#leather motogp suits

[dainesebikerms]

[moonshynecybin]

you just know in age reversal au vale is using one his championship winning celebration to confirm that he and marc got married. changes into a fluro yellow wedding dress in a portapotty, has a chapel constructed in the middle of the track, shows up with a giant diamond that can be seen from space, getting a priest to reenact the actual wedding on the top step, etc.

i LOVE this but it did make me confront the horrifying possibility of a young valentino rossi with access to social media

[bluehardtops]

So you know how the MotoGP race suits are made out of a combination of leather?

Here's a thought, any and/or all of the F1 people in the leather racing suit.

James Vowles? Leather racing suit.

Bono? Leather racing suit.

Mike Sansoni? Leather racing suit.

Shov? Leather racing suit.

Just imagine it 👍

[leathercollectionus]

Marco Bezzechi Suit Ducati VR46 Team MotoGP 2024

Presenting an awesome Marco Bezzechi Suit from the MotoGP 2024 when he ride first time with the Ducati VR46 Team. This suit has CE-approved safety to provide absolute safety on track or off track.

Marco Bezzechi Suit Ducati VR46 Team MotoGP 2024

[jay779656565]

What are some of the best leathers to use in leather jackets

There are many kinds of leather that can be used to make leather jackets. These are the top types of leather that can be used to make jackets.

Full-Grain: Full grain leather is the finest quality leather used to make leather jackets. It is made up of the finest animal hide. Because it's not sanded nor buffed it preserves the natural texture, markings, and color of the animalhide, giving it a rustic appearance. Full-grain Leather is water-resistant, can withstand wear, and tear making it a good choice if you need a honda motorcycle jacket that will get worn often.

Top-Grain - Top-grain is leather that has been sanded, buffed or otherwise modified to remove imperfections. This gives it a more smooth look than full-grain but it's still durable and high-quality. Top-grain skin is also water resistant and can withstand wear. It's a good choice if you need a topshop leather jacket that will be used often.

Suede Leather - Suede leather comes from the skin of an animal hide. It is soft and velvety in texture. It is not as tough as top-grain but is still highly prized for its unique look. Suede leather also has a higher risk of sustaining damage from water or staining, making it less practical for jackets that will be exposed.

Nubuck Leather. Nubuck leather is very similar to suede. However, it has been sanded to a harder finish. This gives nubuck leather a slightly rougher texture, but it's still soft and comfortable to wear. You can also use nubuck leather for jackets that are likely to be worn frequently. It is also water-resistant.

Lambskin Leder: Lambskin leather can be used to make fashion jackets. It is not as durable, but it is well-loved for its soft texture and luxurious appearance. Lambskin is also more sensitive and susceptible to damage from water or stains. This makes it less practical for jackets exposed to the elements.

When shopping for a leather jacket with fur, you should consider its intended use as well as your personal style and preference. Each leather type is different and each has its benefits and advantages, so it's important that you pick the right one.

[leoisstillalive]

hot and heavy- 1.9k word of a WIP. not part two of my ducati 2025 ranch fic, part 4 maybe??? i write out of order which is very bad but. alas! i need to fix this fuckass dialogue uughghh

Riding on dirt was different to asphalt in every conceivable way. Marc was reminded of this immediately as he slid onto the motocross bike and shifted the front tyre against the gritty track. It was like running up a rubber hill on roller skates, constantly vying for grip where there should be none, feet kicking the floor to knock the rear end off-balance for an inch more pace, and yet only in danger when he remembered to be afraid.

On asphalt, every twitch, each imperceptible nudge of weight counted. If one worried about such trivia on a dirt bike, they would be doomed to a sharp hug with the gravel.

The habit was hard to break for a MotoGP rider, but far from impossible.

Marc began to anticipate the ache in his wrists from clinging to the juddering bike as it threatened to slip on the corners; the quake of the seat as he opened the throttle sooner than he should and the vehicle tried to break free from under him.

Remarkably, it did not, and he hared past the start line, engine jack-rabbitting as he dove into the first corner again. It became an a-rhythm- its sequence entirely unpredictable, but not unexpected.

The laps were irreplicable with new hurdles at each sweeping curve- the scatter of Pecco's rear tyre as Marc gained on him, a slight crater on the inside line from where one of them had dug in too deep. He made up time in a different sector every round. It would have been marvellous to watch.

Sweat dampened the inside of his gloves, body peaking at the exertion, raring to push further. It was the wall to break down for any athlete, the concept of a limit. That cry to stop, to conserve energy, only came when the body believed there was no urgency, that its survival was not within the balance. Marc learned to anticipate it with some eagerness. He used the wall as a tightrope, where he teetered on the edge of self-destruction, where the slip of a foot or a hand could paste him against the circuit barrier. For a win, survival was always worth the risk.

