#vil writes

But Bez had blushed unexpectedly, cheekbones and ears dusting a light pink. He tried to laugh, but it came out wobbly. “Hm, maybe I would,” whatever nonchalance he was trying to feign, failed, not coming out quite as easy. 

Sava raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face as he got his laughter under control. This was dangerous. Was Bez nervous, shy? Did he feel uncomfortable and only tried to be nice and play along? Sava didn’t want to risk it – their friendship and connection – but at the same time, he was a MotoGP rider, a natural risk taker, thriving on adrenaline.

Sava came closer, slotting himself halfway between Bez’s thighs, just enough for it to be friendly, but also close enough if Bez wanted to do something about it. “What was that, Marco?” Sava grinned, a teasing tone in his voice like he was just playing around and not trying to feel out the situation they were in. 

It seemed that Sava was a lot better at playing it off like a joke between friends, like implying that your friend wanted to kiss you was normal for them. And it was fairly normal, except Bez was sitting there, hands gripping the phone that was still replaying that stupid video, blushing like Sava just asked if he’d like to have his dick sucked. Not that Sava wouldn’t do it if Bez asked, of course. 

A thrill ran down Sava’s spine at how flustered and blushy Bez had seemed, although there was a tiny voice in the back of his head that was unsure if he was making the younger man uncomfortable with the teasing, after all, Sava didn’t know if Bez felt even remotely similar. 

After a moment, Bez finally looked up and met Sava’s eyes, looking unsure, but there was that usual determined glint in his eyes. He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with it, Sava’s eyes flicking down to follow the movement subconsciously. His eyes snapped back up to Bez’s face, just as the younger Italian finally opened his mouth, “Maybe I would like that.” He bit his lip nervously. “If you.. kissed me.” 

Sava shuffled closer into Bez’s space, further between his thighs until he was practically at the edge of the table. His face turned serious, not much of the playfulness left behind, realizing just how much is at stake, even if Bez had explicitly asked for it. For all Sava knew, he could’ve been playing along without meaning to, afraid of rejecting Sava for whatever reason. 

“You know you don’t have to play along, right?” Sava reassured, but his fingers gently traced the lines of Bez’s muscular thighs on either side of Sava’s hips. Something like frustration flared in Bez’s eyes, the same glint whenever Bez is annoyed that he’s not winning one of their stupid media games or not getting what he wants. 

He huffed slightly, looking a lot less shy now, “Just fucking kiss me already.” The complete change of emotion punched out a laugh from Sava, Bez watching him with growing restlessness, insecurity pinching at his brows as he waited for the older man to gather himself. Sava finally looked at his face, really looked, cataloguing every little mimic to determine how bad of an idea this is. 

A gentle, warm palm caressed the side of Bez’s face as Sava sighed, heavy and burdened, like this wasn’t all he’s wanted for the last few months. Bez looked at him, confused, unable to grasp the situation with the way Sava was acting, as if he wasn’t the one that brought the idea up. 

“Sava–” Bez started to protest, frustrated, brows furrowed, but he was silenced by Sava finally leaning in, lips pressing against Bez’s in a soft kiss, far more tame than he’d wanted, but he wanted to give Bez space to back out. 

Other ideas seemed to have been running through Bez’s mind because he did not back out, instead he grabbed onto the fabric of Sava’s team shirt and pulled him closer, eliciting a surprised little sound from Sava. Bez seized his opportunity and slipped his tongue past Sava’s lips, hands fisted tightly in the fabric to keep Sava in place, as if he would ever want to run away. 

Bez was eager, maybe even more than Sava had ever seen him, kissing the older man with such hunger that Sava barely had time to recenter himself. Sava let Bez take control of the moment, one hand cradling the side of Bez’s face, the other planted firmly on his thigh, rubbing the soft flesh through Bez’s jeans. Bez was a good kisser, a little sloppy and wet, but Sava found that it fit him, returning the energy with enthusiasm, tongue brushing Bez’s every time the seal of his lips opened. 

It felt like they were teenagers again, the kiss all tongue and a bit of teeth, Bez biting down on Sava’s lip with a needy sound deep in his throat, nothing elegant or clean. Sava welcomed it, the kiss both nothing like he’d expected and all he’d imagined from the way Bez usually was. 

