Landon cleared his throat before fixing the collar of his brown plaid shirt as he stood in front of Jackson's Malibu beachfront house, his arm tightened from where he clutched a gift box. Although he didn't know this Luis Castillo, he still brought a present, not wanting to appear disrespectful.

For a long moment, he just stood in place, his feet etched into the ground as he stared at the concrete structure.

Jackson had transformed the whole property into a party-central. Neon lights of blue, green, and red flashed everywhere, adding more blindness to Landon's already poor vision. Everyone had either glowing face paint, or glow sticks attached to their bodies—most of them had both. They were all youngsters in their early twenties, and Landon had once again felt out of place like at the after-party. They dressed vulgarly to his liking, barely anything covered them, and it seemed more like a high school frat party than a birthday party for adults. Cheap beers sunk up the air and music echoed loud, possibly polluting an entire section away from the house.

The veteran took a deep exhale before he decided to go inside. Annoying Trap music shattered his eardrums from the inside, and for a hot minute he regretted coming. He should've waited for another day, tomorrow wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like they'd be able to have a conversation anyway.

As he navigated through the pulsating crowd of only youngsters, he thought about turning around and leaving because the rookie didn't even know he was there. However, in the blink of an eye, a young woman—who wasn't watching where she was going—slammed into him. He tripped, nearly falling over before steadying himself. And when he came to, she had already disappeared into the crowd without the decency to say sorry.

Yes, he concluded, he should go.

Just as he was about to retreat from the house and pretend this never happened, a familiar face caught sight of him. "Landon McCoy!" he waved, beckoning him to a packed table. "Come on over here, Mr. McCoy!"

Landon didn't know any of them, he knew the person who shouted his name though. It was Ethan Smith, a twenty-three-year-old rookie racer who came from Austria. He had raced with him once two months ago, the younger man wasn't too bad, although he wasn't great either. Landon gave a polite smile while waving back before he went over, hoping they could help him with Jackson's whereabouts...

With great difficulty, he squeezed through the sweaty bodies of party-goers on the dancefloor (or just Jackson's living area). The bass thumped against his chest like a relentless heartbeat as each step felt like a battle against the current. He felt like throwing up the further into the house he got, and he blamed the scent of alcohol along with everyone's pheromones that lingered in the air, mixing as one toxic brew. No one seemed the least bit affected by it though, then again, neither was he when he was their age.

Ethan's grin widened when he arrived, his enthusiasm a stark contrast to Landon's apparent daze. "Mr. McCoy, what are you doing here?!" Ethan exclaimed, clapping Landon on the back with a force that nearly sent him stumbling forward. His arm tightened around the gift. It was an expensive China set, so he didn't want it to break.

"I got invited," he replied, mustering a polite smile despite the overwhelming urge to retreat. No one at Ethan's table paid him any mind, which he was thankful for. "Am not sure how long I'll be stayin' though. You know where I can find Jackson?"

Ethan's eyes lit up with recognition. "I didn't know you and Jax were friends!?" he remarked, his voice barely audible over the din of the party.

We ain't, Landon wanted to add. Instead, he asked again—louder this time, "You know where I can find him?!"

Ethan downed his bottle of Corona before he nodded. "He's 'round here somewhere—don't worry about him—come drink with us!"

Landon's eyes wandered about the house. He didn't come to drink with people he barely knew, he should get going. Yet, before he could leave, Ethan tossed an arm over his shoulder and slotted a beer bottle in his hand. Well... He guessed he could use a drink before he gets talkin' to Jackson; only he knew what shame he was subjecting himself to.

He let a defeated sigh before bringing the bottle to his lips; however, before he could get a drink in, someone snatched it out of his hand and yanked him away by the arm with so much force that he stumbled a step back with a shuddering gasp, his eyes wide as saucers when he crashed into what appeared to be a brick wall, although he knew it was someone's chiseled chest that made the air got knocked out of him.

What the—

"What the fuck are you doing with them?" Jackson's shaken voice reached his ears, deep and violent—like his pheromones that spiked out of thin air.

Landon swallowed, his throat suddenly dry when he turned to look at Jackson, whose eyes were tinted in madness. He didn't catch what the kid said. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded with a frown. "I ain't quite hearin' you! The noise. I was lookin' for you, we need to talk."

Jackson gritted his teeth before he looked over Landon's shoulder, his eyes were deadly on Ethan before they went back on Landon. He bit out, "Come here."

"Jackson, I—"

By his arm, Jackson tugged him away from Ethan's table, and Landon didn't quite know what was happening as he stumbled behind the younger man.

Jackson's body was big enough that it pushed everyone they came into contact with, so Landon didn't need to squeeze his way through the crowd this time. Jackson seemed unbothered whenever someone yelled 'Hey' or 'Watch it'. He was one rude youngster, Landon only hoped he was making a sensible decision.

