#whateverrr.

“so, i’ve been thinking–”

he has his body slotted firmly into oscar’s in their little corner of the resort’s back garden, mouth hungrily running along oscar’s pale neck. oscar is lazily scrolling on his phone (dinner with the team in just an hour, schedule cleared), hip jutted out for marcell to grind against.

not exactly how marcell imagined their summer break outing together, but they’ve been making do, like oscar said they would, after marcell begged him not to cancel. and well, here he is, sweaty in his short shorts at santalucia lake garda, head tilted to the side to grant marcell better access—oscar is generous like that.

or perhaps he isn’t—marcell swallows down the sound that dares to escape him when oscar pulls away, shaking his head.

“my turn with the thinking,” oscar tuts, and the sly smile that tugs at his lips makes something in marcell’s stomach twist with want.

he is pretty sure it’s his turn, technically, with their little game earning another round to oscar’s tally between silverstone and spa—oscar fucked him like an animal, angry and hard and unforgiving. and marcell took it, easy and docile like he always is, because it never seems to get better to take, despite how good at adapting oscar is said to be.

or perhaps that’s how marcell likes it—he’s not sure. he just knows he craves oscar’s warm touch, be it rough or misguided in its way to bring pleasure; oscar’s weight on him, the expanse of oscar’s dotted back under him, solid and real. just like he is when oscar wants him to be, and well, maybe marcell hopes he’s a bit more than just two clumsy hands and a hole for oscar to fill.

marcell straightens himself, knees buckling slightly as oscar looks up at him, pupils blown already. “when i'm disadvantaged?” his wrist still aches from the exercises he was made to do while oscar paddled away with his trainer.

oscar smirks, “wouldn’t need your hands, anyway.”

he gently pushes at marcell’s shoulders and marcell goes down readily, body fitting between oscar’s parting legs like he belongs there.

it’s a familiar place to be. marcell lets his face rest against oscar’s thigh, eyes falling shut in contentment while oscar frees himself from his shorts.

“c’mon.” marcell can feel oscar thread one hand into his hair, angling his face upward. he is nudging his already leaking cock to marcell’s parted lips, “that okay?”

marcell hums, then swallows oscar down whole.

oscar has never been big, but he is a hot and heavy weight on marcell’s tongue; comforting even when his fingers tighten in marcell’s dampening locks. his musky scent and salty taste is overwhelming, and marcell blindly reaches his splintered arm up to hold onto oscar’s waist, to ground himself as oscar slowly thrusts into his mouth once, twice. shallow, measured.

oscar sighs, loud in the open empty space. “in your lap. your hands,” he mumbles, and the hint of assertiveness under his soft tone is not lost on marcell; a shiver runs down his spine, and he takes oscar further down his throat, cheeks hollowing.

marcell likes being told what to do, but then again, it should be him calling the shots today. it’s not like he has planned the weekend around this, but well, marcell is only a man with ideas after his own heart. he would have oscar sprawled out on their lavish white sheets, have oscar finger him with his freakishly long nails, and ride oscar until they both get bored of it—then oscar would haul him up and take their cocks in his small hands and they’d make out until oscar rubs them both to completion. or oscar could fuck him, nice and slow this time. or it’s oscar sucking marcell’s dick, or oscar eats him out, or–

“hey,” oscar says, breathy, and he tugs on the hair at the back of marcell’s head, “focus.”

the porcelain tiles are warm under marcell’s knees, there’s drool dripping down his chin and his neck is cramping already. he pulls off just to say, “shouldn’t it be you– you doing the work?” he bats his eyelashes, smiling sweetly.

oscar huffs, unimpressed. “use your mouth?” and wouldn’t that be wonderful, but marcell itches to have a bit of control over the situation.

“no, like– you have to earn it. to get off.”

oscar’s gaze darkens. “could just not get you off, if you’re like that.”