good boys who don't talk back are allowed to get off."

The air was punched out of Oscar's lungs as Pedro started fucking him mercilessly again, yanking him up by the heavy chain at his throat so they were nose to nose. "Come on baby, say it, say it loud," he breathed, "tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"Y- you, you it- fu... yours," Oscar gasped out. "It's yours, GOD, YOURS- "

"That's fuckin' right it is," Pedro said, voice low and gravelly. "Wanna feel it cum for me, wanna feel you cum on me, come on baby get off for me now, right fuckin' now, wanna feel it-"

He was cut off by Oscar arching off the bed until only his shoulders and ass were still on it, tense and shaking while he came, eyes squeezed shut and choking on his own breath. Pedro dropped the chain and seated himself balls deep to grind up against his dick through it, trying to last until Oscar was finished.

"Please... please come inside daddy," Oscar said weakly as he started to come down. "Inside, please-"

That was all it took to tip Pedro over the edge: the sight of Oscar on his back, face flushed, eyes hazy, begging for his cum, bound in a collar with his name on it-

"Shit- shitshitshit-"

He barely managed to keep himself propped up as he spilled into Oscar's hole, chest heaving as he pushed their hips together as tightly as possible, wanting to make sure none of it leaked back out.

Oscar pressed his hands against his boyfriend's chest as much as he could with them still bound, watching his face while he finished deep inside him, wanting to commit to every last second of this to memory.

He waited until Pedro's body started to relax, watching him slowly blink his eyes back open, and reached up and put his hands on either side of Pedro's neck, pulling him down for a breathless kiss.

They stayed like that a moment, Oscar just kissing all over Pedro's lips and cheeks while the man struggled to catch his breath again. "It's okay, Osc," Pedro finally managed. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," Oscar said, unable to hold back any longer. "I want to, Pedro."

Pedro lowered his bodyweight onto Oscar at the words, covering him like a living weighted blanket. He used a hand to help open one of the cuffs to let Oscar's hands free, blinking as Oscar hurried to do the other on his own. He took the clip of the heavier chain himself, making Pedro slow down while he carefully undid the clasp and gently pulled it out through the collar.

Pedro found himself again watching Oscar's face, painted with care and concern and love as he eased the chain out and set the restraints off to the side.

Oscar put his unbound hands up on Pedro's cheeks, pulling him down for a real kiss, slow and soft. He hummed as he felt Pedro relax into him further, the deep pressure and shared heat grounding him in the present.

He let Pedro pull back after a moment, rubbing his thumb along one of his boyfriend's cheekbones.

"How're you feeling, amor?" Pedro asked him, leaning into the touch.

"Hm," Oscar said, almost amused by the question. "Very happy to be here with you." Pedro smiled back at him, closing his eyes as Oscar's fingertips traced over top his buzzcut. "How are you feeling?"

"Just... wanted to make sure it was what you wanted," Pedro said, once again looking at him with a tinge of concern.

Oscar pressed another soft, reassuring kiss to Pedro's lips. "It was perfect," he said softly. "That was exactly what I wanted. Was it what you wanted?"

Pedro pulled him ever closer, face pressed into the side of Oscar's neck. " 'nd more," he murmured against the beat of Oscar's heart in his throat. "You're incredible."

Wrapping his arms and legs tightly around his boyfriend, Oscar let him lie like that for a bit, chests rising and falling in a complimentary opposite pattern, until Pedro finally said: "What d'you think, shower? Bath? Want me to just clean you up here?"

"Shower," Oscar said right away. That was the only thing that hadn't firmly settled on with this plan, but now Oscar was aching for that type of intimacy. "Long as you're up for it."

Pedro lifted his head for another soft, loving kiss. "Absolutely."

Ten minutes later, Oscar was stepping into the shower that Pedro had insisted on warming up for him, not letting him get a word out before he was leaning into him and burrowing his head into Pedro's shoulder.

Pedro chuckled at the unexpected affection, pressing a kiss to Oscar's rapidly dampening temple as he started slowly massaging soap into his skin.

Oscar was extremely particular about what brand of soap he used where Pedro couldn't care less, so their bathroom was always kept well stocked with the 3-for-five packaging-free lavender soap that Oscar liked.

He inhaled the scent, calming and reassuring in its familiarity, while his boyfriend slowly cleaned him, top to bottom, inch by careful inch until he moved to set the bar down and wash himself-

"Please let me."

Pedro paused for a beat and then brought the soap back to place it in Oscar's waiting hand.

He kissed Pedro's scruffy cheek as he took it. "Gracias."

Pedro slowly relaxed under Oscar's touch, and although the boy moved a bit faster than he had, he was no less loving and his touches were no less treasured by Pedro than the Spaniard's own were by Oscar.

They spent a bit longer in the shower, Pedro making sure every little smudge and speck was gone, but not long after they were cuddled in bed, warm and quiet, Pedro gently massaging over where the cuffs had been on Oscar's wrists.

"They really were comfortable," Oscar remarked honestly. "The collar too; I'm almost surprised."

"Looked incredible on you," Pedro complimented him, kissing the back of one of his hands. "All of it. Fucking gorgeous with my name around your neck like that."