They stopped by the staircase area where the music wasn't bleeding to the ears, and although the crowds were still plenty, screaming girls and hooligan boys, Landon knew he didn't need to shout when speaking.

When he looked up at Jackson, the rookie's venomous gaze from earlier had disappeared, replaced with amusement and playfulness with arms folded as he eyed Landon from head to toe with a barely there smirk. Landon arched a questioning eyebrow, subconsciously hugging the gift tighter in his embrace, awaiting for some snarky remark from the pompous brat—because surely Jackson was thinking of an insult.

"You dress like you're going to Sunday church, old timer," Jackson commented, seemingly trying to stifle laughter.

Ah, there it was.

Landon frowned, his attention immediately went to his outfit. "For your information, I dress like a real man," he responded. "Not those..." He didn't know what the hell Jackson was wearing. The sleeveless top fitted him like a glove though, with silver sparkles, looking all girly. "Whatever you call them things."

"It's fashion," Jackson replied, a statement.

Landon rolled his eyes before sighing. "Look, I didn't come here to talk 'bout what I'm wearin'. Can... Can we talk?"

It felt like the humor in the air suddenly got sliced in half, and Jackson's demeanor shifted.

"Talk," he said, his voice void of any emotions.

"I mean in a more private place?" Landon gestured with his hands at the party-goers. "Somewhere where I can actually hear you and no one can eavesdrop?"

Jackson looked at him, seemingly pondering before grabbing him. "Follow me."

He stiffened when the younger man practically yanked him up the stairs by his upper arm, mostly because he didn't like to be manhandled. He had a good mind to put Jackson in his place, because Jackson ain't know who he was dealing with, but decided against it. The youngster could be... Unreasonable when he wanted to be and had the temperament of a wild boar. Landon didn't want a confrontation, especially now that he needed the younger man's help.

When they made it up the stairs, the music had drastically died down, and not too many party-goers were about—except for the ones making out in the corner, unbothered by lingering gazes. Jackson took them past the corridor, and into another room before finally letting go, and slamming the door shut.

"Speak," he ordered, folding his arms.

Landon squinted his nose. What a bloody rude kid lingered at the tip of his tongue. He ignored Jackson for a brief second as he observed the room.

They weren't in a bedroom, possibly a drinking room, maybe a video game area, a man cave—boy cave? Whatever it was, the lights were dimmer, and if it weren't for the lava lamps, TV screen wallpaper, and neon lights framing the outline of the room above, it would've been pitch black. It had a leather couch, and several dumbbells along with a cable machine on the opposite end. Video games, and a mini refrigerator, this was definitely where Jackson and his friends spent their time wasting away instead of going outside and getting fresh air like a normal person.

"I got your friend, Diego? A present," he said, showing Jackson the nicely wrapped gift.

Jackson arched an unamused eyebrow. "You don't even know him."

"Well it'd be rude not bringin' anything."

His eyes gleamed brighter the more he spoke, "What did you get him? Perfume? An expensive watch? Headphones?"

"I ain't tellin' you," Landon fretted. "Now what do I do with it?"

Jackson rolled his eyes and made a pffs sound. He casually walked past Landon, plopping himself onto the couch with a loud sigh. "Leave it on the table. I'll give it to him later."

After Landon did as told, he turned to Jackson and asked, "You're not gonna keep it for yourself, are you?"

Jackson seemed taken back by the question, offended more like it. "Why would I do that?"

Well, he had a point. Why would he do that? Landon shrugged. "You're right. Am sorry," he said, walking over to the younger man. He stopped in front of Jackson, looking down at him. While he had a serious face, Jackson seemed smudged once again. Landon shoved his hands into his pockets. "We both know that you know why I'm here."

"Definitely don't know," Jackson replied with laughter in his voice. "Please refresh my memory."

"Cut it out, Jackson," Landon sighed. "I wanna take the deal you offered that night. I thought 'bout it, and you're right. I ain't winnin' Daytona, you are... I need to win, okay? So if you can just..." It took all of him to say the next words: " If you can just help me, I'd be grateful."

This time Jackson did laugh; cocky bastard. "I know you'd run right back, McCoy... You rejected me. What did I tell you would happen if you rejected me? You should've been nicer to me."

Landon bit his lower lip. "Come on, Jackson... I needed to think 'bout it."

"What did I tell you would happen if you rejected me?" Jackson repeated, his voice serious and his eyes suddenly dark.

Hesitantly, he replied, "You'd make me beg."

"Then beg."

"I don't know—"

"Get on your knees," Jackson suddenly ordered. "And beg. Nicely."

"Jackson—"

"Do it or I'm not helping you."

