how does sava feel about ass slapping 🎤
Grenadine [E]
spanking; mentions of infidelity (from Sava/Female Character); possessive behaviour; denial; feelings development; post Sepang Shakedown 26;
Lorenzo doesn't have that much self control when it comes to marking his boy.
He should be happy, really, about how Marco’s crew grew closer together, a tight-knitted group built on Sava’s absence, taking care of Marco just as he needs it. Lorenzo knows they do take care of him and Alba, genuinely, saw it during weekend sessions on his television while he was away training to develop the 850cc, by Fabiano's orders.
It still makes his eye twitch, anyways. Especially those hands trailing too close to Marco's scorpion tail. Sava’s territory.
Dovi said, once, how ridiculous his behavior was — he had a warm bed and someone waiting for him at home, every night. Lorenzo tried to explain, it’s not another relationship, it’s not—cheating, what an ugly word, no, he would never do that to her.
It happens that Marco is an Aprilia boy just like he were all those years ago when Matteo welcomed him, before everything went downhill horribly. It is his duty to make Marco feel at ease, feel loved, and Lorenzo obeys Massimo's orders without a second thought; their arrangement is just part of Sava’s duty to Noale. It is also part of his faithfulness to Marco, to an extent, and to what wonderful things they are now building with Alba.
In the end, it’s not for Dovi to understand, nor for anyone outside of the box.
-
“If you say that shit,” Marco mumbles to his pillow, face squished sideways into it while his ass is up in the air, skin smooth and hairless and begging for Sava to leave his mark, “that it is blinking at you, I swear that I’ll pick up my clothes and leave, dude.”
Sava doubles over, atop Marco's body, shaking with laughter. It never ceases to amaze him how Marco's brain works, sometimes.
“No, eh!” Lorenzo wraps himself around Marco, tugging him down on the bed, limbs interlocked. The feeling of Marco's bare skin on his is nothing short of intoxicating. “But i do think it is trying to, eh, talk to me in morse code, hm?” Lorenzo whispers right into the shell of Marco’s ear, already laughing again, holding him tighter.
Marco shrieks, high-pitched like a girl, trying to get away from Sava’s grasp, as if Sava didn’t knew how much he loves being held down and manhandled like that. His dick twitches violently as Marco struggles a bit more.
He turns around, finally, and Lorenzo is met with a handful of unruly hair. “Bastardo. Remember me why we are doing this again, then, if you just keep making fun of me?” His face, everything on him, honestly, is so pretty. Lorenzo is glad he is stuck working with someone like that. Also, the new piercing is making him slightly insane. He wants to bite Marco whole.
“Because I am returning to Italy earlier,” Sava clarifies, “and you’ll have no one but Jorge for three long days —” Lorenzo is already cackling again before marco trows a stray pillow at his head — “sorry, sorry, your hand for three long days, and you are insatiable.”
The mood suddenly shifts, Marco’s eyes turn to him, bright and attentive, a sly smile adorning his face. “Si?”. Proding Lorenzo to continue.
He always falls for that specific bait, the fake inexperience of Marco’s eyes. Those veiled demands that lie there, playfully hidden away.
“Ah, fucking— insatiable, no? I’m obsessed.” He truly is, really. Lorenzo swears he keeps on seeing shiny earrings and ring piercings everywhere he goes. Even when he is out with his people, with his friends, his girlfriend, sometimes all he sees behind his eyelids is a black bike and begging, wet eyes on top of it. Luring him to bring this arrangement outside Aprilia's walls. Moaning his name.
Marco bites his lip, smiling. He knows pretty well he got Sava hooked in again.
“Bez,” Lorenzo says, kissing his face. He slides his hand down the curve of Marco’s back, his ass rising up a bit, demanding attention. “So talented—” Sava's grip tighten on the swell of Marco’s left ass cheek — “Our perfect rider, our golden boy.” His hand goes up and down in a swift motion, the sound of flesh being slapped filling the room.
Marco groans, surprised, not expecting that today, probably, after Sava took his time opening him up, loosening him while he asked Bez about how Mandalika went, making him laugh and moan in the span of the same second. Marco doesn’t shy away from the contact — on the contrary, he looks back at Sava and “That’s— again, harder.”
It’s all Sava needs.
Lorenzo positions himself, kneeling behind Marco's slumped frame, all of him on display to take. His back dimples, his scattered beauty marks — Lorenzo tries to breathe. He loves to see Marco’s expressions but this, all this untattoed skin, all this untouched land, his ass, his spine, his nape, the ball of his feet, everything for him and no one in the way, for once.