Oscar almost giggled as Pedro pulled him in to spoon him closer, kissing the side of his neck. "Pedro?" The Spaniard hummed "Can I swear again?" Oscar asked quietly.

Pedro gave one last gentle, sleepy kiss to the corner of Oscar's jaw. "Only if you do community service."

[scrollonso]

32 "it looks good on you" for beznaia?

alice... i knew what to write as soon as you sent me this, enjoy!

Marco felt a little foolish. When Pecco said he wanted to see Marco in a skirt as a reward for winning the championship, he’d been all for it. It was such a small thing to ask and he wanted to make Pecco happy any way he could, show him how much he loved him. Yet now that he was standing there in the fitting room and looking at himself in the mirror he was beginning to hesitate.

The skirt Pecco had picked for him to try was short and black, shorter than he'd thought skirts were supposed to be. He was sure on anyone else it would be an insane turn on, but he just felt out of place, not exactly the kind of a seductive sight he’d hoped he could give Pecco. It didn’t really help that he was still wearing his own VR46 team shirt which made wearing this for Pecco a lot stranger.

This was stupid. He shouldn’t have even offered. It had been egoistical to think he could pull it off.

“Hey, try this on with it!” Pecco said, excitedly, as he quickly opened the door of the cubicle so he could slip inside too. He was holding a white skin tight and slightly cropped top, his eyes on the shirt as he hung it up in one of the hooks. “It should be the right size but if it’s not I can run and get another to—” That was when he cut himself off, as he noticed the way discomfort was probably oozing off Marco. “Hey. What’s up?” he asked, shifting closer, so he could place his chin on Marco’s shoulder from behind.

Their eyes met in the mirror and Marco considered for a moment just sucking it up and saying nothing. He had never been able to – or willing to – lie to Pecco, though, so he folded in like ten seconds flat. “I feel kinda stupid.”

“Because of the clothes?” Pecco asked, slowly sliding his arms around Marco to pull him to his chest. The closeness helped immediately, and the tension bled off Marco as he leaned back against Pecco. He nodded, still a little embarrassed by the whole thing. Pecco only huffed, not dismissively but kind of fondly, and pressed a quick kiss into the curve of Marco’s jaw. “You didn’t think it was stupid when you dressed like a girl that last time, remember?”

Oh hell yes Marco remembered. But that was different. It wasn't for Pecco then. It was a stupid gag costuke done in a group. This was serious. “Yeah,” he croaked out, clearing his throat. "But that was a joke, this- I'm sorry, Pecco, I just feel stupid."

“Wanna know what I see?” he asked, but went on before Marco really even answered. “I see a man who was willing to go out of his comfort zone to make someone he loves happy.”

That did feel nice to hear but Marco almost scoffed and told Pecco it still didn’t mean he looked even decent at all in the outfit, just because he’d willingly tried it on. He turned his head to look at Pecco to tell him exactly that, but Pecco used the opportunity and shut him up with a kiss.

As it broke, he gave Marco’s lower lip a little tug with his teeth, grinning as he went on. “I see strong thighs,” as he spoke he slid his hands from Marco's waist down to the front of his thighs, the touch making him shiver a little. “They’re almost bursting out of the skirt,” Pecco added, almost dreamily. “I want to get down on my knees and bite them all over.”

Marco felt his knees go a little weak, and maybe he leaned a little more heavily against Pecco. The other man obviously noticed as he shifted behind Marco, and that just made it even better. There was an obvious bulge in Pecco's jeans as he pressed his crotch against Marco's ass, a telltale sign of how hard he was already from this. Knowing he was excited about this immediately made Marco more excited, too, and did wonders to boost his confidence.

So Marco arched his back, shamelessly pressing himself against Pecco's erection. “What else?” he asked, knowing he was fishing for compliments, but also knowing that Pecco would be willing to indulge him.

The low sigh that Pecco let out was like music to Marco's ears, and he let his eyes slip shut as Prcco's hot breath hit his neck. “You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, trust me,” Pecco said, running his lips up the side of Marco's neck and then to his jaw, scraping his teeth over the soft skin. “I can’t wait to get to unwrap my present. It looks good on you, great on you, but the best part will be to peel the layers off. Slowly.”

“You really like it?” Marco asked, still trying to make sure, although he was already convinced. He’d been too flustered and overwhelmed when he’d thought he wasn’t living up to the imagination that it had made him doubt himself needlessly.

“I do,” Pecco said. “If we weren’t in public I’d show you.” He grabbed Marco's hips, then, and spun him around so they were face to face. He waited for Marco to look at him, before he went on softly. “But we don’t need to do this if you don’t want to. We can just go home and I’ll show you just how much I appreciate even the attempt.”

“No,” Marco argued. “I want to.” And he did. He’d just gotten into his head a bit there, but by now he was pretty much as excited about it as Pecco was.

“In that case,” Pecco drawled, before unceremoniously spinning Marco around again. He pressed back close against him, slid one arm around Marco's waist, and the other to his hip. Only for a second, though, before he let that hand wander down to Marco's crotch, teasing him through the fabric. “I can’t wait to get home.” He practically only breathed into Marco's ear, his voice low enough to keep things private. The background music at the store wasn’t loud, but enough to give them some degree of privacy, especially as the place had been virtually empty and there weren’t others close by to pay attention to them.

