“No. No, you don’t.” Julien hooks his thumb under Rafael’s jaw, keeping his face steady as he grinds his hardening member against him.
Rafael whimpers, wiggling with aborted movements under the weight of the smaller driver, trying to thrust up to meet him. He struggles, shifting his torso, but with one arm trapped, and the other at his side, he can’t find the purchase.
“You can touch.” Julien takes Rafael’s free hand in his own and trails it up his thigh.
Rafael’s fingers are so much thicker, so much coarser, and they tease Julien, catching on his leg hairs and sending shivers up his spine. He guides the man over his briefs and around, settling the large hand on the meat of his ass.
When he lets go, Rafael grasps him, pulling the smaller driver closer and drilling their centers together. Both men groan at the sudden sensation, their cocks trapped between their hard bodies. Still, the Brazilian doesn’t let up, his hand a vice around Julien’s round cheek.
“Why would you ever want to fuck a mouth full of teeth?” Julien trails soft kisses from the corner of Rafael’s jaw down to the sensitive spot behind his ear. “When my ass isbeggingfor you.Tightfor you. Doesn’t that sound so much better?”
Julien’s breath hitches when the older man finds enough purchase and thrusts up.
“Fine.” Rafael grunts, his hand falling to the side. “You’ll have to do all the work, though. I only have one arm.”
“Deal.” That’s what Julien prefers anyway. He shuffles backwards before dismounting. “After you help me win the sprint, of course.”
“Whaaat?!”It escapes as a whine.“After?The sprint isn’t untiltomorrow.”
“You have to earn it, remember?” Julien slides a shirt on and steps into his trousers, adjusting his semi until it isn’t asnoticeable. “Though I probably shouldn’t race after fucking, so Sunday night.”
“Sunday?!”
“Sounds good!” Julien pockets his wallet and checks the time on his phone. “The meeting’s in ten. See you there?”
He leaves without waiting for a response.
Julien finally catches up to Thomas on lap fifteen. There’s only four laps left of the sprint, but that's enough time to fight for second.
The older Dubois defends through eleven and twelve, but Julien holds steady. He's in the perfect position to overtake with DRS.
“Keep it clean,”Davide reminds him. Even over the radio, he can’t hide the excitement in his voice.“Sam is close to DRS behind—one point one. He’ll catch up if you can’t make the pass.”
“Copy.” Julien can make the pass.
Thomas has been nursing his left tire. He won’t risk not finishing the race and losing his championship lead to his biggest rival. He’ll have no choice but to let Julien through.
Friedrich is long gone, so Julien is the only one with DRS. As soon as it lights, he activates the button, jolting forward and nipping at Thomas’s back tires. He pops off the line to cut around at turn fourteen, but Thomas covers him off at the very last second, pushing him wide.
When his wheel dips into the grass, Julien fights the car, barely keeping the damn thing on track. Jesus fuck, that was clo?—
A jolt and Julien spins the opposite direction of his oversteer. His car swings all the way around, until he’s facing traffic.
What the fuck was that?!
Julien’s not hurt, so he’s pissed. Especially since the culprit is still facing forward.
Sam only stalls for a moment before he rejoins the race. He cuts back in right before a wave of traffic passes by.
Once the cars clear, Julien reverses, angling himself better for the sharp U-turn, and struggling for grip on the slippery grass. After he crawls back onto the road, he radios in.
“How bad is it?” Maybe Julien sucks at counting and he’s still in the top eight. Even one point is better thannothing.
Unfortunately, there’s a dragging noise that doesn’t sound too promising.
“Box this lap to retire the car.”
Julien curses and smacks the wheel a couple of times before activating the microphone. “Understood.”
