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A week had passed since Ducati had had their launch. The bike looked hot, obviously. And that was exactly the only reason Marco was staring at the screenshots he had taken on his phone, a whole folder filling about 150 captures from divers angles. Of the bike, obviously.
Marco was totally not staring at how confident Marc’s smile was and how much energy he could feel exuding from the Spaniard. Even the pre-event videos he had seen on social media platforms, Marc seemed so pumped to start the season. He was staying in a chic hotel with Pecco and while Pecco enjoyed himself, indulging in skiing, Marc was rambling about the hotel not having a single Spanish canal on tv. Marco had laughed at the message, fingers tingling with excitement.
He was allowed to be part of this, of Marc’s world.
It was a slow and considerate back-and-forth.
Marco sent him a screenshot of the bike, taken from the view of the rider, commenting ‘hot’. A tight knot had built itself in his stomach as he sent the message, unsure if this was too bold. But then again, they all were dubbed as bikefuckers and both men got their previous season’s bikes as sort of Christmas presents.
(MM) what is your albarosa saying if she finds out you are flirting with my bike?
Marco cringed and looked over to the pretty Aprilia standing idly on its designated spot in his living room.
“You wouldn’t mind, babe, would you?!” he asked into the space between them and grinned. She had done amazingly last season and Marco was excited to get on his new bike already, try her out on the circuits during testing, give her a proper name, ride her properly during races.
The thoughts about going back to a racing season and finally being pulled out of the limbo of endless testing here and there, training this and that, sponsorship deals about x and y - Marco already had forgotten what it was about to only care about beating the timetower and overtaking and pushing the bike to its best, testing the limits of both his body and mind. Not being afraid.
But now, looking back at the message, he pondered what he should reply and this nagging little insecurity - how far could he go, really? - held him back from replying right away. He wanted to come up with something witty, something funny. Something Marc could read as flirting -
Oh.
(MB) wouldn’t risk taking her or her rider out, they look too pretty on track
It was tacky, and Marco cringed even more about his reply but he had sent it off and looked over to his Albarosa, standing there, silently judging him. Well, not really, she was a bike, but Marco bit his lips and sighed.
(MM) we do make a good match
Attached was a photo of Marc sitting on the bike, hand laying over the tank, gloved, sexy, thighs pressing tight around the bike and Marco, oh he knows that the bike is safely locked in a stand, unmoving.
What the actual - he took a deep breath and laid his head back over the couch, felt his cheeks heating up, the air becoming even cooler around him as he thought about that photo. His thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute and all in the wrong direction. He shouldn’t be seeing this as what his mind is making it up. It felt weird but oh dio, that was exactly how he’d flirt with girls and Marc surely did so too. They were just guys. All had that exact same view when they were sitting on a bike.
He needed to calm down. And take a cold shower.
(MB) what would your bike say if she finds out Pecco took you out on a date?
Pecco had called him earlier and the two Italians chatted a long time about going skiing together again once Pecco would return from the launch event. He had frozen his hands off when the team thought it a great idea to put their two riders out in the cold and have them have dinner outside, surrounded by noise and snow and the sun beaming down on them, doing nothing to stop the freezing. It had been blinding at best, Pecco complained.
The reply came almost immediately:
(MM) teammates share ;)
‘I wouldn’t share you with my bike’
‘I’d ride you too like I ride my aprilia’
‘You’d look good in front of me on that bike’
It was safe to say, Marco’s last hook-up had been a while ago (a very long time, something around Silverstone after partying too long and sleeping in the next day). He refrained from writing back such very obvious things and worried his lips instead of giving his semi-hard any attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about Marc in such a way since they had last met two weeks ago and they’d been sort of, close.
Marc was a Spaniard, Marco tried to rationalise. And he was Italian. Obviously both of them were very touchy-feely and especially being in such a high risk high reward sport hugging each other and getting physical was the norm. Missing this feeling of having a whole team buzz around him, had made Marco fall a bit into a slump and he took this as yet another excuse why he craved this sort of connection, seeked it out.
Marco found himself once again scrolling mindlessly on instagram when he stumbled over a comparison photo of the Ducati liveries from this and last year. More precisely, of how Marc gave the bikes a good luck kiss.
In 2025 it was a tentative peck right on a spot where no sponsor had their logo stuck on. Picture perfect quality for a livery reveal and to write some fabulous story about his rebirth with Ducati.
2026 though, Marc was kissing the ‘9’ or his number, the littlest of frowns between his eyebrows if Marco looked closely and made up a story in his own mind. ‘More than a number’ had been Marc’s slogan for last year’s title campaign and after all the back and fro, should champions be obligated to use the ‘1’ in their defending year and was it truly Marc’s ninth title, this felt like one big fuck you to everyone who claimed Marc not being the best in this sport.