Marco was already about to answer, but then Prcco went on, making his breath hitch in his throat. “I’m going to lick every inch of your body until you’re begging for me to fuck you.”

The sound Marco let out was pretty much a pathetic little whimper. Especially as Pecco combined the words with slowly circling his palm, just barely teasing Marco without giving him any more. Marco shuddered, trying to breathe in deep so he could remain in control instead of losing it like a teenager. All these years together and Pecco still did that to him, still made him feel like they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship.

“I’m going to love you so hard, like you deserve,” Pecco went on, something soft in his voice in addition to how it was husky with clear lust. “Because you know what else I see?” he asked, but didn’t bother to wait before answering his own question. “I see the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

[scrollonso]

It Makes Sense — 1 (out of 2?)

“No… Domi, listen, I di-” Pecco was cut off by another angry yell being spouted by the phone. “Can you actually just listen to me?! Stop fucking screaming over the phone, I can hear you just fine!”

Pecco had been on the phone with her for almost an hour, and for the entirety of that time Bez had been laying on his back, watching the older man through half-lidded eyes. They were oh so busy, and she oh so rudely interrupted them. It was funny though, seeing Pecco pacing a hole through his floor in nothing but his underwear, covered in bite marks and hickeys that most definitely did not come from Domi. It put a sense of pride into Bez knowing that no matter who Pecco was with… it would never be them, always him.

Maybe it was fucked up of him to be so happy about it, maybe it made him a messed up person to be glad that no one else could ever make Pecco feel the way he did. But he didnt care, and it didn't change that it was true.

“Just listen to me! Actually fucking listen! Domizia…” He paused for a moment, the sound of the woman's voice booming through the phone speaker. Bez had never liked Domizia, but he also had never liked any of Pecco's girlfriends. They were always so whiny and annoying. ‘Blah blah blah, you and Bez are too close’ ‘Spend more time with me’ ‘Don’t ditch me for him blah blah blah’. All they did was bitch and moan. It was obnoxious.

“I'm sorry, okay? There is nothing else I can say… I genuinely forgot we had plans and I-” he sounded defeated. “What? …No'' Pecco looked over at Bez, eyes raking over his form. Sitting in his bed, shirtless wearing nothing but tattered old ripped jeans with his piercing shining in from the light of the dim bedroom, a smirk playing at his lips. Pecco looked him dead in his eyes before speaking into the phone. “No, Marco isn't here right now, I haven't talked to him all day.”

It took everything in the man not to laugh his ass off. Pecco could obviously hear the stifled laugh because when he sat down on the bed next to him he slapped his arm, whispering for him to shut up.

“… I’ll talk to you later okay, I swear… No I really gotta go,” Pecco sighed. “Domi, I’ll talk to you later… I need to, like, clean up and stuff, my apartment is a mess, seriously I need to go-”

Before Pecco could stop him, Bez snatched the phone out of his hands, not letting go no matter how much Pecco tried to wrestle it out of his grasp. He hung up just as Pecco got a grip

"Seriously, Bez?" He asked, groaning as he looked at the phone in his hands. "You should've let me finish talking it out with her before you hung up."

“Well if you loved her, I wouldn’t be in your bed right now. If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t be covered in my bite marks and my hickeys.”

“Just shut the fuck up Bez… I have to go do damage control.” Pecco said, trying to get up, Bez quick to pull him back down

“Or… you should just stop thinking about her pathetic ass and stay in bed with me, we could continue what we started...”

“As tempting as that sounds, I need to fix this, I can't have her upset at me for long."

Bez just looked at the other boy, rolling his eyes and sighing, putting Pecco's phone on the bedside table next to him. Leaning over and pressing the other into the bed, ducking his head into the space between his shoulder and neck. “She’s sweet, y’know… She cares about me, treats me well.” Pecco spoke softly.

“Does she?” Bez mumbled, pressing small kisses to his skin, sucking on it lightly.

“Y-yeah… She does.” His voice was quiet and full of breath as Bez's hands started to roam around his body, one settling on his hip and the other rubbing his arm.

“Do you love her, Pecco?”

“…Y-yes”

Bez's fingers dug into his hip as he bit down particularly hard on his shoulder, making him gasp, push his head away, and involuntarily buck his hips all at the same time. “If you love her, why am I the one in your bed right now?”

“Bez…”

“You don’t love her, just like you didn’t love the last one, or the one before that. Because every single time, you end up knocking on my apartment door begging me to-“

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut the fuck up!” Pecco smashed his lips onto the other, setting them for a bruising pace, neither minded though. Nothing was ever gentle between the two of them, always fast and aggressive, maybe that’s what they like about each other. They don’t have to tone anything down, they could be awful and mean and still end up in the same bed afterwards.

“It’s not always me seeking you out, you know…I’m not that fucking desperate” Pecco said pulling away from him. “How many times have you pulled me away from hangouts and texted me during dates trying to get me back at your place?”