Bez was starting to whine a little against Sava’s lips, breathless, clearly needing to catch his breath, but refusing to pull away from Sava like he’d die the second their lips separated. Sava couldn’t help a fond little smile that tugged on the edges of his lips, amused by Bez’s eagerness. The hand on Bez’s face slid further up and to the back of his head, Sava’s long fingers gripping the brown curls near the roots, making Bez tip his head back with a shaky moan. The older man trailed his lips down to Bez’s jawline, leaving kisses along the edge, travelling downwards to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The kisses left a wet trail behind them, Sava occasionally biting down gently, not enough to bruise. 

“Sava…” came Bez’s breathy whine, his hands pulling on the shirt in his grasp, trying to get Sava impossibly closer. He let out a frustrated little huff when he realized Sava physically couldn’t get any closer, instead shuffling his hips closer to the edge of the table, legs wrapping around Sava’s thighs to bring their hips together.

A quiet groan slipped past Sava’s lips, slightly muffled by the skin of Bez’s neck, as their crotches pressed together, Bez’s squirming providing a bit of friction that was melting both of their brains. Sava mouthed along the column of Bez’s thick neck, warm tongue laving over the younger Italian's adam’s apple, loving the way Bez’s throat bobbed under his mouth as he swallowed down shaky moans, trying so hard to be quiet. 

Bez was holding onto Sava like his life depended on it, knuckles white, fingers itching to feel the smooth skin underneath the fabric. But all he could do was keep his head tipped back, allowing Sava to kiss and nip at his skin, wishing he’d leave marks. Much to Bez’s dismay, he soon felt Sava’s lips leave his skin, but before he could protest, he was kissing Sava again, easily parting his lips to give the other more access.

The kiss wasn’t as heated as before, but Bez found that he liked it as well, being able to really enjoy and feel every slide of Sava’s lips against his, every brush and press of their tongues. Bez was sure he looked utterly debauched, lips red and slick with their spit, Sava’s saliva drying on Bez’s neck like a reminder. 

They pulled back and finally took in the sight of each other, chests still heaving as they tried to steady their breathing. Bez realized with a tiny gasp that he will never be normal again, not after seeing Sava’s blown out pupils and kiss bitten lips, not after he’s had a feel of what Sava’s hard bulge feels against his own, how caring and possessive his hands feel on his body. Similarly, Sava felt like he would die if he lost privileges to seeing Bez like this – hair dishevelled, red lips parted around gasps for air, looking up at Sava like he’s all Bez’s ever wanted. 

“Need you..” Bez breathed out nonsensically, starting to feel the ache of how worked up he was, needing any kind of relief, subconsciously knowing that Sava would take care of him well. Bez wasn’t a stranger to fantasies about Sava’s hands and mouth, imagining how caring Sava would be, like he always is to him, and how skilled he’d be at taking Bez apart, then molding him back together. 

Sava brought his hand to Bez’s face once more, soothingly stroking his cheekbone with his thumb, the sheer gentleness making Bez’s chest feel fuzzy. “Not here, okay? I want to treat you well, Bez..” Sava admitted, looking at Bez with utmost care in his eyes, always the gentleman, “My motorhome?” 

It wasn't until Bezz's routine started feeling void of the Cele shaped presence that he took a more physical approach than just texting and calls or facetime while Bezz cooked for himself and Rubik. One day Bezz just showed up at Cele's place, concerned with the slight reluctance he was met with when he brought up the proposal to come over.

Cele was never particularly tidy with his spaces, liked to keep them 'lived in', but this was just. Different. Dirty clothes on the floor, unmade bed, days old dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. Cele didn't look his best either. Paler than normal, curls wild and grown out, unshaved beard. It made Bezz's heart break, something in his chest tightening at the thought of Cele – his Cele – suffering in silence as they all went about their lives, taking his lackluster excuses at face value.

Bezz wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Not when Cele was fidgeting around like he should've even felt guilty about anything. He helped clean the place up, took the medication off Cele's nightstand with shaky hands. Bezz couldn't even read it properly, thought he really might cry if he read what it really was. But the bottles and weird names were telling enough, Bezz was somewhat familiar with it all. They prescribed him all kinds of different shit when he was having a hard time getting his head in order earlier in the season.

