#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]

White Lie — Pedroscar

"Hey, Osc," Pedro began, his tone unusually somber as he perched on the edge of the couch. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, betraying the nerves he was trying to hide. Aleix had sent him a video earlier — a video of a British guy pranking his girlfriend by telling her he wanted to break up — Aleix said he'd done it on Daniil so now Pedro should do it on Oscar.

Oscar glanced up from his book — his Spanish language book — his brow furrowing at the uncharacteristic seriousness in Pedro’s voice. "What’s wrong, love?" he asked, his tone calm but tinged with concern. He set the book aside carefully, giving Pedro his full attention.

Pedro hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to summon the courage to go through with it — he had no problem riding a death machine as a career but thid horrified him. His hands trembled slightly, and he dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly to steady himself. "I... I think we need to talk," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he studied Pedro’s face. "Okay," he said cautiously. "What is it?"

Pedro’s gaze darted away, unable to hold Oscar’s steady eyes any longer. He looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap. "I’ve been thinking a lot lately," he began, his voice faltering. "And... I uhm, I don't think this is working out anymore."

The words hung heavily in the air, the weight of them immediately shifting the atmosphere in the room. Oscar froze, his usually bright expression clouding over. He didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro noticed the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.

"What do you mean?" Oscar asked finally, his voice carefully even but quieter than usual.

Pedro swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it harder to speak. He pushed through, though every word felt like a knife twisting deeper into his own chest. "I mean us," he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. "I feel like... we’ve been drifting apart. And I don’t think I can do this anymore."

Oscar’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His expression shifted ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of hurt crossing his features before he quickly masked it. "Drifting apart?" he echoed, his tone neutral but tinged with disbelief. "Since when? I didn’t realize you felt that way."

Pedro’s stomach twisted, guilt clawing at him as he watched Oscar struggle to process his words. "It’s not you," Pedro said quickly, forcing himself to meet Oscar’s gaze even as his resolve began to crumble. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just... I don’t know. I feel like something’s changed, and I don’t want to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Oscar nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands. He was quiet for a long moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I see," he said finally, his voice soft but steady.

Pedro’s heart ached at the sight of him — Oscar, always so composed, trying to hold himself together even now. The temptation to abandon the whole act was overwhelming, but he didn’t. Not yet. "I just think this is the best thing for both of us," Pedro added, the words barely audible as they left his mouth.

Oscar’s hands curled into fists in his lap, and he nodded again, though this time the movement was stiffer. "If that’s how you feel," he said, his voice faltering slightly.

Pedro hesitated, watching Oscar carefully. He could see the cracks starting to form in his facade — the slight tremble in his hands, the way his lower lip quivered ever so slightly. Still, Oscar held it together, though Pedro could tell it was taking everything he had.

"Are you sure about this?" Oscar asked quietly, his voice laced with vulnerability despite his best efforts to stay calm.

Pedro’s heart sank further, and for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. This had gone too far. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Oscar the truth, but before he could, Oscar’s composure finally broke.

He let out a choked sob, his chest heaving as he buried his face in his hands. The sound was raw, broken, and filled with anguish, and it pierced straight through Pedro’s heart — what had he just done? Tears began to spill freely down Oscar’s cheeks, slipping through the cracks between his fingers as his entire body trembled violently. His breathing grew erratic, shallow gasps cutting through his cries as the weight of Pedro’s words hit him like a sledgehammer.

"Why?" Oscar finally managed to sob, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. His hands fell from his face, revealing red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears and a look of sheer devastation. "Why would you do this?" His words dissolved into incoherent sobs, his chest shaking as he fought to breathe through the torrent of emotions overtaking him.

Pedro sat frozen, horrified at the sight in front of him. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected — not even close. He thought Oscar might get upset, maybe even cry a little, but this? This was heartbreak, pure and agonizing, and Pedro felt the full weight of his mistake crashing down on him.

"Oscar," Pedro breathed, his voice shaky and filled with regret. He reached out hesitantly, unsure if Oscar would even let him near after what he’d said. But when Oscar didn’t pull away, Pedro wrapped his arms tightly around him, pulling his shaking form close.

"Osc," Pedro said again, more urgently this time, his own voice thick with emotion. "It’s not real. It’s not real! It’s a prank, cariño. I swear, it’s not real!"