“And how many times have you done it? Sure, I’m pathetic for asking, but you’re pathetic for listening.”

“I hate you.” He leaned back in, kissing him feverishly. Bez's hands felt so cold against him while Pecco was on fire, skin a flush red. “How do you want it?”

“Hmm? What’s that?” He leaned down to his jaw, kissing and biting at it as Pecco tried to speak.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Just-… Come on.”

He stopped for a moment, teasing with the notion that he was thinking about it, trying to figure him out, but Bez knew exactly what he was asking.

“Oh, if I’m fucking you or you’re fucking me? Well, why didn’t you say that Pecco?” Bez smiled, and god, it did nothing but piss him off. “I don’t know, I think I have a lot to prove. Make sure you don’t call her back..”

“You petty bitch!” Pecco was laughing until Bez moved his hand to the back of his head, tangling it through the short curls, tightening his fist yanking on the hair in his grasp. “Fuck!” He moaned out, head tilted back and mouth open.

“If I fuck you hard enough you won’t even remember her name, will you?”

“Then actually do it instead of just running your mouth.”

Pecco felt the strong sting of a slap across his cheek, so hard it almost gave him whiplash. “You’re not the one telling me what to do here.” Pecco couldn't help but shudder at the sound of his voice, head still turned to the side as he was breathing heavily. If he wasn't hard before he certainly was now. “Wow… you’re fucking disgusting, arent you? Did you like that, Pecco? You like it when I hit you?”

Suddenly, Pecco wasn't moving, wasn't saying anything, eyes fixed on a patch of the dark blue sheets covering their his bed. Bez's stomach almost did a flip, hearing him so silent, not reacting, he worried for a moment that he might have gone a bit far.

“Amo..”

But his worries dissipated as soon as Pecco lunged forward, pushing Bez down and pressing all his weight onto him.

“You’re the one that likes hitting me, I simply humour you.”

Once again, Bez and Pecco caught each other in a kiss that was closer to eating eachothers faces than anything. The brunette's hand moved lower and lower until his palm rested right over the bulge in Bez's jeans, not quite pressing down, just resting there, teasing at the idea of friction.

Everytime Bez tried to buck his hips into his hands, the other would move it up with him, denying him the satisfaction, smiling into the kiss as he did so. He was growing frustrated, Pecco could feel it by the grip of the other man’s hand in his hair and the way he panted between each kiss while moving his hips up desperately. He moved down close to Bez's ear, whispering softly, with a voice far too angelic for anything the two of them were doing.

“And here I thought you were gonna take control, something about fucking me so hard I forget her name?” Bez gave a shaky exhale at the sound of Pecco's voice, taking a moment to collect himself. “I still remember it pretty well, hell… I still remember the way her pu-“

He was quickly cut off by the hand resting in his hair, yanking him back as the other moved forward, small whimpers escaping this mouth as Bez pulled him farther and farther back.

“Bez, Bez, Bez, please-“ he gave his hair another good tug, whipping his neck back and forth as he whined his name “I didn’t mean to-“

But every time he tried to speak, Bez just pulled harder, pulling until Pecco's hands frantically moved up. His palms resting over his knuckles trying to pry him off and release him from that damn death grip.

Smack.

Another harsh slap, his cock twitching when the calloused hand met the soft skin of his face. his cheek was red, his ears were ringing, and god, did he need Bez to just tear his boxers off and fuck him already. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this… how much longer he would last.

“I bet this could get you off alone couldn’t it? Pulling on your hair and slapping that pretty face of yours.” Bez looked at him as he spoke, his eyes showed nothing but adoration for him, and while looking at him like this, like Pecco had hung every single star up in the sky himself, he reared back his hand adding one more harsh slap to his face.

“CAZZO! Bez, fuck!” Pecco almost squealed, the skin on the right side of his face red and raw, a stark contrast to the left, cool and untouched. Bez's hips twitched and spasmed, bucking at nothing but air.

“Yeah… yeah, I could definitely get you off like this, wouldn’t even have to touch your dick… Bet I wouldnt have to fuck you either.” He chuckled. To anyone else, he looked fucking insane, but to Pecco? He almost looked godly up above him like this, holding him tightly in his grasp as he was groveling at his mercy. Yeah… Bez was a cruel and unforgiving god, a god that Pecco would worship at the altar of every chance he got. “You’re such a whore you know that? Sitting here humping the air while I hit you. Does your girlfriend know you like this shit?”

When Bez moved his hand towards Pecco's face, his whole body tense, ready for another blow to the face. He was surprised by him delicately holding his face, it made his cheeks sting no matter how soft the display was… and god did he love the sting.

“She doesn't…”

“What was that, amo?”

“We don't do shit like this together…”

Bez smiled. “Yeah, I didn't think so, I’m the only one that can give you what you need, aren't I?”

“Dont act so fucking smug-” Bez squeezed the cheek had been abusing all night, digging his short nails into the raw skin.

“Dont be fucking rude!” he released him, his grip on his face gone, and pulling his hand out of his hair. Pecco didn't even realize how harsh the grip was until it was released. His scalp was burning and sore, and his cheek was going to bruise, explaining that was going to be… interesting for sure.

