Chapter Text
pink and blue bleeds purple behind closed eyes. he breathes out— opens wide— and lets the music in.
it hums beneath his feet and works its way below the flesh, vibrating along every nerve that already sings with adrenaline, blood hot and pumping hard through his veins and collecting in the form of sweat on his body, a sweat that clings with the fabric sticking to his skin and doesn't let go. the bodies crowding the bar give way to his step and drown out his heart, racing still down the track of his ribs- a steady punch against his chest, again and again and again.
liquor sears a path past white teeth and a welcoming throat and pours a pit of warmth in his belly that does little to quench the dissatisfaction gathering near his brow, pinched and tight. charles leclerc, bronze of the night- a bitter fact he couldn't swallow down with all the alcohol in the world. runner-up to verstappen and him. charles is too proud to stop to brooding, instead choosing to merely ponder the outcome with his mouth puckering around a third shot and a neutral smile. the malodor of this place is suffocating, a cesspool of pheromones' and sweat, scents mixing with music in a cloying combination that has his nostrils flaring.
piastri rises above it all, though charles at first convinces himself it's a trick of the mind- but it lingers, faint and tantalizing and traveling through the sea of flesh like a small ship through harbor haze. charles perks up immediately, nose twitching in anticipation as he moves, eyes dancing over the crowd as he presses back into it. the golden boy typically chose to haunt quieter joints, at least that's what norris said- why the two were occupying the same space beyond the streets, leclerc had no idea and ignored the fact it made his hackles raise. the thought, though, is lost in the second it takes for him to find oscar- far from the throng and tucked into a more secluded corner of the bar. typical, really- but charles can't find the time to be smug as he's making his way over and sliding in behind oscar.
immediately, he consumes his space- pressed nearly flat against the other's back with a smile creeping in. that scent, once foreign now rests familiar in his senses and leclerc breathes it in, dipping his head just behind oscar's with no concern for the other man's comfort. shrunken pupils bloom in the blue lights flashing above- he laughs before the words find him to say anything else.
"i was trying to speak to you after, you know?" his breath is hot against the back of the neck in front of him- below the collar of oscar's jacket, he can see a small corner of white peeking out. "but you ran away so fast- even after such a win? since when are you growing shy?"
second place.
it's not ideal, but it's a hint of victory. close enough to feel it, but slipping just out of his grasp; it's all oscar can think about, even as he's leaning against the counter of some packed, bright and loud side-street bar in watson. it's not his go-to option for post-race partying; that's lando's thing. oscar's known for spending most of his time post-debrief pouring over videos of his races by himself, not lounging in dingy nightclubs and sipping strong liquor and, in lando's case, grinning at okay-looking men he keeps telling oscar are hot, okay, you're just picky.
it's hard, having standards.
and yet, here he is.
neon lights bleed into the corners of his vision. there's only so much his cyberoptics can filter out; only so much energy he has left designed to handling something like that, after he's worn himself thin making sure he wouldn't crash into the wall while speeding way past any reasonable number for the better part of two hours. even without screens and data, he can't stop thinking about it. what he could've done better, to pass max and get that trophy for himself. he's done it before. he knows the feeling. it might not be glimmer, but it's an addiction, too. chasing after it.
he downs the shot waiting next to his drink. he'll do better next race, he's sure. he has the skill. the patience, unlike someone else who kept threatening to fucking ram into him today on the track and have trauma called on both of them.
just thinking about it has his pulse spiking. it's aggravation. leclerc and his smooth maneuvers and controlled turns and terrible attitude, like he's sure his pretty face gives him the right to be a cunt. there's satisfaction in ending up higher on the podium than him; oscar's petty enough to admit that much. he likes seeing him lose. seeing him lower. someone's ought to knock him down a peg or two, and since he's so nice to everyone else, oscar's happy to deliver.
he brings his glass up to his mouth. takes a long sip, gaze drifting. gets distracted just for long enough to believe the whiff of scent he catches, muted and made bitter by his own inability to process smells properly, is a trick of the mind. wouldn't be the first time.
the body pressing up against his back is solid proof against that.
oscar tenses, and he just doesn't turn around with his elbow aimed to hit the fucker on the face because he knows that laugh. speak of the devil. reacting feels too much like letting him win, so oscar does nothing; even as charles leclerc decides he's entitled to proximity.
"harassing me on the track's not enough for you anymore?" he says it flatly, finishing the sip he'd intended to take. the sound of his glass hitting the counter's muted by the loud music. "and you have my contact. that's a way of speaking to me. don't tell me you don't know your way around tech?"
"harassing?" the idea rolls over his tongue with a low laugh, the sound ricocheting inside of his chest and against piastri's back; gloved hands find narrow sides and squeeze, bringing him closer. "a little competition is harassment now? really?" oscar's hair smells sweet, sweat rising from the scalp along with something else- charles refrains from nosing into it, instead satisfying himself with slipping his thumbs beneath oscar's jacket and pressing into the skin. "i prefer face to face," his shrug rubs against oscar's back, chin poking over the other's shoulder as he glances down at the bar.
"what are you having?" his curiosity— or entitlement— has him sniffing closer to oscar's face. as close as he can anyway, given their position, which mainly means huffing at his ear and cheek and smiling like something's funny. he can still smell the street all over oscar, the aroma of burnt gasoline and metal- can taste the blood in his own mouth from when he'd bit his cheek too hard in excitement while swerving the rear of his bike into oscar's unit, or trying at the very least- can feel the same warmth in his chest blossoming as when the other had passed him at last. it made him giddy to think about, and he clenched his grip around oscar's waist, chuckling. "you could've taken first if max wasn't all psycho, you know? almost had it, but- ah- bad luck."
another shrug. the music shifts into something with a beat that makes the bottles on the wall tremble. charles eyes them briefly, watching the way the light reflects off the glass.
"a little competition," the words roll out of his mouth like gravel. competition is running on the same lane trying to overtake each other, not purposefully turning your bike going god-knows how fast into another driver's; he's sure leclerc knows the difference and is just being obtuse on purpose, so oscar keeps it to that. no point in arguing with someone like him. "you're funny."
he's not. what he is is shameless, moving against oscar instead of away—peering over his shoulder like they're friends, or more, and the barrier of his racing jacket's enough distance. it's not. he feels it on his jaw, every time leclerc inhales or exhales, air ghosting over heated skin. there are hands on his waist, squeezing at skin, under his jacket, and oscar's fingers around his glass flex. he briefly indulges the thought of turning around and slamming his half-empty drink into charles' chest.
instead he just turns.
"remind me again," they're close, like this. oscar doesn't back up, his lower back already almost pressed to the counter, and he knows leclerc won't either. that's almost the same as losing, and oscar's not going to let him have it. "where you landed on the podium, and where i did."
the music's loud. bad luck is being able to make out leclerc's voice without even trying to. to feel it every time the beat washes through him. oscar's eyes narrow. "do you want some consolation, is that it?"