They showered together, Cele practically melting against Bezz's chest the whole time. It must've been so relieving, finally getting to bask in the physical contact, the closeness, the care. Bezz sat him down on the bathroom counter after, gently held Cele's face as he shaved his scruffy beard. It immediately made Cele look younger, a little more alive and Bezz could already see the life coming back to Cele's face, eyes. It was nice. Getting to take care of him, even if he should've done it sooner.

With the blinds wide open, the fall brightness filtering into Cele's apartment, everything was coming back to life. Bezz's boy was coming back to life. Coming back to him.

Cele wasn't that good with opening up about his feelings, clearly, but they talked about it, kind of. Cele was a little more lively after they ate, ordering take out because the kitchen pretty much only housed redbulls and ingredients that Bezz wasn't qualified enough to craft into a meal. They migrated to Cele's bed after, fresh sheets and all, Cele's head pillowed on Bezz's chest, talking quietly about it all, Bezz finally deciding to push a little. He wanted to understand.

A few weeks passed. The guys were clearly happy to have Cele around again, checked in more, Bezz could see that Cele liked it even if he didn't let on. He fucked his collarbone at the last race, Bezz made sure he was there to take care of him. They barely spent time apart, but it was good.

The season's over and they're pretty much glued together, apart from the occasion plans that Bezz's friends make and invite him along, Cele has his own stuff too. But they wake up together and they fall asleep together, they take Rubik out for walks. They meet up with the guys and it's good, it's normal again.

Cele is half on top of Bezz again, one arm around his waist, cheek squished against Bezz's pec. It's pretty fucking cold in Cele's apartment so it feels cozy to be like this, all tangled together like they're one creature. Bezz plays with the curly strands of Cele's dark hair, he thinks he really likes the length. Long, but not too wild. Cele doesn't have to wear the sling anymore, still, his doctor told him not to put too much stress on the injury. Bezz doesn't think Cele will listen to the doctors though.

They've been in this position for ages, talking and just. Enjoying each other. Rubik is sleeping in his fluffy dog bed and Bezz loves this, it feels so perfect and domestic that he could cry.

"Want to go for a walk?" he asks when they've been silent for a while.

"Yeah. Okay," Cele mutters an answer, but doesn't make any move to get up for a while, not until Bezz starts untangling their legs.

He's wearing Bezz's hoodie, soft and clearly loved, big on Cele just like it is on Bezz and everything about it just compels Bezz to draw him closer, kissing him easily, softly.

They go outside and it's cold, a little windy, already dark outside even though it's not even that late. Cele's wearing a light blue puffer jacket, celeste. It matches Bezz's, although his is camo print. They hold hands as they make their way through the quiet street, talking about whatever. Bezz doesn't remember the last time life felt so right.

The skatepark is empty even though it's not that cold yet. Bezz tugs Cele towards the tallest ramp, runs up and sits on the edge, waits for Cele to do the same. Cele tries, but doesn't gather enough momentum, slides back down and he laughs, bright and easy. It's so fucking nice. Hearing Cele laugh like this. The next time he succeeds, sits down beside Bezz and they're both smiling at each other, leaning towards each other for a kiss.

Bezz reaches into his pocket, there's a brand new pack of cigarettes, still in the plastic wrapping and all, that he bought this morning, intending to share with Cele. It's unhealthy, but it's almost like a treat now, not like a good few weeks ago when he was chainsmoking during the early stages of the whole recovery thing for Cele. It was hard. It's better now, so much better. They only smoke together, it’s easier to lose the habit that way.

His lighter has a little scorpion sticker on one side, a wave sticker on the other. Cele holds his cigarettes between his index and middle fingers, palm open – Bezz read somewhere that it must mean Cele's a dreamer. He thought that was fairly accurate. Bezz holds his cigarettes like they're a joint or something, Cele teases him for it. They hold hands, fingers intertwined and resting on Bezz's thigh.

The ashes fall down the ramp, the skaters will be fine, the wind will scatter them. When they slide down, they stand there for a moment and Cele starts rubbing his hands together, always running colder than Bezz. He takes Cele's hands and blows warm air on them, can smell the lingering smoke on their hands and it's kind of lovely, he finds that he likes the smell.

