Chapter Text
When little Marco first came into his life, Valentino had sworn that he would do whatever to keep the precious boy happy.
But now – sitting in a cold hallway, on a bench definitely meant for children, while it's snowing outside – he feels like maybe he should replace the word 'whatever' with 'most things'. Because this is not how he pictured his Friday evening, after a grueling week of intense training at the ranch, with the temperature being similar to Siberia.
His back is somehow too stiff and too bent both at the same time, making him feel like if he moves just a centimeter, his back will light up like a cracked glowstick, and his legs are bent too far because of the little distance he has from the ground, sitting on the kid-bench.
The lights long since turned off because they are motion activated, and he doesn't feel like moving right now. Faintly, through the crack in the door, light seeps out, accompanied by soft classical music. In his opinion, they could turn up the music a bit, so he won't feel like he's going to fall asleep any second, but he recognizes that that probably defeats the purpose of "calming ballet classes," for which he signed Marco up.
The voice of the teacher sounds weirdly calming to Valentino's tired self.
When he glances up at the clock, hung directly across from him, it's nearly the end of the class, which makes him one step closer to being able to go back home and fall into his deliciously warm bed – maybe after sipping on a bit of red wine he got from Jorge.
"Babbo!"
A ball of energy rams into him, Marco somehow jumping and hugging him simultaneously. "Today, Signor Márquez told me that I have really good knees!" Marco beams up at him, like Valentino is supposed to know what that means.
"Ehhhh, great bambino. I am sure you have the best knees in the whole class."
His son gasps like he forgot something gravely important. "I don't know if I have the best knees in class, he didn't say. I need to ask him!"
Before Valentino can attempt to stop the little rocket from running away, Marco is already back in the dance studio, leaving the door wide open, revealing a bunch of little kids mingling at the sides and packing up their colorful backpacks.
At the far end of the room stands a man at a piano with his back turned, leaning over some papers. His face is obscured so that Valentino can't make it out from his vantage point, or even with the help of the mirrorwall that is on the left side of the teacher. But he looks young.
Is it weird that Marco has been going to this class since February, and he still doesn't know what the guy looks like? Not really. He has been incredibly busy over the season: getting more hands-on with the VR46 team, racing in WEC, and expanding the riders academy.
As much as it hurts him, it's just not possible to juggle all of that and be there for everything his son does. Every time he had to go to the ballet classes, one of the boys just took him with them. They were driving in the right direction anyway, and Vale's sure that waiting for 45 minutes won't kill them – they're still young.
Not like him. He's already in the Nonno-age if he had had kids earlier.
He had actually been coming to terms with never having children and just having the academy boys as his kids, but then, of course, a one-night-stand had gone wrong and he had been left with the child, since she 'didn't want to have to take care of something she didn't want'.
Up to this day, keeping Marco was still the best decision he has ever made. He can't imagine a life without his little sunshine. But he still has his commitments in the racing world, and so, he has to find a balance between his family and his job duties.
And all in all, he's managing this balance-thing pretty fucking well if you ask him: he takes Marco wherever he goes, takes time out of his calender to spend time with him, and he gives the boy whatever he wants. The only area in which he's not really involved in his son's life is his new, or well, relatively new hobby: ballet.
Last winter, Marco and him had been watching something about wintersports on the TV, and he had gotten up to get some more snacks, when he came back Marco was basically glued to the TV screen, staring in awe at "the Nutcracker".
Ever since then, his boy was obsessed with getting to learn ballet, so he could "one day dance like the Sugar Plum Fairy," as he had put it.
Valentino just never managed to take him to one of his classes, even though Marco had started talking about Signor Márquez, his teacher, like he was a god.
Babbo, he is like sooooo talented! He nearly got the role for, for the Prince Siegfried in Swan Lake. He is such a pro!
You don't understand, he just like, knows how to explain. Signor Bianco should learn from him. Then I would understand math.
He told me I already danced like a pro, babbo! I'm the best in class!
"Babbo!" Marco screams from across the room. "Signor Márquez said you have to come over."
Valentino looks up, only to see Marco's teacher finally with his face towards him. And woah.
He had expected a washed-up, kinda weird looking guy in his thirties. He isn't expecting to be caught face to face with an Adonis of a man – big, expressive eyes, strong nose, full and rosy lips, and some artistically ruffled locks.
The guy looks like he stepped out of a perfume ad. An expensive perfume ad.
He is aware that he's still sitting on the kid-bench with a hunched posture that makes him look like an old hag, staring like his soul just left his body, but he quickly blinks back to life over being so suddenly confronted with a fairytale come-to-life.
"Babbo! Come onnn," Marco whines, shuffling on his feet. "You're being embarrassing."
Okay, he doesn't want to be embarrassing.
Slowly – with an uncomfortable need to not look like a complete idiot – he stands up, every bone in his body cracking, and walks into the room. All the little kids have begun leaving, walking to their parents or someone else to pick them up, so it's just Valentino, Marco, and the hot piece of ass Márquez.
Forcing himself to smile, he offers his hand to the young teacher. "Ciao, I am Valentino, Marco's father. Sorry if he's being annoying."