Bez, who was propped up on the bed by his knees, finally began unbuckling his belt, slowly unzipping the fly. “I think… You forget yourself.” His voice was raspy, and filled with nothing but pure amusement. “You are so determined to defy me that you deny yourself of what you want.”

“The fuck are you talk-“ Pecco's jaw was grabbed harshly thus cutting him off.

“Shut the fuck up! Your mouth isn’t good for anything but sucking and moaning. Quit fucking talking!” The grip on Pecco's jaw got tighter as he shook his head back and forth.

“Fuck you.” He managed to choke out

“You can do that next time, it's my turn today.”

“Oh shut up-“

“Suck,” he interrupted quickly, staring straight into his eyes.

“Ask nicely.”

“Fine…” Bez grabbed him, shoving his face down, mouth hovering over the shaft of his dick, close enough he could feel every breath hitting the skin. He grabbed the base, tapping the tip on Pecco's lip. “Please open your mouth and suck my dick like the depraved whore you are.”

“That’s not very nice of you, Marco.” Pecco opening his mouth to speak was his first mistake, Bez taking the opportunity to shove the tip of his cock between his lips and quickly to the back of his throat.

He panicked for a moment, trying to pull off, but Bez's hand ruined every attempt at getting away.

“Stop struggling, stop- calm down and stop being a fucking baby about it.” He didn’t let up, not until Pecco stopped gagging and slapping his hands at his thighs. If he wanted to stop he would pinch. “I’m going to let go now, and you’re gonna bob your head up and down and fucking suck.”

And like that, his hand moved away, granting Pecco a small amount of mercy. It was still hovering in case his head needed a good push. Pecco tried to start off slow, maybe tease a bit, he loved Bez's reaction and how he tried to act less pathetic than he was, resisting the urge to whine and whimper when Pecco's mouth was wrapped around him. But Bez was growing impatient, deciding to start bucking his hips and returning his hand in its favorite place, gripping tightly around Pecco's hair. Well, it was his hands' third favorite place.

The first was around Pecco's neck, watching his face turn a light shade of purple before he finally let up; the second was his cock, when he would continue to jerk him off until he is overstimulated and begging him to let go; and third was his hair, when he could yank him around like his own personal ragdoll.

He continued thrusting his hips, watching his dick as it slowly dragged across his tongue and lips, precum and spit dribbling from his mouth. He could finish like this. It was tempting actually, to shove his head down and cum down his throat, basking in the sounds of him choking and the feeling of him struggling to get away.

He pulled Pecco off by his hair, the brunette breathing heavily, gasping almost. He needed to collect himself, Bez was too close and he didn’t want to fill his mouth, no he wanted to finish inside, he needed to fuck Pecco until he was screaming, and cum inside because goddamnit, he was his. He fucking belonged to him. He pulled his head up, kissing him, tongue licking along his lips.

“Lay… down,” he said between each kiss with him. Moving down to suck a couple more hickeys into the very minuscule amount of unmarked skin covering his body.

When Pecco's head finally hit the pillow, Bez pulled his boxers down.

It felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, Pecco looking up at him and Bez looking down, jeans still resting on his hips, fly open and cock out, and Pecco laying on the bed with his boxers bunched around his ankles and his body sprawled out like a figure in a renaissance painting. This was it, this was all he wanted, he was all he wanted.

Bez was terrified, and Pecco could see it on his face too, the lust turning bitter and forming into some sort of dread.

“Marco? You calling it quits?” His voice was soft, of course it was soft, he cared. He saw a shift in Bez's expression because of course he did, he knew Bez in such an intricate way — how could he not? And thinking about that only made it worse. “Let’s just… do this later, yeah?”

“No,” Bez blurted out, his hands holding onto Pecco's hips.

“No?”

“No, we aren’t doing this later, I want to fuck you now.” He pushed it away, it’s what he had to do, he couldn’t think about his damn feelings when all he wanted to feel was Pecco clenching around him when he finally cums.

“Mar-“

“If I wanted to fucking stop, I would’ve said the word. I haven’t, have I?”

“No… You haven’t.”

“Then shut the hell up about it.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that, you cunt.” Pecco leaned up to get into his face and was imedetly pushed back down. “If you don’t quit being such an asshole you aren’t fucking me at all.”

Bez just rolled his eyes as he reached over to the nightstand to grab the half empty bottle of lube, they had just gotten it a couple weeks ago and it was almost gone…

“I’m being fucking serious.”

He looked at him a moment, popping the cap open.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why are you such a bitch about everything?” He complained, squirting a pretty generous amount of the lubricant onto his fingers, not bothering to warm it up before pushing one in.

“Cold! cold cold cold, quit it.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m going to be worse to you next time.” Pecco breathed out, getting used to the feeling as Bez pushed the finger in and out. “You… are going to suffeeeerrr…” His words veered off into a whiny moan when a second finger was added.

“Oh, am I, baby? What’re you gonna do?”

“Gonna… fuck…” The pace of his fingers kept speeding up, making it difficult for Pecco to string a sentence together. “Fuck your face… ‘til you’re crying.”

