Chapter Text
It was silly, really.
They had spent the week at Vale’s ranch, and tonight was the last night. Witch meant more booze, more general euphoria and, in this case, risky moves.
Marco and Pecco slept in the same bedroom, just to add a little bit of torture for Bez, who had to spend an entire six nights sleeping across the man he had yearned for for longer than he could even remember. The same Pecco who he had met when he was 7 and the other 9, racing along on tiny bikes and fighting tooth and nail for victories that seemed like the world back then when now they were both struggling and fighting almost against their own teams. The same Pecco who had understood his struggles with his family without him having to talk about it, and that still today would read into him like an open book.
Sometimes, Marco would wonder if his best friend could see everything. If Pecco noticed how his gaze lingered on him longer than anyone else’s would, how every time he made a joke his eyes would shoot to him just to have a chance at seeing a smile on his face. How much effort Marco had to put into acting normal in front of his girlfriends throughout the years, not to show his inner and wrong, very wrong, jealousy.
Tonight, after spending the day riding on the 100km-long track, they all reunited around a bonfire just next to the ranch. Music was playing loud, but not louder than the voices of the drunk men singing and laughing along. Pecco was laughing too, but a bit quieter. It had always been his nature, more reserved, thoughtful. It didn’t make him an any less interesting man, quite the contrary in fact. Marco always admired his silent strength, how Pecco was never one to show off or be arrogant in front of the media or whatsoever.
He admired him even more this evening, as the older one sat on the grass, propped up with his hands behind him and his legs stretched before him. Marco mimicked his position without even paying attention to it. He’d blame it on the alcohol in his blood, but it’s a habit he has unconsciously. Pecco was looking at the other men with a fond grin on his face as he hummed along, swaying side to side to the rhythm of the song. Marco couldn’t take his eyes off of him, he was staring at the very sight of his friend looking so relaxed, like the weight of the ongoing battle for the championship on track had been lifted off his shoulders, just for tonight. And for the first time in months.
He must have been staring for a long time because Pecco eventually shoots him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow as if to ask “What’s wrong?”. Marco looks away in a second, tearing his gaze off as he felt warmth creep up his neck and to his cheeks and thanked whatever god he didn’t believe in for the distance between them and the darkness of the night. That way, he thought the other couldn’t see how flustered he was.
When he dared to look back at his best friend, Pecco wasn’t where he was sitting a second ago. Frowning, Marco looked around for him, only to see he went inside for some reason. He pouted, plopping himself down on the grass as he let out a grunt when his back hit the floor and he laid there, looking at the sky, counting the stars. Even though they seemed like they were moving, shifting places in the vast infinity above him, and he had to squint his eyes to focus on one little dot, but even like that it kept slipping out of his sight. He looked dumb like that, laying down with his limbs stretched out like a starfish as he focused so hard on looking at the sky.
That’s why Pecco chuckled as he sat down next to him, making him almost jump out of his skin as he sat up and tried his best to act natural. But how could he do that when he was so drunk and his so freaking pretty best friend was sitting only a few inches away?
Pecco looked at him squirming with a both fond and amused smile as he handed him a beer. Marco smiled back and sheepishly accepted the bottle, the brush of their fingers sending an exaggerated shiver down his spine, but once again, he’d blame it on something else, the cold probably. He began drinking in silence, too focused on fighting the urge to touch Pecco, to do anything. His gaze shot back to his friend when he started talking, almost like he was startled.
“Now what’s up with you? You’re not even singing with the others. Who are you and what have you done to Marco?”
Pecco’s tone was light as he gently nudged him in the side with his elbow. Marco swallowed hard, staring at him for a second before his gaze returned to the bottle in his hand as he fidgeted with the sticker on it. His friend was right, usually he’d be singing the night away with the other guys or laughing loudly with Vale. But no, this time, he was calm. Reserved. Like he was on the edge of doing something he knew he’d regret. (Like telling his best friend he’s had a crush on him for the longest time.) He shrugged that off, reminding himself he had to act natural if he didn’t want Pecco to worry about him. Oh God, if Pecco did worry about him, if he looked at him with care and concern in his gaze like he does..
No.
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. But I could ask you the same question, Sherlock, about why you’re not with the others right now.” Marco goes for the safest option. Or so he thought.