Oscar didn’t seem to register the words at first, his sobs growing louder as he clung desperately to Pedro’s Red Bull branded shirt. His fingers curled into the fabric, holding on as if letting go would shatter him completely. "I love you," he choked out between cries, his voice barely audible. His words came in fragments, broken by gasps for air. "I don’t want to lose you, Pedro. Please... don’t do this."

Pedro’s stomach twisted, guilt and shame colliding in a sickening wave as he pressed his lips to Oscar’s temple. "You’re not losing me," he murmured, his own voice trembling as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "You’re never losing me. I’m so sorry, Oscar. It was a stupid, horrible prank, and I swear I’ll never do anything like this again."

Oscar pulled back slightly, his face streaked with tears and his lips trembling as he tried to form words. But another sob wracked his body before he could speak, and Pedro cradled his face in his hands, wiping at the tears with his thumbs.

"It’s okay," Pedro whispered, peppering kisses across Oscar’s forehead, his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. "I’m here. I love you so much, and I’ll spend forever making this up to you. Just... please, don’t cry like this. I can’t stand it."

Oscar sniffled, his breathing still uneven as he looked up at Pedro through tear-blurred eyes. "That was so mean," he said shakily, his voice breaking on the last word.

Pedro nodded, his heart aching at the sound of Oscar’s broken voice. "I know," he admitted softly. "I was a complete idiot. I thought it would be funny, but I didn’t think about how it would hurt you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything, Osc."

Oscar let out a shaky laugh, though fresh tears still glistened in his eyes. He swiped at his face with trembling hands, a flush creeping up his cheeks as the intensity of his reaction began to sink in. "I can’t believe I cried that hard," he muttered, his voice thick and embarrassed. "You're a fucking cunt, you know that?"

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft, apologetic smile as he pulled Oscar close again. "You cried because you care," he murmured, stroking his hair gently. "And that means everything to me. I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll never take that for granted again."

Oscar relaxed slightly in Pedro’s arms, though the occasional shudder still wracked his body. "You better not," he said quietly, his voice still hoarse but steadier now. "Because next time, I’m making you cry."

Pedro let out a soft laugh, relief flooding through him as Oscar’s words carried a hint of his usual playful spirit. "Fair enough," he replied, pressing another kiss to Oscar’s forehead. "But for now, just let me hold you. Please."

Oscar nodded, closing his eyes as he rested his head against Pedro’s chest. The sound of Pedro’s heartbeat beneath his ear was steady, soothing, and slowly, the storm inside him began to calm. "I love you," he whispered, the words barely audible.

Pedro’s arms tightened around him, his lips brushing against Oscar’s hair — he was definitely going to be yelling at Aleix later. "I love you too," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "More than anything in the world."

[scrollonso]

Moira — Marcmarc

The weight of Olympus pressed heavy on Marco’s shoulders. He was no Atlas, condemned to bear the heavens, but the burden Marc had laid upon him felt eternal — a punishment from a god for sins he hadn’t even known he’d committed. He wasn’t divine, merely mortal, yet the agony felt like a curse, his suffering etched into the fabric of their lives like a tragic myth.

Their year together had been a labyrinth, one Marco had willingly entered without a thread to guide him back. Now, trapped in its endless corridors, he realized he was not only Theseus, the hopeful hero searching for salvation but also the Minotaur — beastly, broken, and doomed to perish at the heart of his monstrous love. Every step had brought him deeper into the maze, and every glance Marc cast his way tethered him further, tighter, leaving no escape.

It hadn’t always seemed so dark. It had started innocently — or so Marco had believed. There was no innocence in Marc’s molten gaze, though, sharp and electrifying like Zeus’ thunderbolt. If there was any purity in the way Marc pursued him, it was the innocence of a predator baiting prey. His charm had overwhelmed Marco, drowning him like a wave crashing over an unguarded shore. Marco had been in awe, as mortals always were in the presence of gods, and Marc had reveled in that power.

Marc whispered promises of forever, his voice sweet and golden as stolen nectar from Olympus. Each word was a lie Marco wanted to believe. Marc seemed every myth come to life — a hero without weakness, a god untouchable in his perfection. And Marco had fallen, not like Icarus, recklessly soaring toward the sun, but like Persephone, dragged unwillingly into an underworld he’d never agreed to enter. Once there, he was both enchanted and terrified by the one who had taken him captive.

