Chapter Text
The journalists are still chattering amongst themselves trying to figure out who’s asking what and in what order when the Honda teammates walk into the press room, elbows out, jostling each other with enough noise that it catches Valentino’s attention from where he’s sitting on the far end of the table.
Marc looks unusually flushed next to Dani’s ruddy complexion, which is saying a lot because Dani is the jolly sort of fellow who needs only a little effort for his cheeks to start deepening in color. Valentino narrows his eyes. They continue to push at each other even as they approach the table, though their movements are a lot more discreet once they remember the cameras.
Somehow, Dani wins the nonverbal fight and pushes Marc forward towards the center seat. Marc’s head is bowed as he shuffles closer to Valentino, and his left hand remains his neck as if in prolonged embarrassment.
Valentino nods at Marc in greeting, though he doesn't think Marc can see much at the moment besides his feet. Perplexed, he raises his head and catches Dani's eyes just as he's lowering himself into his chair, and conveys an emphatic what's going on? as best he can without alerting the sea of inquisitive people before them.
Dani, annoying as ever, subtly mimes zipping his mouth shut, locking it and throwing the key away, finishing with an equally irritating wink. Well, that's helpful. He hopes his sour expression says as much before they both have to turn to their audience and start taking questions about the upcoming race in Catalunya.
The whole conference, Marc's hand doesn't move an inch from where it is on his neck and Valentino is starting to suspect that something's awry. He's not unfamiliar with getting neck cricks from poor sleeping conditions—nothing beats his bed at home, especially after being on the road for months—but he doesn't remember the last time it was so bad he had to physically support his neck. He can't stop glancing at Marc's hand, or at Marc either for that matter, only Marc seems to be staunchly ignoring his presence, like his hand is as good a shield as any to keep out prying eyes, which Valentino does not appreciate.
He bookmarks this for later and instead attempts to focus on Dani's answer about the Honda bike and their recent reliability issues, which he knows he should be paying attention to as a Yamaha rider who's contending against them for the title. Eventually, somebody asks him about his contract extension, and the effort to play the media while also satisfying his team is finally enough to trump the ultimate distraction sitting to his right.
Finally, the press is satisfied, or the allotted time is up, whichever happens first, and the three riders are released from their media duties. They pause for pictures first, and Motor Sport wants to get one of them standing together. Used to this, Valentino easily complies, moving to stand behind the table. He reaches an arm out out of habit, and waits for Marc to move in closer with Dani on his other side.
Marc looks deeply uncomfortable and Valentino almost thinks that they're just going to have to take the photos standing weirdly apart, but at the oblivious encouragement of the press, Marc is forced to shuffle in closer and he finally lets his hand down to reach his arm out around Valentino.
Valentino's eyes immediately drop down to Marc's neck and hone in on what Marc's been hiding for the past hour. When he sees the hickey, all he thinks is oh, and the cameras flash, and then Dani's leading the way out of the room and Valentino wants to grab onto Marc and ask—though he doesn't know what when he can't even put his feelings into words at this exact moment, only knows that he wants to know—except he remembers where they are, who they are, and just barely stops himself in time, fingers curling back in towards him, his arm limp at his side, face turning to stone.
The pictures come out just a few hours later and they're not bad, but they're not exactly good either. Marc chews his food mulishly, ignoring Dani's stare and the phone being shoved rudely under his face.
"Did you see his face?" Dani crows, face red from excitement. Marc wants to tell him to settle down but on the inside, he's secretly just as pumped, if not also a little chagrined. After all, it's not every day one got ogled at by Valentino Rossi. "I told you," Dani continues, pulling his phone back to look at the photos again, zooming in. "I told you it would work."
Marc groans. "It's still embarrassing. You know I don't like mixing my private life with work."
Dani puts his phone down and looks at him flatly. "Your life is work. They're the same thing."
Marc can't argue with that but he wants to put a dent in Dani's happiness so he retorts, "But I don't want them to be the same."
Knowing that Marc's in a weird mood and angling for a fight, Dani huffs a laugh and lets it go, but not before quipping back: "You chose the wrong profession then, tio."
Marc stabs at his pork cutlet but doesn't respond, remembering the awful feeling of being put on the spot when Dani first pushed him into the room. It was a stupid plan, completely half-cooked and not worth any sort of follow through, except he'd been a little drunk last night and it'd seemed worth a shot until the morning after when Marc woke up with a bruise the size of a golf ball permanently imprinted to the left side of his neck for at least the next few days. Then, it'd just seemed like an awful idea, only it was too late to take it back.
And the plan hadn't really even involved Valentino, not at the start anyway. The plan had just been to get Marc laid, which Marc honestly hadn't been against.
Dani had cajoled him into a night out with him and a few other Spanish guys who were on the road with them, guys of the same type of mind he'd said, Marc blushing as he instantly understood, and somehow also the Spanish Yamaha rider Jorge Lorenzo.