"you think so?" comes the reply, working its way through the curve of a smirk that spreads like fire across pleased features- his grip falters around twisting hips as oscar's body writhes to face him. leclerc sucks in a breath, drinking in the sight of the other's unamused expression- of a sharp nose and small eyes, of a strong jaw and soft lips drawn into a flat line. his tongue darts out wetting his lips, hands dancing back to oscar's sides and following his newfound brazenness to dip entirely beneath the leather. he shifts, feet shuffling forward- backing oscar into the counter. trapping him.
the heat of alcohol lingering in his throat floods his face, cheeks warming at the resistance of the marble digging into the younger's back. at the fact that oscar had nowhere to go but through him, but charles knew he wouldn't- his right hand expands, fingers splayed around a firm side, a thumb brushing into the softness of oscar's stomach. beneath he knows hides a spattering of soft hair curling around oscar's naval- and even further below..well. red and orange LEDs reflect in a green iris, pupils blooming wide beneath fluttering eyelids. his head dips, nose bumping roughly against the other with a smile.
the question stings, but doesn't cut as deep as oscar obviously hoped- it's the attempt that sets something within his gut alight, a subdued tremble hardly concealing leclerc's delight. "why are you upset then? you came second to max- you practically won. competition permitting." the heat gathering in his belly drops further, hips twitching forward and digging into oscar's thigh; already hard, but he doesn't have half the mind to be embarrassed. he lazily rocks into the other, head dropping to find oscar's ear.
"i only wanted to congratulate you," he breathes, stubbled chin bumping against a clenched cheek. his fingers find the waistband of oscar's suit and slip past it, using the new hold as a means of dragging oscar into his movements. "the nice thing to do is say thank you."
he does not think so. charles knows that. he also can't possibly be stupid enough to not understand oscar's clear usage of sarcasm, so he's just saying that to be annoying, and oscar's upset that it works. he is annoying, and aggravating, pushing him back until the edge of the counter presses unnervingly hot against the skin above his tailbone, palms settling low and arrogant on his sides. oscar glares. there's a nice flush on leclerc's skin, not too unlike the one that'd be there after they'd ended the race, and it's a shame to waste such a nice face on this cunt, he thinks.
he's not immune himself, to all of this. the last shot hadn't been his first, and the alcohol's done a good job dulling his conscience. he's not drunk, only bordering on tipsy, but he knows it's working because he doesn't flinch. charles' thumb inches closer to his stomach, and the muscles there tense, his hands coming up instinctively to grab at the shoulders boxing him in. oscar's eyebrows knit. charles is just saying shit and he knows it. "that's not how it—"
he feels it, then.
charles is hard. he's hard, and pressed up against his thigh, grinding shamelessly like he has any right to — and oscar should be mortified, maybe, or punch him in the throat for molesting him, but. he doesn't. there's not even the urge to.
he catches a whiff of scent, when leclerc leans in to whisper in his ear. strong. hazy with alcohol. his eyelids flutter, and oscar knows he's not exactly unaffected himself, even if he'd prefer to be. his jaw locks. "god, you're easy."
arousal curls low in his belly. oscar bites back a noise when charles pulls him closer, hips flush, and his fingers dig into his shoulders. "and pathetic," he adds, a little more breathless now, one hand sliding up to charles' hair to tug his head back. oscar's still frowning. it doesn't look very menacing, when he's flushed to the ears. "does losing do it for you now?"
leclerc's breath comes out in soft pants, each drag of his hips against the warm, giving flesh of a firm thigh striking chords of sharp, hot pleasure through his stomach. drool gathers beneath his tongue, nose brushing roughly into the thin material covering the spot where piastri's scent gland should have been for him to mouth at freely- oscar's words do little to slight his interest. where they ought to have inspired some feeling of shame, they only made the grind impossibly sweeter. lip trapped between his teeth, leclerc finds brown eyes boring holes through his own, or at the very least, attempting to- and he smiles, caught by his roots, as his head is yanked back.
his hips still their movements, hands dropping to idly palm at oscar's ass through the lower half of his suit. "maybe," he laughs, voice strained by the way his head is tilted, adam's apple bobbing against the strained flesh of his throat. "only when it's to you."
the confession in itself makes his world spin; something he'd never admit without alcohol coursing through is system, pride permitting. but it's out and it's there and it feels electric. he lets out a breath and dips his face forward again, snaking his hand up oscar's torso with a hum. he gropes at his sides, his ribs, his throat- brushing over the side of his jaw before pressing his thumb to the younger man's mouth. seeking entrance or merely taking, the digit finds its way inside and digs at the inner flesh of oscar's cheek. leclerc leans in, lips bumping blindly at those before him but not bearing down. not yet. he ghosts over the other, a mock embrace- testing.
oscar knows, logically, that he's playing right into leclerc's hands. he's overly aware of it, almost; how he's pushing when he's supposed to, giving when he should not. his blood feels warm and thick, addled by alcohol and heat and something else entirely, hatred that smolders and lasts, circles back to want and want and want.
charles' laughter is grating. loud, when it should not be. oscar's jaw tenses, and his voice is low and pointed when he answers, "liar."
he hates losing; oscar does, too. they all do. oscar tenses, sags; he feels like a bag of nerves, crowded against a counter by a man he supposedly despises while uncomfortably tight in his pants. he can feel every purposeful, shameless grind of charles' hips against his, the firm feel of his hand as it travels up, up—palms his throat, his jaw, pushes a thumb against his lips until they give. oscar exhales, tightens his grip in his hair, and presses his tongue to the underside of leclerc's finger. he meets his eyes, glares—swallows, thick and heavy, before he's grabbing charles' wrist and yanking it away. his heart's pounding in his chest. lower, too.
"fuck you," he says, means it—ignores how he misses the weight, the taste of skin, and pulls leclerc the rest of the way in to kiss him.
spit clings to the crook of his thumb and smears across oscar's cheek as his wrist is wrested away— giddy, leclerc lunges into the kiss, immediately seeking the high ground with tongue and teeth and a throaty sigh of satisfaction. his breath comes out hot, triumph curling in the way his lips twist and mold to fit piastri's. oscar tastes bitter, alcohol and venom on his tongue and leclerc drinks it up, clutching the side of his face with a broad hand. there's nothing sweet about this, nothing tender. it's just push and grab and take and the heady tang of copper in leclerc's mouth as he pierces oscar's lower lip with his canine. it's better than any liquor ever could be.
the red trickles down his throat and smears between their mouths like lipstick- it joins the blotchy flush of his throat and the heat between his legs. lashes fluttering as the light fades in and out and soaks in the sight of oscar's face, greedy and gleeful and grasping. his hand slips between their hips, exploring the jutting edges of oscar's waist and dipping between firm thighs, feeling blindly for the rigid outline of his shame pressing against the leather. he squeezes, drool snaking down his chin as he pulls away for a meager second. smug, leclerc rolls his palm against oscar's dick, snickering all the while.
