Australian Grand Prix #6
After a full stroke to wet the member, Julien returns to the base. He slows his hand, pressing his thumb deeper into the pronounced vein on the underside as he languidly pulls. “I can go harder, faster…”
Rafael responds with a long moan, his head hitting the wall with a thump as his free arm falls to the side. His Adam’s apple juts out from his thick neck, bobbing as he swallows and gasps.
Dealer’s choice, then.
With his left hand, Julien pulsates his grip around Rafael’s base, massaging the underside in small circles with his thumb and urging the sensations higher up his shaft. His dominant hand pumps the rest of the length, milking Rafael in quicker and quicker strokes.
For how tough he acted, Rafael’s legs tremble violently as he braces against the wall and makes aborted thrusts into Julien’s steady fist. He’s surprisingly vocal, and his shallow breathing quickly devolves into hard pants as he eggs Julien on faster, faster, harder, like that!
Rafael’s cock leaks, wetting with every pull until the smaller man’s hands are more soaked with precum than lotion. It allows Julien to slide faster, to grip tighter, to work Rafael up higher and higher.
With a cry, Rafael’s eyebrows pull up, his desperation twisting his face into something so pathetic it ignites something raw and carnal in Julien’s veins.
“Ah, ah! Juli—eita porra!”
A thick hand whips out and grasps Julien’s shoulder, Rafael’s fingers digging into his flesh as he tenses.
No, not so quickly. Not after the fight he put up.
It takes both of Julien’s hands to completely encircle Rafael’s base, and he squeezes tight. “Easy, baby.” The endearment slips out. “You’re not ready yet.”
“N?o!” Rafael shouts. His free fist falls from Julien’s shoulder and pounds against the wall, shaking the heavy frame. “But I was so close!”
“By yourself?”
Julien’s fingers are still slippery when he pops the button of his jeans and wiggles his hips to free his dick. With a soiled hand, he pumps himself a couple of times, slicking his cock.
He’s already achingly hard. Anyone would be with Rafael under his full control.
The Brazilian driver is taller, but not by too much. Julien reaches up onto his toes until their cocks line up.
“What are you—?”
Julien pushes himself into the grip he already has around Rafael’s base. His own dick is slimmer and shorter, but it’s still a tight squeeze when he thrusts into the narrow space between his thumb and the silk of Rafael’s thick, wet cock.
Julien’s head falls forward, his forehead connecting with Rafael’s good shoulder as they groan together. It’s been so long, he forgot how good frotting could feel.
“Please move,” Rafael breathes.
Julien slowly arches backwards, dragging his cock out away from the grip, then snaps his hips forward again. Both men moan with the sensation, but Julien is already pulling out again.
His hand is stretched to capacity, spanning both members, but Julien chases his high and drives up into the tight space over and over.
Their cocks slide against each other, squeezed so tightly, providing the additional pressure Julien craves with every thrust.
When Julien stutters, Rafael quickly joins in, thrusting opposite of the smaller man with aborted hip movements though he’s practically trapped against the wall.
Julien keeps his slippery grip as tight as possible, his knuckles digging into Rafael’s abs as he drills forward, trapping their cocks between their hard bodies.
Julien doesn’t know Portuguese, but he can tell the Brazilian is close. Again.
Why can’t he just enjoy a good thing?
It’s harder to stop this time, but Julien inhales and loosens his grip. Before Rafael can say another word, Julien’s ring of fingers tightens around his thick base again, holding the man’s release captive.
Rafael cries out, but it devolves into sniffling whines as Julien slowly strokes him. His too-light grip isn’t enough to satisfy, and soon the older man deflates, falling back against the wall again with a whimper.
He doesn’t fight back, he just accepts it. Rafael takes the punishment—surrendering himself to Julien’s command.
This is complete control.
“Something wrong?” Julien can’t hide the smile in his voice. His cock twitches, and a bead of precum drips to Rafael’s hairy thigh.
“You are cruel.”
He’s heard worse. “Surely you weren’t about to come from a measly handjob?”
“Please.” The word is broken with a sob. Rafael barely lifts his head, just enough for it to fall back against the wall. He leaves his throat exposed, beckoning Julien closer.
“Please…?” Julien can’t help himself. Reaching up on his toes, he licks Rafael’s thick neck with a flat tongue from hollow to jaw. It’s over in seconds, but the warmth, the salty taste of the man’s skin, lingers.
“Por favor. Per favore. Please—please, Julien. I want to come.”
Well, since he asked nicely.