“You know damn well I don’t party like that. I do enjoy watching them, though.”
They both chuckle, their shoulders brushing as they watch the rest of the group and Marco has to make an effort not to turn and look at Pecco’s face illuminated by the faint light of the fire.
They stayed there for a moment, their comfortable but heavy silence contrasting with the noise of the party a few meters away. Marco was fidgeting with the hem of his shorts, not daring to even move too much, as Pecco seemed to stay oblivious to the inner battle his best friend was fighting.
When a colder night breezed passed by the bonfire, Pecco shivered slightly and leaned a bit more into his drunk and warm friend’s space. Marco was startled, panicking about what was the right thing to do. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
But before he could think further, the rest of the group started moving back inside. Of course, they were cold too. This broke the whole moment between the best friends, as well as Marco’s heart when Pecco moved away, like nothing happened. The younger one almost let out a whine of protest, it felt so right to have him there, near snuggled against him. He watched his friend get up and give him a last look with pursed lips, not even helping him up before walking back inside with the others. Marco wondered if the sound of his heart breaking again was audible as he was left alone in the now much colder night. He was drunk, witch meant he was like a lost puppy without Pecco around. He forced himself up clumsily, walking back inside with heavy steps.
He couldn’t see Pecco among his friends as they threw him drunken remarks about some nonsense he didn’t listen to. He sat there, caught in the group of hollering men that apparently decided the night wasn’t even close to be over. His mind was so loud it covered the sounds around him as he stared into space, feeling like he was half here, half in a dream far, far away. A dream in witch Pecco’s lips crashed against his like it was all that mattered.
He had to tell him.
The thing that tore him out of his thoughts was when Luca grabbed his arm and yanked him up and held a mic in front of his face. Fucking hell, they were in the middle of a karaoke, and now Marco was involved in it. In his some sort of luck, it was a famous Italian love song anybody in this country could sing without hesitation. So there he was, clumsily singing the lyrics to “Ti Amo” by Umberto Tozzi. How fucking embarrassing. While he was singing, Luca still at his side and singing with him, his eyes were still searching for Pecco, but he couldn’t find him, witch only served to quicken his heartbeat.
Song after song, Marco lost himself in the moment, trying to drown his torment in alcohol and partying. He’d sing louder and louder, Luca and the others cheering and singing along, all drunk as skunks. It was like he finally almost got his mind on something else than Pecco, and compensated with excess. How healthy of him.
Seeing Pecco’s tired and slumped figure in the hallway was what got him out of his sort of trance. He finished the song in a hurry, stumbling off the couch he had jumped on at some point, he doesn’t remember when or why. He vaguely excused himself to the guys, who all booed but got distracted just as fast as Valentino took over the singing.
Marco walked clumsily towards the bathroom, where he saw the light and leaned heavily against the door frame, adjusting his position as he stared at his best friend, not realizing how stupid and weird what he was doing was. Pecco, he noticed the strange behavior of his friend. Well, the one that was caused by something by something entirely else than his drunkenness. He was brushing his teeth at the sink, and his eyes followed Marco in the mirror as he walked to stand awkwardly a foot behind him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The man looked like a restless, clingy puppy like that. Pecco was tired, and he just gave him the same quizzical look as earlier, not saying anything as he kept brushing his teeth.
Marco was, indeed, restless. He kept moving around, tapping a foot on the floor or toying with the hem of his shirt, running a hand in his curly hair.. He felt like crawling out of his own skin.
“Why aren’t you with the others?” asked Pecco, his voice toneless.
The question drew Marco’s attention back to the other man and he looked at him with wide eyes, as it took him a few seconds to actually register the words. He stumbles over his own words as he tries to find a coherent answer. “I just wanted to check on you, Franci. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”
A fond smile tugged at Pecco’s lips as he heard the affective diminutive and his friend’s excuse, and he spat out the toothpaste one last time before rinsing his toothbrush and putting it back in his toiletry bag. “I’ll be alright, Marco. I’m just tired, we’re up early to leave tomorrow and I was about to go get some rest.”
Bez blinks. “Oh, I’ll join you then.” He realizes after a few seconds how rushed and desperate that sounded, and tried to explain himself. “Cause you know, we huh.. sleep in the same room. I don’t want to wake you up by walking in the room while you’re asleep.” His words were slurry, but Pecco still understood him. He always did.