He tore out of the tightest corner, dumping the clutch and feeling the front-end shudder- reminiscent of the lift on a GP bike. He threw himself down the "pit" straight (which was more of a large curve), blasting past the camera crew, who clapped him on from where they stood, hidden under the trackside shelter from the sun's glare.

When he wrestled past the finish line, he released the throttle and the bike's roar quietened to a meagre grumble, like a horse nickering for breath. He rolled off the track and onto the path leading up to the shelter. It was a small, concrete cottage that doubled as a garage- detached from the house.

As he withdrew from his pinpoint race focus, he suddenly became aware of all the places his leathers pinched, how his undershirt soaked through from September's last attempt at Summer heat and the motorbike's hot, worked engine. He felt the wind whip at the shaded goggles of his helmet, loosened a strap under his chin and let it clack against the plastic.

Once the bike was securely under the shelter, he dropped the kickstand and killed the engine. His head was buzzing still, body weightless with adrenaline, and the ground swayed as he hoisted off the bike.

"Awesome stuff, Marc," He thought he heard from somewhere behind him, voices muffled through the helmet.

He mindlessly followed his post-race routine, static nerves dulling in the process. He untucked the suit from between his legs, peeled the zip apart and fumbled with the straps of his gear. He tucked his chest padding and gloves into the empty helmet shell habitually, sliding the open leathers down to his hips.

"We got some good drone footage of that battle with Pecco," A man with a bushy moustache and blindingly red Ducati cap- Marc vaguely recalled somebody introducing him as Giuseppe- informed him in Italian.

Marc was unsure whether he would call it a battle- it was like Pecco had let him pass, "Yeah?"

The man nodded, "There are a few things you need to watch for us, though- just to see if you'd like to redo it. We lost you a bit coming into turn--"

Marc didn't mean to, but he found himself tuning out, flitting his eyes across the small crowd of 15 (or so): a handful of media officers, two or three journos, camera crew, and hospitality- probing for Valentino. There was no need for him to be present, he was not due to film his segment on Pecco until the next morning, but a part of Marc dreaded and hoped for him to poke his head out to watch.

He needed to keep an eye on him- stay vigilant and prevent an ambush like a wild animal. It was a bit of a horror film with his back always to the wall, eyes roving between every entrance and exit, every window and face, a desperate grasp for some control while trapped in Vale's territory.

There was no sight of him. It set a cold, heavy weight in Marc's chest and he bit his cheek hard to subdue it- not disappointment, definitely not, probably anxiety. He turned his gaze back to Giuseppe.

"--so would you be able to look over some of that later?"

His thick eyebrows lifted expectantly and Marc felt the man knew he was not listening.

Marc spread a smile across his cheeks- one that could not quite reach his eyes, "Of course, sí! Just let me know what and send it over to me."

It was apparent Giuseppe had not suspected a thing when he clapped a weathered hand upon Marc's shoulder and flashed him a thumbs up. He waddled back to his colleagues and ducked his head into a conversation over a dim laptop screen.

Marc turned his attention to the track, where Pecco still bore into the white dirt, bristling with youthful energy. And Marquez was not old for a man, just two years into his thirties, skin still elastic and clean-shaven. But for a rider, he was nearing retirement age- a thought that had nagged insistently for over a year, swelling each time he flew over the handlebars and wiped out in the gravel, the new aches and bruises that he never got when he was younger.

There was a bitterness there, he supposed as he watched Francesco fly across the circuit. In knowing he had the disadvantage. In knowing he was a dying breed.

A meek, young lady bustled up to him with an open red bull can, black hair folded into a bun atop her head. It was water, of course- just a sight for the sponsors if he got caught on camera. He smiled politely and accepted the can, dipping his head in thanks. She beamed, flushed pink, and hurried away. It was pleasing to know he still had fans, even deep behind enemy lines- both in Tavullia and Ducati.

The liquid graced the back of his throat, and he hummed at how it cooled his feverish skin. He turned his mind to the overtake he pulled on Pecco, how he had ducked into the gap hoping for some bite, a bit of fire from his teammate, but received no tug at the bit- just the sight of him pulling too wide out of the bend and watching Marc pass.

It was not alike Pecco to neglect a fight, particularly one that had no say in the championship standings, no cost if he lost. Marc believed him a sensible, thoughtful man, but it never halved his aggression on track- something the Spaniard deeply admired in a rider.

Perhaps he did not want to disrupt the synergy of the team, perhaps he wanted to maintain a neutral mood for the duration of the weekend.

Marc spotted Pecco abort a movement that seemed like dropping a knee as he skidded into turn six, and his lips peeled into a soft smile. Old habits die hard.

Pecco was a polished rider, movements calculated in the turns prior, easy on the throttle and braking, seeming like he valued his life as he carefully grabbed for speed entering the pit-straight.

The caution left him only at a disadvantage in time trials, however- something Marc had assimilated over two years of watching. He was a fierce fighter up close. Unrelenting, almost Spartan in his aggression.