Valentino Rossi’s shadow loomed over everything, as though his presence were a curse spoken in an ancient tongue. Marco could never escape it. Valentino’s influence was as unshakable as if their lives had been woven by the Fates themselves, each thread tangled in inescapable knots. Valentino and Marc’s history wasn’t hidden; it was as bitter and ancient as the roots of a gnarled olive tree, their animosity weathered by time but never eroded. Every interaction between them was a clash of titans, a silent war beneath the surface.

What no one saw — what Marco had come to understand too late — was that Marc hadn’t simply fallen for him. That would have been too human. For Marc, winning Marco’s heart wasn’t enough. He needed to use it, shape it into a weapon to wield against Valentino. It wasn’t love that burned in Marc’s gaze but vengeance. Every smile, every touch, every whispered promise was a calculated strike, and Marco was nothing more than the blade Marc wielded in his endless war.

“Did you ever love me?” Marco’s voice broke the silence of the dimly lit room, his question soft yet jagged, like the edges of broken glass. He sat on the edge of their shared bed, his shoulders slumped under the invisible weight of what he already knew.

Marc leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, the faintest flicker of something — guilt? amusement? — in his eyes. “Why would you ask that?” His tone was measured, calm, but it didn’t hide the storm brewing underneath.

“Because I need to hear it,” Marco replied, his fists clenching against his thighs. “I need to know if this — if I — was ever real to you.”

Marc stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the room like a dark omen. “What is real, Marco?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, yet laced with a strange softness. He reached out, his fingers brushing Marco’s cheek with a tenderness that felt like mockery. “Does it matter if I loved you? You stayed anyway.”

Marco’s heart twisted painfully at the words. “You used me,” he whispered, barely able to keep his voice steady. “Everything we had — every moment — it was just a weapon. A way to hurt Vale.”

Marc’s expression flickered, but his grip tightened on Marco’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “And you let me,” he said coldly. “You let me because you couldn’t walk away. You wanted to believe I loved you, even when you knew better.”

“I stayed because I loved you,” Marco spat, tears brimming in his eyes. “Because I thought— maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Marc interrupted sharply. “That you could change me? Save me? Don’t be a fool, Marco. Mortals don’t save gods. They worship them. They sacrifice for them. And sometimes, they burn for them.”

Marco wrenched his face free from Marc’s grasp, rising to his feet. “Then I won’t burn for you anymore,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “Find someone else to play your games, Marc.”

For a moment, Marc said nothing, his gaze inscrutable, the silence between them stretching unbearably. Finally, he smiled, slow and cruel, and stepped back. “You think you can walk away from me?” he asked, his tone almost amused. “There’s no thread to guide you out of this, Marco. You’ll come back, just like you always do.”

Marco turned away, his chest tight with the weight of Marc’s words. Maybe Marc was right. Maybe there was no way out of the maze. But somewhere deep inside, Marco clung to a fragile, fleeting hope — a thread of his own weaving — that he could still find his way to freedom.

At first, Marco hadn’t seen it. He was blind, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to see. He thought Marc’s love was a gift from Eros himself — golden arrows piercing his chest and leaving him breathless. He mistook Marc’s fire for passion, his intensity for devotion. Like any mortal in the presence of a god, Marco had believed, foolishly, with a heart full of blind faith.

But the truth came like the icy grip of the River Styx — cold, unrelenting, dragging him into its depths. Marc’s hands on him weren’t only for him. They weren’t acts of love. They were tools, instruments of pain wielded not against Marco, but through him. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise was a thread in the tapestry Marc wove to ensnare Vale. Every lingering hand in the paddock, every sly smile aimed at the older Italian from across the garage — none of it was love. It was war, and Marco was the weapon.

“Do you even care about me?” Marco asked one evening, his voice hoarse, a quiet desperation in the words. His eyes searched Marc’s face, looking for any sign of sincerity.

Marc, laid delicately against the silk sheets of their hotel bedroom, didn’t flinch. His eyes flickered to Marco briefly, a cool smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What’s to care about, Marco?” he replied, the words sharp, edged with something Marco couldn’t quite place. “You’re here, aren’t you? That’s all that matters.”