"i'm the liar?"
oscar's got enough of a hold on his ego to acknowledge leclerc's good at this odd way they do hate.
he's rough and careless, holding his face like he has any right to and kissing him like he'd been starving for it, and oscar responds in kind; matches his intensity, fuels it—pulls when charles pulls, pushes when charles pushes, never one to play nice. there's blood on his tongue before long, pain sparking up his lip and straight down to his gut. he groans, snaps his teeth, grabs leclerc by the hinges of his jaw and licks over sharp canines, chasing after the sharp tang of iron and heat.
and his hands. oscar arches into him, hides a noise by biting charles' tongue, only for his body to go loose and warm at the first taste of real, harsh pressure. his mind slips, eyelids fluttering at the sudden spike of pleasure; he hates how easy he gets the half-second it lasts, hips bucking up and jaw slack, until leclerc speaks and he snaps out of his daze.
"keep talking bullshit," oscar spits, one hand snapping to wrap around charles' wrist. his scent is thick. dizzying. he hates it. "and the only thing you're congratulating tonight is your fist."
"then tell me what you want me to say," charles pants into oscar's mouth, licking his way inside and biting his way through. his explorations arrested by a steely grip, but he only grins at the bruise that forms under the skin and yanks his hand free. mouth pressed, wide and wet and wanting and something like a whine pulls at the taunt muscles of his throat. "so my fist and i can congratulate you together."
he ruts against their hands, twisted together and trapped between rocking hips and the tacky material of their jackets. he's so hard it feels like he could pass out at any moment, but oscar's body against his keeps him lucid enough to feel the pre slicking up his boxers and the dull throb eating away at what was left of good reasoning.
prying his hand free from its place between their legs, he slips his fingers back into oscar's waistband and tugs- dropping his touch inside and shuddering at the feeling of the hot, heavy weight in his palm. "come on," he breathes, licking at oscar's mouth until he lets him back in, begging.
he's ridiculous. oscar says as much, words twisted amidst a sound that is half laugh and half snarl, teeth snagging charles' bottom lip and he knows, distantly, that he's playing right into his hands. it wouldn't be the first time, though oscar had promised himself that mistake would be his only and last; but here he is, willing and responsive, nerves alight and dick stupidly hard.
he's gathering the strength to push him off, is what oscar tells himself. promising him more only to take it away; letting it build, this build, until he knows the absence of it might be a bigger hit to leclerc's ego than placing third. it's a game, and he's going to win. he doesn't care about charles' scent, or his warm skin, or how it feels to have his hands on his hips, waist, neck, sneaking under his jacket and into his pants, palming over, his crotch, and—fuck.
his mind spins. oscar's moan is quiet, lazy, lips parting to welcome charles' tongue inside, and maybe it's the desperation of it—how come on sounds like please, the weight of him against his thigh, that has him moving.
oscar shoves him away. he pants, wide-eyed, underwear damp, then grits his teeth as he wraps a hand around charles' forearm and tugs him along, elbowing past faceless bodies without a care. he doesn't slow until they reach a door, chipped metal and old, and oscar pushes it open and yanks charles inside.
it's a shitty bathroom. cramped, one sink and one toilet, glowing blue-purple-pink like the rest of the bar, and oscar presses charles against the closed door with little regard for whether the impact hurts or not. he doesn't say anything; just grabs him by the nape, rough and careless, and drags him down into a mean kiss.
he welcomes the shove, revels in the force— hardly has time to shuffle back, and back again, hands already reaching for oscar when his arm is grabbed, body pulled. adrenaline surges forth, setting his skin alight as he follows oscar's path. has no choice but to, no desire not to. inside the bathroom, the music is quieter, the sounds of their breath mingling impossibly louder over the racing of his heart- he isn't given the time to adjust, isn't deserving of such- but he ignores it, just as he ignores the pain spiking through the back of his skull as his head hits the door, because oscar's lips are on him again and he aches.
it's rougher than before, meaner. charles grabs oscar by the hem of his jacket and yanks him closer, grasping for the zipper near his throat. blindly, he yanks it down, breath ragged, uneven as he pries his jacket open, groping at the body beneath. thin fabric clinging to a broad frame that feels like fire between his hands, and he clutches oscar's hips, dragging them against his own. his erection strains, seeking heat and some form of steady pleasure- the friction of humping against oscar leaves charles lightheaded and needy, drool pooling past his lips and through oscar's, smearing between their mouths and down their chins.
"merde- i w- let me fuck you," he pants, eyes fluttering at the agonizing grind. "please."
charles' hands just won't stop moving. oscar keeps his fingers on his nape, dragging over skin, digging into the soft, giving skin below his jaw, index fit into the hinge of his jaw to guide his head to the side, to kiss him filthy and deep and wet; drool on his chin, on charles', blood-pink as teeth snag over lip, and charles—on his jacket, yanking it open, palming over the tight-fit of his fireproofs, feeling him up like he needs to. he could get off like this, too; (questionably) dry-humping against some dingy door, air scent-heavy and clogging, charles all over him.
he could, but he won't.
"no," he exhales, even if the thought alone makes him clench. oscar rocks against him, shudders; pushes charles away by the neck, panting, and mumbles, "you'll cum like a teenager."
so he drops to his knees instead.
the floor is cold and disgusting, but oscar's running too hot to care. he works charles' pants open, nuzzles the bulge in his embarrassingly damp underwear, and looks up. "say please again."
he practically whines at the refusal, squeezing at oscar like he wants to break him open- but the sound dies out in his throat at the touch grazing across his neck and the sight of oscar on his knees. pretty little oscar piastri kneeling on a dirty bathroom floor and mouthing at his cock. he'd probably slit his throat before letting anyone else see him like this. anyone but charles.
charles shivers, hand fumbling for the lock beside his hip and sliding it shut- the other dropping to oscar's head and groaning.
"fuck," he mutters, leather threading through strands of brown and twisting, tugging at oscar's roots with a look of reverence glinting in his eyes. his hips twitch forward, bump pressing against oscar's nose. he's basically dripping through his boxers, already leaving his scent all over the other man's face as he grinds, eyes rolling back at the feeling of hot breath seeping through his skin.
all he can think about is the way oscar's mouth bites around his words, lips all swollen and pretty, demanding and so, so certain. the way need leaks from between oscar's thighs, drifting up to leclerc's nose and making his gut clench. he wouldn't be surprised if a puddle would form on the floor before long, and he equally wouldn't hesitate to lap it up.
"oscar," he tugs at his hair, lip caught between his teeth. "please."
he's so desperate. oscar's a little obsessed with it, maybe; hasn't experienced it often, considering their one and only hook-up before this, but it's the only word that fits the way he aches and wants every time charles whines and fumbles and looks at him like he's some kind of miracle. alphas aren't known for this kind of surrender, for pleading instead of taking—and while oscar would sooner rip his tongue out than sing him praises, it sure fucking does it for him. god, it does.
it's why he's pliant as charles buries a hand in his hair and pulls, eyelids fluttering at the sharp tug. why he lets him hump his face like he's the one in heat, leaking and breathless despite only being touched through thick fabric. his eyes are green and vivid, and oscar feels both exposed and powerful under his stare, meets it straight-on, and decides he'll deal with the fact that charles leclerc has him so wet his boxers are tacky in the morning.
now, what he'll do is this.
