#bezetti

“This was in the break, with Pecco — I don’t even know what you were doing. Look at his shirt, though, he got it in —” Cele lifts his eyes from the screen, trying not to sigh. They’ve been going through Bez’s camera roll for the better part of twenty minutes. And it’s — Cele hates himself — it’s thoroughly endearing, if not a little cringe. There’s no one else at the ranch. They’ve got it to themselves for the next day and a half.

Tonight had been spent getting pleasantly tipsy (or somewhat smashed, in Bez’s case), and chasing each other around the track. When the novelty of that had worn off, they’d retreated back inside to nurse their scrapes and bruises and uncork a bottle of Vale’s stupid fancy wine.

Bez taps Cele’s wrists, flicks his fingers at the glass held in Cele’s left hand. He passes it, watches Bez drink a too-long sip and then takes it back. The camera roll tour had been Bez’s idea. Cele had rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch like he was indulging Bez. Not like he was burning up a little inside as Bez fell back against him.

“I don’t know why I have this photo. I think someone airdropped to me on a plane.”

His attention flits back to the phone, to the long curve of Bez’s fingers around it. There’s a cat on the screen with a knitted hat on. Bez swipes again. Rubik. Again. Rubik. Then a video of him riding, the sound of the bike filling the room through the bluetooth speaker they hadn’t bothered to turn off. A meme. A sunset. Rubik. Rubik. Bez starts talking again. Cele isn’t really listening. Can’t, with the way Bez is weighing him down, with how when he shifts or breathes, Cele feels it right down to his bones.

“— and I think — my dad got him this new toy and it got broken, but he liked it so much so I am trying to find another, but —”

Cele hums. Bez swipes again, still slurring over the quest to replace Rubik’s toy. 

A video. 

Faint music starts to pulse through the speakers, and over it, a stuttered breath. The camera pans from darkness to the door of a bathroom stall. Cele goes rigid. Bez is still — he’s not paying attention, free hand twisting in the air trying to describe exactly how the toy broke. 

The screen goes dark for a second, like someone’s covering the camera, and then it’s on a head of dark curls, and that’s — Bez’s hand, and — the first couple inches of his dick, and some guys fucking mouth, and a pair of black, downturned eyes, pale skin — a punched out moan bursts from the speakers, knocks Cele in the head like a fist.

He can see the 12 tattoo on Bez’s ring finger, where it’s curled tight in the guy’s hair.

Bez makes a little noise of surprise, and then the video’s gone, banished by his thumb. Replaced with another photo of Rubik.

“Whoops,” Bez says, nonchalant. “Skip that, ha.” 

Cele feels like he’s been set on fucking fire. That had — they’re like two months deep in his camera roll, at this point. Bez — he’d. He’d filmed someone sucking him off — some fucking random in a bathroom stall, and he’d kept it. For two months.

A sick spire of jealousy rises in Cele’s stomach at the thought. Hot shame curls around it immediately after.

He didn’t even know Bez liked men. They’d never spoken about it. He swallows, breath catching in his throat. Bez has started talking about the dog toy again. Cele wants to scream. He needs to be — not here, not under Bez, not pressed so fucking close there isn’t even room for air between them.

“Up, get up,” he says, making an aborted motion with the leg not pinned down.

Bez, the bastard, goes even more dead-weight against him, pushing into his chest and shifting up just enough for his hair to tickle over Cele’s pulse point. His hip, a sharp line, digs into the meat of Cele’s thigh — just this side of too close to his dick. Fucking shit. He blinks at the ceiling. Wills himself to not get actually hard right now, because Jesus Christ.

Bez had got a nasty bathroom blowjob and he’d filmed it and kept it and the guy had dark eyes, curls, a long nose like Cele’s, and — does he get off to it? Did he watch it last night, in the room down the hall? Cele pictures Bez getting a fist around himself, trying to chase the feeling of that mouth on him. He’s going to lose it.

“Why?” Bez asks through a yawn, lax again as if he has zero intention of moving. He scrolls past another video of him cutting around the ranch track. The whine of the dirtbike through the speakers sets Cele’s teeth on edge. He pushes at Bez’s shoulder, insistent. He’s hot all over — fidgety, breath coming out too short and too shallow. Bez is making this worse.

“Tired. I wanna go to bed.”

He doesn’t even sound normal. There’s something caught, something open and bleeding in his voice. Bez might be too drunk to notice.

“Marco,” he mutters, serious.

Twelve long seconds pass before Bez finally relents, grumbling, “you suck, Vietti,” and lifting just enough for Cele to squirm out from underneath him.

“G’night,” gets thrown over his shoulder, can’t be bothered to concoct a better, less hasty excuse as he flees the living room. A tired mumble follows him down the hall.

He doesn’t shower. Doesn’t trust himself to just wash and get out, not with Bez’s moan bouncing off the walls of his skull like a fucking pinball. His reflection in the bathroom mirror blinks anxiously at him as he brushes his teeth. There’s a thousand questions tucked between each molar.

Was that his first time? Does he still talk to the guy? Have they fucked? Is the resemblance he bears to Cele just a coincidence, or did Bez — intentionally, did he—?

He chokes on his toothbrush, spits viciously in the sink, face hot with shame.

It’s still replaying on his eyelids when he slides into bed, so he forces them open, sits up and folds his legs underneath him like he’s meditating. He peers down at his hands. His nails are too short to file, pink where he’s bitten them to the bed. Bez’s had been neatly clipped in the video, probably just long enough to draw sparks from the man’s scalp.

Cele pinches himself. Something drops in the living room, a shattering noise against the hardwood. Bez knocking over the half-empty wine glass Cele’d left on the floor. There’s a string of slurred curses, heavy footsteps. He loops his hands around his ankles. Pale and bony.

Why hadn’t Bez come to him instead?

The thought rips through his nerve endings like a wildfire. He knew it was coming. Thought he could put it off for an hour, at least. God. It’s fucking stupid. There’s no logic, or reason — they’re friends, they’ve never done — anything. Bez doesn’t even — probably doesn’t even know Cele feels like. Like that. He swallows back the bitter throb of jealousy.