It's properly dark outside when they get back to Cele's apartment. Bezz puts on a shitty TV drama and they settle on the couch, Cele curling up against his side again like it's his natural position. Maybe it is because Bezz likes holding Cele, sharing kisses whenever he turns his head. Rubik is a warm, solid weight on the other side of Bezz. Cele plays with the frayed strings of Bezz's hoodie, something for his nervous hands to busy themselves with.

He tugged on Enea’s curls to break the kiss, chuckling a little at the way Enea tried to chase his lips. “Ciao, amore,” Diggia whispered with a little grin, face so close to Enea’s that his eyes almost crossed. 

“Diggi…” Enea breathed, looking winded just from the short, but intense kiss, looking up at the other man through half lidded eyes. “You were so fucking fast today, god…”

And Enea sometimes gets like this after Diggia’s had a good race. Needy, desperate to please. Other times it's Diggia coming to Enea's motorhome, smiling wide, but Enea can see that hungry look in his eyes – ‘Amazing moves out there today, amore…’

And today wasn't amazing for Enea, but he doesn't care about it, clinging to Diggia and attaching his lips to the warm skin of his neck, shoulders. Diggia is always a little uncertain about the attention, trying to be a gentleman. 

“Enea, wait–” Diggia breathes, pulling on the other man's curls to look at his face again. “Today it wasn't–”

And Diggia doesn't mean to rub it in, it's all just worry, that maybe Enea is trying to overcompensate, kick his own hurt under the rug. Enea knows this, finds it quite endearing that the other man cares so much, but now he just wants. Always wants to reward Diggia for how good he did. His own special compliment, just for them to experience. 

“I don't care–” Enea starts. He cares, a little bit. But not right now. “I did what I could, there's no point in getting stuck.” 

Diggia just can't let go, always insistent, “But, Enea–” 

“Diggi, please …” Enea whines, reedy and a little shaky. “Please let me. You know I– I'm fine, okay?” 

Diggia swallows, taking a deep breath and letting the desire wash over him as he exhales, making him shiver even though the feeling inside his abdomen is hot .

“You did so well,” Enea breathes it out somewhere against Diggia's ear. “Fuck, it almost got me hard when I heard.. Wanted you so bad when I watched the replay.” 

And it should be a little weird – unusual – that it's not his own achievements that get him like this. It's not weird now or ever though, not to them. Not like Diggia is any better with controlling his urges whenever Enea does good. 

Diggia sighs, light and soft, eyes closing as he imagines Enea watching the replay, zeroed in on Diggia, getting worked up by such a seemingly unexpected thing. 

Enea’s lips keep moving across the other’s shoulders, gently grazing his teeth across Diggia’s collarbone, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk at the way it makes Diggia shiver. He’d get on his knees now, but Diggia keeps a firm hold on his biceps, already steering him towards the bedroom. 

The bed squeaks a little under Diggia’s weight, Enea lowering himself to straddle his thighs, the hard outline of him pressing against Diggia’s bare skin. The kiss doesn’t stop, Enea licking into Diggia’s mouth with so much want that it leaves them both breathless, gasping as they pull apart, only to go back in again, Diggia caressing Enea’s bulge through his sweatpants. 

It’s not long before Enea can’t take it anymore, the built up desire fucking with his head. He slides off Diggia’s lap with one last kiss, the hard floor uncomfortable under his knees, but he doesn’t care about the ache, only cares about Diggia, fingers quickly working to pull apart the towel around his waist. And Diggia’s hard already, almost throbbing when Enea wraps his hand around it, squeezing a little before giving him a few strokes, thumb rubbing along the slit. He looks up and Diggia is already looking down at him, lips parted around a breathy little whine.

Enea almost wants to keep it slow, but the urge to devour Diggia’s whole being is just too strong. He sticks out his tongue and flattens it against the base of Diggia’s dick, licking up in a broad stroke until he reaches the tip, closes his lips around it and watches the desire lighting up in Diggia’s eyes. He loves that hungry look on Diggia, holds the eye contact as he slides his mouth all the way to the bottom, watching Diggia’s mouth open with a sharp gasp when he hits the back of Enea’s throat. 

