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“Congrats.”
The way Seb says it doesn’t feel congratulatory. It feels predatory. All teeth, no smile.
Oscar shrugs. “Thanks.”
Seb lingers in the doorway to the driver’s room—not Oscar's, technically, borrowed for just the next hour so he can make the appropriate phone calls to his parents, his friends. Mark. He hasn’t managed to ring a single one so far, instead spending the last fifteen minutes just staring down at his phone, his mind totally blank until Seb unexpectedly opened the door and let himself in.
“Can we talk?” Seb asks. He slowly closes the door behind him. Oscar’s eyes track the movement of his slim fingers as he turns the lock.
“Okay,” Oscar replies. “About what?”
He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, Seb swiftly crosses the room and with an inscrutable expression on his face, grabs Oscar’s jaw with both hands and presses their mouths together.
It’s hard, biting, just on the too-much side of painful, but Oscar doesn’t pull away. He moans when Seb forces his mouth open with a thumb against his lower lip, shuddering when Seb sucks on his tongue.
“Take off your clothes,” Seb says as soon as he pulls away, his eyes dark, pupils blown.
“There’s no time—” Oscar protests, but he’s shut up by another searing kiss, and then Seb’s hands drop down to his jeans and make quick work of the button and zip.
In the end, Seb doesn’t do more than pull them down around Oscar’s knees along with his boxers before bending him over the couch and spreading his thighs.
“Christ, no wonder Mark’s so obsessed with you,” Seb says as he drags a callused thumb down the seam of Oscar’s cunt. “Can’t believe he lets you out of the house. If it were me, I’d spend all day just eating your gorgeous little pussy.”
Oscar’s face goes hot with embarrassment and—something else, something he doesn’t dare put a name to. If it were anyone but Seb, the comment might have felt degrading, but instead it just seemed…sincere.
“You like that?” Seb asks in a low voice as he leans over Oscar to whisper in his ear. “You’re already wet.”
“Do something,” Oscar grumbles. He pushes his ass out, colliding with Seb’s hips accidentally and feeling a welcoming hardness through Seb’s race suit. He must have come to Oscar’s room for this, then, he thinks. Come prepared and wanting.
“Yeah? Want me to fuck you? The way you wish Mark would fuck you, I bet.”
Oscar doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He struggles to get his teeth around the corner of the couch cushion and bites down, knowing that he won’t have the wherewithal to keep quiet if Seb makes good on his promise.
He gets another finger first, probing inside him. Then another, both of them pushing down toward his pelvic bone until he feels a strange hollow ache inside him that causes him to clench down around Seb’s fingers without meaning to.
“Just like that, yeah. God I can’t wait to get my cock inside you, show Mark what he’s missing.”
Seb’s fingers suddenly disappear, leaving nothing but a raw pulsing need in their wake. Oscar struggles to open his legs a little wider, trapped by Seb’s body and the confines of his jeans.
“Can you come from being fucked?” Seb asks over the sound of his race suit being unzipped, the rustle of fabric filling in the blanks for Oscar, whose body locks up in eager anticipation of whatever’s coming next. If Mark wouldn’t fuck him, then this was basically the next best thing. “Oscar,” Seb prompts with a light swat against his ass, not hard enough to leave a mark. “Can you come from being fucked?” he asks again.
Oscar shakes his head. But he doesn’t really know. He’s never tried.
“Okay,” is all Seb says in response, but the word feels loaded, and Oscar can’t help but wonder what he has planned.
There isn’t time to dwell on it. Only a few seconds pass in silence before Oscar feels something hot and hard pushing into him, spearing him open, rendering him breathless. It isn’t the rough catch of silicone that he expects, but soft skin, slickly gliding into him.
Oh, Oscar thinks to himself as his body jerks away from the sensation, his brain just barely catching up. Oh. Then he wonders: does Mark know?