There had been so many controversies and Marco still couldn’t grasp everything, didn’t know all the parts of the equation to make it make sense, but even he could see how important Marc was for this sport and the other riders. Everyone could draw strength from him and yet Marc seemed to give everything so freely. Hell, even when Marco had been jumping at his throat years back, Marc had been calm and was assured the Italian would mature and re-evaluate his words.
And Marco had done that, a lot.
(MB) you kissed the 9 intentionally?
Maybe Marco read too much into it, became an obsessed fangirl. Or worse, like Vale, taking everything Marc does apart and overanalysing it. He quietly sighed and put his phone in his backpack, yet awaiting a reply from Marc, before he boarded the plane to Mandalika. They were about to do some testing and meet up with Vale.
So now, here he was, miles of distance between him and Marc and the Ducati rider still on his mind while his teammate was unpacking his suitcase next to him.
“Ah… I can’t wait for dinner tonight, and seeing some fans. Luca found a promising restaurant in down town that we haven’t tried yet.”
Marco nodded and hummed, tried to seem attentive but he was constantly checking his connection to the hotel’s wifi and if Marc had replied back.
“Can you make some music? The AC is so loud and my phone ran out of battery.”
Marco connected his phone to the tv and opened youtube. He knew Pecco was easy going, didn’t mind whatever music Marco would put on. That’s why they got along so well and would always stick together, no matter if it was their own choice or, as this time, someone else’s doing. Marco clicked on whatever he had listened to last and turned the volume up, closed his eyes as Pecco kept on rummaging around his suitcase.
“What’s that?” Pecco asked after a few more beats and stopped in his tracks. He turned to look at the screen and frowned sceptically. Marco glanced over too, saw that his last replay was ‘Pequeño’.
“Wait, I know that.”
Marco’s stomach felt like pudding and he scrambled up to grab his phone and switch the music to something else, something more ‘Bez’ and less… ‘Marc’. Quickly he typed ‘AC/DC’ and Pecco laughed again and sat down on his bed, giving Marco a knowing smug smile.
“One could think you hung out with the Marquez brothers.”
Marco felt heat creeping over his face, slowly but deliberately peeling his skin off until Pecco could read his mind and all the uncontrollable thoughts he had had about a very particular Marquez.
“Everyone knows AC/DC.” he deflected and then decided against it and opted for Korn and turned on his stomach to hide his flushed face from Pecco. What a terrible start to this day.
Luckily as soon as they went out and met up with the other guys from the academy and Vale at the circuit everything was forgotten and shoved aside. It was hot and humid in Mandalike and Marco opted for slippers, showing off his new tattoo. Celin was the first to spot it and laugh about it. It was a hilarious decision, done on the whim between training sessions and sponsorship stuff he had no mind for. There was simply too much going on during their off season and Marco was unsure if he could finish the sleeve tattoo up to his upper arm. For now though, it looked cool as it was, he found.
They ran the test bikes for a couple of laps and Marco felt so alive again. Despite the high humidity, breathing never felt as good when he was on a machine, adrenaline making him push harder and then falling in hugs with the others.
He was laughing and all smiles, watched Luca and Pecco go out on track while he snapped photos with some young fans, sat down with Vale to go over his data and he was back out again.
During their lunch break everyone was on their phones, Valentino shaking his head as if he were their mother. But the legend was not any better - he went back to his makeshift office, sat down with his bowl of pasta in front of his even more ancient laptop and started it. The fans worked overtime to regulate the temperature to the local weather, noises being heard even over at the larger room the guys were hanging around.
Heat was making Marco’s curls fall flat and his scalp damp and oily. He couldn’t stand this kind of tropical weather, it was too much and his cheeks were constantly flushing, even without thinking about the photo Marc had sent him a couple days ago.
Maybe he should send him something like this back…?
Marco barely registered as everyone was cooing at something Luca showed on his phone, Pecco’s face taking on a soft expression. But there was something else hidden behind it, when Marco looked over and saw the indifference in his friend’s eyes.
“What’s up?” he quickly asked and leaned over to see what was so interesting. Luca turned his phone and slid the photos for him, showing Pecco cooking something for Marc. Just a Ducati promo post, just something fun between teammates.
And Marco was licking over his lip and shifting his legs closer.
That look in Marc's eyes, how demanding he watched Pecco at whatever he was doing. Seemingly something experimental, given the huge plates and mini portion size. Something twisted in Marco’s brain and rewired the way he looked at Pecco. How was he allowed to be so close to Marc and probably even get praise from him, because truth be told, Pecco was a fantastic cook.
“First a date in the snowy mountains and now you’re already cooking for him, huh?”
Celin burst out laughing at Marco’s comment, slapped his hand against Marco’s back. Luca cringed and put his phone back in his pocket, wiped off some tears which started to leak as he looked over to Pecco who gave Marco a grim look, and made Luca laugh even harder. Franky simply shook his head, suppressing a smile and Enea sighed deeply, then smirked at Pecco and said they never did such things when they had been teammates.
“I bake cookies every year for Christmas for everyone!” Pecco retorted with a lighthearted offence.