Marco shook his head, frustration building within him. “No. No, that’s not enough. I’ve been used, haven’t I? All this — everything we’ve shared — it’s been a game to you. A weapon, and I was the pawn.”

Marc’s smile widened slightly, as though Marco had finally understood something he’d been too blind to see. “A pawn?” Marc repeated, stepping closer. His voice softened, but the venom beneath it was undeniable. “You were never a pawn, Marco. You were the perfect tool. A beautiful one, but a tool nonetheless.”

Marco recoiled, the sting of those words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit. “I—" he choked, his chest tight. “I thought you— I thought I meant something to you.”

Marc’s gaze was unreadable, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. “You did, once. But the truth is... you were never meant for me, Marco. You were meant for this.” He gestured vaguely to the distance, the track, the tension between them. “You were meant to be the one who brought Vale closer to me. Everything we’ve done together? It’s been for him. Not you. Never you.”

The realization hit Marco like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His world, already shattered, seemed to splinter further. “You— You used me to get to him?” His voice cracked, disbelief and betrayal tangled in every word.

Marc’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Did you think I wanted you, Marco? Not in the way you wanted me. I needed you to make it hurt, to make him see what he couldn’t.”

“God, you’re sick,” Marco whispered, his heart sinking into his stomach. “You really don’t love me, do you?”

Marc stepped even closer, now right in front of Marco, his presence overwhelming. He placed a hand on Marco’s cheek, his fingers brushing against the skin gently, almost lovingly. But the coldness in his eyes made Marco’s skin crawl. “You were a means to an end. You’re not the first, Marco. You won’t be the last. But you’re right about one thing.” Marc’s voice dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. “You meant something to me. You meant to hurt him. And that, Marco, is all you ever were.”

Marco’s chest tightened painfully, as if his heart was being ripped from him. “And what about now?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you even need me anymore?”

Marc paused, studying him for a long moment before his lips parted in a slow, calculating smile. “I don’t need you,” Marc said, his words soft, final. “Not anymore. But you’ll stay. You always stay.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Marco replied, his voice trembling, though his eyes were burning with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “But I’m too far gone now, aren’t I? I’ll never escape you.”

Marc’s gaze softened, a flicker of something almost like pity passing through his eyes. “No,” he said, almost gently. “You won’t. But you don’t need to. You’ve already done your part.”

Marco turned away, his hand gripping the edge of the table as if it could anchor him to something real, something solid. “You’ve already broken me, Marc. What else is there to take?”

Marc didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, the silence between them thick with the weight of unspoken truths. “Nothing left, I suppose.” Then, he added, his voice light, almost dismissive, “But that’s not the point, is it?”

Marco stared at the ground, his heart torn between the harsh truth and the cruel remnants of his love for Marc. You’ve already broken me, he thought, but somehow, that wasn’t enough for Marc. Nothing ever would be.

And still, Marco stayed.

He stayed because to leave would mean casting himself into an ocean as vast and uncharted as the myths of old, a lone ship doomed to drift without anchor or direction. Marc’s touch, his words, were like the sirens that lured Odysseus — beautiful, irresistible, and utterly lethal. Marco knew the song was a lie, but he couldn’t plug his ears, couldn’t tie himself to the mast of reason. He couldn’t look away from Marc’s molten gaze, even as it burned through him. And he couldn’t face the endless void that yawned before him, the terrifying expanse of life without Marc.

So, he endured.

He let Marc press his lips to Vale’s cheek during the post-race celebrations, a gesture that wasn’t affection but a declaration of war, the sharpness of his laugh cutting through the air like a spear hurled by Athena herself. He stood by, swallowing the bitter bile of humiliation, as Marc’s hand lingered too long on Vale’s arm, their smiles exchanged like cryptic messages from Apollo — inscrutable, mocking, and meant to exclude him. Marco saw the game they played, each move deliberate and cruel, their reconciliation nothing more than a battlefield where he was the casualty.

He stood there, still as a statue carved of marble, a monument to endurance and despair. He was no hero. He wasn’t Achilles, whose love for Patroclus shook the heavens. He wasn’t even Orpheus, whose song could move the gods. He was the forgotten mortal, the offering left on the altar of their endless feud, sacrificed for the sake of their pride.