With one hand Lorenzo traces Marco’s back while the other reverently caresses his ass, down to the back of his thigh. “Sei bellissimo.” Lorenzo should probably shut up.
Marco only laughs in response.
The second hand that goes down is meant to shut Marco up. It doesn’t work.
“I never— like this, I like it.” In a smaller voice: “It’s good.” Lorenzo's palm stings, but the feeling it’s not near enough. Somewhere inside him, far way from the anchor binding his obligations to Aprilia, he ponders what Marco thinks hurts more: his hand or Edo's tattoo machine.
Lorenzo wants to leave a permanent mark, too.
“D’you like it?” He grabs Marco’s ass tightly, watching the reddened skin pale unders his touch, then redden again as he let it go. Lorenzo rolls his shoulder. "Whore,” he whispers in awe, before giving Marco another well-aimed slap.
There is, probably, a wet spot on Marco’s pillow by now, with a matching one in the bedsheets, right underneath Marco’s cock. Lorenzo is way past any common sense by now, choking with his own lust, pulse beating frantically. He is drooling too, like Marco, as he lowers his head to lick a wet stripe over Marco’s quivering hole, kissing it, hooking his thumb, letting his spit slide inside.
Marco wails.
“Shit, shit, Sava, wanna ride your face, pleas—ah,” Marco interrupts himself as Lorenzo’s hand makes contact again, three times in a row, one for each day they’ll be away from each other. “Lorenz—oh, fuck me.”
That’s it, Lorenzo thinks, satisfied with the hand-shaped tattoo adorning Marco’s ass. That’s better.
He pretends he stopped because enough is enough and not because he is unable not to give what Marco wants, all the time. Lorenzo tries to hold onto that feeling as he lines himself up with one hand and grabs the hair by Marco’s nape with the other.
He still believes in that as he enters him, just the tip, even if a possessive “mine” leaves his mouth in a huff of breath.
-
“Hey. Was I too rough? With the slaps?” Lorenzo unsticks a sweaty curl out of Marco’s forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t—
— you did,” Marco interrupts him, smile bright, dumb-fucked. “Don’t fret, it was so hot. Like, easy top 5 fucks ever. Did it leave a mark?”
Lorenzo smiles as he gets up to fetch his toothbrush. “Look in the mirror.”
Marco’s woah, cool, can be heard all the way to the bathroom.
-
“Can I have it?”
Yes, Lorenzo thinks. “What?” He answers instead, walking back to the bed and trying to understand at which thing, exactly, Bez is pointing at.
“Your sweatshirt, the purple one. Can I have it?" Bez’s chest, bulkier now, is still blotchy red. The small ring on his nipple is just a blink-and-you-miss glimpse of silver.
“Haven’t they got you this year’s merch yet?” Lorenzo tries to understand. They are in Sepang, why would Marco need another jumper? It’s scorching hot outside.
“They did, yes, it’s in my suitcase.” Bez just stares at him, tilting his head a bit to the side. Rubik stares up at Sava from Marco’s leg just as expectantly.
The whole situation is a bit cryptic. Lorenzo should’ve marked his neck too, not just his ass. Should’ve marked him whole, should have scattered bite-kisses down his lithe frame, the perfect cover-up for all of those ugly tattoos; scatter them on his lower belly, adorning it, right where Marco would be swollen with—.
Sava blinks. “Of—eh, of course. Here.” He picks the garment up and puts it atop Bez’s stuff.
Marco blows him a kiss, crooked little finger and all, still spread out on his bed, unfazed, scrolling tiktok.
-
“We should— ” Marco surpresses a yawn — “sleep naked more often.” Sava’s heart does a strange off-paced beat. He can’t think much besides my heart don’t usually thump-thumps like that, weird and like this is so good, I could’ve had this months ago if Marco didn’t love his awful RR merch so much.
“I’ll burn all your ugly shirts, then we can do it every time, like this, eh?” Lorenzo should be more aware of his lack of brain-to-mouth filters, but he is so tired, his neck still hurts from the Shakedown and Bez’s smell is so—
“No,” Marco whines, almost asleep already, “Edo likes you.” He yawns. Properly, this time. “I like you too, but more." He turns around, close eyed, and squishes his nose on Sava’s chest. When Marco speaks, is with his lips right into sava’s skin. “Lori.”
Lorenzo’s eyes open immediately.
Lori. Fuck. His heart is definetely missing some beats now.