"whore," he spits, sounding faintly disgusted, even as he works charles out of his underwear. one hand wraps around his cock, the other fists in his hip to pin him to the door. oscar stares, feels his mouth water, and gives him a slow, shameless lick from base to tip before looking back up, breath ghosting over heated skin. "keep watching."
there's no point in stalling. he draws a deep breath, opens his mouth, and takes charles inside, feeding him deeper until he's pressing against his palate and oscar gags briefly around him.
the slightest touch leaves him trembling, tense in the thighs and holding his breath like he's terrified to let it go. it comes out nonetheless, in a shuddering sigh and charles has to bite back the embarrassing sound at the first touch of oscar's tongue along the underside of his cock, the vice-like grip of his fingers pressing into his hip. bruising him. burning him, or at least it feels like it- what with the heat of his mouth, wet and torturously warm. charles shivers, feebly fondling oscar's hair, practically petting him, albeit unintentionally.
his eyes never break from piastri's face, though they roll back at the sensation of oscar taking him in, as far as he can go until his throat pushes back, the vibration sending a jolt down his spine. charles lets out a low moan, hips immediately snapping forward, further into the heat. "god, piastri," he mumbles, forcing his way past the tight resistance of a closing throat and whines, slick leaking out of the tip of his cock and down oscar's trachea.
his hands find purchase near the backmost locks of oscar's head and pull, yanking his mouth further down his cock- til he feels the nudge of a nose pressing against the tawny hair that gathers around his crotch. his knees buckle, hips pulling back before driving back forward, glide aided by saliva and pre that pools in oscar's mouth and leaks past his lips. "so hot like this- god, m'gonna cum..." it might've been humiliating, but at this point there was no reason to care. the sooner he came anyway, the sooner he could be inside, the sooner he could bite his way into oscar's chest and stay there.
oscar would be lying if he said it’s unexpected, the way charles fucks past his gag reflex, chasing his own pleasure without caring for oscar’s comfort. he chokes, swallows, tries to steady the instinctive clenching of his throat as it strains to adapt—the tight pull of his jaw as it widens to accommodate him inside. it’s awful. unsurprising. inconsiderate, rough enough to justify oscar biting his dick right off, and instead—instead oscar feels himself get hotter, wetter, so hard in his pants it hurts.
and charles doesn’t stop. he’s a jerk, fisting his hair and pulling, and the noise that tears out of oscar’s chest is muffled against heated skin. he forces him to take him all the way in, cockhead hitting the back of his throat, and oscar gags again—blinks tears from his waterline, one hand gripping charles’ hip hard enough to bruise if not for his jacket and fireproofs, the other wandering down, down—pressing flat over his own crotch, giving himself something to buck into.
it’s vindictive, the way he picks up the pace when charles announces his premature orgasm. he’d make fun of him for it if his mouth wasn’t this busy. he swallows, breathing shallowly through his nose, takes him to the hilt before sucking as best he can—then pulls back, tongues over his slit, drags his tongue along the underside, pulls off to plant open-mouthed kisses up the side before repeating the process and swallowing him down again.
the vice of oscar's throat is endlessly needing, flexing into a retch around his cock as it sucks him back in- the obscenely wet sound of a spread mouth licking and drooling against hot skin and drinking in all he had to offer. charles sucks in a breath between his teeth, one hand still palming at the top of oscar's skull while the other dropped to cradle his puffy cheek, his unhinged jaw. more leverage as charles tilted his head back, letting out a long, breathy moan.
"god, piastri," he repeats, unable to help himself. "how much- hah- dick have you had to suck to get like this?"
like this is a load bearing accusation- how did oscar get like this, so willing to drop to his knees and take a cock down to the root, so easy to convince to spread his legs- even though he'd said no, charles knew. he'd bend over and open up with the right words and amount of desperation. he could smell him, thick and tacky and throbbing- from above he could see oscar's hips twitching in earnest into his own hand.
he looks so fucking good like this. face red from lack of air, lips pulled wide. eyes streaming with tears that beaded on long lashes and stained his face, and snot that collected beneath his nose and dripped onto his cock with the mess of drool spilling from his mouth. charles grins, loosening his grasp just as oscar pops off. watches with heavy eyes and aching gums as the boy slobbers on his dick, breathing it in like its the oxygen he needs to live.
he's down oscar's throat again, bullying his way past the force of a gag and holding both sides of oscar's face like a fleshlight, hips jerking forward in awkward, stalling movements as the heat in his belly stirs into something that threatens to break him. charles whines, eyes fluttering rapidly as he forces himself pry his dick out of that perfect mouth and grasp it in his hand.
pumping frantically, he rolls his thumb over the tip, smearing pre all over his glove. with his other hand, charles grabs oscar's chin yanking it upward as he pants- "nnn- fuckfuckfuck, oscar open your mouth- wider- let me see- ah-"
his hand falters, dick twitching beneath the leather and leaking at the pressure. he cums, quick and hard and quietly, teeth grit as a spasm overtakes shaking hips and buckling knees. "p-piastri-" he chokes, working his cock weakly as hot white jerks out and stains oscar's tear-streaked face.
more than you to be this fucking early, he thinks, wants to say, words as heavy on his tongue as the cock he buries down his throat; gagging hardly stops him now, only distant discomfort as he does it again, and again, letting himself be used like some cheap cocksleeve by a man he hates. he hasn't gotten around, contrary to what charles might think—once or thrice, at most, on his knees for some beta he'd forget the face of come morning, and he'd only let himself be touched above-waist. he always got off after, stuffing his fingers into his mouth and jerking into a closed fist, and that was it. convenient. discreet.
nothing like the manslut charles is, picking girls up left and right only to come apart like some overeager teenager while oscar blows him. clearly, pussy hasn't been doing it for him. poor guy.
it's a shame he can't say as much. he won't admit it, won't let the tight knit of his eyebrows fall apart as he works, but his mind is starting to blur, too; it's the lack of air, the effort, something along those lines—it has nothing to do with how much he likes it, having his jaw open wide and aching, someone thrusting deep into his throat like that's all he's good for. his cheeks are tear-wet, his neck sweat-damp, his boxers sticky with a humiliating mix of slick and pre and it's disgusting, dirty, and so fucking good.
he feels like a damn toy. it's—fuck. it's exactly what he wanted.
he rocks up into his palm, closes his eyes as charles' pace falters. he wants that, too. to bury his nose into charles' navel and feel him come straight down his throat. he'll regret it in the morning, he's sure, but now—now, it's all he can think about. all he wants. and, of course, like he knows that, charles takes it away.
oscar damn near whines at the loss. he blinks, confused, trying to make charles' face out through the tears lining his waterline, and what he sees instead is a gloved hand working harshly over his cock, red and angry, and it's unfair—he wants it back in his mouth, wants it in his throat, wantswantswants. charles' accent really comes through when he's speaking that fast, that desperate, and oscar's not thinking when he obeys—when his jaw opens and his eyelids droop and he shudders, moans, as charles comes on his face.
it's so demeaning. he's on his cheeks and nose and lips, streaking over his tongue, and oscar squeezes meanly over his own cock at the feeling. he's hot, cold, hot again—catches charles' blissed-out face as he rides it out, and he's so unfairly handsome, sometimes. oscar stares, dizzy, until his brain reboots and self-awareness washes over him like a bucket of cold water.