“Easy,” Seb says with a hand against the small of Oscar’s back. He pushes inside until Oscar can feel Seb’s pubes tickling the bare skin of his ass, and then he stays there a moment, not moving at all. “Fuck, you feel good,” Seb finally says through a forceful exhale. “Mark’s an idiot for not fucking you already.”
Oscar lets go of the cushion with his teeth, unable to hold back his response. “You’re not fucking me either.”
Seb laughs, and then he pulls out just far enough to slam back in.
It knocks the breath out of Oscar, but Seb starts up a violent rhythm that renders him unable to catch the edge of the cushion with his teeth again, so he settles for burying his face in the couch instead, hoping the sounds pouring out of him with every thrust are muffled enough that they won’t be audible in the hallway outside.
It hurts a little, and Seb’s not even trying to get him off, just using him—but somehow that makes Oscar even wetter. He’ll be sore for days after, with the way Seb’s cock keeps hitting his cervix on every thrust, the dull ache of it making Oscar’s stomach clench in time with his cunt. Seb’s hand is still a heavy weight against his back, keeping him still, unable to get away from the balls-deep thrusts even if he wanted to. He wonders if it would be like this with Mark, if Seb is fucking him the way Mark used to fuck Seb—and just that thought gets him so close he wonders whether he can come from being fucked after all.
He doesn’t get the chance to find out. The movements inside him quicken, short jerks that precede a gasping whine from Seb’s mouth as he stills inside him. A hand curls over Oscar’s hipbone, pressing bruises into his skin as Seb pants out his orgasm while he trembles and shakes against Oscar’s back.
Oscar feels delirious when Seb finally pulls out and flips him over onto his back. He stares up into Seb’s sweat-streaked face, curls damp at his temples, and wishes Seb would keep going. Oscar knows he can, that he doesn’t have to wait, even if it felt like too much. But Oscar has never been good at asking for what he wants.
“Call Mark,” Seb says in a hoarse voice, throat full of saliva that he has to swallow down before he can repeat himself. “Call Mark and tell him they signed you.”
Oscar wants to ask Seb what the hell is wrong with him, but he doesn’t. He scrabbles against the couch with his fingers for his phone, which has slipped into the crevice between the cushions at some point during their encounter, and pulls up Mark’s name without saying anything at all.
Seb just watches as the phone rings. Oscar puts it on speaker, even though he knows he shouldn’t.
As soon as Mark’s “Hello?” emanates in the room, Seb dives down between Oscar’s thighs and sucks his still-hard clit into his mouth.
Oscar lets out a sharp gasp, feeling like it’s been punched out of him. The suction of Seb’s mouth is so overwhelming he doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.
“Oscar?” Mark says, oblivious. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” Oscar finally manages, throat tight. “I—”
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Oscar says again. He has to wait a beat as the forebear of his orgasm washes over him, subdued by the rattling breath that escapes his mouth. “I got signed to McLaren,” he says, and there’s no way that Mark doesn’t think that he’s jerking off or something, but hopefully that’s all he thinks it is. “They’re going to announce soon, but I…. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Oh,” Mark replies, and there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Congrats, kid.”
Oscar opens his mouth to say ‘thank you’, but it doesn’t come out. Seb sucks hard and drags his teeth along the side of his clit as Mark congratulates him, almost like it’s a silent form of retribution, and just like that, Oscar is coming, his thighs clamping down on either side of Seb’s head as he tries and fails to bite back the warbling cry that pours out of him in fits and stutters.
There’s a long pregnant silence that follows as Oscar slowly comes back to himself. Seb slowly pries apart Oscar’s legs to free himself, and stands up without a word, turning away before Oscar can catch sight of his cock as he tucks himself back into his fireproofs.
Oscar’s head flops to the side. He glances at the phone next to him, surprised to see that the call timer is still running. He’d thought—feared—that Mark had hung up.
“Are you still there?” Oscar asks in a small voice.
A beat of silence, then— “Yeah,” Mark says quietly. Then another beat. “Oscar,” he says, almost tentatively. “Are you alone right now?”
Oscar glances up at Seb, who doesn’t meet his eyes. “No,” he breathes.