And that was the VR46 Academy fighter dog mentality, Marc supposed, swallowing hard at the reminder of Pecco's connection to Vale. He was a Crown Prince cut and pressed by a god, filed at the dull edges into something deceptively sharp. It was why, for all Pecco's pretence at cordiality, Marc remained guarded.

A figure shifted in Marc's periphery and he plastered a smile onto his lips once more, prepared to see that same black-haired girl and sign a shirt or a cap, or acquiesce to a photo. He spun and met with high, wiry shoulders under a baggy shirt, a mass of thin, dark, curly hair tucked under a black hat, and a single, glinting horseshoe earring.

Marc's blood ran cold, heart dropped to his stomach, smile turned pursed and drawstring-tight.

"Ciao," Valentino drawled, voice smooth and casual.

Thick-framed sunglasses shielded his eyes, but Marc knew he was not looking at him, could tell by the tilt of his chin that he was talking past him, above him, sat atop a mighty steed and unwilling to grace the commoner with niceties. Marc gritted his teeth as to not bite his fucking tongue off.

"Ciao," He echoed, shuffling a step away to relieve the pressure that gathered between them, tender like an abscess.

"You were not bad out there," So Vale had been watching.

Marc was normal about that. He could be normal. But his gut curdled suspiciously and his hands itched to connect at his middle, fumble together. The shadow of a compliment cast projections of Marc, twenty-two years old and bashful, on the surface of his face. How desperate he had been for Valentino's attention, searching for each Italian phrase in his head- is this good? I learned this for you. Only for you.

A small part of that boy jolted awake in him and Marc slammed the pillow back over his head, reminding himself who Valentino truly was, how he had looked Marc in the eye and laughed with-- at him before dropping the guillotine.

No more rose goggles.

"Mm," Marc hummed, feigning disinterest as best he could, turning back to face the track only for Valentino to saunter up beside him.

"Not as good as you were, though," Vale bit with a cold smile, arms folded across his middle, "Your confidence went with your youth, eh?"

As if he had plucked the thoughts from Marc's very mind. It was all words, just words thrown about to-- Marc was unsure what for; they were meaningless. He was fast, everybody knew it.

But... there was that nagging feeling again- that doubt that Valentino could conjure so well.

Marc licked and bit his lip, conscious of the man beside him, his body rigid and anxious- braced to flee. He forced his shoulders into a shrug, willing his muscles loose.

"Not retired, though," It was a weak snap of his jaws, a pathetic dig to show he would not take it lying down, proof that he was no longer that naive fan Vale once knew.

Valentino huffed in his dangerous, sardonic way- Marc thought of the press conferences, everybody in the room seeming to know something Marc did not, Marc smiling obliviously, stupidly as Vale tore into him, sharp teeth flashing for the cameras.

[raikkonens]

senna leather karting suit got me thinking......if motogp can have leather race suits why can't f1.....

[formulapookie]

💚🧡

Quiet franky/mig, 3k words

Saturday means Ranch, and Ranch 90% of the time means “everyone eats dinner together and then plays some rounds of video games with beer and snacks”.

The main problem for Mig usually is that he’ll get much too competitive in Fifa and will end up cursing at everyone who beats him, which almost always happens to be Luca. Everyone has their teams, and the majority of them plays with Roma, he’s the only one playing with Torino, Pecco and Cele always going for their fuckass black and white team and Bez just goes with either Bologna or a random team the others tell him to use, which usually ends up being a team that just got up from Series B or is in retrocession zone.

Even with a team like his he manages to always score a few wins, not much but it’s something.

Tonight the problem it’s not how many losses he’ll face tho, he isn’t even paying attention to cele and bez playing, which he usually does because they tend to injure each other's players more than actually playing for real, he’s focused on Franky’s profile, how it gets modelled by the light of the sunset outside peering through the window.

He looks like a vision, he always thought he did, since the first time he came to the Ranch, when they were both much younger, ten years ago now, when they talked about being in the same motogp team and battling for wins and championships.

But today he was looking particularly hot, at lunch especially, after half a day of training was gone, and he had takes off his leathers, Mig had frozen in place while staring at his arms, how they basically glowed under the sun, at his chest, god he wanted to fucking lick it.

It was ridiculous really, because Bez caught him staring and had made fun of him for something like two hours, as is he didn’t spend the first half hour of training looking at cele’s abs as he undressed and dressed back up because he wore a suit one size too large he accidentally bought three months ago.

And he’s been horny since morning, seeing Franky train alongside him, he doesn’t even know how many times he wanted to just drag him in his room and have him fuck him into oblivion.

But he didn’t want to push, they fucked three times yesterday, because he just looked too hot once they woke up, and again while he was cooking lunch and once they were in bed after watching a movie and he had climbed on his lap and Franky had him rub on his thigh until he came just to fuck him pinned to the bed before he fell asleep in his arms.

So he really didn’t want to bother, but right now they’re sitting much too close on the couch, just the two of them because the couch is their place, just like the armchair is Pecco’s and Luca’s and the floor is Cele’s and Bez’s.