The angelic creature laughs with a light blush on his cheeks (even if Marco from below them lets out an indignant 'hey') and takes Vale's stretched-out hand. "Nice to meet you, Signor Rossi. And don't worry, Marco isn't annoying at all. I understand him, he's very eager to learn. I was the same when I was young."
"Still, I'm sorry to make you call my son's knees the best. Not something you do every day, I imagine," Valentino chuckles.
"Ah, yes, actually, that's why I wanted you to come over," Signor Márquez says bashfully. "With all the children still there I can't just openly favor one over the other -- that includes calling someone the best at anything, it just creates a competitive atmosphere and I want my classes to be free of any pressure whatsoever. I have come to find it's better for the children that way."
Valentino nods understandingly, even if he can't seem to grasp the concept of 'no competiveness' – without competition, what's the point. But for Signor Márquez, he can try to accept non-competiveness. "Ah, of course. Still, eh, thank you very much for encouraging Marco to put more energy into a new hobby. I always try with my things, but- allora I guess he just likes ballet more than motors."
During their conversation, Marco has begun walking around in the room, playing with the barre, so he doesn't see how his teacher blushes like a tomato. Valentino has a front-row seat to Signor Márquez stuttering and starting several attempts to speak, which kind of confuses him. He hasn't said anything weird, has he?
"Ah, that's very high praise coming from you. I wouldn't know if I could accept my child having absolutely no interest in my passion that easily. Especially if it's racing. You must love Marco very much."
Valentino already opens his mouth to answer, but before he gets out a single word, he halts and stares at the teacher, confused. "I never mentioned I had a passion for racing, or did I?"
"Oh... uhm, no, you didn't," Signor Márquez answers. He looks sheepishly at Marco, who's hanging from the barre, avoiding eye contact with Vale. "It's just- I'm pretty sure you get this all the time, and it's annoying, so don't feel like you need to answer, but I... I'm kind of a fan- I mean, I follow you- or like, my brother is a complete fan. You're the reason he's in Moto2."
All Valentino can do is stare at the blushing teacher with big, bug-eyes.
Mister Michael-Angelo-personally-sculpted-me, just told him that he's a fan. Of Vale. As a ballet dancer, which doesn't make that much sense, but he did mention his brother is in Moto2, so that explains it.
But who in Moto2 could it be? Vale has only some kind of idea of the happenings in that particular paddock since Luca is also racing there-
"Ah, your brother is Álex, no?"
Now it's the teacher's turn to look confused. He reminds Vale a bit of the shocked Pikachu meme that Luca showed him one time.
"You know him?"
"Ah yes. My brother also races in Moto2—Luca Marini. So I know some riders, but definitely not all of them. Anyways, Luca talks about Álex quite a bit since they are battling a lot on track," he explains.
A look of understanding crosses the teacher's face. "Ah, yes. Alex also talks about Luca all the time. He really likes being with him on track."
"Seems like we were destined to meet, huh?" Valentino can't help but flirt. And it's not his fault – he has a young, attractive, talented man in front of himself, who Marco also happens to like quite a lot; it actually feels a bit like fate.
Signor Márquez chuckles awkwardly, wringing his hands with a nervous laugh. "Aren't you a charmer. Well, if you wouldn't mind, I still need to pack up my stuff and lock the room, so maybe we could continue this conversation some other time... over a coffee, perhaps?"
Valentino wasn't expecting that. Maybe a gentle rejection – he knows that not all people are attracted to him, thank you very much -- but scoring a date with the hot ballet teacher wasn't on his bingo card today.
"Allora, you know how to flirt, I like that," he grins. "And I would love to, but-" Signor Márquez's face falls at the 'but' "-I don't think I caught your name. And usually when I go on dates I at least know their first name – most of the time actually I only know their first name."
"Oh!" The teacher digs his face into his hands, too embarrassed to look at Valentino, while the Italian starts laughing uncontrollably. "I swear it wasn't my intention! I just forgot," the teacher whines into his hands.
He peeks out through his fingers. "My name is Marc."
"Well, Marc, I would love to go on a date with you – now that I know your name, but sadly, I need to take this little rascal home," Vale answers.
At the sound of 'little rascal', Marco stops swinging around and bounces over to them. He hugs one of Vale's legs and glances up at the two adults with a cute puppy look. "Babbo, I'm really hungry. I want Nonna's pasta," he whines.
"Yes, yes, you will get your Nonna's pasta, just a second," he hands his phone over to Marc, who has let his hands fall to his sides, exposing his still red face. "Next week, I probably won't be able to pick Marco up, so it would be easier if I had your number."
With Marco pulling on his jeans and whining about wanting to eat, Marc types in his number, still with a blush, and says goodbye to them when they filter out through the door.
Valentino carries Marco's little sports bag in one hand and has Marco on his other one, the snow crunching beneath their feet while they walk outside to their car, which is parked half-hazardly on the end of the parking lot.
"Babbo," Marco pulls at his jeans to get his attention.
"Yes, bambino."
"Will Signor Márquez teach me more ballet when you start dating him?"
God, this child.
"Ehhhhh, allora. . . maybe, if he wants. We will see."