i accidentally wrote 1.5k of free use bez last night while i was procrastinating going to sleep WHOOPS anyway who wants to see
okay home from work
NSFW under the cut (pspspspsps @vanillow ) 1.5k words about Bez being free use at the ranch
Marco doesn't have a favourite. Which sounds like a lie, and none of them believe him when he says “no, really, I don’t have a favourite, I like you all equally,” but it is true, he swears– he wouldn't have proposed the whole free use idea if not. They're all too… Different.
Andrea treats him– not like a lover, no. Like something to be treasured, maybe, closer to a beautiful artifact than anything else. He takes his time, works Marco's body with careful, practiced strokes of his fingers until he's shivering, desperate and whining high in his throat, lips working themselves around whispered pleas for Andrea to just please, fuck me already, please. When he does, it's with a smile, proud of his work as he slides in, hands firm but tender where they grip Marco's thighs to keep them spread apart. It's always over quick– which Marco would be embarrassed of if he had any of his mind left– a wrecked sob ripping itself from Marco's throat, finally escaping after being brought to the edge countless times. Most times, Andrea doesn't even finish himself, just pulls out as Marco shakes himself apart, leans down to press a tender kiss to his forehead, and tucks himself back into his boxers before going to find a warm flannel. Marco always offers, ghosts his hand over the front of Andrea's boxers, stares up at him with wet, questioning eyes. Every time Andrea just smiles, says “ah, no, I don't need to, this was for you,” and lets Marco curl up on his chest to take a nap.
With Celestino it's different. They're like teenagers sneaking off during a house party, hands frantic as they make out like they're going to be found out any minute, yanking each others clothes off and stumbling onto the bed, Marco closing his legs around Celestino's waist as he shoves his boxers down and fumbles with the cap of the lube Marco threw him. He's messy when he opens Marco up, stray drops of lube running cold across Marco's skin– but it adds to the fun of it. It's hot, heavy handed, a little clumsy despite the fact they've done it more times than either of them could count if they tried. They make out as Celestino fucks him, more teeth and hot breath than anything else, hands roaming over every piece of skin they can possibly reach until they both tumble over the edge in dramatic fashion, nails clawing across each others skin desperately. Afterwards, they order delivery and watch tv together, bundled up skin to skin in whichever bed they stumbled into that day.
Francesco is…. interesting. Somewhere beneath the surface, he still hasn't fully convinced himself he's allowed to like the whole thing. He'd never admit it, but Marco knows, is intimately familiar with every inch of his best friends being, inside and out. More often than not, Francesco finds him when the ranch is empty save for the two of them, hands picking at the hem of his shirt anxiously as he stumbles over his words, asks with adorable politeness if Marco wants to do something while everyone is out, eyes looking at everything in the room in turn except for Marco. And every time Marco laughs, quiet and gentle, reminds Francesco that he doesn't need to ask, could just come and push Marco down against the counter and slide in whenever he feels like it. Francesco flushes crimson every time, mumbles something incoherent as Marco pulls him into a kiss, featherlight as their lips brush for just a moment, then grow hungrier with each passing second. They take turns– at least that's how Marco would describe it. Sometimes Francesco fucks him, sweet and careful like Marco is made of porcelain, like he might break if hes not handled with care, and sometimes he asks Marco to fuck him, cheeks pink and words mumbled so quietly Marco almost doesn't hear him when he asks. In the aftermath, Francesco cuddles up to him, head tucked comfortably under Marco’s chin as he whispers little praises between the kisses he peppers across the skin of Marco's neck.
Franco isn't cruel, but what he definitely is is firm, commanding, in control. He always finds Marco in the middle of a conversation, wraps an arm around his waist and simply guides him off toward the bedroom, movements so confident and assured that Marco feels his mind begin to cloud over before Franco even gets a hand on the doorknob. As soon as the door closes again behind them, Franco becomes all encompassing. His hands work quickly, undressing Marco and laying him out on the bed, positioned in whatever way he sees fit that day as Marco looks up at him, eyes sparkling and curious, begging to be told what Franco has in mind for him this time. Marco can never guess quite right. Sometimes Franco is nice, works every inch of Marco's body until he's crying, body trembling from the force of his third orgasm– or maybe fourth, Marco lost the ability to keep track long ago– in a row, smile sugar sweet as he tells Marco “just one more, and then we're done, okay sweetheart? ” Other times he's mean, fixes Marco's hands to the frame of his bed and fucks him rough, hands touching everywhere except Marco's cock on purpose, grin wicked as he pulls out again, leaves Marco to whine and whimper his way through the comedown of another ruined orgasm, hands flexing uselessly against their restraints until Franco finally shows some mercy, jerks him off dry with quick strokes until Marco spills over the expanse of his stomach, moans desperate and uncontrolled as they tumble past his lips with abandon. Whichever one he chooses, Franco always runs them a bath afterwards, spends hours massaging the ache out of Marco’s muscles and feeds him strawberries, little pieces of bruschetta– whatever he finds in the kitchen that day. If Marco had to choose a favourite, he might say it's Franco.
Luca, he does treat Marco like a lover. He's sweet, always asks Marco “can I take you to bed?” whispered against the shell of his ear after a lengthy make out session, the tickle of his breath making Marco giggle every time. He scoops Marco up bridal style, presses kisses to the side of his face as Marco giggles, tucks himself in tight against Luca's shoulder when they squeeze through the doorway. Marco always plays along with glee, lets Luca undress him, kiss his way down his chest with every button popped open, fingers raking softly through Luca's perfect hair as he giggles, stomach jumping at the sensation of Luca's lips brushing over his skin oh so softly. Luca always sucks him off, tongue working over him with expertise and enthusiasm that makes Marco's chest do something funny, butterflies erupting somewhere underneath his sternum when Luca reaches up to lace their hands together, thumb stroking across the back of Marco’s hand. The other lays across his hip, keeps Marco from bucking up into his mouth too much, a reassuring pressure against his feverish skin. When Luca finally enters him, it's like fireworks every single time. It's hot, heavy, but slow and sensual in every single way, panting into each other's mouths as Luca rolls in deeper, deeper with every thrust, the sensation sending sparks up Marco's spine with every stroke. He talks Marco through it, sweet nothings whispered into his ear and fingers devastatingly sure of themselves as they work over his cock until Marco can't take it anymore, bats Luca's hand away with a quiet whine. Afterwards Luca makes tea for them both. He props Marco up against the headboard, pillows behind his back to keep him comfortable, and presses a tender kiss to his lips as he carefully wraps Marco’s fingers around a mug of warm, perfectly brewed tea. When he slides back under the covers beside Marco, he always tells him “that was really nice, thank you,” and pulls Marco a little closer to show him whatever new book he bought this week. And Marco listens, even if he has no idea what Luca is talking about.
