❄️ or 🌪️ for the ask game!
hiiii arrow! thanks for playing :)) here’s an excerpt from choke yourself out, my reconciliation white whale that i write approximately one sentence of every six weeks lol
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Valentino is wrestling with the espresso machine in his boxers, his gray-streaked curls flattened on one side of his head from when he’d pulled out of Marc that morning, soft and overstimulated, and unceremoniously collapsed right back to sleep. He’d startled awake an hour later, a little sweaty, and dragged Marc into the kitchen to conquer la bestia. La bestia was shiny and chrome, and had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen four days into the two weeks Marc had spent getting reacquainted with Valentino post-dramatic-Argentina-situation, and neither of them have successfully managed to operate it without Luca’s help.
It was entirely unclear to Marc if Vale knew that his pet espresso machine shared a nickname with Enea Bastianini and simply didn’t care, or was maybe making some sort of convoluted joke about Marc taking his seat a few years back. Between all the fucking, and the strange liminal space both of them had been trying to avoid leaving, he hadn’t really bothered to ask.
The beast was so ridiculous and complicated that Vale had sheepishly ended up calling his brother to teach him how to turn it on, Marc trying not to laugh too loud at the stupid faces Vale was making at him from across the island. Something about the tan slope of his shoulders as he hunched over the contraption, Luca’s annoyed instructions going mostly ignored in favor of pulling levers and pushing buttons, had Marc’s cock twitching with interest.
He glanced down at himself, trying very hard not to think about how he was wearing the same sleep shirt Vale had lent him the only night he’d ever spent at the ranch before. It’s tattier now, the paint cracking enough that CHE SPETTACOLO was only visible if one squinted and already knew what they were looking at.
Ten-some years later, Marc thumbs the uneven hem and locks eyes with Vale as he slowly inches it up. He can tell the exact moment Vale realizes that Marc is getting hard. His blue eyes narrowed into familiar slits, the gaze of a predator.
Marc swallows hard, his fingers still twisting the hem of the borrowed shirt, suddenly unsteady. Valentino is watching him, expectant, his hands braced against the counter like he’s ready to push off and cross the room at a moment’s notice. The espresso machine hisses as it finishes heating up, but neither of them pay it any attention. Then, from the phone still clutched loosely in Vale’s hand, a tiny voice pipes up in the background of Luca’s call. A little girl’s giggle, high and sweet, followed by Luca’s half-distracted, “Sí, sí, un attimo, bambina.”
Marc blinks. He hadn’t even known Luca had a kid. He hadn’t really thought Luca was the type, considering how much time Luca had spent inside of Pecco over the course of the past season, but—well. That’s none of Marc’s business, is it?
Vale stalks over, bullying his way between Marc’s thighs until he’s practically spread eagle on the counter, nipping at his jaw and then his earlobe, which makes Marc shiver and gasp. Then, his phone buzzes in his hand—Luca, still on the line. For half a second, he hesitates. Then, without breaking eye contact, he presses the button and hangs up. Marc’s breath catches, something sharp and hot curling low in his stomach.
“You,” Vale says, with the same laser intent focus he gives his bike, his hands tightening against Marc’s jaw, “are trying to distract me.” Marc hums. “Is it working?” Vale’s eyes flicker down, taking in the way Marc has been inching up his stolen sleep shirt, showing off the smooth slope of his thighs, the telltale half-chub he’s not even pretending to hide. Vale’s thumb swipes across his jaw, a slow drag. “Barely,” he lies.
Then, he pulls away—just long enough to yank open the drawer by the stove, retrieve a blister pack, and dry-swallow the little blue pill inside. Marc snorts, “You could at least pretend to have some restraint.”
“I could,” Vale agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But where’s the fun in that?"
The espresso machine lets out a sudden, jarring beep. Vale glances over his shoulder, and then back to Marc, his head tilted expectantly. “Allora,” he says, tracing his thumb against Marc’s neck, applying slight pressure when his eyes flutter shut. “Maybe we try again tomorrow.”
