Rain Delay, a story by Red Racer, M/M, celeb, oral, anal
This is fiction. The incidents depicted in this story are the work of the author's imagination. Though any resemblance to actual persons or localities is entirely intentional, this does not in any way make any allegations as to activities past, present or future.
Comments welcome at red-racer@iname.com
"So, what the hell are we going to do about him?"
"Who?" The Italian shifted over on the timing stand's bench to make room as his Californian team mate swung himself up beside him. He stared perplexedly at the telemetry screen in front of him as the sound of V8 powered champ cars screamed around the oval track in front of them. The brightness of the Pennsylvania sun bounced off polished carbon fiber and metal wheel rims; down in the pits the crews worked busily on preparing the cars.
The Californian tried not to raise his voice as another car dopplered past them with an eardrum-rupturing yowl. "Tim. Y'know, the kid who walked in on us while we were, um, celebrating in the hauler after Long Beach. Blond haired, about yay high, keeps feeling me up when he's strapping me into my race car - "
"Oh. I see." Alex finally dragged his eyes away from the rows and columns of glowing numerals and glanced quickly at his team mate. "I think we should leave things alone."
Jimmy squinted at the numbers on the screen, cocked an eyebrow appreciatively, and whistled. "Not bad, champ. You're quicker through Turn 3 than I am. Interesting. Jesus, I just know I'm gonna get shitty fuel mileage at this place." As he leaned slightly over the Italian he rested his weight with a hand on Alex's knee, casually, so that to onlookers it would look like nothing, but his fingers squeezed once and the Italian felt the familiar twitch of arousal in his groin.
"Well," he said gloomily, "it's only practice. Wherever I qualify I will probably end up going backwards after ten laps or so, just like last year. I hate these one mile ovals." He was somewhat relieved when Jimmy removed his hand. The incidents of a few weeks previous at Long Beach had unnerved him a little; he remembered the exhilaration of his victory there - that incredible, last-to-first victory, his eagerness to share it with Jimmy and their tryst in the Ganassi transporter immediately after the race. He remembered too how the young mechanic with the blazing blue eyes and shock of blond hair had walked in on them just after they'd fucked, or possibly it had been during - even now he had no idea how much the kid had seen. But Tim's obvious arousal had been sufficient to tell him the kid had seen enough, and the attention the young man had been paying both of them lately was as worrying as it was flattering. There had always been some element of hero worship in the way he'd approached them, but now it was more than that. Direct, challenging glances; the way he looked at them with a small smile of collusion and lust; the way Tim seemed to find every opportunity to brush against him in the transporter and how he was always the first to be there when he got out of the car, offering him a drinks bottle or a towel to wipe the sweat away after a run. Recently, Jimmy had been out here working on race setups with the test team; the Californian had called him, his voice touched with amazed laughter, and told how the kid had basically propositioned him in the motorhome.
Even now he could see the blond head bent over Jimmy's race car in the pit box beneath them; the kid was quiet and respectful with the other crew members, deferring to their greater experience and knowledge, and he seemed eager to learn. And every so often he'd glance up at the timing stand where the two racers sat, and Alex felt that piercing blue gaze lock with his as the kid's mouth turned up in a slow, sensual smile. The blue eyes turned briefly to Jimmy, that smile still there, and then he turned back to what he was doing.
"You know, Jimmy, every time he looks at me, I feel like... like I'm being - "
"Cruised?"
"Yes!"
"I think that this has the potential to turn into a problem unless we come up with some kind of solution."
Alex sighed. "I don't know. He's young; I don't think he means any harm." But even as he spoke these words he experienced the same chill he'd felt when the kid had walked in on them. The panic that had flooded through him then, as they'd stood, sweaty, disheveled, both men coming down from their orgasms, his arms around Jimmy's waist, his cock still sticky from his and his team mate's mingled fluids; the fear that had coursed through his veins like cold spring water returned a little now. The kid was the only one who knew about them. There was no deviousness in the boy, he knew, and he knew that Tim would keep his promise not to mention to anyone what he'd seen. But the kid was young, and led by his cock more than his brain, and both men sitting in the timing stand knew that the increased attention he was paying them might soon become noticeable to others.
"Do you reckon he jerks off thinking about us, champ?" Jimmy's voice was low, tinged with gentle amusement.