They’ve laid together the way they were earlier before tonight; Bez a weight against his front, anchoring him to the couch. But he dreams about it. And it doesn’t take long at all to twist into something hotfasttdark, a knee on either side of his chest, one of Bez’s hands curled around the junction of his neck and shoulder, the other bumping the head of his cock against Cele’s parted lips.

He wakes with a start, sweating, nerves glittery under his skin. It’s fucked up. He’s fucked up. Bez is fucked up. Why does he have his fucking amateur porn sandwiched between photos of his dog. Snapchat has a My Eyes Only feature for a reason.

His phone tells him it’s 9:03am. Also tells him Bez sent him a string of texts between two and three this morning. The notifications feel like a highside, like his stomach flipping as he soars through the air.

I will kick yuor ass in rocke t league tomorow .

Sfigato

what am i meant to do icant sleep

Celiiiiiiiin

😢😢😢

He can’t stop himself from thinking could’ve come to my room. The through burns past his greymatter. Brands itself on bone.

I hate rocket league, he replies instead.

Bez answers five seconds later.

Thats why u suck just get good

Cele rolls his eyes and peels out of bed, set for the shower. He feels fucking gross, knees dirt brown from stacking it outside trying to beat Bez around the track. The hot water helps a little. Swirls the physical grime down the drain, but does nothing for the grease-slick feeling up his spine. The one that started to drip down his neck when he heard Bez moan through the speakers.

That pooled somewhere between his hips when he woke up, breath stuttering, mouth full of spit.

Bez doesn’t let on that he even remembers when he traipses into the kitchen an hour later, far too bright for someone who demolished a bottle of wine on his own. Cele’s eyes get stuck on the bitten red of his lips, and that just can’t be happening.

“You look bad,” Bez says, uncouth. He turns to fetch the milk from the fridge, and in doing so misses the viperous look Cele lances his way.

He lifts himself into a seat at the bar, keeps his eyes on his knuckles and not on the flash of lower back Bez reveals when he reaches into the top cupboard for a box of cereal. His hands curl into fists and he buries them in his lap.

“Thanks, dickhead.”

Bez pours his milk with a grin on his face.

+

Three days later, he’s staring at the bone white ceiling of his hotel room in Mugello.

He should be asleep. Should’ve been asleep ages ago. He’s gotta be at the circuit in six hours, but — he drags a hand over his face, blocks the dim moonlight and lets out a stricken noise when that fucking video starts to play in the dark.

It’s a plague. It’s a plague. Bez had pulled him close after practice today, outside the Red Bull hospitality. Elbow bent around his neck, Cele’s jugular caught between his bicep and forearm — pulse throbbing against Bez’s skin. Pecco had been standing there, saying something about lap times. Cele doesn’t know what. He’d been focusing so intently on ignoring the vision in his head — of Bez’s hand scrunched in familiar dark curls — to hear a single word.

Nauseating, but not the way it should be. Nauseating because now he wants it so fucking bad. More than usual. Cele has always — he’s always, a little bit, been thinking about it. About Bez’s tattoos, his mouth, his hair, his thighs. How’d they’d look pressed up against Cele’s as Bez fucks into him, pale against the dark sheets of the bed in his motorhome.

And there’s — underneath the sluggish, sick feeling — something sharp and bitter. Something that whispers why him and not me? 

He blinks up at the ceiling. Lust is fine. Dirty, shameful, but fine.

The sadness biting behind his eyes is not. And he’d kept it under wraps pretty well so far. Labelled Bez and all these feelings as off limits. But Bez got his dick sucked by a guy. Liked it enough to film it. Enough to keep it.

So then why — Cele cuts that thought off. 

Dangerous path to walk this late at night.

The sun rises a blink later. He zombie-walks through the morning and the paddock, until he’s on his bike at the start of Practice 2. His brain kicks into gear the way it should, the way it always does before a session.

He doesn’t think of Bez again until after he’s qualified P13, tucked into a corner of KTM hospitality with a sandwich and his eyes lasered to the TV showing the sprint. He flips between onboards on his phone, and if he spends more time watching Bez’s view, then — whatever.

Bez finishes P11.

Come motorhome, he texts, only 20 minutes after the sprint has wrapped up. Cele goes. Anticipation flutters like a moth in his chest. He crushes it in a closed fist.

Bez opens the door with a soft smile. It’s not apologetic in the face of Cele’s qualifying, because Cele hates when it is, and Bez knows that.

“Looking good,” Bez says in greeting, retreating back to the couch once Cele’s inside. On the bike, Cele reminds himself. He means on the bike. 

“Thanks. You too.”

Bez snorts, shrugs. Doesn’t say liar but it’s implied in the shake of his head. It wrenches Cele’s heart a little. He falls to sit beside him, eyes on the TV and the buzzing grid before MotoE. The silence is comfortable, but not easy. Cele’s trying too hard for that. Someone goes down on the screen, and then a notification bar flashes across the top. It’s a text message — Bez’s phone must be paired.

Ciao, about next weekend, ill come over at . . .

It’s from an unsaved number. The rest of the preview is swallowed up by ellipses, and then the message disappears altogether. Cele’s world slants about 30 degrees on its axis. He swallows the sick feeling rising in his throat. Bez picks up his phone.

“A date?” Cele asks, before he can think better of it. He doesn’t even want to know, actually. Doesn’t want to know if Bez has made plans with that guy to get his rocks off again. His voice is tight — off-balance. He knows Bez has caught it when he looks up, mouth open. His lip quirks.

“What?”

“That message,” Cele presses on, hating himself for it. “Seeing someone?” Bez flicks his eyes to the TV, like the offending text is still there and not on the phone clasped between his hands. Cele wishes he hadn’t said that — hadn’t let the ugly, possessive thing in his chest pull his vocal chords into a prying question.

Bez tilts his head.

“Why?”