In the darkest moments, Marco thought of Achilles and Patroclus, of their love that ended not in betrayal but in fire and grief, forged in loyalty and sealed in death. He wished for that kind of love — a love so pure it scorched the earth and left nothing but ash in its wake, a love so unyielding it defied gods and fate alike. But he wasn’t Achilles, destined to be remembered as a hero. He wasn’t even Patroclus, the quiet strength behind a warrior’s fury. No, Marco was neither hero nor martyr. He was a pawn in someone else’s game, a nameless figure caught in the margins of a tragedy penned by gods who didn’t even care to learn his name.

And perhaps that was the cruellest twist of all: that he was here, drowning in this endless myth of his own making, and yet he knew Marc loved him. Not in the way mortals deserved to be loved, not with tenderness or honesty, but in the way gods loved their creations — possessive, all-consuming, and cruel. Somewhere beneath the manipulation, buried beneath the cruelty that sliced at Marco’s soul like the blade of Perseus, there was a spark of something real. He could see it, feel it, in the moments Marc held him close as though he were something divine, something worth worshipping. But love from a god like Marc was never freely given. Like the fire Prometheus gifted mankind, it came with a cost. And Marc’s love was no exception — it was a curse disguised as salvation, a golden apple that brought only ruin.

Marco bore it like a crown of thorns, his every breath weighted with the knowledge that he could never escape, not truly. Each night, as Marc pulled him close and whispered sweet lies about forever, Marco felt the chains tightening around his heart. He could almost hear the Fates laughing as they wove his story into their tapestry, a thread of pain and longing twisted into eternity.

"Does it hurt?" Marc asked one night, his voice low, soft, almost tender. His fingers traced the lines of Marco’s face as though sculpting him into something new, something more than human — something Marc could claim entirely as his own. The touch was gentle, reverent, but Marco knew better. He knew it was just another tool in Marc’s arsenal, another way to carve away at his sense of self.

Marco didn’t answer. What was the point? Words wouldn’t change anything. His silence stretched between them, heavy and ancient as the myths he clung to for meaning, a reminder of every mortal who had loved a god and paid the price. His story was no different, a tale as old as time itself: a mortal ensnared by a god’s fickle affections, doomed to suffer for a love he could not let go.

Marc’s eyes flickered to Marco’s, searching for something. Maybe an answer. Maybe a sign that Marco would finally confess, finally ask for more than Marc was willing to give. But Marco’s gaze remained empty, locked on a place beyond Marc, somewhere where his heart didn’t ache quite so much.

“You know,” Marc murmured, his breath warm against Marco’s ear, “You could leave. You’re not trapped here, Marco. You could walk away from me, from all of this.”

But Marco shook his head, lips pressed together in a thin line. "I can’t."

Marc’s fingers stilled on Marco’s cheek, his expression flickering with something almost like surprise. He laughed softly, the sound bitter. "You truly do believe I’m a god, don’t you? You think you’re just... powerless?"

"I think I’m a fool," Marco replied quietly, "but I can’t escape, not yet."

Marc’s fingers tightened around his face, forcing Marco to look at him again. There was a coldness in Marc’s gaze, something dark and calculating. “You really believe you’re trapped? You have a choice. But you choose to stay, to endure, like all the mortals in the stories. You know what that makes you, Marco?”

Marco didn’t reply. Instead, his thoughts drifted to Ariadne, the girl who had given everything to help Theseus defeat the Minotaur, only to be abandoned on a distant shore. Ariadne, the forgotten piece of the myth. Marco wondered what happened to her after Theseus left her behind. What would happen to him when Marc no longer needed him?

He thought of the labyrinth, the one Marc had created for him, with no thread to guide him out. Marco was trapped, no escape, no hope for salvation.

“Does it hurt?” Marc repeated, his voice cutting through the silence.

A small, pained smile tugged at Marco’s lips. “Yes. But not in the way you think.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

Marco looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a long while. Marc, the god of his world, the Minotaur that kept him locked in the labyrinth. Marco had been so certain he was the hero, but now he knew. There was no hero here. There was only the sacrifice.

And still, he stayed.

Because walking away, turning his back on Marc, was the scariest thing he could ever do. It was easier to endure, to suffer, to survive — even if survival meant becoming a shadow, nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s war.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” Marco whispered, his voice breaking, “what it would be like to be free? To not have to live in your shadow anymore?”