The Italian laughed in spite of himself. They turned their attention back to the monitors in front of them as the Italian's engineer, a venerable, white-haired Englishman with experience to match his years, climbed over the pit wall and approached the stand, sheaf of notes and printouts on a clipboard under his arm, reminding them of why they were there and to focus their attention once more on the business of wringing the last ounce of speed out of a race car.
Later that evening, back at the hotel after an exhausting day that had seen them both make progress on their cars in preparation for the next day's qualifying: they knew they should talk more about the subject the Californian had broached that morning during practice but neither man was in the mood for level-headed discussion and coherent forming of anything that could be considered a plan of action; their need now was of a more basic kind, and he pushed Alex down on the sheets and shackled his wrists to the bed with one hand while with the other he parted the Italian's legs and ran a hand up the inside of a hard, muscled thigh, sliding his hand up to cup and squeeze the heavy balls while Alex moaned and looked up at him with fire and amusement in his eyes. "I think you are turned on by this," the Italian gasped, groaning as his team mate closed a fist around his hard, throbbing cock. "By Tim. You are turned on by the fact that he wants us."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
Jimmy bent to gnaw on one of his nipples and Alex arched up to meet him.
"So which one of us should sleep with him?" The Californian turned his attention to the other nipple, gnawing on it before backing off to blow gently on the tender, bruised flesh. "Do you wanna, Alex?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. No. I only want you."
"Would you like to watch me with him, baby? I bet he's not as tight as you are."
The Californian slid down his team mate's body and slowly licked the clear bead of precum that glistened on the head of the Italian's prick.
"Jimmy. Fuck me. Fuck me now please."
He sucked on one of the Italian's balls before moving lower to wash Alex's asshole with slow, lingering strokes; the tip of his tongue darted quickly inside, opening and relaxing the muscle, tasting the musk and sweat of Alex's body while his team mate hissed with desire and impatience.
He got up on his knees, lifted the Italian's legs so that his partner's knees were against his chest, his thighs spread so that Alex was wide open, ready for him. The warm golden light from the bedside lamp caressed the hard curves of the Italian's body, glinted off the rivulet of fine dark hair that ran between Alex's pectorals and down his stomach; made the saliva on the Italian's relaxed, twitching asshole glisten and shine as he pinned Alex down with his hands on his team mate's biceps and slid his cock firmly home to the hilt, feeling Alex's hole clench around the base of his hardness like elastic snapping shut. He began to move almost immediately.
"Whore," he breathed.
Alex turned his head to the side, breathing heavily. His eyes were screwed shut.
"Yeah, slut, you'd like to fuck him, huh? Feel that tight young ass strangling your prick as he rides you in the motorhome, hearing him moan as you rape his ass. Do you think he saw your cock while you were fucking me, baby? Think he wants a piece of that meat? Jesus, it felt like you were ripping me apart when you fucked me at Long Beach. I bled a little afterwards, did you know that?"
"Oh, Jimmy - " Alex looked up at him suddenly, his eyes dilated so much they looked black from this distance. The Italian's lips were drawn back from his teeth in a rictus of ecstasy and pain and he felt Alex's hips move frantically against him. He clamped his fingers tightly around the base of the Italian's prick.
"No. Don't come. You come when I tell you."
"I can't hold it. Oh please - "
Quickly, he swung his hand back and hit the Italian across the face, hard enough to shock, hard enough to sting but not to bruise.
"Again," Alex grunted through clenched teeth. "Hurt me."
The dark tousled hair against the pillow, the thin, aristocratic features turned to him in profile as Alex presented the flat of his cheek for him to hit again; the sight of Alex impaled on his cock was to him a thing of such beauty that it made him crazy, made him realize that they were losing themselves in each other, that the kid finding out about them could be just the beginning, and that perhaps as long as they were together maybe it didn't matter anyway. He reared up and slung Alex's legs over his shoulders and began to ream him hard and deep, grunting out: "Or maybe you'd like to have him fuck you, huh? Would you like that, baby? My cock not enough for you, huh?"
"You said you'd never let another man touch me," Alex forced out. He cried out with anger and helpless arousal as the hand swung back and stung his cheek again. Immediately Jimmy dropped his legs and spread himself on top of him, his cock still inside the Italian as he cradled Alex's face and covered the gasping mouth with his own. Alex pulled his mouth away. "Jimmy, you said - "
"He's not a man; he's just a boy. It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. Whatever happens it's not gonna change anything between us." He felt the Italian's legs lock around his waist as he hammered his cock home.
