any thoughts on this pic? 👀
Bez good-boy-ing on his floor made me so insane that what was supposed to be a fun drabble became a whole ass wip and after like, 56 text alterations on my notes app, i decided it NEEDED a title and proper tags, so here it is. I hope it was worth the wait 🤞
edit: ty @formulapookie for the help w the italian 😚😚 (tumblr oomfs > duolingo)
edit2: now on ao3.
Cynar
Explicit, m/m, Marco Bezzecchi/Lorenzo Savadori
pwp; passionate dick-sucking; mild petplay; men crying; praising kink; scent kink; gentle dom sava; aftercare; dialogue;
It is Sava’s gaze, green and steady and gentle, that convey Bez’s first tears to fall. He tries to hide them, pressing his face further into Sava’s lap, but to no avail — his loud sniffle is a dead giveaway anyways, one that even the clink of the metal chocker around his neck cannot hide.
They are on Bez’s sofa, Marco spread out between Sava’s legs, hugging Sava’s left thigh and nuzzling his crotch, head bobbing from side to side, that unfiltered sour smell of sweat impregnating on the worn-out grey sweatpants Bez so desperately clings on; it goes up his nostrils, unfiltered, and the rawness of it makes the lump on his throat impossible to ignore.
Sava’s fingers crawl through his strands, sweaty underneath his beanie, sliding down to caress the curve of his ear, the ridges of his nape, the beggining of his spine. “You did so good today, waiting for me.”
It makes Marco so insane, all of this. Mostly, the way Sava always knows. He always knows, of course, from Bez’s minute mood swings to the way he seemed lost during that sarce free time Aprilia gave them in the begginig of the season — whole idle half hours playing with his cube that soon were filled with Sava’s laugh and the faint smell of saliva drying on Marco's skin.
Bez sniffs. It’s not just lust, gnawing at his loins, but a whole new botomless desperation that only appears when Sava took longer than usual to arrive, like today.
“Mi dispiace, If you, eh, had to wait too much." Sava moves his hands, scratching the sweet spot behind Bez’s ears. "I tought —" with that he laughs, interrupting his own speech — "I said, I hope he remembered to turn on the underfloor heater. But eh— I knew you would obey, even if it was cold."
Bez can’t help but whine at that, face still hidden from Sava, cheek pressing more fervently onto Sava’s slowly growing erection. Sava's sweatpants are already tear-stained: if they weren’t wet with sweat before he arrived home they are now, by Bez’s fault.
"No? Because you are so good. Sitting there like I told you to.” Sava uses both hands to caress his hair in a little rough fashion, just like Marco would do to Rubik. "You even brought your collar, eh? I am so proud of you, Bez, so proud."
Cazzo, Marco is out of his mind. He is encapsulated by Sava, nestled between his legs, the roof of Bez’s mouth full with the scent of sex. So proud of you, shit. Five minutes ago he was angry at himself for being so affected by Sava’s tardiness; now, Bez opens his mouth to ask— something, anything, he doesn’t know, looking up to Sava, finally, in a feeble attempt of seeking help.
“Please,” he begs, trying to anchor himself into Sava’s green eyes before another row of tears ruin his vision for good. Bez’s saliva is thick when he tries to swallow it down.
“Campione, hey,” Sava starts in an awed whisper and Bez can feel the heat of his gaze burning the bridge of his nose, making it tender to touch. Bez doesn’t feel much of a champ right now, but the pet name soothes his anguish nonetheless. Sava continues.
“You are so perfect.” An involuntary sob breaks out between Marco’s lips. “No, you are, look at you.” They lock eyes and all of Marco’s secondary worries — from the unnerving quietness of his house when he arrived alone to the impeding doom of the new season — are being sucked out by the void of Sava’s undivided lust. “Il mio campione.”
Marco moans, throbbing violently inside his pants.
There is a bit of stirring after that as Sava moves around to get out of the elastic constraint of his underwear. “Here,” Sava states, a little out of breath. He is offering himself to Bez with one hand while the other caress the side of Marco’s face, both Sava's open palms resting on damp, flushed skin.
The first thing that hits Bez is Sava’s mouth-watering muskiness. Then: the angry red hue of his need, the slight glistening at the top where Sava’s excitement is starting to overflow, the vein that crosses all of its expanse like a river.
“Take your reward, you want it, no?” Yes, bez thinks desperately, yes. “You deserve it Bez, you’ve been so, so good.”
When Bez feels the collar tighten around his neck, there is nothing else left travelling trhough his head but a white blinding sense of relief. It’s just the two of them, he and Sava, tangling their calfs on the same sofa that Rubik sleeps on. Shush, hm? No one else here, amore, just us, the phrase that Sava religiously repeats everytime they have proper sex and Marco is still too jittery after a race to take Sava’s full hardness now comes back to mind; even if they started because Marco wanted to ride him desperately, because he wanted to feel Sava’s strong torso between his legs after he had his share with Alba for thirty or so laps, even then this one gentle moment was sacred: Sava mounting him, their noses touching, kisses landing on Bez’s forehead and a muttered slow, yes? All the time you need, amore.