"quickshot," he rasps, voice rough, spitting out the come in his mouth instead of swallowing it. he gets to his feet, ignores his weak knees and shaking legs, and reaches blindly for a stack of toilet paper to wipe his face with. he grabs charles by the shoulder, then, yanks him to the side so he can open the door. "move."
euphoria beats through his body to the bass of the music soaking through the walls. the door vibrates softly against his back, just as adrenaline does at the end of every nerve- cock still leaking and hard as he works himself through his orgasm, transfixed by the sight of oscar's wet and waiting face and mouth, open and needy and covered in his cum. it catches on his lips and teeth and flushed cheeks, streaking onto his tongue as he fucking moans for it. charles bites back a curse, squeezing the base of his cock with a heavy sigh- arousal still burns hot in his gut and aches between his legs, but oscar is spitting his spend on the dirty, cold floor of the bathroom and standing.
he watches, eyes hazy as oscar wipes off his face, face contorted into a bitter, irritated expression- fumbling and annoyed and trying to push charles out of the way even though his dick is still hanging out in the open between them and brushing against oscar's thigh when he closes in. charles swallows and braces into the shove, blocking the door. "you really want to walk out of here smelling like that?" he tilts his head, hands grasping at oscar's clothes and forcing him back, back, back, stumbling into and over one another as he presses oscar against the counter of the sink. the mirror is scratched and sporadically tainted with various graffiti and vulgar drawings- lipstick marks near the bottom and the ghost of a handprint somewhere in the middle, indicating that they were not the first ones here tonight.
"you're soaking through your pants, oscar," charles breaths, pressing his weight into him and slipping a hand past oscar's waistband, finding his cock. he wraps his fingers around the other man, mapping out the smallness of it, the weight of his balls beneath, and the slick that runs all the way to the front. in between his thighs its hot and soft and charles can feel himself getting so hard it hurts- again- that he lets out a soft gasp and latches onto oscar's mouth, pleading with his tongue. he jerks him off, at least as best as he can within the confinement of tight leather pants and licks a wet, long stripe up the side of oscar's face. he can still taste himself mingling within oscar's tears, and the realization alone is enough to make his head spin.
charles drops his chin, nipping away at oscar's jaw and neck, attempting to peel back the other's scent patch with his teeth. "you smell..so good- putain-...let me..." his words are muffled by the mouthful of skin he takes in past his lips, the square of white spat out and discarded onto the sink. it sticks to the dirty marble and oscar's scent leaks out just enough to make charles whine.
charles, of course, has to be a fucking issue—has to resist, block his way to the door and say something stupid, as if they're not surrounded by people that smell twice as strongly as oscar does. his scent is stronger than he'd like it to be, sure, but it's not his fault charles is weirdly attuned to him; he doubts anyone else has ever gotten a whiff of it, and if they had, it hadn't been strong enough to take proper note of.
then again—oscar hasn't let anyone else fuck and scent him the way charles has, once upon a time.
"fuck off," he snaps again, just about ready to twist charles' arm and body his way out, when the hands grabbing him start pushing and he's being backed up against the dirty counter. the manhandling sends a backstabbing spark of heat to his gut, just like the blatant callout to the deplorable state of his race suit; he can't help it, can't control his body's natural response to it, and he's about to point that out — that it has more to do with biology than with charles, nevermind the reason why he's kickstarted into slicking — when fingers reach past his pants and boxers and around his cock and fuck. fuck.
his eyes roll back. oscar's muscles lock up, then slacken—he grabs blindly at charles' sides, body curling forward at the sharp pleasure that rushes to his head, makes his thoughts blank. he moans, he's pretty sure; bucks into charles' fist, gasps into his mouth as he kisses him again, messy and needy, and he only barely manages to get a grasp — embarrassingly loose — on consciousness before doing something humiliating like whining.
"mutt," his tongue feels thick, heavy—charles is slobbering on his cheek, his neck, mumbling words that don't make any sense, and oscar moans again when his scent patch comes off, damp with sweat and spit both. charles' hand around his cock is muddling his judgment. he works his hand into his hair, twists his fingers into the strands and pulls, burying his face into charles' neck instead. his fangs aren't as sharp, but his bite is still a mean thing when he latches onto the long column of his throat and presses until it hurts. his rationality's out the window. oscar's so turned on he might die, lapping over overheated skin. "come—come on. what- can't even make an omega cum?"
charles drools into oscar's neck, licking roughly at the gland beneath- hot and pulsing and bleeding out a scent so sweet his teeth hurt. he huffs, mouth loose and wet all over oscar, cock aching and impossibly hard below his waist yet again- the beginnings of a knot swelling near the base and begging to be buried deep inside the soaking, empty hole just inches away. hidden beneath tight clothes and a weeping dick that charles fists feverishly between them.
he thumbs at oscar's slit, dragging the tip of his gloved finger against it, rubbing in small, harsh motions. smearing the pre and the evidence of oscar's want down into the material, etching the very essence of his shame into the leather. charles imagines how it will linger, how he would lick and sniff at the thing for weeks to come, even after every wash, and search for oscar's ghost as he wraps it around his cock and fucks it in memory of this moment.
"uhnn-" is all he can reply, words choked off into a high-pitched whine at the feeling of teeth in his neck. biting, bruising, making him bleed. crimson pinpricks bead along the skin in the arc of oscar's mouth and it makes him weak. he pulls back, tearing his head away from oscar's lips and yanks his hand free at the edge of the demeaning, spiteful words the other pants out in challenge. charles lifts his arm, biting the index of his glove and tugging, pulling his hand free. it's sweaty, damp in the palm, and burning hot- he spits the glove out onto the counter too, lets it fall atop the discarded scent patch. forgotten. wasted.
his hand drops again, this time tearing down oscar's zipper and digging his hand inside. "come- i wanna watch you cum...please, baby, i'm- i wanna see" he goads, wrapping his bare fingers around oscar's cock yet again and pumping it, fast and ruthless and tight, giving him a hole to fuck, fuck- he knows how oscar likes it, knows the way oscar can't handle it, the direct pressure to his tip and remembers the way he came the first time they fucked. when charles got down on his knees and buried his tongue in oscar's slit and his fingers in his ass until oscar squirted in his mouth like a girl. the thought makes charles tighten his fist, swallowing the drool that pools under his tongue at the feel of oscar in his hand, slick and warm.
even if he's soaking wet by now, dick and ass and everything in the way, the drag of leather's still painful. it's rough, and the pace charles sets as he jerks him off does nothing to soften the burn; it's fast, hard, careless, stimulating the sensitive tip in a way that has his knees shaking and small, punched-out noises spilling past gritted teeth. his jaw snaps when charles pulls away, aching to sink his teeth into something, and oscar glares up at him through heavy lids, considers ripping his trachea off when he has the nerve to stop touching him.
there's no warmth to miss, burning hot as he is and charles is and the cramped bathroom is, scent-thick and clogged, but the lack of pressure makes his stupid omega whine and mourn. oscar gives charles long enough of a grace period — the time his brain needs to even process a command as simple as move or curse, hazy as it is — to watch him take his disgusting glove off, spit it aside, and the sharp tinge of anger dissolves into a wanton, choked moan as charles shoves his hand past his suit and wraps around him and his brain clocks the fuck out.
