daequister

It's obscene really, the mist of condensation from Mark's huffed breaths that forms by his face. Oscars fucking him doggy style; it's not his favourite position by far, he normally prefers to be able to see the effect he's having displayed directly on Mark's face, but this-

He's not a exhibitionist. Honestly, he's not. But fucking hell, the idea of people seeing him fucking Mark- claiming Mark- sky high above them, power secure in his hands- it goes straight to his cock.

"Think I like you right here, old man," he murmurs in Mark's ear, and the man groans, pushing his arse back against Oscar's hips.

It's so good, he reckons, having Mark under his thumb like this. He's so easy for it, when he's in the mood. Oscar had come back from training, pent up and sweaty and already pretty knackered, slouching into Mark's London apartment ready to collapse onto the bed and sleep for about a day.

Mark had other ideas. Sat already stroking himself in the bedroom, the way he knows annoys Oscar because he hates when Mark starts without him. It's funny being stronger than Mark. He's mentioned it before, Oscar's so-called sleeper build, but Oscar thinks it gets Mark hard a lot more than he admits. The muscle Mark lost after he stopped racing leaves him plenty open to being manhandled by Oscar.

It's quick work getting Mark on the floor, pinned under him and opening him up. And sue him, Oscar's frustrated and needs something- someone- to take it out on. So he flips Mark over and pushes him forward, until his face is hitting the glass and he's moaning as Oscar slides in.

He knows he's close after Mark comes, the clench around him almost sending him over the edge, but Oscar wants- he just wants- so he digs his nails into his hand and staves off his orgasm as Mark comes, pullin out just before he topples over the edge himself, and shuffles over to where Mark is limp against the window.

One pump, two, and he's coming over Mark's face, streaking the clean glass with his cum, groaning as he lets the pleasure wash over him.

"Clean that up for me will you, Mark? I'm fucking spent," he says cheekily, and gets an annoyed swat on the thigh, smile widening when Mark's tongue darts out, and the misty condensation spreads further.