Reluctantly, Landon swallowed his pride and went to his knees. He hoped he wouldn't regret this, please lord don't make him regret this. "Better?" he bit out with a tight smile.

Jackson's dark eyes observed his face. What was he looking for? "You know what I'm asking for don't you?"

Landon shrugged. "Sex. Ain't that what all you youngsters want?"

"I want to fuck you."

Landon perked up. "Why can't I fuck you?"

"Oh god—it's because I do the fucking," Jackson groaned exaggeratingly. "Relax... It's not that deep, old timer. Besides, I have a bigger dick than you, it's only fitting."

What an insulting thing to say. Landon frowned. "You ain't never seen my dick before."

"I don't need to, I know I got the bigger one."

"You do not."

"I do too."

"Fine, fine—whatever. Enough of this, damnit," Landon said, pink colored his cheeks. "We'll do it your way, happy?"

"Ecstatic," Jackson replied with a bright smile while Landon rolled his eyes. "Alrighty then... If you suck me off, I'll forgive you for rejecting me."

"You can't be serious," Landon deadpanned.

"I'll give you one minute to think about it or else the deal's off," he quickly added.

Five seconds passed, and then ten.

Twenty seconds passed, and then forty.

On his knees, Landon stared at Jackson with piercing eyes.

It was now or never, he wouldn't get another opportunity like this again.

Damnit.

When the younger man opened his legs wider, reluctantly Landon inched closer on his knees until he was slotted between them, his eyes never wavering from Jackson's sudden desire-fueled ones. He knew this was wrong—this was cheatin'. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look away when Jackson's fingers slowly made their way to his zipper, freeing his hardened cock from its confines.

Landon took a deep inhale. With possibly three inches in width and seven inches in length, his breathing wavered, his heart spiked and his lips parted. He had never seen a cock this big in real life, surely it would hurt no matter where it went. If he had to take that thing...

Jackson leaned in, carefully removing Landon's black-frame glasses. The older man gulped, taken aback by the sudden shift. "What are you waiting for, old timer?" Jackson asked, his voice lusty and hoarse. "You know what to do. Suck it."

Every time the blue neon lights flashed into the youngster's face, Landon could see the maddening hunger in his blue eyes. Sex-starved youngster, of course.

He unknowingly whispered, "It's big, I don't think it gon'..." Fit.

"You can take it," Jackson responded, surprisingly gently. "Be a man and open that pretty little mouth of yours, McCoy."

"This is just out of the blue, ain't it?"

"You want this or not?"

Landon swallowed a second time, he nodded and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue over his lips to moisten them from what was about to happen, yet, as he stared at the monstrosity lingering inches away from his face, he couldn't bring himself to move. His veins throbbed, and the beating in his ears intensified from how widely his heart hammered. Suddenly, the scent of a distressed Alpha flooded the room.

It's just sex, he reasoned with his thoughts.

"There there," Jackson whispered, his scent spiked—overpowering Landon's with incredible strength, calming the atmosphere. And when Jackson's fingers gently slithered in his hair, almost petting him before guiding him downward, Landon followed the youngster's guidance without resistance. "Show me how badly you want to win."

Landon's breathing went slow and shallow as he breathed on the thick erected length. Jackson had a circumcised cock, and it glistened at the tip. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to take the whole thing, only for Jackson's fingers to tighten on his hair. "Lick it first," he instructed, needy. "Do I need to teach you everything you already know?"

A pink blush colored Landon's cheeks, at this point he refused to look at Jackson because he would rather not see the look of triumph on the younger man's face. So instead, he did as told and licked the shaft—slowly dragging his tongue from bottom to top. He felt Jackson gasp and quiver, so he did it a second time, and then a third. And when Jackson cursed under his breath, he closed his eyes, testing himself with how far he could take the cock into his mouth.

It was difficult to open this wide, his jaw stretched, aching. He stared up at Jackson for a brief second before slowly engulfing the entire cock in his mouth.

It was a big mistake, he immediately choked—gagging on the thick length. He couldn't breathe. When he tried to pull away, something akin to a growl left Jackson's mouth before he pressed him back down. "Shh, relax," he whispered with eagerness before spluttering when he pressed Landon down further, his words seemed impossible to form when he said, "You're doing so good, behave or else... Fuck, I already want to—"

Landon took a second to relax. The cock warmed his mouth when he twirled his tongue and slowly started bobbing his head, surprisingly enjoying the taste of Jackson's cock. It tasted of Alpha, the powerful kind; the thought alone made a moan unknowingly slip from his throat. The vibration sent the younger man into a gasping mess before gritting his teeth and passion, and demanded, "Look at me—I want you to look at me."

