🐦‍⬛

After a while, Oscar finally starts moving his hips, small hesitant circles like he’s too ashamed to let himself go even though he was the one who came crawling to Mark. His ears are flushed, a pretty shade of red that Mark knows will extend to his face and all the way down his chest as soon as he’s properly embarrassed.

He’s not even out of his fireproofs yet, what was supposed to be a short break before the debrief turning into Oscar whining and whimpering about how he needed Mark to care for him. And who is Mark to deny his boy?

Still, Oscar will need to work for it a little. So he doesn’t think that just because he’s starting in the front row tomorrow, he can get everything he wants.

“This the best you can do?” Mark asks, unimpressed. “Bit pathetic, don’t you think, kid?”

Oscar lets out something close to a sob, but he does pick up the pace a little, cock twitching against Mark. He smells like sweat and fuel and adrenaline as he begins to rut against Mark in earnest, a scent Mark is intimately familiar with. The scent of a racer. A future champion, reduced to a needy little thing, whole body practically begging Mark for attention.

Mark uses his free hand to cradle Oscar’s cheek. Rubs his thumb over the soft pink skin as he says, “Should just lock you up instead of letting you do this. Too pent up to even properly fuck anything.”

Oscar makes a devastated little noise, mindlessly shaking his head. As if he’s imagining what it would feel like, coming to Mark after a race, cock aching and drooling but unable to do anything about it. Mark should come back to this idea later.

He squeezes Oscar’s arse over the fireproofs, delights in the high moan he gets in response, the full-body shiver. “See?” he laughs, a bit mocking. “No self control.”

“Mark,” Oscar whines. Just one word. As if every other thought has flown right out of his head, everything else but Mark unimportant. Heat flares in the pit of Mark’s stomach at the thought.

“What would everyone say if they saw you like this?” Mark continues, voice low and gravelly. “If they saw the champion humping his manager’s leg like a dog?”

Apparently, that’s all it takes for Oscar to come, mouth dropping open, hips spasming against Mark’s leg. It’s a shame the fireproofs are black this weekend. Mark would have loved to see the wet spot Oscar has left behind, evidence of how much he needs Mark.

“Fuck, you’re pathetic,” Mark groans, more for Oscar than for himself.