And Franky has been stroking his thigh for almost half an hour now, never getting too high with his hands, because they’re with their friends and he can’t exactly keep his hand near his pussy when they’re all together.

He must make some sort of sound, because Franky turns his head towards him like he’s been electrocuted and their eyes meet, and all the older can see is lust in Mig's eyes.

Mig blushes instantly, and looks away, trying to focus on the game his friends are playing, but Franky is not an idiot, and he saw how he was looking at him, and Mig immediately feels his hand getting higher and higher on his thigh, until it’s almost there where he wants it to be.

Franky is also quicker than him in grabbing a blanket and throwing it over their laps, leaving him with the possibility of touching him through his pants and underwear.

He scoots closer, grabbing Mig’s leg and placing it over his thigh, as the younger looks around to ensure no one else saw the movement, but luckily bez and cele are still focused on the game and Pecco has fallen asleep sat on Luca’s lap as he scrolls on his phone.

“You want it this bad Andre?”

He was busy making sure Luca was watching his screen, he didn't notice Franky leaning over so that he could whisper in his ear.

He doesn’t find the strength to answer so he just nods, still watching intensely the TV so as not to jump on Franky’s lap and starting to make out with him. It’s not like they’re shy about PDA but from holding hands or kissing while the others are around to jumping on his boyfriend’s lap moaning while they’re on the couch in the common room there’s an abyss.

“Well I’m not feeling like getting up right now, so what about I get you off here? You’d have to be quiet though, really really quiet because you don’t want the others to know how much you need me right?”

He nods again, and he can catch Franky smiling in his peripheral vision before he feels his fingers press against his pussy through the layers of clothing he wishes he didn’t have on.

He has to suppress a whine, biting lightly at his lower lip, but it’s not like Franky cares, if Mig wants to stop he can just grab his boyfriend’s wrist and they will end up fucking in one of their rooms.

He lets Franky tease him, he’s fairly sure his underwear is already a bit soaked from how excited he is at the thought of getting fingered while having to keep quiet in a room full of their friends.

Once Franky gets tired of torturing him through clothes he gets his hand in his pants, pushing after the hem of his boxers, one finger just brushing his folds, while Mig hopes no one can hear his breathing getting more and more irregular.

When he pushes the first finger in tho, there the real torture begins, because Mig’s not used to ever restraining his moans, he’s always very vocal, maybe too much sometimes, he pities to ears of his friend who must’ve heard him more than just a few times when they fucked here at the Ranch, but right now he’s biting his lip and focusing on the game,opening his legs ust a bit further, to leave more room for whatever Franky wants to do with him.

A second finger enters him while Bez scores and cheers, and he allows himself to release a bit of tension built up in him and letting out a soft moan, which gets detected luckily only by his boyfriend, who smirks slightly, but has no other reaction other than pursuing his goal to make him come hidden under the blanket.

Cele curses a bit, he’s one goal under now, 2-1 in Bez’s favour and he has something like three minutes left to draw.

He can come by then, and after that he’ll just act like he’s sleepy and Franky will take him to his room and take proper care of him there.

One of his hands is covered by the blanket as well, he’s gripping his own thigh to try and calm himself down, but it’s not doing that great of a work, and he has to thank Cele managing to score and bring the result to a 2-2 while Franky takes out his fingers and starts teasing his clit, because he can’t find it in himself to hold back a whimper when that happens.

He’s got the countdown in his head, 2 minutes 30 seconds and then the game will be over and they’ll all start talking and he will not be able to come while they talk, so he just needs to get his release fast.

Franky knows as well, and for how fun it would be to have Mig on edge all while the six of them talk he also wants to fuck him as soon as he can, so he picks up his pace slightly, pressing more on his clit, his other hand pulling his sweater down to cover his bulge, because he’s everything but unaffected by how much Mig wants him.

He keeps rubbing his fingers against Mig’s clit and he feels he is moving under the blanket, shifting every few seconds to keep his internal excitement there, and he gets faster, he’s almost sorry for Mig, who’s forced to hold in his sounds and the need to open his mouth and moan like he usually does.

One minute twenty, fuck he needs to come now, so they’ll have some time to gain back composure. He thinks Franky must be reading his mind because he stops touching his clit and buries two fingers in again, immediately adding a third and thrusting in and out, and he can hear the squelching sound coming from Franky fingering his pussy, hoping the others are too taken by their tasks to do the same, because oh now that would be extremely embarrassing.

The hand Mig has got squeezing his own thigh is getting tighter around it the closer he gets, and it only takes Franky a few more thrusts to make Mig come all over his fingers and underwear, which is gonna be uncomfortable until they reach the room.

Mig lets go of his lip, breathing in and out with a controlled and robotic pace, not daring to look to his left where Luca is, he doesn’t want to know if he’s been caught.