"oh," his head lolls, heavy, pleasure shooting up his spine and down his limbs and he can't stop moving, fucking up into the tight grip of charles' hand, stupid for it. his hands grasp for support, one clutching the edge of the counter digging into his lower back and the other charles' shoulder, and it's been a while—too fucking long a while, since the last time he had someone else's hand around him, someone else's hands on him; it's good, so fucking good, to work his cock into the hole charles' fist makes for him, skin on skin, a mess of pre and slick and sweat, and oscar's panting harsh and unsteady, arousal coiling and climbing and taking and taking, "charles, i—mmnn, f-fuck, fuck, 'm—i'm gonna, go-ah, a-ah—"
his balls draw up, his shoulders tense—the orgasm hits him like a truck, sends white-hot rushing through his nerves, his blood, and oscar's spilling all over charles' hand and into his own pants, ears buzzing and body slack, pliant, as he keeps jerking into charles' hand. he's quieter than charles had been but no less responsive, no less mindless, more slick pouring out of him and into the soaked fabric of his boxers.
oscar is everything in this moment. hot and perfect and painful- alive, digging his nails into charles, so hard he can feel them through the protection of his jacket. he longs for them in his bare skin, dragging down the flesh and tearing it open, spilling charles' blood just as he spills himself in charles' hand. wet and warm and sticky, coating his hand. ruining it, and, effectively, the entirety of his pants.
charles laps his way into oscar's open mouth as he cums, drinking up his quiet gasps, soaking in his twitching, panting, mindlessness. his strokes slow, loosen, gentle over oscar's weeping cock until he feels the tremors subside- then he's slipping his hand free and moaning at the sight, white and thick all through his fingers. he lifts his hand to his mouth, licks it clean- sucking on each knuckle and finger like his life depends on it as he eats up all oscar had to give him. cock bobbing against the other's thigh, a brush against firm muscle has him shivering and snapping back to as he wipes his sloppy hand down oscar's front, trailing down, down, to catch on the hem of his fireproof and jerk it up.
he unveils perfect, pale skin and trembling abs, a heaving, flushed chest and soft nipples that pebble the moment the cold bathroom air hits them. charles dips his head down, licking, sucking over both before kissing his way down oscar's stomach. hunched over like this, he can smell the man so clearly- his alpha practically salivates, starving for the prize he's been working so hard for all night- it's so, so near, driving his own brain into a spiral.
flinching back up, charles pulls oscar out of his boneless slump, fumbling blindly to twist him around- facing the mirror, he looks through the scratches and huffs at oscar's lazy, blissed out expression. his gaze is down again, as are his hands and he's yanking oscar's pants and underwear to his knees, his ankles, a hand on his lower back to shove him forward on the counter as he drops to the ground behind him. just moments before, oscar had been in his place- charles shivered at the reminder of his cock down the other's throat and cum all over his pretty face as he ripped off his other glove and grasped at oscar's ass, groping meanly.
he massages oscar's cheeks, prying them apart- nearly blacking out at the sight, slick and pink, hole practically begging for something to fill it. charles wastes no time, mouth parted and overeager, licking a long stripe from taint to hole, tongue laving over a soaking rim and drinking in the slick that leaks out. he groans, eyes fluttering shut- long and deep, the sound echoes in his chest and into oscar's skin. hands fondle at soft flesh, nose buried between a slick crevice. charles laps, licks, mouths at oscar's hole like his life depends on it- like a dog, really, rough and fast and seeking.
he doesn't tear his head away so much as he lifts his head just enough to speak, mouth still pressed into the skin as he pinches a patch of the other man's ass in between his teeth and mumbles something along the lines of "tastes so good," before he's digging back in, knees grinding into the cold floor beneath.
the orgasm mollifies him. he can't see straight, can't get a good enough grasp of himself to focus on anything but the slow, coaxing drag of charles' palm now, working him through his orgasm until he's loose and spent; the hot, rich drag of his tongue against his, too, kissing him deep and filthy, and oscar's pleasure-drunk brain can't muster any amount of shame about the whine that pours past his lips when charles stops kissing him, stops touching him—oscar watches, hazy, as he laps up his spend instead, and oscar's cock kicks at the sight, hips jerking against charles'; he wants to kiss him again, irrationally, to taste himself on charles' tongue, but his body is leaden and useless. heavy.
"charles," he mutters, back arching slightly once he's touched again, gaze dropping to charles' hand as it wanders down his fireproof, ruins his racewear further, and oscar makes a quiet, dizzy noise when his chest is suddenly made bare, belly clenching tight. there's a hot mouth on his nipples, down his abdomen, and oscar's eyelids flutter as he buries a hand into charles' hair, uncharacteristically gentle, nerves buzzing with want and excitement and everything in-between.
he's expecting—he's not sure, actually. charles is needy, impatient; annoyingly handsome, hovering close enough to his cock oscar wonders if he plans on returning the favor. he can't even bring himself to tease, to say something mean he knows will go straight to charles' dick; can't react, either, when firm hands turn him around and push him against the sink, and oscar braces against the blurry mirror and the counter, hips bumping the cold edge of stained marble.
his mind spins. hands yank his pants down, his underwear, leave him bare to the stuffy air, then grope at his ass and his head drops to fit in the crook of his elbow as he exhales shaky and long, flushes red and pink as he's spread open, exposed, so wet it fills him with shame—but it doesn't last, no, not when charles drags his tongue up burning skin and gets to work like he wants it, needs it, and oscar comes apart accordingly.
"shit," he babbles, rocking back against his face, hole clenching like it's asking for more, more. his orgasm has made him loose, made him crave, and the pleasure that curls behind his navel reminds him he's empty, too. "your—your mouth," more slick drips out, every nerve ending singing, and oscar shifts his weight so he can free a hand to reach back, to grab charles' hair in a way that tugs at his scalp and keeps his head in place so he can grind against his face. his cock never softens, just spurts weakly, build-up looping around afterglow, too high to process charles' words or do more than moan at the sting of teeth. "don't stop, don't stop, please?"
charles moans at the slick that practically pours into his mouth, drinking it up with obscene, slurping noises muffled by the way he keeps his mouth flush with oscar's hole. his own hand drops, fumbling, finding- yanking at his own dick, hot and hurting and desperate to be inside something. he strains against the hand in his hair, tongue rolling roughly at oscar's rim, his breath coming out in long, noisy whines that vibrate against the skin. he loves the way oscar presses into him, suffocating him, filling his lungs- would spend the rest of the night here on his knees, if it weren't for the agony building in his gut.