"Please let me come."
"Not yet."
He drove himself to orgasm, remembering the way the boy had looked at his team mate, at the way the kid had looked up at Alex with such blatant longing, and he remembered the way he felt when that gaze was turned on him. He'd had experience with this before; over- zealous fans making it plain by word or body language how far they were willing to go with their adoration: sure, sometimes it was like a banquet out there, spread out for the tasting, and sometimes he'd indulged. But things were different now. The man who lay beneath him, this married Italian who was his team mate and best friend, a ruthless competitor on the track but so trusting, so willing, so gentle sometimes in bed, this man had been the sole focus of his life since Alex had joined the team back in late '95 and all of his energies had been expended towards winning him, seducing him. Since they'd first fucked and Alex had admitted his feelings to him, there hadn't been anyone else. And now Tim had pushed his way into the picture. Part of him resented this intrusion, but part of him was also excited by it.
"Come with me now, fucker," he grunted. "Move for me. Imagine the kid's watching us like he did at Long Beach. Imagine he's here now. Imagine he's naked and watching us and jerking off, wanting what he can't have. Oh fuck, baby, bet he wishes he were inside you right now. Bet he dreams about your cock, dreams about tasting it, about sucking it. Would you make him suck it, stud? Would you push his head down on that big fucking cock, make him swallow it deep? Do you think he'd be able to take it? Swallow that cock, take that load as you pumped it down his throat?"
Stricken by the image of the kid kneeling before Alex, worshipping the Italian's cock, driven on by the steel strength in the Italian's thighs as they encircled his waist, feeling Alex's heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him in deeper, shackling them together, he began to drool strings of saliva onto the Italian's chest from his open, panting mouth and as he erupted inside his team mate, feeling his semen force itself up and out of his urethra in jolts of ecstasy and pain, he heard Alex cry out as the Italian slid towards orgasm, and still spurting cum he pulled out of Alex and slid down his body and took the Italian's basalt hardness in his mouth and squeezed Alex's balls as the first volley of cum shot against the back of his throat, and he let the thick, mushroom-headed cock slide easily past his gag reflex and felt both of Alex's hands on his head and heard Alex cry, "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy - " as the Italian's semen flooded his throat and it was too much, he couldn't swallow it all and his mouth was filled with hot, thick cream as the spasmodic jerking of Alex's hips slowed gradually and the death grip of the fists in his hair loosened a little.
A string of cum stretched like an umbilical cord between them as he took his mouth off the Italian's spent prick; he licked his lips to break it and put his arm around the Italian and mopped up the trail of perspiration on Alex's stomach with his tongue as he made his way up his team mate's body and finally joined his mouth with the Italian's and Alex kissed him hungrily, eager for the taste of himself.
"Was that okay for you, buddy?" he said softly, and Alex gave him a half-sad smile now that it was over and he felt the Italian's stubble as Alex rubbed his cheek against his shoulder and then settled himself with his head on the Californian's stomach.
They heard voices outside in the corridor and listened but they didn't come any closer and at last the Italian spoke. "Jimmy, what are we going to do?"
"I say we fuck him. Give him a taste of something he's been dying for since he met us."
Alex raised his eyes and looked hard at his team mate.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
He kissed Alex for a while, enjoying the communion of mouth with mouth, tongue with tongue, the way Alex shut his eyes and gave himself over to it, before replying.
"Why not? I don't see why the fun should be all his. Think he can take us both on, champ?"
Alex reached for his mouth again and he smoothed the ball of his thumb over the flushed spot on the Italian's cheek where he'd hit him and Alex took his thumb in his mouth to suck for a moment before pulling off and laying his head back down on the Californian's stomach and turning his face away.
When Alex spoke, it was with one word, deliberate, considered, and final. "Okay."
The next day dawned bright and clear, and both men went well in qualifying; fifth and eighth for the Californian and his team mate respectively, better, in fact, than they'd expected. The Target/Chip Ganassi Racing team's acknowledged Achilles' heel was the short, one-mile ovals, and neither of the outfit's two star drivers was expecting anything other than to pick up the odd few points at this track: Nazareth Speedway, a track on which car setup is all - if you don't have the car, you won't win. Getting a race car to work for you and stay consistent on a short oval is a black art, a skill borne more from luck than anything else when it comes to hitting that sweet spot that will let you lap faster than anyone else. They'd been traditionally at a disadvantage at this kind of track, but today had proved pleasantly rewarding. As both men met with their engineers in the team transporter in the debrief after the session everyone was cautiously hopeful.