“Are you?” The third finger was added, this one drew a loud moan out of Pecco, it was beautiful. “Is that all? That’s kinda boring, just until I cry?”

“You know that… collar we got?” That… That’s what made Bez freeze, finger stuck right at the knuckle and eyes a bit wide. If he wasn’t already hard he would have sprung up immediately. “The one with 'Pecco's' engraved on it?”

“I thought we were saving that for a special occasion.”

“I think bending you over in front of me and fucking you until you’re sobbing is pretty special.” It was Pecco's turn to smile at him — still looking so lovely — tan skin against the white sheets, dark bruises and bites littering every inch of his body, despite all that he looked almost innocent. Even when presented to him with his fingers knuckles deep inside curling in whatever direction would make him squirm, he looked sweet.

While talking about putta a fucking collar on him, he looked sweet.

“Getting a bit ahead of ourselves huh?” Bez chuckled out.

“Just preparing for the future.”

Bez considered a fourth for a second, but three was already too many, he knew how much Pecco liked it to hurt. It was just so much fun though, Pecco trying to act so casual while losing his mind just to Bez's fingers. He pulled them out despite every little protest coming from Pecco's mouth.

“Don’t be ungrateful. You are lucky I let you have my fingers.”

“Fuck me.” Pecco gasped out, a hand reaching out to grab Bez's arm.

“Patience.”

“Fuck… me.”

“I said you have to fucking wait a minute. I need to get more lube and-“

“I don’t give a shit about the lube Bez! Fuck me dry for all I care, there's already enough!” Pecco snapped, fingers digging into Bez's arm. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to press your goddamn face into this mattress and fuck you myself.”

If Bez's right hand wasn’t busy wiping the remaining lubricant onto his cock, he would slap the already blooming bruises on his cheek.

So… he used his left hand instead, the pristine and clear cheek being marked red, matching the other.

“You’re so ungrateful, did you know that?” Bez grabbed Pecco's thighs, pushing his legs closer and closer to his shoulders, almost folding him in half, leaving his hole on display. “But your body makes up for it, you don’t gotta worry.”

He pushed just the tip in, barely catching the rim before he pulled it right out, entertained by the way Pecco struggled to keep his breathing consistent and his eyes opened.

“Put it the fuck in!”

Another loud crack of palm against skin sounded through the room. “You think you would learn your fucking lesson, Pecco.”

“Please… Marco… Please fuck me, I need you, I need your cock, I can’t…you have to, please, I’ll do anything, please, fuck.” Tears slipped down Pecco's cheeks as he begged for Bez to fuck him. And he just couldn’t help it then, it was almost like he blacked out and his body started acting on its own. Finally thrusting into him, not taking the time to let Pecco adjust and starting the pace quick and brutal. Fucking into him like he wanted to break him in half, like he wanted to destroy him until he couldn’t move a single muscle.

He held onto Pecco's calves as he plowed into him, Pecco not able to shut up, broken moans echoing through the room.

“God, you are such a whore. You need to quiet down before your neighbours hear you… I bet you would like that wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm… Oh… mhmm!”

“Can’t even speak, can you? Is it that good? Do you just love my cock that much?” He didn’t slow down, not even when his hand snaked between Pecco's thighs to run his fingers along the shaft of his cock, lightly caressing it. “Aw, you still haven’t been touched yet have you? I bet you’re really pent up aren’t you? Do you want me to touch your dick, amore?”

Pecco's brain was fuzzy, he could barely focus on the world around him, let alone the words being spoken to him, but he nodded his head.

“Words, use them,” Bez croaked out, his pace faltering the closer he got to the edge. “If you want something, you gotta ask for it.”

“Yes… y-yes, yes, please touch, tou- fuck, oh fuck, Bez, god! Yes, touch my co- Jesus fuck!” He could barely get the sentence out, and that meant Bez was doing it right.

“That’s so pathetic.”

“Bez…”

“Begging just for me to touch you?”

“You told me to!” Pecco almost whined at him, as Bez borderline laughed at him.

“Mhm, and you listened like a good little bitch, didn’t you, Pecco?” He punctuated his words with a particularly hard buck of his hips, his dick hitting Pecco's prostate head-on, making him cry out in pleasure. It didn’t help that Bez finally held on to his cock, squeezing the base of it as he fucked him. Pecco was not going to finish first, Bez would make sure of it. He needed to know that his body wasn’t his own, it wasn’t his girlfriends either, no. It was Bez's. His property and most prized possession.

“Mar… Marco, it fucking hurts!”

“I know, just give me a minute, I’m almost there, baby, I promise.” He kissed him, not hungrily like it had been this whole time, not with aggression or overbearing control but, with a softer passion, the two pairs moving together in the softest gesture of the whole night. Maybe that’s what did it, that small little fantasy in Bez's head that they had more kisses like that, kisses that lingered just for the sake of closeness and not because they needed something to fulfill their bodies needs. Maybe that’s what got Bez to finally cum… or maybe it’s the way Pecco's hole clenched around his cock and he moaned into his mouth as he pulled away… It was probably the second one.