And it’s dizzying, Enea’s brain almost shutting off when he has his mouth full, hands gripping Diggia’s hips to keep him still. The response is almost immediate, Diggia's hands tangling in the sheets to anchor himself, lips parting around soft moans – music to Enea's ears.

Enea breathes through his nose, letting his throat work around Diggia the way he likes it before starting to move his head up and down along his length. It feels like Diggia is everywhere, overwhelming Enea's senses in the best way: the smell of him, the taste, the feel. 

Enea digs his fingers into the firm muscle of Diggia's thigh as he speeds up his pace, one hand coming to wrap around the base of his dick, sliding downwards to squeeze Diggia's balls, massaging the taut skin.

Diggia feels the familiar warmth pooling in his abdomen, already almost delirious with the pleasure of Enea's mouth moving quickly, practiced and perfect. He can't get his thoughts under control, everything fuzzy and scrambled from the relentless pace Enea has set. 

And it's a little intense, making Diggia's arms quiver so much that he has to lower himself to his elbows, eyes still locked on Enea. He tangles his fingers in Enea's curls, tugs a little, just hard enough to make the other man moan around his dick, the vibrations shooting through his body like electroshock.

He's close, so close. Enea knows, can feel it in the way Diggia tries to weakly buck his hips up, the way his thighs tremble slightly. He sucks harder, takes Diggia to the back of his throat again, fingers pressing against his balls. 

“Enea–” Diggia gasps, fingers in the other's hair tightening, “I'm close– fuck –” he cries out, feeling his orgasm roll closer. 

Enea stays where he is, hand around the base of Diggia's dick, red, spit slick lips around the top and when he looks up at Diggia there's tears in his eyes, making him look so beautiful, almost ethereal.

The orgasm rips through Diggia, punching out a whiny, broken moan and it feels like his soul just left him, drained out of him along with the come and spilled far down Enea's throat. Enea looks wrecked in the best way, swallows every bit, milks out the last drops with his mouth. 

Far in his daze, Diggia didn’t notice or hear the moment Enea came into his own sweats, the friction from his hand and the sounds from Diggia enough to make him lose it. He only notices when Enea is climbing into bed alongside him, the wet patch pressing against Diggia's leg. 

Diggia laughs a little, airy and detached from reality, pulls Enea up so they're face to face and kisses him, tastes himself on his tongue and it's nothing they haven't done before, but it always feels so surreal, the way Enea manages to leave Diggia brainless. Enea smiles against his lips, chest still heaving a little from his own orgasm, slides down to rest his head against Diggia's chest and it's good, comfortable, Diggia absentmindedly stroking his hair.

“We should shower,” Diggia croaks, not really making any move to get up.

Mig closed his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose, but that left him whimpering as he took deep breaths, shaky despite the effort.

His fingers dug into Franky's arm, the firm muscles and flesh dipping slightly under Mig's fingertips. It helped him ground himself, breathe better when he could feel Franky's solid frame under his palms.

Mig wasn't even that much shorter when you compared the actual numbers, but with the way Franky loomed over him, hands on each side of Mig's head, Mig felt infinitely smaller. Maybe he should've felt insecure, being small had its hardships, but he felt safe. Franky like a metaphorical shield, protecting Mig from the outside world, leaving them in their own bubble.

“Move…” Mig pleaded, wet eyes gazing up at Franky from where the smaller man laid amongst the mountain of pillows, legs bent and spread, accommodating Franky's bigger frame between them.

Franky placed his hand on the back of one of Mig's thighs, skin already damp with sweat and strong muscles tense under Franky's wide palm. “Fuck.. Mig..” he murmured hoarsely, hips drawing back the tiniest bit so he could push into Mig again.

It felt like fire inside of Mig's body, muscles tensing before he could tell himself to breathe, to make it easier for himself. Franky stopped again, gentle eyes raking over Mig's scrunched up face, the thick column of his neck as he threw his head back once more.

Mig tried to breathe again, whatever stupid technique that would make his body relax, not clench around Franky like he didn't want to let him go.

Franky's hand left a hot lingering trail over Mig's skin as it slid upwards, gently stroking Mig's side, feeling his muscles loosen slowly.