Jimmy's conversation with the Italian that night mirrored both men's enthusiasm, and their sex was hard and loving, intense, as much a celebration of the friendship and partnership between them as the raw emotion and sheer fucking lust each man inspired in the other. The Californian let his Italian team mate fuck him for only the second time since they'd been together and as Alex came inside him he wrapped his arms around his team mate and told him fuck me, rip me, love me, and as they'd showered afterwards he'd got down on his knees in front of the Italian and urged him do it, do it, and Alex had shuddered once and then let fly, and as the Italian's warm piss had flooded over him in a golden yellow arc he'd turned his mouth upwards to catch it, jerking off with one hand as he swallowed the rank saltiness and felt the frenzied, tortured spurtings of his own fluids in response.
As race day dawned they woke in each other's arms. They'd slept through the alarm and would barely make it to practice; dressing quickly in the gray daylight that seeped in at the hotel room window they kissed awkwardly and wished each other luck. At the track both men went their separate ways and then it was all business; each man in a secretive huddle with his race engineer, the mechanics gathered around, hanging on every word in case there was something they'd missed, something that would let them make the one tweak to the car that would make it go faster than any other driver's, that would win their driver glory and themselves acknowledgement of the part they'd played in his victory. The Italian was conscious, while all this was going on, of Tim, his blond hair like a beacon, his slim boy's frame incongruous amongst the slightly chubby forms of the older engineers and crew as he hovered on the periphery, listening, absorbing, only meeting the Italian's gaze once but with a look that made Alex's cock twitch under the layers of his Nomex race suit as he remembered the conversation he'd had with Jimmy the day before, and the fantasy they had both used to get off.
And then, the unthinkable happened: the sunlight, shrouded behind cloud already, had begun to make its absence felt even more as the skies darkened and rain clouds pushed in from the west. As the first drops fell the teams scurried to pull tarpaulins over the cars, and drivers and crew huddled under umbrellas and in the shelter of timing stands and team transporters. When the drizzle became a deluge and it became obvious that there would be no racing that day, the race was officially called off and postponed until Monday.
Jimmy went in search of Alex and found him talking with Mo Nunn, the Italian's race engineer, under the awning of the transporter as crew members bustled back and forth, their expectations - and their routine - disrupted by the vagaries of the weather. It was the first time since 1982 that a CART race had been postponed because of rain and the atmosphere in the paddock was one of disappointment mixed with jubilant reprieve, like school had been cancelled. "Hey." Alex glanced up at him with a welcoming look in his eyes; the older Englishman nodded at him in greeting and then turned back to what he was saying; he waited patiently until they had finished.
"Wow," he said to Alex as Mo left them. "And I was just looking forward to beating the crap out of you on the track today."
Alex gave a rueful laugh. "There's still tomorrow. The grid positions aren't going to change."
"So what do we do now?"
A cluster of fans were gathering at the barrier just outside the awning and the Italian went over to sign their programs and accept their commiserations. Both drivers had already endured the spate of interviews and photo opportunities that is usually a driver's price for staying still for longer than two minutes; both had been asked their chances in the forthcoming race; both had given hopeful, non- committal answers.
A figure loped its way toward them, maneuvering around the crowd of fans and onlookers and ducking under the barrier. The Italian exchanged pleasantries with a young woman in a Zanardi tee shirt and heard Jimmy hail the newcomer: "Tim. What's up, my man?"
"I'm sorry, I have to get back to my crew now," Alex said, and the fans respectfully let him go as he turned toward Jimmy and the kid as Tim brushed the rain from his hair, laughing.
"Jeez, this rain is really something, huh? Doesn't look like it's gonna let up any time soon. Think it'll be clear for tomorrow?" The kid looked from one racer to the other, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
"Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm still gonna beat Il Campione here," Jimmy laughed.
"Don't listen to him," Alex responded, joining in the game.
"Hey dude, if either of us score points at this place I'll be happy."