"'s'good?" he slurs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to oscar's ass as he staggers to his feet, hands kneading at the flesh and sliding up to oscar's hips.
he bends over, groaning quietly as his cock slides through the slick crevice where his mouth just was. it's slick and easy and impossibly hot, especially when he cocks his hips, digging lower- into the tight, soft spot between oscar's thighs and under his leaking cock. "god," charles bites back a whimper, rutting into the gap between squeezing flesh- sticky and searing into his skin, melting them together. he slumps forward, mindlessly humping oscar's ass and thighs in alternation, drooling against the back of his neck. "oscar, oscar, oscar," he drawls, eyes fluttering as they find their conjoined reflection in the dirty mirror above.
time's passed, but charles is no less desperate than what oscar remembers him to be.
every drag of his tongue, every noisy gulp when he gulps down a mouthful of slick. it's messy, it's needy, and part of the reason why he's not embarrassed about his own state. he's mindless as he grinds back against charles' face, too, brain made goopy and warm, chasing the high he can feel coiling in his gut, jaw agape as he struggles to suck in enough air to ward off the dizziness of arousal. it's useless, only makes him unable to hold back the noises pouring past his throat. he nods, yanks meanly at charles' hair—makes an angry noise when charles pulls back, more snarl than sob, and gives a full-body shiver as he feels the telltale drag of his cock instead.
"can't fucking—" his back arches, body moving on its own to match charles' humping. oscar keeps on dripping precum, rim clenching around nothing; it sours his mood at the same time it enhances his want. he likes it, how stupid charles is like this—whimpering and thrusting into his thighs, cockhead dragging along the underside of oscar's dick and over his hole in a way that makes his knees buckle. "can't fucking listen, can—n-nnh—can you?"
he slaps a hand against the mirror, glances in passing at his own face; flushed, sweaty, wanton. "do it right," he exhales, trembling, glaring at charles' reflection. oscar pushes his hips back, hazy with heat, and his voice doesn't crack when he speaks, doesn't waver; but it's heavy and thick with pleasure, almost fraying at the edges. "or i'll find someone that will."
charles bites his lip, grasping the willing flesh of oscar's ass between broad hands and squeezing it together, giving him a slick, plush channel for him to fuck against. he groans, eyes rolling back at the heady slide, and the way oscar bucks back into him, just as needy as charles is and ever impatient.
harsh words bitten out in aggravation curled between snarling teeth, at least where they can between the slutty whimpers still falling past oscar's lips. charles stills his movements, opting to lick at the side of oscar's neck, nibbling down against the flesh. the threat of leaving leaves charles' alpha in distress, anxious at the thought of disappointing the omega beneath them- but charles knows better. knows oscar wouldn't walk out, even if he did keep rutting against his ass like this. he needed it too bad- thats why charles presses a wet kiss to oscar's nape before resting his forehead between the omega's taut shoulders.
he licks the sweat off of his upper lip, looking down between their flush bodies and fumbling awkwardly for his cock, too lazy, too unwilling to pull back again. he shudders as he wraps a hand around it, the tip dribbling and red, leaving a wet trail all over oscar's ass that slithers down his crack.
holding his breath, he dips his hips, rubbing the head of his cock against oscar's rim- he can tell with just one little push that the slide will be easy, the slick and the pure, base need for something to *fill* is enough. shivering excitedly, charles pushes in, panting at the newfound sensation engulfing his cock.
"fuuuuck," he drones out, letting go of oscar's ass in favor of his sides, shoving him down. his hips twitch forward, little by little until his hips are flush with the omega's thighs. "take it so- mmh- so fucking easy. shit, osc."
charles pulls back, engrossed in the way oscar's hole clings to the form of his cock- hot and wet and impossibly tight, dragging like it doesn't want to let go. he pulls halfway out, before jerking forward, shoving himself back in and leaning forward. too impatient to tease much longer, he rocks his hips in quick, short thrusts, more grinding than fucking as he drools against oscar's ear, breathless.
"what do you want- ah- you l-like this? or- or more?" he whines, gripping at oscar's skin beneath his jacket as he fucks him open, heat already hurting and tight and warning in his gut. "could cum just- just like this- so hot."
oscar has half a mind to actually do it, push charles off, zip his race suit back up — nevermind the way his scent's thick and all over the place, in the lack of the scent patch charles decided to rip off his neck — and get out, when he's given no answer. he'd have to skip the find someone who will bit, though, since he's not one to let strangers inside him, much less a stranger he'd find in some dingy, packed nightclub, and that—the thought of going empty, of having to settle for a handjob or his own fingers, is what gives him enough patience to not snap until charles fucking moves.
he feels charles' knuckles brushing over his ass, then, as he — assumedly — grabs his cock. oscar's muscles go taut, skin riddled with goosebumps; there's so minor shuffling, hot, steady pressure against his rim—it slides once, twice, has slick and precum dripping to his sack, and when charles pushes in—fuck, when he pushes in, oscar moans long and needy and relieved. he's tight, sure, but the glide is smooth and easy and wet, and his limbs suddenly feel like they're made of lead.
"fuck," he echoes, bending his arm at the elbow so he has his whole forearm plastered to the mirror. there's a deep, overwhelming satisfaction in his gut he knows doesn't belong entirely to him, oscar, but to his omega, too—the feeling of being full, of having an alpha want him, take him, scrambling some important, decision-making part of his brain. he whines when charles makes to pull out, even if only halfway, then chokes on a whine again when he buries back in, forehead lolling against his arm. "f-fuck."
it's part of the reason why he doesn't fuck around, how fucking easy he gets. oscar pants, biting back the quiet, punched-out noises every grind coaxes out of him, pleasure thick and sweet like honey. charles is everywhere, along his back and inside and around him, drooling like a dog by his ear, and oscar angles his head to bump his nose into him, look up through half-lidded eyes.
"easy whore," he says first, breathless, even as he himself fucks back onto charles' cock, already feels ready to snap. oscar swallows, pants. "like—like you fucking mean it, just—" he rocks forward, relishes in the dull pain of his hips meeting the cold, dirty marble counter, and then jerks back—his eyes roll, his knees shake. "a-ah, mm—come on, c-come on—" it's not enough when he does it himself, not when he hasn't had this in so long. "fuck me, alpha."
charles' moan echoes oscar's, lips nuzzling the younger man's face with a dirty sort of reverence- slipping a hand under oscar's elbow, wrapping up and around his throat, squeezing down and pressing his mouth to oscar's open, waiting lips in a wet, uncoordinated kiss. charles feels something in him draw tight, a swell in his chest, a hunger in his gut. the feeling of an omega beneath him, around him, squirming for his cock, fussing for it. it goes to his head and the heavy ache of his knot, still resting dormant at the base of his dick.
he drags his hips back, snapping forward as he licks his way past oscar's teeth, tongue dribbling spit between them and down their chins. it's painful, the way charles is bent over the counter, pinning oscar beneath- he can only imagine how it feels for the omega, cramped over a mean corner with a cock up his ass. but the way he clenches and slicks around tells charles he likes it and makes him groan.
those words might as well have been a direct tug to charles' cock, because his breath catches, pitching into something like a surprised whine, and he's spilling- cum, pre, some form of slick, deep inside oscar's waiting hole. it's scalding and wet and leaks out past his dick, dribbling down oscar's thighs. but the pleasure is dizzying. demanding- charles can feel his alpha chomping at the bit, desperate to move, to take, to fuck, and fuck- charles braces against the counter with his free hand, eyes fluttering shut as he dips his neck into the side of oscar's throat and begins moving in earnest, hips pistoning forward in deep, desperate movements, fast and so fucking hot it feels like he might pass out.