It was Marc's first time meeting Jorge in a non-professional setting so he was little starstruck by everything he did, until the seasoned rider dropped a kiss on Dani's head as he walked by. It was so nonchalant that Marc had almost missed it, blinking twice at what he'd just saw. The group around them had carried on drinking like nothing had happened, leaving Marc to wonder if it was just a trick of the light.
Later, he found them both in the alleyway next to the bar when he wanted to get some fresh air. It was dim but the streetlights provided just enough light for Marc to make out a taller figure, Jorge, pressed against the brick wall with Dani standing close in between his legs, his arms locked around Jorge's neck, a hand threaded through his hair.
They weren't kissing but Marc had a feeling that if he stuck around any longer, they would start, so he backed out from where he came and sort of had a mental breakdown on the side of the road, away from view, over his two childhood idols not only being gay, but being gay for each other.
That was how Leo found him, eyes wide with his head in his hands, like he was some sort of cartoon character who'd just been bonked over the head. Talk about first impressions. Good thing Leo didn't care, taking his theatrics in stride.
As one of Dani's close friends, Leo graciously explained as they walked side by side, the short version of it at least, how Dani and Jorge got together. The story really was quite romantic, sweet enough that Marc didn't even want to tease Dani about it when he saw him next. Their hands knocked together as they walked and Marc was too buzzed to feel self-conscious and pull his hand away—and neither did Leo.
Instead, Marc swallowed the joy in the new revelation and felt much more secure in reaching out to pull Leo in at an intersection, right out there in the street, hoping he'd read the signs right. Laughing, and to Marc's great relief, Leo followed his lead and wrapped his arms around Marc.
Against Marc's neck, his nose a little cold, Leo whispered, "My place?" Turned out Leo not only was Dani's friend, he was also a local in Catalunya whom Dani hung out with whenever the season brought them to Spain. Tipsy and happy, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Marc welcomed the invitation and followed Leo home.
What was sure to come wouldn't be his first time—that had happened a few years ago in high school, fumbling in the dark when all the other football players had left the locker room—but it had been a while and so he was nervous.
Leo guided them to his bedroom, whispering affirmations and encouragement at Marc who was, to tell the truth, a little out of his depth, but had tried valiantly to keep up. He didn't really know what to do with his hands, placing them randomly on Leo's shoulders and his waist until he remembered the way Dani was touching Jorge, and threaded his fingers through Leo's dark curls at the nape of his neck, and kissed him like he knew what he was doing.
To his credit, Leo said nothing of the fumbling and only leaned into Marc like he was just as engrossed as Marc was, for which Marc was grateful. He nearly moaned when Leo found that sensitive spot on his neck, nipping at it, biting it, agitating the skin. The sting of it was heady, and it made Marc feel alive—in the way as if he was waking up from a druken stupor.
But he followed Leo's lead, undressing when he did, removing his top and shimmying out of his pants, leaving his briefs. Leo took a step back, holding Marc at shoulder's length, appraising Marc's bare body with an appreciative hum. Marc shivered, though he also took the chance to return the favor, surreptiously checking Leo out.
He didn't know if Leo did any riding at all himself but he certainly stayed fit, which Marc had known from all the feeling around he'd done earlier. Where Marc was still a little wiry in his younger age, Leo had had a few more years to fill out into his body, solid and muscular in all the right places.
Leo whistled low under his breath. "Dani definitely didn't look like this when he was younger." Marc laughed along, though he kind of wanted to cross his arms across his chest and cover up. He felt like he was being sized up at the meat market and wasn't in the mood to ask what Leo meant by that.
In his own assessment of Leo, Marc didn't miss the tent growing in Leo's boxers, eyeing it with a little trepidation. Leo noticed the side-eye. "Like what you see?" he teased, drawing closer.
Marc blushed, wishing he had a witty response. Instead, it felt like all that liquid courage he'd had earlier had finally drained out of him now, leaving an inexperienced kid in its place. In a split second, the fog in his mind cleared. What the hell was he doing here?
"I- " Marc started, drawing away. "I'm sorry, I don't know- "
"Hey," Leo said, sensing Marc's panic. He placed both hands on Marc's shoulders, rubbing at the skin. It did little to comfort Marc but he was glad he'd stopped the momentum of whatever it was they were doing. "We won't do anything you don't want to. Okay?"
Marc looked at Leo's sincere expression and hated how it made him feel like a child, even if he knew Leo meant well. "Fuck," Marc said, closing his eyes and biting his lip. He'd been tipsy, things were going good, he'd been looking forward to this—after all, how many other chances was he going to get? Dani didn't have friends in every country, and certainly not friends as open-minded as they were today. So why couldn't he just- do it?
"Just give me a moment," he said, taking another step back to put more space between them. "I just need a second." Marc tried to sound calm and as adult-like as he could, but he couldn't stop freaking out and he didn't know why. He'd done this before, with a friend he'd trusted, and he'd only been horny that whole time. Now, he just felt exposed and way out of his depth, like there was this pressure to perform.
