“You want to come like this?” Julien thrusts faster at the thought. “Are you gonna come while I use your hole?”
Before Julien can order him not to, Rafael spills over with a muffled scream. His cum falls in ropes between Julien’s feet, and he deflates, his shoulders sagging forward.
Once he catches his breath, his nostrils flaring, he looks up with half-lidded eyes, positively wrecked.
Julien did that. His cock did that.
It topples him over the edge, and he thrusts in harsh jolts until he comes buried to the hilt down Rafael’s tight throat.
The man chokes on it, hacking and smacking Julien’s leg until the smaller man steps back. The final splatter of cum lands just above Rafael’s mouth, and he laps it up with his tongue.
Rafael sounds almost broken when he croaks out, “D’you forgive me?”
“Yeah, ofcourse.” Julien falls to his knees beside him, only narrowly avoiding the puddle of cum at his feet. He pets Rafael’s face, fixing his hair and wiping his tears. “Are you alright? I was a little rough towards the end.”
Rafael nods and grasps his throat, pressing it. “Liked it.”
“Youlikedit?” Obviously some people must, but Julien definitely took their session further than he should have.
Another nod. “My place? Again in morning?”
How can Julien say no?
In Thailand, Julien doesn’t even open the door to his assigned hotel room. Rafael carries him over the threshold of his grandiose suite, only faltering slightly when they realize a butler is waiting just inside.
After apologizing for interrupting, the man quickly leaves and returns with a second champagne glass.
In India, Rafael wakes Julien by sucking marks down his neck and whispers, “Be my boyfriend. Officially.”
“Convince me.”
Rafael grins before travelling lower and taking Julien’s half-hard cock in his mouth. As he lavishes it, Julien’s hand finds Rafael’s hair and he marvels at how lucky he is after all these years.
In Austin, Rafael watches as Julien runs through all of the clothes in his luggage.
His manager is an American guy from an agency he signed with during Formation 3. Pete has other—much more successful—clients in FASCAR and IndieCar, so he isn’t available for team meetings until media day in Austin.
More than anything, it sounds like an excuse not to have to fly too far. Texas is practically the guy’s backyard.
“I don’t know about the other teams,” Rafael says as he lounges in their too-large hotel bed. “But I know Adam’s antsy you haven’t given him a reply yet.”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t sign anything without my manager.” Julien straightens his tie in the mirror and turns, presenting himself again.
“I think it’s too much. You’re just going to the paddock.” Rafael stretches, his arms reaching towards the pile of rejected clothes without having to leave the bed. He hooks the collar of a Ferraro shirt and flings it at his boyfriend. “Wear this.”
“But it’s branded.” Still, Julien catches it. “I don’t want anyone’s first impression to be ‘he doesn’t belong on our team.’”
“First of all, branding yourself alongside Ferraro isn’t bad. We’re fighting for first in the championship. It’s not like we’reAndes.”
“I’m meeting with Andes.”
“—Andsecond, these meetings are far from their first impression of you. You’re the first reserve driver toeverwin a race. The color of your shirt won’t change their mind.”
Julien yanks at his tie, pulling it loose. “Okay, fine.” He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it back onto the pile. “If I don’t get any offers today, I’m blaming you.”
“I doubt that’ll be an issue,mozão.”
For how useless Pete is the rest of the year, he manages to fit every team meeting into a single day.