Cele opens his mouth. Closes it. Because he thought Bez would just tell him. Didn’t think it would turn into a thing. 

When Cele doesn’t say anything else, Bez sinks a little deeper into the couch. His eyes have gone shiny — keen, like he thinks he’s picked up on something. It’s unsettling.

“My dog sitter for Rubik,” he admits, shrugging. “No date.”

Relief hits him like a truck, and then a stream of white-hot embarrassment follows. Bez is still staring at him, attention like a blade on the side of his face. He turns away from the sharp edge of it.

“Are you okay?”

The rush of blood through his veins starts to slow. Dulls to heavy pump. Don’t ask me questions, he thinks, eyes squeezed shut. There’s a non-zero chance he blows this whole thing wide open. So tempting, so easy to do when Bez speaks all soft like that. His quiet exhale, the way the couch moves when he shifts his weight. It’s hard for Cele to get a handle on anything Bez-related at the moment.

They’re just such good friends. He’d just seen Bez’s amateur porn.

Casual.

Normal.

“Celin,” Bez pushes. He pries his eyes open, counts one, two — thinks of the tattoo on Bez’s hand — his hand in dark curls, and — pulls it together.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, like he’s coming back into focus. Bez huffs.

“Where’d you even go, huh.”

He was still riding the high of securing pole position, the thrill of it coursing through his veins, but now that the sun had dipped below the horizon, his thoughts began to shift. The celebration with his team had been wonderful — full of congratulations, back pats, and cheers — but now, with the night settling in, his mind drifted toward something more personal. He was eager for the comfort of familiar faces, the warmth of home — even if that home was just a motorhome for now.

As he approached his motorhome, Cele found himself slowing down, savoring these last few moments of solitude. There was something special about these quiet walks back, where he could let his thoughts wander without the noise of the world pressing in. But tonight, his heart beat a little faster with anticipation, knowing that his boyfriends would be waiting for him inside. He hadn’t seen them much after qualifying, with both of them having their own races and frustrations to deal with, but he knew they’d be there for him now.

With a deep breath, Cele reached the door, the familiar feel of the handle cool against his palm. He turned it slowly, pushing the door open with a quiet creak, expecting the usual stillness that greeted him after long days. Instead, as soon as the door opened, he was met with the sight of Marc and Marco waiting eagerly for him, their faces lighting up the moment they saw him.

"Pole position!" Marc practically shouted, his excitement bursting out as he wrapped Celestino in a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind out of him. Marc's arms squeezed around him with an intensity that could only come from someone who lived and breathed competition and victory. His eyes sparkled with pride, his earlier frustrations from his own race completely forgotten. "Nuestro campeón!" he added, his voice full of admiration and joy, as if Cele's victory were his own.

Before Cele could even catch his breath, Marco joined in, practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. His enthusiasm was just as palpable, his energy infectious as he grabbed Cele and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Eri così veloce!" Marco gushed, his voice a little breathless, as though he’d been holding it in since the moment Cele had crossed the line. He placed a firm kiss on Cele’s cheek, his lips lingering for a moment as if to let Cele truly feel the depth of his pride. "We’re so proud of you!" Marco continued, his words tumbling out in a rush, unable to contain his happiness.

It wasn’t just about the pole position — it was about seeing someone they loved succeed, and that made everything sweeter. Marc and Marco’s eyes shone with admiration, their joy for Cele’s accomplishment filling the room. There was no trace of the weight they'd both been carrying after their own races. Right now, all that mattered was celebrating Cele’s success, and they were going to make sure he felt every ounce of their pride and love.

Celestino couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he was enveloped in their warmth. He had expected a quiet evening, but this — this was exactly what he needed. Being here with them, feeling their excitement and pride, made everything feel even more real, more tangible. The joy on their faces reminded him of why this moment meant so much, not just to him, but to them as well.

“Guys, come on,” Cele said, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, though he couldn’t stop smiling. “It was just qualifying.”

Marc pulled back just enough to look Cele in the eyes, his expression full of intensity. “Just qualifying?” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mi cielo, you’re on pole tomorrow. You’ve earned this.”

Marco nodded eagerly. “Marc’s right. We’re celebrating tonight, no excuses.”

Celestino laughed, feeling the weight of their words sink in. The doubts and nerves that had been bubbling beneath the surface all evening started to fade. Here, with his lovers, he felt safe, understood. They had all had their ups and downs, but tonight, this was their moment to savor.

“Alright, alright,” Cele relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What’s the plan, then?”

Marc grinned, sharing a glance with Marco. “We’ve got it all covered,” he said, leading Cele further inside the motorhome.

Celestino laughed again, the sound lighter now, the lingering tension melting away as Marc and Marco led him deeper into the motorhome. The space felt warm and inviting, filled with soft lighting and the comforting presence of the two people he loved most. It was exactly what he needed — an escape from the pressure of tomorrow, a chance to just be in the moment.

Marc was the first to sit down on the couch, pulling Cele down with him so that they were both nestled comfortably against the cushions. Marco followed closely behind, slipping in on Cele’s other side, effectively sandwiching him between them. The sense of closeness, of intimacy, was immediate and overwhelming in the best possible way.

“No talking about tomorrow,” Marc reminded him, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone as he turned Cele’s face toward him. His dark eyes locked onto Cele’s, the intensity there now softened by affection. “Tonight’s just for us.”

Before Cele could respond, Marc closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Cele’s in a slow, deliberate kiss. The touch was warm and grounding, pulling Cele further out of his thoughts and into the present. Marc’s kiss was confident, as if reminding Cele that he deserved to enjoy this moment, that he didn’t need to be perfect to be loved, tomorrows result didn't matter to Marc or Marco.

As Marc pulled back slightly, Cele barely had a moment to catch his breath before Marco leaned in, his own lips finding Cele’s in a more playful, lingering kiss. Marco’s touch was lighter, teasing, and Cele couldn’t help but smile against his lips. It was the kind of kiss that made him forget everything else — the nerves, the pressure — leaving only the warmth of Marco’s presence and the easy comfort of being with someone who knew him inside and out.