Marc’s lips curled into a smile, soft but cruel. “Freedom is a myth, Marco. Just like love. But you’re here, aren’t you? With me. In my world. Because you belong to me now.”

Marco nodded, defeated, and let the silence swallow them both whole. There was no escape. There was only Marc.

[scrollonso]

Write that jealous Marcmarc smut plsss

here's like 1k words of jealous!marc i never posted to make up for how long its gonna take me to finish this oneshot

Marco knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how jealous Marc got whenever he got close to the other riders — the way Marco sat between Pecco and Frankie, letting them basically sandwich him while they all chatted in the garage. Marc felt like his head was going to explode whenever they got all weirdly close. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of jealousy and rage every time he saw Marco interact with anyone else.

Marc's entire body went hot with anger when he saw Frankie gently touch Marco's back. The only thing that kept him from completely losing it was Marco playfully pushing Frankie's hand away. Marc stood silently by the pit wall, impatiently waiting for Pecco and Frankie to leave. Despite his jealousy, he would never want to risk outing their relationship, so he forced himself to wait. He'd never been good at that.

It took over an hour; each passing second made Marc lose his grip on his patience. As soon as Pecco and Frankie left, he walked quickly toward Marco. He grabbed him by the collar of his suit, making Marco gasp.

“What the hell were you doing with them?” Marc spat angrily, forcing Marco to face him. Marco looked smug, proud of himself, like he’d done it on purpose. He probably had.

Marco didn’t answer; he just smiled. He definitely knew what he was doing. Marco trailed his hands up Marc’s chest, grabbing at the leather suit covering it.

“Answer me!” Marc demanded, pulling Marco closer.

Marco rolled his eyes and sighed. “I saw you,” Marco started, his tone teasing. “I saw you watching, you were already jealous, and I think it’s cute.” The way he said it made Marc want to scream. His grip on Marco’s collar tightened, but Marco just kept smiling like he was the happiest guy in the world.

Marco knew what he was doing, and so did Marc.

Marc shoved Marco down onto the concrete below, climbing on top of him and pinning his wrists to the ground. Marco’s face went hot; finally, he was getting what he wanted.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” Marc growled, grabbing Marco’s face roughly with one hand.

Marco nodded, still grinning smugly. It pissed Marc off to no end — he was going to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

Marc’s hands moved down to Marco’s racing suit, yanking it open. He wasn’t going to waste time being polite about it; Marco didn’t deserve that right now. Marco shivered as the cool air hit his skin, his heartbeat speeding up with adrenaline. He didn’t know why, but he loved it when Marc got aggressive — and he knew exactly how to make him act like this.

Marc trailed his fingers down Marco's chest and stomach, pulling his suit and boxers down. He didn’t waste any time.

“Pathetic,” Marc spat, grabbing Marco’s thigh roughly. He leaned closer, ���Open your mouth.” Marco was quick to obey.

Marc spat in Marco’s mouth, his tone rough. “Swallow.” Marco complied without hesitation.

Marc slapped him, rough enough to make Marco whimper. He wanted more of that sound. The slap was followed by another, each one making Marco’s face redder, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks, but Marco took it all.

“Fuck, please— just fuck me,” Marco begged, his voice a wreck as he cried, gripping at Marc’s shoulders.

Marc smirked. “You better be able to take it with just spit.” He spat on his hand, spreading it over his length and Marco’s entrance. Marco’s mind buzzed with excitement. He didn’t care if it hurt — he wanted it.

Marc didn’t hold back, thrusting into Marco hard, making him scream. Marco clawed at his shoulders, legs tensing as his body tried to adjust. The pain was overwhelming, but it only fueled the fire in Marco’s chest.

Marc hesitated for a moment but knew Marco would stop him if it got to be too much.

“Hit me,” Marco whimpered, his grip loosening as he got used to the pain. Marc slapped him again, harder this time. It was intoxicating to see Marco whimper, to watch him tense up as his cheek reddened.

Marc’s pace became brutal, each thrust hitting Marco’s prostate and driving him further into a haze of pleasure and pain. Marco’s legs went weak, falling limp against the cold ground as he became a mess of tears and moans.

