“I knew you’d be good at sucking cock.” Rafael’s half-lidded eyes can’t seem to decide between watching Julien’s face or his dick. “I thought about that handjob allweek. No one has ever done that—hasn’t everunderstoodme like you do.Ican’t even— I mean, you really— I don’t even know how to?—”
It’s nonsensical post-come ramblings, but Rafael looks so sincere as he stutters, trying to find words for what Julien does to him. A man with the world at his feet, stumbling over himself to say how good Julien is at fucking him, at knowing what he needs.
And Julien knows exactly what Rafael needs.
He needs to be tied up and ridden. He needs to be directed when to come and punished if he spills early. Needs to be trained to pleasure Julien, to be collared and kept waiting for him.
“Fuck!”Julien topples over the edge with a shout. He aims inside the crumpled paper cup, instead of attempting to reach the room’s tiny trash can in time.
Julien stumbles forward, catching himself against the massage table with heaving breaths.
In, out, in, out. He gulps down air and tries to control the pounding of his heart.
He needs to calm the fuck down. Nobody’s asking to be claimed, least of allRafael.
They just have an arrangement. A stupid little no-ties arrangement for their crazy situation.
Julien can’t climax to the thought of possessing such a popular andimportantman—it’ll only end badly.
Before Julien has a chance to untangle what the fuck just happened, Rafael upturns the cup over his mouth and drinks his cum.
“No!”Julien’s hand whips out, but he’s too late—the glob is gone. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”
“What? Were you saving it?”
“No.” Julien huffs. “It’s just gross.”
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Better than mine, at least.” Rafael studies the empty cup as Julien stares at the side of his head.
What the fuck has he gotten into? The guy had never been sucked off by another man and yet here he is, drinking cum from a cup like it’s a fucking protein shake.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Rafael smiles, as if it was a compliment. “Hey, you too.”
After the sprint officially ends, Thomas returns to the garage with determination and a dinky disk-shaped trophy. “What happened?! You were both behind me and then you were gone.”
“Sam hit me and I spun out.” Julien takes a swig from his water bottle as he tries to read the trophy and find out where Thomas finished.
“But why?” The trophy is harder to see when Thomas gestures with it. “Did you move under braking? Fourteen is a difficult turn.”
“A difficult—? It’s the best place to overtake!”
“You still have to follow the rules, even when you are defending. There are systems put into place so you do not cause unnecessary danger.”
“Why are you blaming me?” Julien didn’t hit Sam, right? He hasn’t seen a replay, but that oversteer?—
Did Julien hit Sam? Was he actually at fault? Someone would’ve told him, right? Davide, at least.
Thomas exhales. “Samuel does not go around bullying rookies off the road. You need to be more careful.”
“Why are you so quick to defend your rival over me? I’m yourbrother.”
“Yes, and this is not a computer game.”
“Sam was at fault,” Rafael says, sneaking up behind Julien.
Thomas’s judgmental glare rises until it settles on the taller driver. “Forgive me, but I do not think you are without bias.”