Then he hears Luca moving, and Pecco groaning in response, snuggling more into his embrace. The light from the phone turns off and Luca picks Pecco up bridal style while getting up, turning his head towards the others, Mig as well who only now has the courage to look at him.

“We’re going to sleep, good night guys”

They all answer “night” in unison, cele and Bez resuming when there’s 30 seconds left in the game, Franky in the meantime has mostly cleaned up his fingers in the inside of Mig’s thigh, and he’s noticeably aroused, if the fact the hand he used to get Mig off is still on his thigh is an indicator, as well as the other placed right on his crotch to hide the fact he’s hard to the others.

The game ends with a draw, and the two almost immediately turn off the TV, Cele wants to talk judging by how he turns towards them, but then Bez goes in for a kiss and his brain probably forgets what they were saying, letting the older take his hand and drag him towards his room.

Franky and Mig don’t speak for a whole minute, when Franky opens his mouth to talk Mig climbs on his lap and kisses him almost feverishly, moaning in his mouth as he rolls his hips against Franky’s, who got taken aback for a second, but immediately reciprocates the kiss, getting one of his hands in Mig’s hair and the other on his hip, guiding his movements on his lap.

They keep making out and Mig can feel Franky getting harder under him, and God isn’t that just the most arousing thing ever.

“Andre Andre fuck let’s go to my room” “No” “You want to stop?” “No i don’t want to go to your room I want you to fuck me now” “We’re in the living room Andre” “Yeah so? Wasn’t a problem when you were fingering me two minutes ago so it’s not one now”

Franky is taken aback for a few moments, yes they did fuck here more than once, they may also have fucked while Mig was bent over the table but they were alone, now there’s people and somehow this feels even more dirty than getting him off earlier on the couch, because he knows that now his boyfriend is not going to hold back any kind of sound coming from him.

“Ok yeah it’s fine here”

Mig starts kissing him again, working his jeans zip open and palming him through his boxers, making him moan in his mouth, while he tugs his underwear down just enough to free his cock from its confinement.

Mig breaks away to take off his shorts and boxers as well, and before Franky realises it Mig is once again on his lap kissing at his neck and leaving marks on it. He lifts his hips to align himself with Franky’s dick, then slowly sinks down, feeling every centimeter entering him as he lets out soft whines the closer he gets to the base.

“Mh fuck you’re so wet” “No shit Sherlock” “You feel amazing”

Franky takes advantage of Mig’s position to bite down on his collarbone, leaving teeth marks there, just because they both enjoy seeing them on his skin, and then moves both his hands to grab Mig’s hips and help his movements as he starts to ride him.

To Franky Mig is a vision as well, especially when he’s like this, with the moon that has now risen playing light games on his face, the light blush on his cheeks and his mouth slightly parted, moaning in a way so sweet it tastes like honey in Franky’s brain.

Mig doesn’t go fast, he never does when he rides him, because he enjoys it much more when it’s slower and both can feel it more, it also makes him feel more connected to his boyfriend, and he absolutely loves feeling Franky’s hands on him, his hips, his ass, his back, wherever he puts them Mig likes that, it makes him feel protected, wanted in a way that’s so intimate he can’t really explain it.

He keeps moaning even when Franky pulls him in for yet another kiss, Mig’s hands shifting from his shoulders to his hair, beautiful curly hair finally growing back. He tugs at them a bit and then goes back to putting his hands on Franky’s shoulders for balance, while the other moves one hand from his hip to his ass, squeezing it a bit and making Mig moan louder.

Franky starts rubbing circles with his thumb on Mig’s hip, as their breaths become more and more shaky and Franky can’t help but break away from teh kiss to mark up his boyfriend’s chest and neck, he just loves that, as he loves Mig doin the same to him, when they’re laying in bed after they fucked or just before doing it and Mig starts leaving hickeys all over his neck.

The other thing he loves is leaving prints of his hands on his body, and it’s not liek he has to squeeze or tighten his hold very much, Mig’s skin gets marked pretty quickly even just by a small scratch, which makes it even more fun, a little less when they are on holiday and Mig basically tans with his handprints on his hips.

One time Bez had asked Mig if Franky was too harsh because he was basically full of hand-shaped bruises all over his ass, and Mig had been so embarrassed he avoided Bez for a whole day after calming him down. Since then he had toned down his marking, thought he can’t help but leave at least a few, maybe just a bit less visible on his hips.

Franky feels Mig’s pussy tighten around his dick, and he can feel the wetness increasing, so he knows Mig is close, dangerously so, and he’s not doing any better.

“I’m gonna cum fuck” “Yeah I feel it God you get tight when you’re close”

They begin making out again, and not even a minute later Mig is finally getting his release, melting in Franky’s arms as he looks Mig in the eyes for permission to come inside him. He does like more than half of the time, but he always asks, or looks for confirmation like he’s doing now, he wouldn’t do something that can even remotely upset Mig.