"So," Tim ventured. "I guess you guys will be going back to the hotel now, right? Catch up on some rest, get ready for the big day tomorrow?" The smirk on the kid's face suggested that he thought the two racers would be doing anything other than rest, and if there was a slight ruefulness in his voice it was because he knew it was most likely he would not be able to witness this given the fact a hotel room was a hell of a lot more private than a team transporter on race day.
"Actually, we were thinking of going for a drink first." As the Californian spoke he loosely, casually, slung an arm round Alex's neck in a grip that was at once friendly and possessive. "Wanna join us?"
Standing like this, with Jimmy's arm around him, the fear the Italian had anticipated did not come and he felt defiant and reckless as he gazed levelly back at the kid.
Tim shuffled his feet and blushed a little. He may have been self- assured, perhaps even a little gauche when it came to expressing his desire, but faced with this invitation he looked like the kid he was: nervous, slightly awkward, an outsider looking in on a partnership based on mutual respect, sex and friendship; a relationship he could observe at close proximity only briefly but could never join, could never become a part of.
"Um, uh - yeah. Sure. Why not. Give me a minute to get changed and we'll head off. Where were you thinking of going, anyway?"
"I dunno," Jimmy said. "Somewhere where we won't be recognized. I'm not up to signing any more autographs today, I think."
The crowds were dissipating now; the rain continued to fall heavily.
"The only decent bar round here is the next town over," Jimmy noted casually, "but it's a bit of a drive. If you're up for that, that's great. On the other hand I do have a bottle of tequila in my room. I was gonna save it for after the race, but..." He shrugged, and Alex felt the movement in Jimmy's body as it pressed against his. He could not suppress a smile - had it been this easy for his team mate to seduce him all those months ago? No. They'd driven alongside each other for almost two years before the Italian had decided to give in to his own feelings and make the move that was right for both of them, to end their torment - "So," he'd asked the Californian as they stood looking at each other, sweat- and champagne-soaked in the motorhome after Alex had wrapped up the championship, "do you wanna fuck the champion?" and he felt again that inner jubilation as he remembered seeing Jimmy's expression change from one of disbelief to hope and then happiness.
Tim responded enthusiastically, as if he could hardly believe his luck: "Wow, yeah, that'd be great. That'd be cool. Let me go and change." And he was gone, disappearing round the side of the transporter, ducking out back into the rain.
As both men changed out of their race suits in the warmth of the transporter Alex looked quickly at Jimmy, but decided to keep his uneasiness to himself.
"Well, I guess he didn't take much persuading, huh?" Jimmy laughed gently. "A little nervous though. He definitely wasn't that shy when he offered to blow me right here in the transporter at testing a couple of weeks ago."
"Yes, you told me about that. Are you regretting that you turned him down?"
"No, champ," Jimmy said, turning to him and pulling him close, "because everything we do, we do it together. That's the way it is." He ran his thumb over the Italian's cheekbone. "I'm sorry I hit you," he said softly. "It's the first time we've done that. It's been pretty intense for us these past couple of days, huh?"
He accepted the Californian's kiss and breathed back, his mouth against his team mate's ear: "I wouldn't let you do these things to me if I didn't want them. In fact, if I didn't want them, I would probably kill you." He paused and then continued slowly, "So, next time I ask you to hurt me, when we're in a particular situation where we are both enjoying what we are doing: then, I want you to do as I ask, and I want you to know that I am asking you to do this because it is something I want, and because I love you."
"Jesus, Zanardi..." They kissed again, deeply, separating only when they heard voices approaching.
"You ready, champ?" Jimmy's brown eyes regarded him straight on.
"As ready as I think I am ever going to be," he said solemnly.
"Okay. Then let's go and give our groupie a night he'll never forget."
They started off slow, making at least an effort to engage each other in desultory conversation as they passed the tequila bottle back and forth, slowly abandoning coherent discussion as each man grew tipsier and the bulge in Tim's jeans grew bigger. At some stage the Italian noticed vaguely that Tim had moved closer to him from his original position seated at the foot of the big double bed and very soon Jimmy came and joined them from his perch against the desk and soon all three men were sprawled out, leaning easily against each other as the rain drummed against the window of the hotel room and Tim's hand was on the inside of his thigh and sliding slowly towards his crotch and as the kid's fingers began to unbutton his fly with slow, uncertain movements he felt Jimmy's hand on his cheek, turning his head towards him and sliding his tongue easily, languidly between the Italian's lips, and as Alex shut his eyes and felt the room spin as Tim's fingers reached inside to caress his hard-on and Jimmy plundered his mouth he wondered in passing, just before lust took him over completely, who exactly was seducing whom.