When Marco finally pulled away, both he and Marc were smiling at Cele, their eyes filled with nothing but love and pride. The weight of the day felt distant now, replaced by a warmth that came not just from the physical closeness but from the bond they all shared. This was their moment, and in this small motorhome, it felt like nothing else mattered.

“Stop staring,” Cele complained, covering his face, though his voice was soft, filled with genuine gratitude.

“You're just so perfect, mio sole,” Marco whispered, his hand resting gently on Cele’s thigh. He leaned in again, this time for a softer kiss, one that was less about passion and more about the simple, quiet connection they shared.

Marc, always the more intense of the two, shifted closer, pressing kisses along Cele’s jawline, moving slowly toward his neck. His breath was warm against Cele’s skin, each touch making Cele’s heart beat a little faster. “You’re everything to us, Celestino,” Marc murmured against his skin, his voice low and sincere.

Cele’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned back into their touches, letting himself be surrounded by the feeling of them. The doubts and nerves that had plagued him earlier were gone now, replaced by a warmth that settled deep in his chest. With Marc and Marco by him, everything felt right.

Cele's breath hitched as he relaxed further into their touches, every brush of lips and fingertips melting away the remnants of tension from the day. With Marc and Marco by his side, everything felt right — easier. Their presence was grounding, reminding him that here, in this space, there was no pressure to perform, no need to carry the weight of tomorrow. It was just them.

Marc's lips traced along Cele's neck, soft and deliberate, while Marco’s hand moved gently along his back, offering both comfort and desire in equal measure. Cele barely noticed as they began guiding him toward the bedroom at the back of the motorhome, their movements seamless, unspoken understanding between them. He followed their lead willingly, every step bringing him closer to the warmth of their shared sanctuary.

When they reached the bedroom, Marco was the first to nudge the door open, the soft light spilling into the room, casting a gentle glow over the bed. They guided Cele inside, Marc’s hands resting securely on his hips, while Marco pressed a kiss to the back of Cele’s neck, his breath warm against his skin.

Marc leaned in, slowly, carefully, and kissed him, hands moving to cup the boys face. They were soft with each other. he tried to pull away to talk, but Cele followed him. Marc held his head and parted just an inch away.

“Get closer.” He whispered. Marco set his hands on Cele's hips and urged him towards him, sitting down before guiding him into his lap.

Marco laid down so Cele would straddle him. Cele gaped, eyes shaky like he didn't know how he got into this situation. Marco gently pulled him down into another soft kiss. He was hovering, so, not as gently, Marco pressed his hips down. Cele let out a small grunt.

“Bez…” Celestino breathed.

He hummed, moving to his neck. Cele moaned. The sound sparked something in Marco. He needed to hear more. He needed to see more, touch more, taste more.

Marco snaked his hands up Cele's sides, under his shirt. “Can I see you, sweet boy?”

Cele sat up. For all his anxiety, he was pretty confident in taking off his shirt. He hesitated a moment, but a look at Marc spurred him on. They didn't stop there. Marc pulled Cele into a hard kiss. He took off his own shirt in the middle of it. Marco watched, trying not to grind into Cele. They looked so good together — a part of him just wanted to watch for the night.

But it was a small part. He gripped Cele's thighs. He could see his cock was hardening beneath his clothes. Marco refrained from touching it; he wanted to go slow tonight. Instead, he held Cele's bare waist. He was just as soft as Marco imagined.

“Marco,” Marc started, though his gaze was on Cele. Marco hummed in question. “Are… are you going to take both of us?”

Marco smiled. “Yeah, I'd like to. Can I have both of you?”

Cele nodded quickly. Marc did, too, but not as shameless.

“Okay. Then, can you, eh…” Marc grazed his fingers over Marco's hand. “Touch me?”

Marco grinned. He sat up, moving Cele by his hips, saying, “Excuse me, baby,” and got Marc to lay against the pillows.

Marc shuffled down his clothes, just enough to free his cock. Marco got his hand on him as soon as he could, but made sure to get a good look at him. Pretty.

Cele dipped to Marc to whisper something Marco didn't hear, then they kissed. They stayed with each other as Marco tugged Marc's clothes down and off. He then knelt between his legs and continued to stroke him.

“Tell him I want…” Marco couldn't discern the end of Cele's sentence. He strained to hear, wanting to do whatever it was without being asked, but he couldn't.

Marco was expecting Marc to say something when they broke apart. But Cele laid, curled against Marc, head on his stomach and looking at him, and Marc was quiet. Marco didn't push; it'd happen eventually. The fact that they looked beautiful right now was a good distraction, anyway.

“Celin,” Marco called. Cele turned to him, and he gestured him over. Beautiful, yes, but Marco needed more.

Cele knelt next to Marco. He guided Cele's lips to his own with a finger under his chin. He kept it short, and again Celestino was chasing him for more.

“He's so cute. How do you keep yourself off of him?” Marco asked.

“‘He's annoying most of the time.” Cele rested his head on Marco's shoulder.

He laughed. Marc looked like he was about to retort back, but his words died when Marco pumped him faster. He settled for a glare.

“Are you always this mean to him?” Marco asked.

“I'm not mean to anyone!” Marc insisted.

Marco smirked. He liked seeing Marc riled up. Somehow, he was cuter that way. The once-over Marco gave him made him sober up and straighten his posture. Marco turned away to duck and spit onto Marc's cock for lube. Marc moaned quietly, his hips bucking. Marco placed his free hand on Marc's tummy to pet. They were both just so adorable. It was getting harder and harder for Marco to fight the urge to just squeeze them.

Marco's skin tingled when Cele set a hand on his thigh. Cele rubbed him, getting further up with each stroke. Marco waited for Cele to reach his dick. It seemed he was too timid. Marco elected to not do it for him — he had a thing for shyness.

But Marco took off his shirt for them. After he tossed it away, he said, “Just so you know, I'll be cumming in both of you. I'll let you decide the order.”