Leo looked disappointed but thankfully seemed to understand. All the heat and lust from before seemed to leave him too, and now he just looked like a regular guy. What the hell had Marc seen in him before? He shook his head, half in disbelief of himself for letting it get this far and half in relief that he'd been able to stop at all.
He lifted a hand to his neck in embarrassment and winced when he touched the mark Leo had left, feeling the imprints of his teeth still there on his skin beneath his fingers. Leo at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, I got carried away earlier, thought you were- " and seeing Marc's subdued look, "ah, forget it," then paused. "You hungry?"
Marc laughed, not because he thought it was funny but because it'd been so unexpected. "Yes," he'd said, and Leo scrounged up some half-eaten snacks from the pantry with an apologetic look.
"Bachelor pad," he said, like that was enough to explain it. Marc, still mostly relieved that nothing had to happen for the rest of the night, settled quite comfortably into Leo's couch. He'd pulled his pants back on but didn't feel the need to put on his shirt if Leo was still half naked himself.
They started chatting about their football clubs and various other topics Marc hadn't realized he'd missed talking about until Leo brought them up, and then the conversation really got away from them—it wasn't until Marc couldn't stop yawning and checked his phone that he realized how late it was.
Leo offered to get Marc a cab back to his hotel, which he didn't need, but appreciated all the same. They didn't exchange numbers (neither of them had asked, though they both knew that if either of them really wanted to see the other again, it was as easy as asking Dani), but Marc did press a chaste kiss to Leo's lips before getting in the cab.
"Good luck this weekend," Leo said, bending down to talk to Marc through the open window.
"Thanks," Marc said, grinning. "You'll be there?" It had been a bit of tumultuous start between them but Marc saw no harm in seeing him again, in a friendly capacity.
"In the garage, in the flesh," Leo confirmed.
Marc reached out a fist for Leo to bump. "See you later."
It was so late that he wasn't even worried about running into anyone on the way up to his room. There was no such luck, however, because Dani happened to be up (doing what, Marc didn't want to know), and caught him by the elevators.
He saw the hickey before Marc remembered to cover it up and couldn't resist the urge to tease him. "Had a good night, huh? Tell me, who's the lucky guy?"
Ignoring the second question and noticing now the tousled hair and swollen lips, Marc chirped back, "Looks like I'm not the only one. Where's Jorge?"
That shut him up real good, and Dani turned serious. "You can't tell anyone."
Marc sobered up too, the consequences of outing either of them, accidentally or not, suddenly weighing heavy on his conscience, as well as the trust Dani had in him to not tell. "Yeah, of course." Then the moment passed and Dani beamed at him, the night's events clearly agreeing with his disposition, and walked Marc back to his room.
"Tomorrow will be fun," Dani said, nodding at the hickey. Marc groaned, remembering the pre-race press conference scheduled with Valentino, and spent the rest of the night in fitful sleep.
Now that the press conference had passed and the pictures posted, when he finally gets a moment to himself, the first thing he plans on doing is downloading at least one of them and zooming in with an unhealthy amount of focus on Valentino's face. His pride didn't allow him to obsess over every detail in front of Dani, but as soon as he's alone, he's going to indulge himself.
The conference itself had been mortifying and he'd felt Valentino's eyes glued to his side the entire time. Even now, he isn't sure why he felt the need to hide it—it isn't like Valentino himself is a stranger to late night booty calls, for a lack of better words. Marc distinctly remembered catching a girl leaving Valentino's Yamaha motorhome at Misano when all the lights were out in the neighboring trailers, the girl sneaking off into the shadows.
So why—why did he care what Valentino thought? Putting aside his childhood idolization, Valentino was just another rider, another man. He had certain needs too, even if they weren't exactly the same as Marc's. A hickey didn't mean much, shouldn't mean much, yet Marc felt like he'd been exposed when he had to drop his arm for the photos, like the mere mark on his skin would tell the world at once what he was.
Looking at the photo now, away from Dani and the rest of the team, in his little corner of the garage, he sees the way Valentino is zeroed in on his neck and blushes. In the moment, he'd been aware that Valentino was looking, had been looking the whole time, but he'd chalked it up to pure curiosity at what Marc was covering and not—whatever this was. He can't read the look exactly, but it's so different from what he'd been expecting that a little rush of thrill runs through him.
The giddiness lasts throughout the race weekend and Marc finishes Sunday on the podium, right behind Jorge and Dani. Valentino just misses out, though he congratulates the Honda riders anyway, giving them both a pat on the back when they're back in their garage.
Marc doesn't miss the look Valentino shoots Leo when Leo gives him a hug and a handshake to Dani, nor does he miss the look Valentino shoots him when he gives Leo a kiss on the cheek. But then Valentino is gone and Marc is swept into the team celebrations, leaving him to tuck this moment in the back of his mind for later review.