And then somehow they ended up naked, and Jimmy was pushing Tim's head down towards the Italian's crotch - "Yeah, cocksucker, put your mouth on that dick - " and he was about to protest when he felt the kid's mouth enclose him and he gave a short, sharp exhalation and then grabbed a fistful of the kid's hair to stop him moving away. His eyes raked over the slim, rangy body crouching before him and the kid's mouth was so hot and wet and it felt so good and Jimmy was sliding two spit-slick fingers into the kid's ass and Tim was moaning and then the kid's mouth was off him and he cursed and said - "No - ", reaching for the kid to pull him back. But it was his team mate's turn now, and as Tim went down on Jimmy's cock the two men leaned over the boy's bobbing head and kissed, swapping tequila flavored spit while the Italian, unable to resist, reached down and pushed a thick forefinger into Tim's mouth alongside his team mate's erection and as he felt Tim suck on both of them he tried to maneuver his cockhead against the boy's lips to see if the kid could take them both. Tim couldn't, though he tried gallantly, and had to resort to servicing one racer at a time, moving from one hard-on to the other in a series of licks and kisses interspersed with deep-throated sucking until the breathing of both men grew loud and erratic. At once point Tim had the two men's erections in his fist and he could barely even get his hand around both of them and the sight was one Alex knew he would remember always: the hard thickness of his veined uncut erection pressed alongside Jimmy's no less impressive but slimmer, cut length, with the kid's slender fingers wrapped around them both, each man feeling the other's body heat and pulse as the blood moved through them with increasing urgency. The sight undid the Italian so much that he pulled Tim to him and forced his tongue into his mouth, murmuring endearments in Italian as he ran his hands over the smooth young body and Jimmy gently bit Tim's neck from behind, rubbing his cock up and down the cleft of the boy's ass.
"Oh god," Tim broke off to gasp. "Oh god. This is fucking incredible. Please, fuck me. Put your cock in me."
"Who do you want first?" Jimmy murmured against the kid's neck. "Me, or Zanardi? Which will it be, huh? Tell us what you want."
"I don't care. Just fuck me. Please. I want to get fucked. I need to get fucked." The tone in Tim's voice was one of almost plaintive begging. "Please - "
"C'mere." Jimmy drew him down gently to lie beside him and kissed the kid tenderly. "Straddle me," he whispered.
As Tim spread his legs and held himself poised up on his knees above Jimmy's crotch the Californian held a hand out to his team mate and Alex took it, linking his fingers hard through Jimmy's as Jimmy whispered: "Guide me in, champ."
The Italian slid his hand down the curve of the boy's ass, stopping briefly to rub his relaxed, willing hole before reaching under him for Jimmy's cock, wrapping his hand around it where it lay flat against his team mate's muscled belly; he held the head against Tim's asshole and bit the boy's shoulder as Tim took his team mate's prick inside; the kid cried out once as the huge erection split him open, spreading his hole and causing him to cramp momentarily. Alex put his arms around Tim and reached for the kid's flagging erection, feeling life return to the slender, boyish cock; as Tim began to ride his team mate slowly the Italian began to jerk off against the boy's ass, feeling his arousal go up several notches as Tim leaned his head back to rest it against his shoulder and Jimmy snarled, "C'mon fucker, ride me. Ride my fucking cock. Milk me. Fucking drain me, come on", and he pushed Tim forward so that the kid's hands were resting against Jimmy's chest and he could see his team mate's cock piston in and out of that tight hole, mesmerized as he saw the rim of the boy's opening being pulled in with each in-stroke as the kid fucked himself on Jimmy's cock. His hand was a blur on his own erection as he pushed it at the kid's hole and his team mate's hard-on; he didn't think he was going to last for much longer.
Jimmy, his eyes shut, spoke through gritted teeth. "Fuck him. Put your cock inside him."