He went back to touching Marc, ignoring the tension he caused. Not bad tension, but palpable either way. Cele scooted closer to Marco and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Can I go first?” Cele asked, quiet, to Marc.

“Yeah.” Marc answered, distracted. He grabbed Marco's wrist.

Marco froze. Marc's brow was furrowed and his jaw was dropped, but he wasn't upset, instead he looked like he needed a break from stimulation. Already close to orgasm, maybe. Cute.

“Sensitive?” Marco asked.

Marc merely nodded. He released Marco's hand and relaxed into the bed. Marco rubbed his thigh.

“He cums quickly.” Cele murmured.

“Celestino,” Marc warned.

Marco smirked. “What about you, then?”

“He does, too.” Marc interjected.

Cele scoffed. He crawled over to Marc and started ranting to him. Marco stopped him mid-sentence: he knelt behind him and grabbed his hips to yank him closer, pressing his chest to Cele's back. Marco heard him gasp.

“Shh, babies. I want you to feel good tonight. I'm going to make sure of that.” Marco told them. He slipped his fingers under Cele's pants and underwear. He whispered in his ear, asking if this was okay, and after receiving a nod, pushed his clothes down to his thighs. Marco pumped his dick slowly.

Marc sat up. He kissed Cele, soft and loving , then positioned himself in front of his dick. Marc wrapped his lips around Cele's cockhead. Cele moaned lowly, and he shuddered in Marc's arms. Marco kissed his neck, earning another moan. His sounds were beautifully airy. Marco and Marc worked on him together. Cele got noisy quickly, loud quickly.

“He's not always like this” Marco stated, both him and Marc noticing how different he was behaving tonight.

Marc looked up. It gave the same effect as if he was on Marco's dick instead, and Marco's body flushed hot.

“Yeah. He’s pathetic.” Marc said, smiling.

Cele whined petulantly — proving Marc's point. “Shut up.” He grumbled.

Marco's lips brushed against Cele's ear as he whispered, “That's not very nice, is it, angel? I thought you weren't mean?”

Cele whined again. Marc returned to his tip, making his hips jerk. Marco had an arm around his waist, though, keeping him in place. Marco took his hand away and brushed his fingers through Marc's hair. He didn't want to push him, he didn't want to seem controlling in any way, but thankfully Marc got the hint. He swallowed down Cele's cock. Marco continued to pet his hair. He watched, transfixed, loving the show, feeling the sensations, too, almost as deeply as Cele was feeling them. He wondered if Cele could feel his hard cock against him. And Marc kept looking up at him, making everything all the more vivid.

But Marco didn't want to ask for it. He wanted it only if they wanted it. If it'd make them feel good, it’d make him feel good. Perhaps they'd want it but needed Marco to initiate, but Marco didn't want that. He liked knowing exactly what someone craved and indulging them exactly how they needed.

“Marc…” Cele mewled. He was getting squirmy.

Marc sat up. He held Cele's head and kissed him. Marco could feel how much they adored each other.

“Now?” Marc whispered. Cele nodded. Marc sat back to say, “Cele wants to blow you.”

Marco grinned. He nuzzled into Cele's neck and kissed him there. “Sure, baby, if you want to.”

Cele shuffled out of Marco's lap to face him. “Do you not want it?”

Marco chuckled and pulled him in to kiss his forehead. “I want whatever you want. Promise.”

Cele didn't seem convinced, but he nodded. Marco pecked his lips and moved to lay. He took off the rest of his clothes, and Cele knelt between his legs. He watched Cele stop and stare. Marco smirked. He's been told he was big, and compared to both of them, he was. He believed size didn't necessarily matter, but he was glad it looked like Cele was happy with the reality of the moment.

Cele dipped down to him and took in his cockhead. Marco bit his lip, relieved after waiting. He'd willed himself to stay soft until Cele and Marc started accepting his advances. Then he'd gotten harder and harder, soon aching. Cele's warm, wet — and drooling, it seemed — mouth was exactly what he needed.

Marc got close, tentatively setting his hand on Marco's chest, eyeing the silver metal on his left pec. Marco rubbed his forearm to show it was okay. It seemed Marc was about to talk, but stopped himself when Marco pursed his lips to hold back a moan from Cele sucking hard on his cockhead.

Marc kissed him. Marco couldn't stay quiet; he groaned into Marc's mouth and grabbed a handful of his hair. “You're so hot,” Marc breathed.

Marco smiled. “Have you been thinking of me?” he asked, moving his hand from Marc's hair to Cele's, wanting to make sure he still felt included and appreciated, he was the one on pole after all. They made eye contact. Marco let out a shaky sigh.

“Always.” Marc answered.

Marco grinned, giving Marc small kisses. Marc positioned himself against him, on his side but leaning over Marco, his hand on the other side of his body for support. Marco couldn't see Cele anymore, so he made sure to keep petting his hair, setting his other hand on Marc's thigh.

“Now that we’re here, you can let go, okay, baby? Let yourself want, don't think too hard.” Marco told him.

Marc nodded, biting his lip. “Can we… you can say no, but…" He was nervous. Sweet. "Can I sit on your face?”

Marco smiled. “Of course, sweet boy.”

Marc lit up. He carefully straddled Marco's head, facing away from him. Marco shoved another pillow under his head for a better angle. He took Marc's ass in his hands, spreading him, and he licked down his shaft to get to his hole. Marc moaned lowly.

Marco felt Cele sit up and stroke him instead. Him and Marc spoke quietly. Marco was grateful for the break; he wanted to let Cele have his fun, of course, but he needed to be selfish at least sometimes, just so he'd last for them. He'd hate to not make both of them feel good tonight.

Cele and Marc kissed. Cele soon got distracted, barely touching him, but Marco didn't mind. He focused on Marc, how perfect he felt underneath his tongue, how beautiful he tasted, how pretty his little whines and whimpers were. Marco loved how whiny his boyfriends were. Marco felt the need to spoil them, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

Marco reached to pump Marc's cock, and found Cele's hand already there. Marco helped him stroke sometimes, but mostly felt around Marc's body. His tummy and ribs and chest. Touching his nipples made Marc jerk and moan, a nipple piercing would do wonders for him. Marco had to grip his hips at points to keep him still.