“I’m gonna cum in you. You’re mine, understand?” Marc groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as his grip on Marco’s wrists weakened.

“Please, do it,” Marco’s voice broke, his body trembling.

After a few more rough thrusts, Marc buried himself deep and came, filling Marco up. Marco let out a loud cry as he reached his own climax, his legs shaking uncontrollably.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the air as Marc collapsed onto Marco, holding him tightly. “You’re mine,” Marc whispered, his voice softening. “I don’t want to see you that close to them again, ey?”

Marco smiled weakly. “I won’t, I promise,” he said, still catching his breath. “I just wanted to see you jealous… I knew what it would lead to.”

Marc huffed. “You could’ve just asked.”

Marco chuckled softly, rolling his eyes. “Maybe next time.”

After a moment, Marco began gently pushing Marc off of him. “You’re crushing me, idiot. Move.”

He glanced up to see Marc had already fallen asleep on top of him. With a sigh, Marco accepted his fate, trapped under his exhausted lover.

[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]

Marc Fucking Marquez — Marcmarc

Marco sat at the edge of the bed, the faint creak of the frame the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. His hands trembled as he pressed the rosary between his fingers, its worn wooden beads cool against his clammy skin. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering a prayer he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore. The words came out fractured, broken by the weight in his chest, fragments of Hail Marys and half-hearted pleas for forgiveness slipping into the empty space around him.

He didn’t know why he clung to it — maybe it was for penance, maybe for hope, or maybe just for the comfort of holding onto something that didn’t break so easily. God knew nothing else in his life felt sturdy enough to lean on.

The air was heavy, suffocating, and every inhale felt like dragging a stone across his lungs. Marco’s gaze flicked toward Marc, slumped against the doorway like a man condemned, his head buried in his hands. His shoulders shook, silent tremors rippling through him, and Marco thought he looked like one of the cracked statues from the chapel back home — pristine from afar but riddled with fractures under closer inspection. It was almost poetic, Marco thought bitterly. If only it didn’t hurt so goddamn much.

“Goddamn, man child,” Marco muttered, his voice rough and frayed with exhaustion and sorrow. The words slipped out before he could stop them, sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. He laughed bitterly, a hollow, mirthless sound that echoed in the empty room like a confession whispered too loud in a church. He traced the edge of the rosary with his thumb, grounding himself against its weight as he spoke. “You fuck me so good I almost believe you love me. Almost.”

Marc didn’t respond. He never did when Marco started like this, tearing into him with words sharp enough to cut bone. He just sat there, motionless, as if he thought the silence could shield him from the truth Marco spat at him. But Marco couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let the quiet win, couldn’t let the ache settle into his bones like a sickness he’d have to carry forever.

“You act like a saint,” Marco continued, his voice trembling but rising, gaining strength with every syllable. “But you’re just a man, Marc. A stupid, selfish man who drags me to hell with you and calls it love.” He stood abruptly, the rosary swinging from his hand like a chain he couldn’t break free of. His movements were restless, his pacing a frantic attempt to outrun the fire burning in his chest. “And I let you. I let you because I think maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time you’ll stay.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated himself for it — for the hope that still lingered in him despite everything. He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Marc, who still hadn’t looked up. The weight of Marc’s silence pressed against Marco like a vice, tightening around his ribs until he could barely breathe. The rosary slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor with a soft thud, and Marco stared at it for a moment, wondering if it was even worth picking up.

“Say something,” he demanded, his voice breaking into a plea despite himself. “Anything. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m right. Just—” His breath hitched, and he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling. “Just tell me why, Marc. Why do you do this to me? Why do you keep coming back if all you’re going to do is leave again?”

Marc finally looked up, his eyes rimmed red, glassy with unshed tears, his face pale and hollow, like the statue of a grieving saint left too long in the rain. His lips parted, trembling with the weight of unspoken words, his expression a mixture of shame and anguish that Marco knew too well. “I never meant to hurt you,” Marc said, his voice barely a whisper, thin and fragile like a prayer slipping through cracked lips. It was a confession not meant to be heard, an apology too quiet to carry the depth of its meaning. “I never meant to—”

“To what?” Marco snapped, his voice sharp, rising like a storm crashing against fragile walls. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as he fought to contain the fire in his veins. “To what, Marc? To make me love you?” The words burned on their way out, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. His hands shook as he gestured wildly, the desperation in his movements betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. “To make me pray for you every damn night, hoping — begging — you’ll come back to me in one piece? Hoping you’ll stop tearing me apart piece by piece?”