The hand tightening the leash grips Bez’s chin, holding his jaw open. Sava’s thumb presses down on his tongue and all of sudden Sava’s face is close, very close, and a fat dollop of spit lands on Bez’s mouth. “Take it,” Sava says, leaning back on the sofa and returning to caress Bez’s cheek again, leaving Bez to seize wathever he needs from him.
He can’t see that much with the tears glueing his lashes together, fat drops rolling down, ushered by the violent kick of his gag reflex hiting everytime he takes Sava too far without relaxing first. If Sava is weirded out by his running nose and his blotched face he hides it pretty well. Knowing him, it is easier that he is more weirded out by the force of his own arousal with the scene than the fact that Bez is very much crying about how much he needs this.
“Like this, good boy.” Marco feels a thumb sliding into his mouth alongside Sava’s hard lenght. “Always such a good boy for me, Bez.”
Marco’s eyes roll back. Before, he had only felt ecstasy like this with Alba.
Sava finally drops all pretenses of not being afected by this as much as Marco is right now, with Marco’s muffled, unholy moans cuting off everytime he goes down. “I could do this all day — you like this, leashed and mine, all day.” The green on Sava gaze hardens as he stretches the chain above Marco’s head.
“You never disappoint, never never never, Bez– ah, I’m close.”
Part of Bez wants to slow down and take the torturous route, but even his ever present bratiness knows that’s it’s too late for that. He keeps on going and Sava keeps a firm grip on Bez’s metal collar untill, blissfully, everything explodes on the back of his throath. He retracts a bit so he is able to taste Sava on his tongue, rich and bitter and manly, everything he needed ever since Marco sat down on the floor fifty minutes ago, alone, waiting for Sava’s arrival.
Only then Bez realises that his right hand is clutching Sava’s as tightly as possible without hurting. Both his ears ring.
Marco finishes sucking him clean and rest his cheek on the uncovered skin of Sava’s bare hip, panting and blinking the remanescent tears away while he stares at Sava’s quivering stomach, the dark screen of his television blurred on the distance. He can hear the loud noise of his chain collar hitting the floor.
Unceremoniously, Bez is hauled up by Sava’s strong arms so they can be face–to–face; the quiet seriousness of their shared moment shatters with Bez’s indignant yelp and Sava’s overjoyed giggle.
“Good morning sir,” Sava says with that infuriating english accent, making Bez laugh at the memory of the silly video they recorded for Silverstone. Great fucking morning, that one.
“Bastardo,” Bez answers around a smile, ignoring the exasperated no, vabbè! coming out of Sava.
Lorenzo’s eyes are really greener around Bez. That, or he gone seriously mad. His smile gets painfully soft while looking at Marco’s face, too.
“Ciao.” Sava greets him with a kiss, drying Marco’s cheeks and his running nose with his fingers.
“Ciao,” Bez answers, dumb smirk never leaving his face. “That was so hot.”
“Was it, no?” Sava’s comes close again so he can leave another peck on Bez’s mouth. “What do you want to do?” He asks. “You always get so hard after.” Sava steals one more kiss before Bez could reply.
The way Sava phrases it almost makes Bez want to reconsider, but he already had his fix. He shakes his head. “I’m, eh. Nothing.” He presses his lips together. “Satisfied,” Bez says with a wink, wriggling his eyebrows for good measure, trying to convey what he meant by that without having to actually explain himself any further.
Sava’s smile is ridiculously tender. “What about a shower, then?” He says. “I can wash your hair.”
“No,” Marco whines. “Nap. 'ive minutes.” Marco snuggles closer to Sava’s warmth while the other man laughs.
“Ma, Bez! It is never just five with you, eh? And you stink.”
In lieu of an answer, Marco trails his right hand up, inside Sava’s shirt, to rest it on the other man’s chest, ring–to–heart. Sava rests his own palm atop the tiny lump of cotton, holding Bez’s hand through the garment.
“Ok then, five minutes,” Sava abides, caressing Marco's back with his free hand.
Suddenly, Bez's smile grows stupidly wide.
“Hm?” Sava prods, noticing it.
“Ritorno alla vittoria.”
They both laugh raccuously, Sava’s legs going up to keep Marco in place while they trash on the limited space of the sofa.
“No, you little shit, this one doesn’t count, it was not a challenge —” It was! Marco interrupts. — “What, making me cum? You?” The laugh that follows is incredulous.
“Si?”
“Eh, no, not a challenge. Not a challenge at all, Bez,” a statement that doesn’t help dilute Marco’s smug face. “Oh, stai zitto, dai.”
“What,” Bez’s words can barely be understood between his high pitched giggle. “I didn’t even said anything.”
“You don’t need to, eh?” Sava says, fake–mockingly, just to land a quick kiss on Marco's nose after. “Now go take your nap.”
Right, the nap. Sava always distracts him from important things.
“Mh,” Bez mumbles, making himself comfortable as he is nestled again in Sava’s arms. “Si si, just five minutes.”
Sava’s limbs tighten around Bez, greedy and possessive even when there’s no one else around. His heart beats fast underneath Marco’s hand.
“Sure amore, five minutes.”