“Okay, M-Marco, stop, I—I can't,” Marc stuttered out.

Marco stopped like he was told, yet Marc didn't move. As his tongue stopped his moved his habd to rub his hole, lightly, with his thumb. Marc shuddered and groaned. He pushed into the touch. Marco smirked. But Marc had stopped him earlier, so Marco placed a quick kiss on his cheek and urged him to move off of him. He did, out of breath and avoiding eye contact. Marco sat up. Cele glanced between Marc and Marco, and Marco couldn't tell what he was thinking about.

“Want me to prep you, angel?” Marco asked.

Cele nodded. Marco moved to give Cele room on the bed. “Hand me the bag, will you, baby?” Marco asked Marc, they knew what they wanted when they came to wait for Cele.

He got it for Marco and didn't comment. Marco pulled out his, their bottle of lube. He squirted some onto his fingers. Cele knelt, face to the bed.

“Did you plan this?” Cele asked.

Marco warmed the lube between his fingers before smearing it onto Cele's hole. He hummed, saying, “Had to let you know how proud we are.”

He thrusted slowly, adding a second finger. He would've loved to get on Cele's prostate and make him shake from pleasure, but based on recent events, he felt that'd get him too close too quickly. So he stayed slow and shallow. Cele was making noises, albeit not too loud, so Marco didn't think he minded. He squeezed in a third finger.

Marc sat up. “He's ready.”

Marco's eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?”

Cele nodded, eyes closed, and he mumbled something Marco couldn't hear.

“Louder. He’d love to hear you. Don't act like you don't like attention.” Marc told him.

Cele whined, brow furrowing. Marco searched for, and managed to find Cele's prostate in time for him to speak — making his voice shakier and whinier than it already was.

“I—I want it, Bez, wan' it, please…” Cele begged.

Marco paused. He took a deep breath. In and out. Calm down. Breathing did the exact opposite of what Marco wanted it to do; the oxygen fueled the fire that had started in his belly and it spread until he had to do something to put it out. He grabbed Cele's hips and turned him over, took his thighs and yanked them together, pushed his knees to his chest. Only when Marco had stopped moving, had he realized Cele's expression. He looked scared.

Marco cautiously leaned closer, one hand next to Cele's head. He cupped Cele's face with the other. “I'm sorry. Too rough?”

Cele nodded once, but quickly switched to shaking his head. “No, it's okay, 'm okay. Jus— jus' not used to it.”

Marco kissed him. Cele sighed into it like he was relieved. “God, I wanna make you scream my name.” He whispered.

Cele held Marco's head and kissed deeper. “Please, please,” he mewled, repeating it between their kisses.

Marco sat up. He reached for his bag, but Marc intercepted him. He handed him a condom. Marco smiled and took it from him, leaning over to quickly peck the Spaniards lips. He tore it open and rolled it on, and he added more lube before he lined up to Cele's hole. Marco pushed in as slow as he could manage. Cele watched, his bottom lip between his teeth. Halfway in, his jaw dropped, and Marco paused. But Cele waved him on. When Marco bottomed out, Cele groaned and his eyes fluttered shut. His breathing was labored.

If Cele was like this before they even started, Marco didn't know how he'd survive. Usually Cele kept noises and facial expressions to a minimum, he wasn't sure what happened to make him this reactive. Marco began with a slow pace, thrusting almost his whole length, since Cele liked it deep. His breathing picked up.

“Does it hurt?” Marco asked.

Cele hastily shook his head. “Faster.” He whispered.

Marco grinned. He did what he was told. Cele whined loudly. He covered his mouth with both hands.

“Don't do that. I need to hear you.” Marco told him. He even stopped moving to get his point across. It really was a need; it was a great sign that Marco was doing something his lover liked, and that's all Marco ever wanted.

Cele tentatively took his hands away. “Hard.” He whispered.

Marco tried not to smile. He leaned back down to him, his elbows on either side of his head. He held the back of Cele's neck and said, “Don't hesitate to tell me to stop.”

Cele nodded. Marco made sure to be gradual with it, not wanting to go too hard too fast. Maybe he was wrong, but he felt Cele was more fragile than he was letting on. Even if he was wrong, it was better than assuming the opposite. So Marco was careful.

Cele was moaning and whining and mewling and squirming before Marco was at his full potential. Marco had his head on Cele's shoulder, sometimes kissing him, sometimes licking him, sometimes whispering praise into his ear. Everything made Cele whimper right now. Marco let himself go at some point. He stopped caring about when he'd cum. He listened to Cele's hypnotizing noises and got lost in them.

“Ma—Marco, 'm gonna, 'm gon—”

“Me too, angel. Don't fight it.” Marco told him. He was tiring at this point, and would go as long as Cele needed, yet was still grateful that Cele was finishing.

Cele trembled underneath him, choking on his moans, breathing Marco's name. Not a scream, but there nonetheless. He gripped Marco's bicep. He thought it was cute. He needed to see him. So he sat up, grabbing the tops of Cele's thighs to help him thrust, and studied his accomplishments. Cele's eyes were rolled back in his head and his mouth was open wide, his hands grasping the sheets. Then he cringed in on himself as Marco kept going after his orgasm. Cele hid his face behind his arms, quivering. Marco knew Cele could only be overstimulated so much before he broke, but thankfully he wouldn't have to bear it much longer. Marco came, groaning, stuffing himself deep, breathing heavily. Cele's tummy looked pretty painted with cum. Marco tugged on Cele's cock to milk out any last drops, making him jerk. He pulled out, but kept his hand on Cele's belly. Their breathing was in sync.

“Holy fuck.”

Marco looked at Marc, chuckling. He moved away and guided Cele's legs down to the bed. Marco climbed off the bed, and when he realized Marc was watching him, turned back. “Just give me a few minutes, okay, sweetie? I haven't forgotten about you.”