“Okay?” Franky asked, palm caressing Mig's skin all the way up to his ribs and down to his prominent hip bones.

Mig nodded, eyes still closed, and Franky thought he looked really beautiful like this. “Okay.”

Mig's body didn't protest anymore, the man breathing deep like he just finished an exercise. He took Franky willingly, relishing in the way it felt like he was being split into two and sewn back together each time Franky pushed in and out. In and out.

Franky's skin felt moist under Mig's fingertips, his whole body radiating warmth and blanketing Mig with a comforting presence. Secure.

The pace quickened, the slide slick and easy the more Franky stretched him out. Franky's movements were purposeful and calm, not quick and short like Franky was trying to nail Mig in place.

Mig opened his eyes and took in the sight of Franky above him, beautiful and strong, all tan skin and visible muscles. Mig really wanted to lick his chest, run his tongue flat across the salty skin, sink his teeth into the soft muscle. Later, he told himself.

Franky was looking back at him, eyes droopy and mouth agape. A breathy sound slipped past his parted lips and Mig knew it well, always deemed it as his favorite. A little high pitched and desperate, something so unique that Mig always tried to memorize it, wanted the sound to seep into his bones.

Mig released the death grip he had on Franky's bicep, his hand sliding upwards across the other's broad shoulders, up his neck until he could cradle the side of Franky's face. Mig pulled him down and he went willingly, lips connecting with Mig's in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Franky's hips kept moving, skin slapping together and he couldn't hold back whatever sounds were coming out, falling into the hot abyss of Mig's mouth.

It never felt like Mig was fragile under his touch, his muscled body taking him so well, accepting him like they were meant to be one, nevertheless Franky felt the need to protect Mig, handle him with so much love and care.

Just like the Ivory tower, Franky's body towered over Mig's shorter frame, guarding him from worldly affairs and any struggles, the only thought and sensation in Mig's mind – Franky, Franky, Franky…

In turn, all Franky could feel was his Mig. So beautiful and caring, devoted to him in these moments. Making the prettiest sounds, fingers grasping onto Franky's sweaty curls.

Franky broke the kiss, Mig trying to chase his lips as the other trailed them across Mig's cheekbones and down to his neck. He sucked lightly over his pulse point, tongue laving against the damp skin, eliciting a soft, pleased sound from Mig.

Franky buried his face in Mig's muscular neck, just breathing him in as he kept up his pace, one hand trailing down to take Mig into his hand, relieving some of the pressure from his achingly hard dick.

Mig made the prettiest, needy sound, arching up a little towards Franky. The latter kissed along the column of his neck, occasionally licking a greedy stripe up to the shell of his ear.

Franky tugged on Mig's dainty hoop earring with his teeth, his moans right up against the smaller man's ear, making him shudder. The grip around Mig tightened and he tensed up slightly, all of the sensations driving him insane.

A firm hand placed itself on Franky's nape, keeping him in place when he tried to trail his lips up to Mig's again. “Stay.. stay..” Mig whispered feverishly, grip on Franky's nape tightening as he felt teeth scrape his jugular.

“M’close..” Franky panted against Mig's skin, his big hand moving along Mig's shaft in the same rhythm as his thrusts.

“Yeah.. fuck.. me too,” Mig pressed out, sweat gathering on his forehead with the effort to stay collected, but it was infinitely harder when Franky was cleaving him open, thrusts powerful yet measured; although starting to get sloppy as Franky lost himself in the final moments before his orgasm.

Franky came with a groan, the sound vibrating against Mig's throat and seeping into every fiber of his being. Mig kept his head there, pressed somewhere along his trapezius, Franky still weakly kissing the sensitive skin, potential bruises from his lips latching on too hard.

A few more strokes and Mig felt everything tense up, spilling across his own stomach moments later. The hazy sensation of his orgasm and Franky's come inside him left him a little brainless, chest heaving and hand slowly unclasping from Franky's nape.

He distantly felt Franky pull out and gently kiss his temple, soothing Mig and cleaning him up with napkins for now.

Mig rolled over and curled up against Franky's strong chest, one arm draping over his waist to press up closer. Franky kissed him gently, muttering quiet praises against his lips, wide palm soothingly stroking Mig's back, drawing shapes on his hip.