“You don’t have to, I’m a deep sleep-” “-I want to. I’m too tired to keep partying with them anyways.” Pecco raised an eyebrow, taken off by the other one cutting him off. But after a second he just shrugged and walked towards their shared bedroom, only to hear Marco following him closely, like being away from him, even for a second, would kill him. He could almost feel the other’s breath on his neck as he opened the door and took of his shirt in a casual motion, preparing for bed.
Seeing Pecco strip knocked the wind right out of Marco’s lungs, and despite his efforts not to stare, he could feel his blood rush south at the sight. Damn, men and their downstairs brain.
He walked over to his bed and sat down heavily, taking off his jeans. He’d usually sleep in a tshirt and boxers, while Pecco had actual pajamas (Marco and the rest of the crew had definitely made fun of him for that). Once Marco was only in his sleep attire, he rolled under the sheets and forced himself to look anywhere else but his friend across the room, thus facing the wall.
A few minutes later, Pecco lied down too, more gracefully. He checked his phone one last time, making sure his alarm is set for 6:30am the morning after. He eventually relaxed in the sheets, setting his phone down on the bedside table as he adjusted himself to lay on his back, an arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, deep in thoughts. That’s when he heard fabric ruffling on the other side of the room. He didn’t think about it too much at first, Marco was probably having a hard time finding a comfortable position to sleep. But after several minutes, the relentless moving on the other bed made him shoot a glance towards his friend, hardly distinguishing his figure in the dark room. “Dios mio, can’t you just sleep, man?”
“It’s too cold in my bed. And I feel alone.”
“You’re not sleeping in my bed, Marco. You stink alcohol and my bed is a single place.”
Marco lets out a whine of protest, muffled by the sheets. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I can’t sleep. Can I talk to you?” He could almost hear Pecco roll his eyes at that, but once he grumbled out a “yes”, Marco wasn’t going to ask twice. He was already on his feet, and despite swaying on the way there, he made it to Pecco’s bed in one piece. His drunken state made him forget a little detail: asking the other if he could come over. He most importantly had forgotten about the state being close to his best friend put him in, and right now it was entirely overwhelming. Pecco had sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Marco looked at him with the biggest and dumb heart-eyes in this dim light. His throat was working with how hard it was to swallow when he couldn’t even breathe, and he could have sworn the other’s eyes flickered down to his Adam’s apple, even for the shortest second. But Marco held onto that hope like a lifeline as his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. Pecco puts up this pissed, scolding face he uses when someone’s not taking the few hours of beauty sleep he needs seriously. But his childhood friend sees far behind that, sees the tenderness that lingers in his gaze, the way he doesn’t move away when their legs touch.
Marco was pretty sure Pecco could hear his heartbeat at this point, with how fucking fast and loud it was in his own chest. He couldn’t keep himself from leaning into the other’s gravity center, still looking in his eyes with raw intensity. God, he wanted to kiss him. Pecco was so close like that, his eyes so soft, his lips so pink.. God damnit, his whole body was pretty much vibrating with want as he involuntarily let his eyes wonder down to the mouth he longed to kiss.
“Marco, what are you doing?” Pecco’s voice was hoarse at this time of the night, full of doubt and dangerous emotions. But Marco didn’t hear him, he was lost.
So he kissed him.
His lips crashed on Pecco’s clumsily, but with so much gentleness he didn’t even seem that drunk. He brought his hand to cradle the side of his best friend’s face, thumb brushing over his stubble as he forced himself to take this slow, and not let all of the pent-up emotions ruin the moment. But it showed. In how hard his eyes were pressed shut, how his whole body was visibly aching for more contact, waiting for an answer. In how he let out an involuntary whimper when Pecco’s hand brushed in his hair. The few, very few times he felt the other’s hand in his hair, were engraved in his brain. Most of the time it was because his hair was messy or there was something in it, but it just felt right. Like Pecco’s fingers belonged there.
But Pecco’s intention wasn’t to soothe his friend. He pulled away, with his usual gentleness but his entire body was stiff. His eyes were wide as he looked in Marco’s dilated pupils, shaking his head hastily. His throat was so dry, it felt like swallowing needles.
“Marco, I’m not..” His voice was shaky.