“Yeah you can you can”

Franky smiles at him and kisses him once more, thrusting into him a few more times until he’s filling him up, he can feel the liquid leaking from Mig’s pussy and it gets him fucking crazy.

Normally he’d eat Mig out to clean him up, but Mig looks absolutely gone right now and by the looks of it he just wants to get a shower and go to sleep, so he gently pulls out, helping Mig to lift his hips to do it more comfortably and kisses his forehead, making Mig smile softly.

“You’re so cute right now you know that Andre?” “Only now?” “Nah, but you’re cuter when you’re sleepy” “Take me to bed” “Shower first” “Can you wash my hair there?” “Sure” “I love you” “I love you too, now come on wrap your arms around my neck and I’ll get you upstairs” “My clothes Franky” “Gonna come back and pick them up after we shower ok?” “ok”

Franky pulls back up his boxers and jeans, wrapping the blanket around Mig’s hips to cover him a bit. He'll wash it together with the underwear and pants sometime tomorrow, he just wants to bring Mig to his room and make sure he falls asleep comfortably.

He hopes they haven’t stained the couch, because if they did he’ll get the like third reprimand from Vale for doing it.

[nooripoori]

https://www.tumblr.com/nooripoori/767403307168907264/i-fear-nobody-can-beat-marc-and-vales?source=share

The second hand embarrassment I got like sorry and congrats to Jorge but I was just like, not eating it up😭

it was so underwhelming😭 like bro spent so long in the damn box only to come out looking like he was wearing the same leathers😭 and the mask could’ve been so much cooler!!! his mask looked like it was a kids halloween prop. the cube exploding was cool tho but it could’ve been so much better!!! like what happened to confetti or sparkles and shit?? they would’ve suited the occasion!! his celebration looked like a moto2/3 championship winning celebration. i feel like if you spent so long wishing for a motogp championship the least you can do is prepare an amazing celebration when you finally win one.

[waru-chan8]

are there any problematic motogp riders i should know about or avoid?

Hi anon 👋👋. oh boy I'm going to get so much hate for this

You all people need to stop putting riders into pedestals and thinking they are perfects because they are not. They are humans, and they all have faults (some more visible than others). Also what someone considers problematic might not be for others. Like for example, Vale and Marc are both experts in manipulate the media to suit their narratives and that can be a red flag for some people. Or maybe Aleix being too direct can be seen as negative because his mouth has put him in so much trouble.

Anyway said this here (under the cut for those who want to avoid it) it is what I remember at the moment. If anyone wants to add something, feel free to do it.

First of all we have a lot of riders and engineers living in Andorra that is tax haven (Aleix, Pol, Rins, Fabio Q., Iker, Joan, Brad, Miller and The Team Suzuki ECSTAR crew used to live there, also Maverick used to live in Andorra (apparently he went back to Roses after having his daughter)). And Rossi also used to live in London and got in troubles for that.

Then we have the misogynistic comments from Miller (he said something of mocking a friend every time he lost in a race against María Herrera, the borderline treatment Vanessa, the Inside Pass host get from him and the mockery) and Pecco Bagnaia who said 'I was like a women in my period complaining ad moaning' after he broke his leg. Oh and don't forget Miller called other riders princesses for complaining about their bike instead of just riding it.

And we have racist comments from Yamaha's test rider Cal Crutchlow who refused to shake hands with an Asian fan during the pandemic and said something about all of it (pandemic) being because someone eat something he shouldn't. Probably there is more, but I don't really remember. And the worst part is that his team manager, Lucio Cecchinello covered it all. Lucio is also not a saint, he treats differently Rins than he does with Nakagami (brought Rins to his museum and told him to get a podium because it will be X (I can't remember probably 50 or 100) podium of the team, but I can't remember him doing it with Nakagami. There's also Gelete Nieto (Moto2 team manager (Correos Prepago Yamaha VR46 Master Camp or something like that)) who literally said that Asian riders do much worse that the European ones.

Then we have Fabio Quartararo, who had endangered himself and other riders by riding with his leathers open and throwing the chest protector in the middle of a race track while there was a race going on. And when celebrating a victory, we throw a golf a ball where there was still bikes on track.

And Pecco Bagnaia during the 2022 summer got drunk in Ibiza, got in the car and had an accident (crashed it into a roundabout) and only got a slap in the wrist. He also dedicated a special helmet to Dennis Rodman (if you don't know him, go and read his wiki page). There something less controversial about him, but still put him as a red flag. When he doesn't get what he wants, he goes to the media and cry and gets it. He also believes no one can race him on a race on the race track and never will admit his mistakes. And because we are on the Pecco topic, Ducati just put all o this under the rug and gives him whatever he wants. Ducai actually banned one jorno for commenting on one of this thing because it annoyed Pecco.