Landon looked straight at the younger man with eyes as wide as a doe. It had only been three minutes or so, yet Jackson seemed utterly wrecked. Shame colored Landon's cheeks as unshed tears covered his eyes when his own betraying cock slowly morphed to hardness from knowing that he did this to the arrogant racer.

When Jackson's fingers eased from his hair, allowing him to breathe better, Landon pulled away slowly, working the length between his fingers. "You don't look like you're gonna last long," he said proudly, hoarse, foreign to himself. "You plannin' on cummin' on my face?"

Jackson looked at him with a deep hunger before he bit his lower lip and groaned. "No, I'm going to cum in your pretty mouth. Go back to using it—and no teeth this time."

"I should just bite it off to teach you a lesson," Landon scoffed with a roll of his eyes before going back to using his mouth. He didn't hate this—he didn't think it was right either. Whatever, it was just sex and the occasional blowjobs.

Jackson's fingers went back into his hair when he started bobbing—deeper and harder he went, wanting to speed up the process. It soon turned sloppy, spit spilled from his mouth, onto the thick length—all over Jackson's thighs whose eyes were closed, seemingly desperately trying to stifle his gasps. When the cock hit him at the back of his throat Landon gagged, though he still chose not to stop.

If the youngster wanted a show, he'd give 'em one.

Jackson groaned. "Fuck—such a filthy—fuck."

The younger man went from aggressively groaning to whispered cursing before he pressed both hands down on Landon's head—his hips jerked while his legs trembled—spilling himself into Landon's heated mouth. Most of his seed went straight down Landon's throat, salty with a tinge of sweetness, although plenty still lingered on his tongue like molten candy.

Suddenly, the fingers from both hands in Landon's hair went down to cup at the sides of his face before Jackson pulled him up so he could look him in the eyes. As Landon looked straight ahead, slightly hyperventilating for air, he stared at the younger man for a brief second, trying to locate disgust or smugness, there were none, just pure ravenous desire gazed back at him in Jackson's hungry eyes. What did get himself into? He wondered.

Before he could ponder on such a thought, Jackson hauled him up and kissed him with a greedy force. It happened unexpectedly—fast, so Landon's eyes doubled, gasping when their lips collided. Was kissing a part of the deal? He didn't know, yet he slowly subconsciously kissed back.

If this—whatever this was—came back to bite him in the arse, he had no one other than himself to blame.

Jackson seemed starving, hypnotized by Landon's mouth, a greedy bastard who couldn't stop moaning and groaning the further he shoved his tongue into Landon's mouth, tasting his own cum while rumbling with pleased satisfaction.

When they parted ways, Jackson smiled at him, his mouth wet from spit and cum when he said with cockiness, "You're a good cock sucker, old timer. Better than I imagined."

Reality finally stepped in, and Landon frowned deeply before he pulled away, nearly stumbling back on his arse before he caught himself and staggered up.

His breathing came in waves, harder too as he wiped his mouth with the back of his palm. "Fuck off, Jackson," he bit out.

Jackson chuckled playfully before leaning back against the couch, his arms sprawling. "What? It's true... Any-hoo, since you beg so nicely, we have a deal. I'll think about giving you the win to Daytona, you just need to come whenever I call and—"

"What you mean thinkin' 'bout given' me the win?"

"I still need to sample the product, duh! A blowjob is just the trial phrase, old timer. This was you convincing me—it wouldn't happen if you'd just agreed when I first asked."

"You know I can just back out of this, right?"

"And kiss your career bye-bye?" Jackson scoffed. "I don't think you will... You need me. Now give me your number. I'm going to text you tonight."

Before Landon could protest, Jackson threw a phone in his direction and he caught it on instinct. "You better not be messin' with me," he grumbled while he typed his number. "I mean it, Jackson," he added, tossing the phone back to the younger man.

"No cap."

Landon frowned, "What?"

"Ugh," Jackson groaned with an exaggeration, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm not messing with you, old man. I'm your biggest fan, remember?"

Landon resisted the urge to roll his eyes: biggest fan his arse.

When the room suddenly fell into silence, Landon's eyes wondered, refusing to meet Jackson's face. "Alright then," he muttered. "I guess I'll be leavin' then."

He didn't wait any longer, already making his way to the door. He felt awkward and ashamed—he was a downright embarrassment to the sports he loved. He knew people had done this—and worse—before, but him? He never thought he'd stood this low. Then again, every dog had its day. And this was his day.

"McCoy?" Jackson called after him the minute he reached for the knob. "You're not backing out of this, are you?"

A deep sigh let Landon's lips. "Unfortunately, no," he answered without looking over his shoulder.

"Good... Because I don't take too kindly to those who don't keep their end of a deal."

Landon scoffed before he rolled his eyes. Young people and their need to be dark and mysterious. "Yeah," he mumbled, stepping out the door. "Yeah, whatever, kid."