"oscar," he cries out, "shit." the sound of their bodies, wet flesh, soft thighs, mean hips- it fills the dank, dim air with stifling heat and a scent so thick they might've as well put a sign on the bathroom door that read fucking here. "missed you s- s'much. hh- ah- please, osc, please, please, please-" he doesn't know what he's begging for, doesn't know what he wants. just knows the tight heat of a hole sucking in his dick and pulling at his knot, just knows the body in his hands and the lips against his jaw.
the kiss is filthy. charles keeps moving his hands and oscar can't keep track; he's used to intense feelings, sure—he drives way over the city's speed limits while risking being rammed into concrete walls for a living, feeds off danger and adrenaline and going fast enough his bones feel like jelly, but it's different. it's desperate, and it's dirty and painful and awful, and he's going to be ashamed and gross when they're done, but right now—right now, it feels like he'll die without it.
when charles's cock jerks inside him, spills something hot and wet and thick, keeps fucking him despite it—oscar's eyes roll back and he cums weak and watery on the ground, only adding to the mess of slick and cum and spit already pooling there. fuck. he clenches vice-tight around him, moans like he's in heat and not just being fucked by a man he claims to despite in some disgusting nightclub restroom, and fucks himself back against charles like some greedy whore who only knows more.
"h-holy shit," his tongue feels thick, not like his own. oscar bares his neck willingly to charles, jaw agape as he picks up the pace, pounds into him harder, so deep he can feel him in his gut, in his throat, in his fucking womb, if he gives in to the thought. he's not sure if he's moaning or purring by now, gasping wetly every time charles thrusts in, forehead lolled against the forearm he has braced against the mirror. his free hand slaps over charles' on the counter, clinging like a lifeline. "alpha, alpha."
they're both high on it. nothing he says counts—and nothing charles says counts, either, even if it makes his omega delighted to hear it. missed you, he says, and he smells like oscar and oscar smells like him, and he almost believes it. he does, for now. for however long they last. oscar nods frantically. "yeah," he's not sure what he's agreeing to, either. he knows what he wants, though—and he knows how to ask for it, doesn't know how to deny himself, how to stop wanting, so he blurts out, demanding and pleading, "more."
he'll regret it. he knows that. he has never cared less about anything. "knot me," he pushes back, voice garbled, scent spiking sweeter. "knot me, charles."
oscar is bold. everybody knew this, anybody would gather the fact after seeing him race just once. he'd been that way- sharp, set and certain ever since he first stepped foot on the scene. it's what drew charles to him in the first place. the allure of it, the promise of excitement, the guarantee of accomplishment- he'd known oscar would excel on his own, one way or another. but he wanted to be a part of that. couldn't resist the temptation of competition, even at the cost of his own victory. the pussy had been a bonus, were it not for oscar shutting him out immediately after— and charles couldn't say that all his efforts hadn't paid off. the kid ranked in at two on average for the past handful of races- at the very least, stayed within the top five. charles considered it a job well done- and rejection or not, he'd wound himself right back in between oscar's legs anyway- so it's obvious who the real winner was.
it made charles giddy- and hard- in equal parts, left him hungry, hurting, hot. filling his nights and his bed with faceless flings- didn't matter what they had so long as it was some form of hole to fuck- but none of it compares to this. there's sweat, slick and tacky between their bodies. charles can feel the give of oscar's ass pressed flush against his hips, his lower stomach- shirt rucked up just enough to feel the warmth of the willing body beneath him. charles grits his teeth, or rather, bares them- moaning loud and loose into oscar's ear before sinking his teeth into the side of his neck, right beside his scent gland. it swells near his fangs, begs for a mark just as oscar's hole and mouth beg for a knot.
it drives him crazy, to the point of his feverish mumbles melting into nothing, nothing, nothing- fuck and knot and fuck. he can't say no, can't pull out- even if he wanted to, it's just their bodies talking now, begging, clinging to one another. charles' alpha practically yips at the anticipation, that rolling, rising feeling buried deep inside. rising to the surface like a curse. his hips, rabbiting frantically into oscar's open thighs— combined weight making the counter creak ominously beneath them both— stutter, still, yanked to a stop by the slow, sudden inflation of his knot.
it knocks the breath out of charles, panting and puffing and shaking, swallowing the blood welling between his teeth. his eyes roll back, whimpers vibrating into the side of oscar's throat as his body goes lax, crushing oscar gracelessly against the sink. his cock aches, balls twitch- hips rocking forward instinctively with every heaving breath as his knot takes root, pumping oscar full, locking him up.
the tension in his gut has snapped, spilled- charles pulls his teeth free from sweaty flesh and pants quietly into oscar's neck, copper drying on his lips. "o-osc.." he mumbles, lapping up the mess around the omega's gland. he drinks in his scent, his own tripling in intensity, overbearing against it all. "oscar.."
asshole. oscar's nerves feel like they've been set on fire when charles, stupid and overeager and alpha, sinks sharp teeth into his neck, dangerously close to marring his scent gland; it pulses and oozes and aches, spilling out scent like an open faucet, subconsciously trying to lure it—lure him, charles, closer; tempt him to bite there, to get it right, while simultaneously overreacting like he's already done it.
it hurts. it stings and spreads and has white-hot pain shooting straight down to his cock, and oscar's moan is quiet and wanton, head lolling to the side as if encouraging charles to do it again, to do it harder. it mixes deliciously with every mean grind of charles' cock against his prostate, his burning hamstrings, the bruises blooming across his hips. it's so good he doesn't know what to do, how to take it—but he does anyway, spit dribbling down his chin, cheeks tear-soaked, and it's that hint of helplessness that nearly does him in.
the last straw, though, is feeling charles' knot against his rim, forcing him wider with every rough, desperate thrust, pushing until all oscar's body can do is give in and accommodate and he's slipping inside, stretching him wide, spilling hot and deep and thick until he's full, until his legs shake, and oscar's gone. his shoulders tense, his hole tightens to the point of pain—then, like pulling on a thread, he falls apart.
it overwhelms him, the intensity of it. oscar makes a pitiful, choked noise as it washes through him. he comes on the counter, the floor, watery and weak; squirts around charles' cock, slick leaking out his hole, past the knot plugging him up. his forehead slips where it'd been resting against his forearm, head hanging uselessly, chest heaving with every haggard inhale. his brain's full of cotton, pleasure thrumming under his skin, and for a long, blissful moment, it feels, a little bit, like he's floating.
how humiliating it is, to be fucked stupid on charles leclerc's cock.
his whole body's lead. oscar stares sightlessly at the sink, trying to catch his breath, whining when he shifts and feels charles' knot pull at his rim. there's a hot tongue on his neck and a heavy, (annoyingly) comforting scent oozing out of charles; oscar basks in it, dizzy, until he manages to put himself together enough to speak, even if his voice is thick and worn, even if all his omega urges him to do is lie back and enjoy it.
"how long?"