And let's not forget Johann Zarco, the dirtiest rider of all! He is like a kid on the track, when he knows he is going to lose and he doesn't want to and got the wired crossed, he does dumb stuff to endanger other riders. He recently had an incident that ended in red flag, and was the cause that Maverick and Vale where reborn during Race 1 in Austria 2020. And previously he tried to grab the break of another rider at the end of a race (last lap, after the final corner) because he knew he was going to lose de to the slipstream (Zarco was fighting for the championship that year and winning that race would have helped him)! Fortunately nothing happened in there but it could have ended in disaster.

And the ex-riders:

Dani Pedrosa, actually spend a night in jail for cheating on a boat exam and got arrested. He apologised immediately even if it wasn't necessary.

Aspar (MotoGP legend and Moto2, Moto3 and MotoE team owner) and Jorge Lorenzo got in trouble with the Spanish public tresor.

[certifiedbi]

Is there any specific reason why he would change to dianese (I mean related to his new signing, or is it just money for him lol)

Oh my god someone asked me about (racing) gear this is like my favourite subject omg thank you thank you

But basically yes to both and also a secret third option

There is a lot of leathers/helmet manufacturers that are in the lower categories that don't typically make their way up to MotoGP. This is in part because MotoGP crashes will be faster and more dangerous (obviously) so it's better to stick to very well trusted brands like dainese or alpinestars in MotoGP. A good example of this was Pedro having to (painfully) part ways with MT-Helmets when he moved to MotoGP. Obviously this stuff is still safe, but yk it's better to be safe than sorry yada yada all that

In terms of money, this will absolutely be a factor. Typically, the contracts that moto2/3 riders have with a leathers manufacturer will be much different than MotoGP riders. Moto2/3 will be a set number of suits (sometimes including a set for training, if they're feeling generous) and repairs, probably replacements as well if a suit is mega fucked. MotoGP contracts are different, it's more suits, possible merchandising, and most importantly actual money. And this can be BIG money. I mean Fabio quartararo allegedly gets €750,000 per season from HJC alone.

The reason this has come mid season is a little more personal to aldeguer. He has not seemed too happy in his leathers for a while, if you remember post Silverstone last year he had a lotttt of issues with his leathers fitting incorrectly and causing him issues with his arms, and in this season he's actually started borrowing Aleix's boots (his previous boots weren't supplied by macna, but I think they were called txc boots). But he fitted for a dainese suit over the weekend and macna has decided to end the contract (although don't be surprised if they file a lawsuit - aldeguer was contracted to them until 2028) so now he is training in the dainese suit.

So like, it's a lot of things. Although dainese is a bit left field but they are probably trying to get more dainese riders on Ducatis because there is only the vr46 boys left atm

[moonshynecybin]

okay idk if this is just me but after getting into motogp biker gear is like attractive to me now. not the fuckass motogp suits but esp when marc is doing motocross or something. random bikers in helmets and armour showing up on my fyp.

i live in a place with TONS of motorcycle tourism so this is not. at ALL true for me lmao. old ass men on harley davidsons OR people in full leathers sending it up the inside of a blind turn while i’m trying to get to work in my SUBARU. but ever since austin the sound has become a lot less annoying to me because it reminds me of being at the track :)

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[lxndonorris]

show-off - Aron Canet

Y/N x Aron Canet Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Grunting (light) you're going on a ride with Aron, but you catch him being naughty around his bike, or do you? word count: tag list: @game-set-canet

It's always exciting when your boyfriend, Aron, invites you on a motorcycle ride. As a professional athlete, a MotoGP rider, it's his passion and his life, and as his lover, you're gladly joining him any time you can. The rush of adrenaline, the roaring of the engine, and holding on to Aron during the ride make everything much more exciting. During races, he's always on the edge of the bike's limit, but riding his bike with you, he's always making sure you're safe and having so much fun.

He asked you just twenty minutes ago, telling you he wants to check the bike first before you go on your ride, and after getting ready, putting on safer clothes, and grabbing a helmet from the cabinet, you're making your way toward the garage.

Music is echoing through the hallway, and you can hear him singing along. It's 'trofeo', a newly released song by Maluma, who's always creating such dance-enducing songs, and hearing Aron's rougher voice hitting every single note effortlessly sends shivers down your spine.

Smirking, you hold on to the helmet in your hand, but before you enter the garage, you stop. 'I want to see that', you mutter, and you peek around the corner, steadying yourself against the wooden doorframe. You spot Aron on his phone, possibly looking for the next song to play, and you can't help but admire his pretty physique.

He's wearing one of his personal riding gear, a black leather suit and black boots, but currently, the sleeves are hanging down his waist, showing off his beautifully inked body. His helmet is on the table next to him, along with a pair of black gloves and a can of soda. Aron is still singing along, knowing the text by heart just by listening to the song on repeat for the last few days.

Seeing this paints a smile all over your face, and your eyes wander all over him, admiring what you see when he starts to rock his hips rhythmically to the beat. It looks effortlessly beautiful; all of his muscles move perfectly, and he knows how to move and how to dance. He turns his back toward you, puts the phone down as well, and runs both of his hands across his own chest.