“Fuck… Shit, oh my… Pecco, baby, you are something.” He was so busy riding out his orgasm, thrusts slowing down as he came down, that he forgot about the hand wrapped around Pecco's weeping cock. And the way he squirmed and groaned, begging for him to let go and jerk him off. “Oh, yeah… You need to get off, too. You wouldn’t mind if I just left you like this, would you?

It was a joke, but Pecco obviously wasn’t in the mood to take Bez's shit. His hands moved up to dig into Bez's scalp and pulled his face close, noses touching.

“I don't give a shit if it's your birthday

I will fucking. Kill. You.”

Bez gulped, staring right into Pecco's dark brown eyes. “Hot.”

Pecco sighed, throwing his head back into the pillow, and that’s when he started moving his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb over the slit. He unfolded him and rested his legs on his shoulders. Moving down to take the tip of Pecco's cock into his mouth and suck on it. Tongue swirling around it, encouraged by Pecco's hand resting in his hair and moaning out at every slight movement. He didn’t take the whole thing, using his hand to jerk him off until he was cumming.

Pecco's hips spasmed as he came, screaming out and digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands until Bez pulled off with the most obnoxious popping noise.

“Be… Bez…”

He fucking swallowed it.

“Hm?”

“Apple juice.”

Bez stopped in his tracks, as he was pulling away from Pecco and setting his legs down.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Want it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to drink water after getting your brains fucked out?”

“Yeah, but… I want fucking apple juice.”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll get you apple juice.” He rolled his eyes, standing up and grabbing the box of tissues to throw at Pecco so he could clean himself up while he went to the kitchen.

When he came back in, Pecco was still sitting naked on the bed, now with his phone in hand and a serious look on his face, his head shot up when Bez walked in.

“I'm gonna propose.” the brunette whispered, sighing as he sat his phone down and grabbed his glass. “Christmas Eve, I'm gonna propose..”

“Yeah, okay Pecco.” he laughed, flopping onto the bed next to him.

“I am.” Pecco sat up, looking down at Bez "We can't keep doing this, we're both boys.c

"And?" Bez hummed, closing his eyes "Doesn't stop you from loving my cock."

"Bez. She's a girl, it makes sense for me to propose. This- Us. It doesn't make sense."

He just hummed, he didn't believe him.

Pecco had rehearsed his speech a hundred times in his mind, but standing here now, in front of Domizia in the same place they had their first date, the words felt heavier. It was Christmas Eve, the scent of pine and cinnamon in the air, and the lights from the buildings around them softly illuminated the streets.

Pecco’s breath came out in small, misty clouds as he tried to steady himself. Domizia was bundled up in a patterned scarf, her cheeks pink from the chill, eyes sparkling with the same love and warmth she had always shown him.

He reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box. Everything about this moment was perfect, yet his chest felt tight. The words he had planned seemed to tangle in his throat. But he had made his choice. This was right. It made sense.

"Domizia," he began, his voice low but firm, "I’ve been thinking about us, about everything we’ve been through. You’re my everything, the one person who’s always been there for me."

She smiled softly, stepping closer, her gloved hand gently brushing his arm. "Francesco, you’re making me nervous," she teased lightly, her breath visible in the cool air.

He chuckled, but it didn’t ease the tension building inside him. Slowly, he pulled out the ring box and knelt down on one knee, the city lights casting a warm glow on the ring nestled inside. Domizia’s eyes widened in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasped.

“I love you, Domizia. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Pecco said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Domizia’s eyes filled with tears, her face lighting up with pure joy. She nodded eagerly, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Sì, sì, of course!"

He slipped the ring onto her finger, feeling a strange mix of relief and weight as she threw her arms around him. The world around them felt distant, the noise of the city fading into the background as they embraced. This was the future he had chosen—the life that made sense. But even as Domizia held him tightly, Pecco couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what he was leaving behind. The man he was leaving behind.

Pecco’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he and Domizia walked through the softly lit streets, her arm linked through his. She was glowing with happiness, showing off the ring to every passerby who glanced their way. But behind his smile, Pecco felt a storm brewing within him.

He knew what he had to do next. It was inevitable, like a slow-moving train heading toward its destination. His heart ached with the weight of it, the reality of the promise he had just made pressing down on him. He glanced at his watch, the cold metal against his wrist grounding him as they reached the hotel.

“Should we go in?” Domizia asked, her eyes hopeful, her hand resting on his chest. She had no idea of the inner turmoil twisting inside him.

Pecco leaned down and kissed her softly. “I need to take care of something, amore. I’ll be back later.”

She pouted playfully but nodded, trusting him. As she always did. “Don’t be too long, okay? I want to wake up with you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that almost broke him. “I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as Domizia disappeared into the building, Pecco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The tension that had been coiling inside him since the moment he proposed began to unravel, but only slightly. The warmth of her embrace still lingered on his skin, yet it didn’t bring the comfort it should have. Instead, it felt like a reminder of the weight he had just tied himself to — a weight that felt both safe and suffocating at once.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his coat pocket, fishing out his phone. For a moment, he stared at the screen, his mind racing. He had just promised his future to Domizia, but here he was, heart pounding, thinking of someone else. Someone who had always been in the background, in the shadows of his decisions, but never fully gone.