They’re both already so riled up, so steely hard, that Julien takes both of them between his hands and quickly pumps. “Rafael, the tips. You gotta—”
Rafael’s hand is rough and dry, but all-encompassing. He squeezes their heads together, lightly twisting them, and the bumps of his callouses add to the friction, to the heat, of the two of them combined.
Julien moans low as he rocks into the hold. Tight, hot, and wet—every sensation is focused on his center and Julien climbs higher and higher, the pressure building with every thrust and every hesitant squeeze.
But Julien can’t come first. He won’t let himself miss a single moment of Rafael’s release.
“Please.” Rafael stiffens as he curls in on himself. His mouth hangs open as he gasps for breath. He looks so good begging, his thick lips spit-soaked and shining, drawing Julien in. “Please. I—I can’t—”
Julien can’t deny him a third time. “Come for me, Rafael. Give me everything you have.”
Rafael stills, but Julien continues to pump his hands and rock forward, giving him extra stimulation. When Rafael's thick hand falls away from their cocks and grips his own thigh, Julien is quick to cover them again, twisting their heads together and putting extra emphasis on Rafael’s.
The older man comes with a choked sob, his release hot and thick as it pools in Julien’s palm.
“That’s it,” Julien mutters, working him through it. “So good for me, so good. You’re doing so well.”
When he can, Rafael’s eyelashes flutter open and his eyebrows draw up. He seems confused, almost lost, and his eyes shake as he stares at Julien.
Mr. People-Fall-To-Their-Knees-For-Me doesn’t seem like the type of guy who blindly follows directions—the type of guy who would beg his partner to let him come. No, Rafael is definitely the type who takes what he can and leaves everyone else high and dry.
But he begged Julien. Whimpered and pleaded in several languages.
That’s delicious.
Rafael hisses, oversensitive, when Julien pulls away from his tip. His cock is a violent color, the skin rubbed raw, but it still dribbles a final bead of cum in the cool air.
Julien pumps himself as he lifts his soiled hand up to Rafael’s own gasping mouth. “Lick it.”
“What?!” Rafael heaves. Still, his mouth hangs open with harsh breaths, his tongue purposely extended.
Julien nudges his hand up against the slack mouth as he furiously works his cock. Will he? Would the great Rafael Souza demean himself to clean his own cum off a man’s hand?
Julien’s stare remains laser-focused on the wet muscle and Rafael’s tongue twitches under the scrutiny.
“Lick it, Rafael.”
Rafael closes his eyes as he leans forward, closing the gap. The pad of his tongue is rough as it drags across the surface of Julien’s palm, collecting enough cum to pool in the center before he draws it back inside.
His expression immediately sours. “Fuck, that’s gross.”
He did it. Rafael Souza actually did it. He ate his own cum.
Julien’s breath hitches, and he groans low as he spills over his fist. With his cock still upright, his thick spend catches the back of his hand as Julien pumps himself dry.
He heaves in the aftermath, gulping in air as he sways in place. Fuck, he hasn’t come with another person in a long time. They should do this more often. Even if he doesn’t make the top five.
Curiosity and sex-brain brings his licked hand up to his mouth. Julien tastes what is left and grimaces. “You should eat more fruit.”
Maybe melon. He should’ve shared his plate at breakfast.
Rafael sounds more composed when he asks, “Are you planning to swallow more of my cum?”
There’s a teasing lilt to the question that makes Julien scoff. “Only if you get me to the front of the grid.”
“I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll try.” Rafael yanks his boxer briefs back up with his free hand and tucks himself in. “Want one of those drinks now? We could watch something?”
“What time is—?” Julien carefully twists his wrist, navigating the razor edge between being able to see his watch and dumping a puddle of cum on the expensive hotel rug. “Fuck. I can’t, I’m running late.”
“Running late?”
Julien hobbles over to the bathroom and furiously scrubs at his hands with the perfumy hotel soap. Once enough of the cum is gone, he hops in place, dragging his briefs and jeans up his hips and fastening them.
“What are you late to?” Rafael asks when Julien passes.
“Uh, it’s nothing.” Julien pats his pockets. Wallet, phone, room key, paddock pass. Everything’s accounted for. “Hey, thanks for tonight. See you tomorrow?”
It’s a rhetorical question, so Julien doesn’t wait for an answer before he bolts out the door. He jogs down the hallway and elbows the elevator’s down button a bunch of times while he types fervent apologies to the group chat.
They’ve probably already started without him. Julien’s such a dick.
Safe inside his crummy hotel room, Julien doesn’t even change before he throws open his laptop and grabs his headset. He has to log in to the faster-but-expensive hotel wi-fi, but hopefully he’ll make the money back with the stream.
“Hey guys,” he says, unmuting himself. “Sorry I’m late.”