No, it was impossible; his cock would never fit - the boy's asshole was too tight... he heard Tim cry out in pain - "No, no, no, it hurts, no, too fucking big" but the boy was pushing back and down, and he felt the head of his prick slowly pry itself into that tight opening and slip an inch inside, then more, and oh Jesus the heat and tightness was unbearable, being in that tight enclosed space with Jimmy's cock rubbing against him and the boy's juices and their own fluids bathing them both and the three men moved, Jimmy arching up into the boy, Tim's body twisting with pain and ecstasy, and he felt Jimmy's cock rub against his again and he began to scream "Oh Jimmy oh Jimmy oh god - " and he was coming, shooting off into the boy's body in a climax that was so intense he thought he'd pass out from it, and from somewhere outside himself he heard Jimmy grunting and felt the sudden liquid warmth of Jimmy's semen mingle with his own, and somewhere, far away, Tim was weeping, sobbing with the force of his own orgasm and he put his hand on the boy's prick and felt it spasm and jerk helplessly as a lancing jet of cum spurted over his knuckles to land in pearly-gray ribbons on Jimmy's chest and stomach.
They stayed in that position for a few more minutes as the three of them came down. Tim was first to move; he leaned forward with a small whimper as the spent organs of the two team mates slipped out of him. He rubbed the boy's back with belated tenderness and remorse for having hurt him as Jimmy took his hands off the boy's thighs and allowed Tim to move off him. They lay, still, breathing hard, the boy between them. He did not dare look at Jimmy or the boy but felt a hand touch him now and again, softly, almost reverently; once, Tim touched his cock gently, as if curious as to how it felt after it had been inside him. He let the boy touch him. At some point Jimmy got up on one elbow and leaned over to kiss him while Tim lay looking reverently up at them. He felt his tongue meet his team mate's and then Jimmy was pulling away to kiss the boy, softly, with a gentleness that was almost paternal, cupping the side of Tim's face with one hand. "Maybe, you know, we can do this again," Tim was saying, eagerness and uncertainty in his voice. "...If you want to, that is." As he drifted slowly into sleep he heard Jimmy's reply: "I don't think so, kid. This was a one-time offer. I think you know what the situation is."
The next day, as he sat in the car in pit lane, waiting to file out onto the track to take the start of the race, Tim came over to buckle his harness for him and make sure it was secure. As the kid kneeled on the car's sidepod and bent down into the cockpit to pull the straps tight not a word was exchanged between them. But just as he finished, as the crowd of crew members and reporters dissipated around them as the track was declared open and the pace car revved its engine in preparation for leading them out, Tim reached down into the car one last time and ran his hand slowly, deliberately, over the bulge in the Italian's crotch, outlined and exaggerated by the tightness of the harness and prompted to semi-hardness by the kid's proximity. He looked up and met Tim's eyes, nodding once as if in salute and acknowledgment, seeing the awe and admiration the kid still had for him: more now than ever after what they had shared the day before. More than that, there was understanding in the kid's eyes - understanding of the bond the Italian shared with his team mate, and how he had experienced it at first hand. And then the moment was over, Tim was gone, and the starter came to fire up the engine in his car as the track announcer reeled off the names of the drivers in the order in which they'd come down to take the start.
They finished 1-2 that day, the Italian following closely behind his Californian team mate. On a clear Monday in April the Target/Chip Ganassi Racing team finally laid to rest the specter of the one-mile ovals and achieved mastery over the sorcery of car- setup that had long made victory at tracks such as this so elusive. A photo of the team mates would be broadcast around the world and would appear in every motor racing journal for years to come as a reminder of the two men's continued dominance - the two of them, just after their victory, standing on the winning car, arms around each other's shoulders, fists raised in the air, each man's pose mirroring the other as though they were twins joined at the hip, and that night the two racers would celebrate in their customary fashion, with cock and mouth and hands. Tim's ardor towards them ran its natural course and inevitably cooled a little, but once in a while he'd still give them that sexy, slow half-smile, a smile that spoke of a shared secret as well as gratitude for being a part it, even if only for one night.
They'd catch a glimpse of him talking to other drivers; once the Italian noticed the boy deep in conversation with the tall, young driver from the all-Canadian team while his best friend, the good- looking Scottish hotshot from whom he was hardly ever apart, looked on in amusement. As Alex watched, he saw Tim look from one to the other with a look of adoration and almost puppy-like eagerness.
"Should we mention something to them?" he mused, a smile in his voice.
They looked at each other, grinned, and turned away, their arms around each other's shoulders. "Uh-uh," said Jimmy as they headed for the transporter. "They'll just have to find out for themselves."
End