Marc nodded, and he almost looked as dazed as Cele. Marco went to the bathroom to get a few towels and throw away his condom. Marc's eyes returned to following him as soon as Marco was in sight again. Marco sat next to him, as close as he could, while he wiped Cele off.

Cele eventually sat up. He avoided eye contact and fidgeted with his fingers. Marc rescued him, holding his head and kissing him. Cele immediately relaxed. Marc moved to his neck, freeing Cele so he was able to say, “Thank you.”

Marco smiled. “Don't thank me. You were perfect.”

Cele blushed and looked away. He caught Marc's lips, hiding from Marco. Marco watched. He was still in awe at how cute they were together. He stroked his half-hard cock, wanting to be ready for Marc as soon as possible. Marco wasn't too sensitive, and he never came very quickly, so he loved doing second rounds. For himself, of course, but especially for his partners.

Marco shuffled closer. He slid a hand down Marc's spine. Marc's only sign of acknowledgement was arching his back. Marco went further to tease his hole with a light finger. Marc moaned into Cele's mouth. Marco added a bit more pressure. Marc reached back to press him even closer, hand desperately pushing on Marco's.

“Wanna lay down for me?” Marco asked him, kissing his shoulder.

Marc turned to him. His eyes danced around Marco's face. He stared at Marco's lips as he asked, “Can you finger-fuck me?”

Marco lifted his head with a finger under his chin. “Just that?” he asked, making them keep eye contact.

Marc shook his head hastily. “No, no. Just— just as prep. I want it.”

Marco nodded. He kissed him shortly, and then Marc laid on his back. He pulled his legs out of the way and watched Marco lube his fingers. For the first time, Marc seemed nervous. No, he'd been nervous earlier… Now he seemed uneasy. Marco attributed it to not bottoming often, Marc was usually somewhere in the middle. Marco made it a mission to be as gentle as possible, while still doing what Marc wanted. He pet Marc's thigh as he pushed a finger into his hole. Marc exhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes. Marco recognized that he was telling himself to relax, but wasn't able to convince himself.

“You're okay?” Marco asked.

Marc nodded, but he kept his eyes closed. “Just not used to it. Forgot what it feels like.”

“Marc, I can—”

“Cele, shut up.” Marc grabbed the back of Cele's neck and pulled him into a hard kiss.

Marco smiled to himself. He thrusted faster, but stayed with only one finger. Cele collapsed into Marc, laying against him and letting their kisses get messy. Marc frantically waved his hand around Marco's, and Marco thought he was telling him to stop, but Marc found Marco's hand and guided him to use two fingers. He did, slowly. Marc kept his hand close after, just to feel. Marco rubbed his forearm.

“I love you.” Cele whispered.

Marc hid his face in Cele's chest, no doubt smiling wide. Cele pet Marc's hair. Marco eased in a third finger. They made eye contact, Marc's brow knitted together and his jaw dropped. Marco would’ve thought he was in pain if Marc hadn't pulled his hand even closer. Marco thrusted faster. Marc wanted to be fucked, so Marco would give it to him.

“Ah— ah, oh— oh, fuck,” Marc moaned shamelessly. “Fuck, Marco…”

“You have such a dirty mouth.” Marco frowned. “You've been behaving so well for me, you're not gonna switch up now, are you, sweet boy?”

Marc quickly shook his head. “I’ll be good.”

Marco cleaned closer, and Cele was still in front of him, so he pet his hair as he spoke to Marc: “You'll be good for me? A good boy? My good boy?”

Marc covered his mouth with a hand, his brow furrowed, nodding. Marco grinned.

Marc used both hands to hide his face, and he squirmed, and while he didn't verbally answer, Marco knew he was going to be good. Marco fucked harder. Marc whined and bucked his hips. Cele kissed around Marc's chest, making him whimper when he licked his nipples. Marco couldn't see, but it seemed Cele got rough, based on Marc's sharp moans and full-body jerks. Marco knew he was into pain, it wasn't a shocking discovery.

Marc grabbed Marco's hand. He pulled out and held it, rubbing him with his thumb. The lube between their skin was warm. Marc stopped Cele, too, and then he shuffled to sit up.

“What position, angel?” Marco asked. He was now as hard as he'd been before. He grabbed another condom, opening it.

Marc crawled to him. He slid a hand up Marco's bicep to rest at the crook of his neck, the other hovering over Marco and the condom. “I want it in me so bad.” Marc whispered.

Marco grinned, endeared. And disappointed, but for Marc, not for himself. “I wish I could, baby. I can cum on you, yeah?” he bargained.

Marc bit his lip, and after a second, agreed. Marco gave him a short kiss. “Good. Thank you for listening to me.”

Marc blushed and tried to hide it by nuzzling into Marco's shoulder. Marco chuckled and kissed the side of his head, the Spaniard was always so much softer in bed, despite his dirty mouth. Marc moved to his hands and knees. Marco rolled on the condom and squirted on more lube, then lined up. He pushed in after Marc arched his back for him.

“Oh, god,” Marc groaned, sounding completely ruined. Already.

Cele scrambled to sit in front of Marc, putting his head in his lap. Marco noticed Cele had redressed, and although it was only his underwear, Marco was a tiny bit let down. He couldn't see Cele anymore. Though, of course, Marco wasn't going to comment. He turned his attention back to Marc. Marc, who hasn't bottomed in ages, who obviously hasn't bottomed since before the break.

Cele cooed at him, comforted him, shushed him, whenever Marc let out a particularly pathetic whine. Marco tried to make him let out pathetic whines. It wasn't that hard; Marco found the right angle early, and staying with it quickly led to fucking Marc stupid. Marco could see he was drooling on Cele's pretty, plush thigh.

Marc, everything about him, was making Marco ache. Marco wanted to cum again, and he knew he would, but it was taking too long; Marc was like this, slick and desperate and euphoric and messy, and Marco wasn't cumming from it? But Marco loved it at the same time. Him continuing meant more pleasure for Marc—thus more pleasure for him.