'As he turns to his bike, you notice him stroking himself before going even further and playing with his nipple. A shy smirk spreads across his face, and you know, he's very sensitive about them, especially when you tease him the same way.

Blushing slightly, you contemplate just going in, ending this cute yet hot moment, or you could watch him a little longer. It's not like you haven't seen him act like that a dozen times before. When he thinks about riding a bike, he always gets into the mood. His passion and love for this sport and this hobby are unwavering. The excitement you see on his face during race weekends is pure hedonism.

Holding back a giggle, you decide to wait and see. It's just a beautiful, intimate moment, and you love seeing him like this. Careless, free of doubts, and just in a state of blissful happiness. Aron deserves this.

As you get lost in your thoughts, you watch him approach his bike. He places both of his hands on it and starts to follow its outlines with just his fingertips while still mouthing the lyrics of the song. As the chorus starts, he steadies himself against the bike, holding on to it as he starts to grind his body against it. Smoothly, he rocks his hips and thighs against his bike, just in sync with the rhythm.

Blushing heavily now, you blink a few times, trying your best to fathom what's happening just now. To make matters worse, he turns his head slightly toward you, showing you his expression. His face is hardening as he's biting his lower lip teasingly, causing you to think about all the times he'd do exactly that while sitting on your lap or grinding on you.

All of his muscles are tensing, making his physique look bulkier and harder than before. All of him is getting really into it as he moves even closer to the bike, leaning in, before letting out a low, guttural moan.

Right away, hearing him moan sends shivers down your entire back, and you can't help but hold back a quick, breathless gasp. 'Fuck." You breathe quietly, hoping he won't hear you or catch you watching him do that.

At the same time, he lets out a longer moan. "Fuuuck." He growls, bending his back backward and exhaling deeply. For a moment, he's quiet. He stops moving and stands there, while you're watching his chest heave heavily.

Suddenly, Aron starts to giggle and turns his head toward you, and your eyes meet right away.

"Enjoyed the show?" He smirks and tilts his head teasingly. Easily, he turns his entire body toward you, steadying himself against the bike with one arm.

"You knew, uh, I am sorry?" You stutter, taking a few steps toward him. Unsure about what to say or how to react at all, you blush more and more.

Aron opens his arms, inviting you to come even closer, and once you're in range, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him.

"It's all good." He smiles and kisses you once, then twice, while holding back his laughter, and his beard tickles you. "I knew you were watching." Aron grunts, and you feel his hand run along your waist to your back, securely holding you in place.

Shaking your head slowly in disbelief, you steady yourself against his firm chest. "How did you know?" You say it, raising an eyebrow. 'Is this just his way to play it off? But he doesn't seem surprised at all', you think to yourself as the grin on his face grows even bigger.

"There is a mirror on the wall, and I saw you standing there." He points toward a small mirror, and it's reflecting exactly the doorframe where you'd been standing just a few moments ago.

Your skin flushes with even more color as you realize you've been played.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You pout, playfully patting his bare chest with the palms of both of your hands. He doesn't flinch at all, however, and he struggles to hold back more and more giggles.

"It's way more fun to tease you, babé." Aron defends himself by looking at you with his puppy-dog eyes, but right now, it doesn't work on you.

"You just wanted to show off, didn't you?" You narrow your eyes, trying to read his mind to know exactly what he's thinking right now.

Proudly, he leans his head back, giving you a knowing look. "You liked it." Aron smirks, raising an eyebrow as well. "Admit it." He demands with an even rougher voice than usual.

You can't play it off now because you really liked it.

"How couldn't I?" You mirror his smirk and start to stroke his chest again. "But next time, I want to be on the receiving end of your...pleasure." Licking your lips, your fingers brush over his hard nipples before you let them run down his chest, through the visible outlines of his abs, and even further down to his crotch, where desire is already bubbling up inside his leathers.

Aron looks down once, and then he turns his attention back to your eyes. You can tell he's really getting in the mood right now when you see a fiery spark flicker through his beautiful eyes.

"I can do that." He says, gently pulling you into another loving kiss, with his moustache sending a tingling sensation down your spine. "But first." Aron separates himself from you, and you follow his gaze toward his bike, waiting for the two of you to stop flirting. "I see you're ready." His eyes wander down your body, taking in your outfit. Aron bites his lower lip approvingly.

"I am." You tilt your head to look at his bare chest. "I see you're not quite there yet." With one hand on his crotch, you place the other on his treasure trail, drawing circles around his little navel with one finger.

"No." He pouts. "Would you help me?" Aron growls deeply, with his hands stroking the small of your back.

"Of course." You say it happily and help him into his gear.

It's always a pleasure to help him because you get to admire him and touch him closely. His well-trained body is pure eye candy.

After you're both geared up, you proceed to go on a long ride.

[raikkonens]

my kink is motogp riders wearing race suits and f1 drivers wearing leathers