Marc flinched at the words, his body stiffening like he’d been struck, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, his presence towering over Marco, suffocating yet heartbreakingly familiar. His shadow fell over Marco like a shroud, and for a moment, it felt as if the room itself held its breath. “You don’t understand,” Marc said, his voice trembling but resolute, heavy with something Marco couldn’t quite place — remorse, maybe, or fear. “I’m not good enough for you. I’m not—”

“Don’t you dare,” Marco interrupted, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury and grief. He stepped closer, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of his emotions. “Don’t you fucking dare act like you’re some kind of martyr. You’re not carrying a cross, Marc.” His voice softened, trembling as the pain seeped into every word. “You are the cross. And I’ve been nailed to you for so long I don’t even know how to stand on my own anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the kind that pressed against the walls and seeped into the cracks between their breaths. The faint hum of traffic outside served as a cruel reminder of the world that kept spinning, indifferent to the devastation inside this room. Marc reached out then, his hand hesitant but steady, brushing against Marco’s cheek. His touch was soft, too soft, like an apology he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. Marco flinched at first, his body recoiling from the familiar tenderness, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

“You colour me blue,” Marco whispered, his voice breaking as tears spilled over, tracing the hollow curves of his face like rain carving paths into stone. “Over and over again. And I let you. I let you because I don’t know how to stop. Because I’d rather bleed for you than live without you.”

The words hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable, echoing with a finality that neither of them could ignore. Marc’s hand fell away, his eyes shimmering with tears he refused to let fall, and Marco felt the weight of the moment press against his chest, suffocating and unrelenting. He wanted to scream, to break something, to make Marc feel the same devastation tearing through him, but all he could do was stand there, his heart laid bare, waiting for the inevitable crash.

Marc’s hand dropped to his side, the movement slow and weighted, as though even gravity conspired to keep him close for a moment longer. His eyes, dark and stormy, filled with something Marco couldn’t quite name — remorse, maybe, or self-loathing, or that hollow resignation Marco had seen too many times before. “I’m sorry,” Marc said, his voice raw, every word trembling on the edge of breaking. “I’m sorry I’m not what you need.”

Marco’s laugh rang out, sharp and brittle, a sound that shattered the fragile quiet of the room. It wasn’t a laugh of humor but of bitterness, the kind that left an ache in the throat long after the sound faded. “You’re not what I need,” Marco said, his voice steady now, a calm born of resignation rather than peace. He looked up at Marc, his gaze unwavering, his expression etched with something between defiance and despair. “But you’re what I chose. And that’s my sin to bear.”

Marc flinched as if the words had struck him, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned, his movements slow and deliberate, each step pulling him further away from Marco. The silence that followed his retreat was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the door as it closed behind him. Marco didn’t move, didn’t call after him. He just stood there, the rosary still clutched in his trembling hands, its beads pressing into his skin as if to anchor him to the moment.

The first rays of dawn began to creep through the window, soft and pale, casting the room in a holy light that felt both comforting and cruel. The golden hues illuminated the scattered remnants of their night — a shirt draped over a chair, a half-empty glass on the table, the weight of unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. It felt like a benediction and a mockery all at once, as if the universe itself couldn’t decide whether to offer forgiveness or judgment.

Marco’s legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, the cold floor biting against his skin. His body shook with silent sobs, each one more forceful than the last, until it felt like his very soul was spilling out in the stillness. He turned his gaze toward the cross hanging on the wall, its outline stark against the morning light.

“Forgive me,” Marco whispered, his voice barely audible, cracked and raw from the weight of his grief. But he didn’t know who the words were meant for — God, who seemed so distant in moments like this; Marc, who had left him alone in the ruins of their love; or himself, for choosing a man who could only ever break him.

The rosary slipped from his hands, its beads clattering softly against the floor, and Marco stared at it for a long moment. The cross at its center gleamed faintly, catching the morning light like a beacon, but it offered no answers, no solace. Just the silent promise of penance for sins Marco didn’t know how to stop committing.

[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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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

Five

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.