Marc's posture kept slipping. Marco had to haul his hips up more than once. Marc, for what it was worth, helped him each time, but his legs still kept spreading. So Marco pushed him down and fucked him that way. He knelt over Marc's thighs, and it was for a better angle, not to pin him down, but he felt Marc liked the unintentional outcome. Marco fucked him until his hips hurt and his thighs burned.

Marc didn't even warn him before he came. Cele tried, getting out “Bez, he's—” before Marc whined, almost a cry, cringing in on himself and gripping Cele's thigh hard enough for Marco to know it was painful. Unlike Cele, it seemed Marc wanted no part in overstimulation. He tried to crawl away after his high died off. Marco pulled out, out of breath, and flipped Marc to his back. Marco tore off the condom and jerked himself off onto Marc's still-throbbing cock. He was glad Marc was lucid enough to watch, because his blissful expression as he waited for Marco to mark him sent Marco over the edge. He came again, groaning and shuddering. The second time always hit harder for Marco. He was sensitive now, but he made sure to milk himself out onto Marc, wanting to get as dirty as he could. He loved getting messy.

Marco moved away after taking a moment to calm down — though he didn't get very far. Marc recovered faster than Marco, and he scrambled to sit up and get into Marco's lap to hug him. A tight hug. And Cele did the same, from the back. His arms were around his waist and Marc's were circling Marco's shoulders. Cele was pressed to his back. Marc's head was in the crook of Marco's neck.

“You okay?” Marco chuckled. He said it lightly, but he needed this, too. His whole body, inside and out, was warm with adoration, appreciation, and fulfillment. Just pure joy. He felt loved, in every way.

Marc nodded and hummed. Cele kissed Marco's shoulder. Marco believed them, so he pet Marc's hair and draped his arm over Cele's that were around his waist. They were quiet. A nice, comfortable type of quiet. Marco wanted them to sleep over.

Marc moved to bring Cele's face to him and kiss him. It was endearing, knowing they loved each other. Marco shuffled out from under them to give them space. It wasn't his intention to bring their attention to him, but Marc took Marco's head and kissed him, too. And Cele joined. It seemed the two were needy enough to kiss him at the same time, slippery and uncoordinated. Cele moved to Marco's neck. He sighed in satisfaction, but he winced, too, as his cock started to fill again. He could do second rounds, but rarely did a third.

Marc got Cele's attention to give him a short kiss before sitting back. “Thanks.” Marc whispered, glancing at Marco before ducking his head.

Marco kissed his forehead. “Don't thank me, sweet boy.”

“Yeah, so, um… are we, uh…” Marc was still avoiding eye contact.

“Just a second, angel.” Marco said. He grabbed the towel from earlier and eased Marc into laying down so he could wipe him off. He checked on Cele to make sure he was thoroughly cleaned, then toweled himself off. He tossed the towel to the floor, then, “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Marc chuckled. “Just, um, do we have to talk about it now?” It. The race.

“What? Of course not.” Marco said, taken aback. “If we aren't talking about tomorrow we won't talk about today either.”

Marc smiled. He looked at Cele, and Marco did the same. They both looked happy.

He got up to collect Marc's clothes, and handed Cele the rest of his, then redressed himself. Marco's legs were weak. Cele stayed put, watching Marco's evrry move, so Marco held his hand and asked how he was feeling.

“ 'm good. Missed you guys today.” Cele answered, voice quiet.

“We missed you too, baby” Marco hummed.

Cele smiled. “Can I kiss you, please?”

“You never have to ask”

Marco smiled and squeezed Cele's hand. Their lips connecting as Marc dressed, smiling contently at his boyfriends. Marco immediately brightened as he pulled away. It was late, but they still had adrenaline from the novelty of having sex and the youngest boys good work.

Marc smiled at the scene unfolding before him as he continued dressing, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. Seeing Marco and Cele together like this, so soft and loving, made everything feel just a little more peaceful. The frustrations of the day seemed far away, replaced by the simple joy of being with the people he loved.

Marco’s lips lingered on Cele’s for a moment longer before he finally pulled back, his eyes crinkling with a smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “You never have to ask to kiss me, amore,” Marco whispered, still holding Cele’s hand. His thumb brushed against Cele’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that made Cele’s heart flutter.

Cele’s smile grew wider, the kind that came from deep inside, from feeling safe and cherished. “Ti amo,” he murmured, his voice still soft, as if the moment were too delicate to disrupt with anything louder.

Marc, now fully dressed, stepped closer to the bed, his gaze affectionate as he looked down at them. He reached out, resting a hand on both their shoulders, squeezing gently. “You guys are too cute,” he teased lightly, though his voice held nothing but love. He leaned down to press a kiss to Marco’s temple, then one to Cele’s forehead, his touch gentle and reassuring.

Marco leaned into the kiss, his eyes half-closed in contentment. The weight of the day, the ups and downs, seemed to vanish in these moments. “You’re stuck with us, you know,” Marco teased back, his voice laced with affection as he turned to look at him. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Nunca,” Marc agreed with a playful grin. “Never.”

They all stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the closeness, the comfort of being together after a long day. Even though it was late, and exhaustion tugged at the edges of their minds, the adrenaline from everything that had happened — on the track and off — still hummed beneath the surface.

“Let’s just stay like this,” Cele whispered after a while, his fingers still intertwined with Marco’s. His eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, but there was a peacefulness there that hadn’t been present before. “I jus' wanna be close.”

Marc nodded, his expression softening further. He crawled into bed beside them, settling in next to Cele and pulling him close. Marco followed, wrapping an arm around both of them, their bodies fitting together in an easy, familiar way.

“Todo está bien,” Marc whispered, his voice soft and soothing as they all settled in for the night.

The three of them lay there in a comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the motorhome the only sound around them. Despite the late hour, none of them were in a rush to fall asleep. They just wanted to be here, together, savoring the simple joy of being with each other.