Pecco's fingers hovered over the keyboard, doubt creeping in. But he couldn’t stop himself. Not this time. He needed to see him, to feel that familiar rush that always came when they were together—the pull that kept dragging him back, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

With a quick breath, he typed out the words before he could second-guess himself any further.

"I need to see you."

"Now."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before pressing send, knowing that whatever came next, there was no turning back.

Bez was waiting at Pecco and Domizia’s house, leaning against the doorframe when Pecco arrived. His posture was casual, but his eyes told a different story — darker than usual, shadowed with something Pecco couldn’t quite place. It was a look he knew all too well. It was a mix of anger, hurt, and anticipation, as if Bez had been waiting for this moment with an intensity that mirrored the weight of Pecco's own dread. They had been dancing around this conversation for too long, and tonight, neither could avoid it.

Pecco barely had time to close the door behind him before Bez pulled him in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was more desperate than passionate. It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was demanding, a collision of need and frustration, of all the things they hadn’t said. It was familiar, the way Bez’s mouth moved against his, the way their bodies fit together, like the hundreds of times they had done this before. Pecco responded instinctively, his hands finding their way to Bez’s back, pulling him in as close as he could, as if proximity might make everything easier to understand, as if being together like this could make the rest of the world disappear.

They stumbled toward the couch, breath mingling with quiet gasps as their hands roamed over each other. Bez’s fingers threaded through Pecco’s hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down his spine, a whine escaping as Bez's lips moved to press against Pecco’s neck. For a brief, stolen moment, it was as if everything was right again, as if nothing had changed between them. The familiar heat between them was still there, burning with the same intensity that always brought them back to each other, no matter how many times they tried to walk away.

But even as Pecco lost himself in Bez’s touch, his mind was racing. The ring on Domizia’s finger felt like a lead weight in his pocket, a constant reminder of the choice he had made tonight. A choice that had no place in this room, no place in the way Bez made him feel. He wanted to forget everything, to drown in the fire between them, to let Bez’s hands and lips burn away the guilt that gnawed at him. But he couldn’t.

He gently pushed Marco back, his chest heaving as he tried to find the words. Marco’s brow furrowed in confusion, his hands still gripping Pecco’s shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Marco asked, his voice low, almost fearful. "You didn't pinch me?"

Pecco pulled away, standing up and reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out the velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the ring no longer nestled inside. Marco’s eyes widened in shock as he processed what Pecco was saying.

“This…” Pecco began, his voice thick with emotion, “this can never happen again.”

Bez looked up at him, his eyes searching Pecco’s face, trying to understand. “You’re- You really went through with it?”

Pecco nodded, closing the box and placing it back in his pocket. “I asked her tonight. She said yes.”

Bez laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he stood up. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to walk away from everything we had? From us? Seriously?”

Pecco felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to meet Bez's gaze. “I can’t keep doing this, Bez. We can’t keep doing this. Domi… she’s my future. She’s the one I’m supposed to be with.”

“And what am I, then? A mistake?” Bez's voice was shaking, hurt. “Just some phase you had to get out of your system? Just testing the fucking faggot waters before settling down with some slut?”

“Don't call her that,” Pecco said quickly, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to cup Bez's face. “No, Marco, you were never a mistake. But we both knew this day would come. It had to.”

Bez closed his eyes, leaning into Pecco’s touch for just a moment longer before pulling away. “So, that’s it. We’re done?”

Pecco swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We’re done.”

They stood there in silence, the weight of the moment settling over them like a heavy blanket. Finally, Bez turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before he stepped out.

“I hope she makes you happy, amore,” Bez said quietly, not turning around. “I really do.”

And then he was gone, leaving Pecco standing alone in the dark apartment, the echo of their goodbye lingering in the air.

Marco hadn’t felt this hollow in a long time. The familiar warmth of Vale's ranch — usually his favorite place to be during the holidays — felt like an emotional landmine this year. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing Pecco and Domi, watching them bask in the glow of their engagement while everyone celebrated around them.

It wasn’t just the usual holiday gathering. It was their Christmas now, the first of many where they’d be the center of attention, smiling and sharing their happiness with the world. And Bez? He’d be on the sidelines, forced to swallow the bitterness gnawing at his insides.

So he stayed away. He made excuses — something about needing time to rest, needing space. Valentino had tried to convince him otherwise, even sent a few messages asking if he was okay. Bez brushed it off with half-hearted responses, knowing that even Vale couldn’t pull him out of this one.

Instead of the ranch, he spent Christmas alone in his apartment. The quiet was suffocating, a far cry from the usual lively chaos of his racing family. He tried distracting himself with movies, but they all felt meaningless. Even riding, his usual escape, couldn’t fill the void. Everything seemed to loop back to Pecco — his laughter, his touch, his promises.

He imagined them at the ranch, the others surrounding Pecco and Domizia with congratulations. He could see Domizia holding out her hand, showing off the ring, while Pecco stood proudly beside her. That image stung more than any crash ever had.