“You ungrateful bastards…”
The laughter rang out as soon as Valentino came to check what caused such an eruption between his proteges. Luca continued eating just as Marco did, Celin next to him was still giggling, pressing his lips close to not let anything slip and possibly anger their mentor. Pecco, who sat back down, shot Marco a cold glance, kicked his foot as soon as Valentino went back to the other room.
Marco kept on giggling, thinking about how he could ever possibly get to have Marc in a position where he could cook for him. It left him restless throughout the day and he didn’t check his socials anymore, even after he had been getting notification of some colab and being tagged in posts.
The guys decided to go out in the evening. Everyone was buzzing and the slow creep of being overworked and not having gotten any rest was putting them on edge. They entered a club and immediately hit up the bar and took a seat in their pre-booked booth. One of the many benefits of having Valentino Rossi as mentor. The first round of drinks and shots went down promptly, half the group straying off to hit the dance floor while Pecco stayed back with Enea and Diggia.
Marco was dancing freely, shaking out his drowsiness as best as he could. The alcohol made him even more tired though and he soon found himself plastered against Celin, cheek resting on his shoulder and lulling about wanting to go back home. He meant going to bed, but everyone was aware Marco could fall asleep anywhere. So, Celin pulled him back to their booth and propped him down on the bench next to Pecco where he dozed off as soon as Pecco laid an arm over his shoulders.
(MM) trying to make me jealous?
The lights in the bathroom were too bright, a pulsing pain shot through Marco’s face as he stripped down his clothes and put his phone on the shelf next to the bathtub. He saw the message, grinned to himself. There was a photo attached of himself in the grey turtleneck he wore earlier today, zoomed in on his bare arms. Someone must have posted these, and Marc found them.
Interesting.
Marco smirked and sat on the edge of the tub, opened the message. The chat showed Marc still being online.
(MB) does it work?
(MM) you’re ridiculous
(MM) jajajajaajaja
His face split in two at the thought of making Marc jealous about, nothing really. So that man actually was just human. And maybe even flirting with Marco. He bit his lip and pondered about his reply. It was late in the evening here and, oh why was Marc still up?!
(MB) you are the ridiculous one, being up all night, thinking about me
Marco put his phone away, he was feeling much too hot and his skin was sitting too tight around his body. He needed to clear his mind and get in bed, think about what all this meant and he wanted from it tomorrow. Turning on the water, he quickly showered himself and brushed his teeth before heading to bed. Pecco was still not back from the club and so Marco sank into the sheets and checked his phone a last time.
(MM) it’s early evening here, idiot jajaja
He cringed and didn’t want to go to sleep being the fool. Sometimes he forgot about timezones, constantly living on planes and in motorhomes and hotel rooms, each looking similar and yet alien. There was nothing here that reminded him of home or offered him enogh comfort to relax.
In a fit of homesickness, or whatever one might call it, Marco didn’t want to think too much about how his body felt when he thought about the Spaniard, he called him. It rang only two seconds before Marc picked up and greeted him, Marco promptly interrupting him: “Hello beautiful, so, what did Pecco cook for you?”
It was silent for a short moment, then he heard soft chuckling and a whispered ‘wow’. Marc gave his best attempt at explaining the dish, then asked why he even bothered. It was a silly team video after all and there were cooks who did most of the work anyway. Marco chuckled and asked him about his day, what he was doing, if he was interrupting him. Not that he would have hung up and let the man rest; he found it too nice to keep bothering him, telling him the shirt he wore to the club was sleeveless too.
“And to give you an answer about,... you know.”
Marco could hear Marc exhale on the other side of the phone. He was laying halfway on his stomach, phone lazily put over his ear and cheek, both hands free and entangled in the sheets and the pillow.
“It was on purpose. I know that’s fucked up and I don’t care, honestly.”
Quickly Marco grabbed for the phone and sat up, hugged himself with his other arm to not shout out loud. He winced and smiled until it hurt. So he had been right and it was actually insane of Marc to do this. It filled Marco with unbridled joy to have figured this out about the other man.
“I like that sass in you. It suits you.”
He blamed the alcohol on saying this; a single half filled glass of wine which was probably out of his system even before he fell asleep in the club earlier tonight.
“Isn’t it in the middle of the night for you?”
Marco bit his lip and listened to his pounding heart. He was too awake now, hearing Marc and talking with him even if it was about nonsense. Admittedly he had missed this since they both got caught up in their respective team duties and weren’t freed of conflicting time schedules and other people being around them, nosy and much too interested in their private lives.
There was some noise outside in the hallway, the lift making a humming sound. Pecco could return now and there was still so much Marco wanted to say. He gave Marc a heads up and told him he was staying with Pecco and the other man would probably return anytime soon. After all they wanted to hit the track tomorrow morning again before traveling to Sepang for the shakedown.
“Staying with Pecco! I will ask him to be a good teammate and share next time.”
Marco snorted loudly, heard the lift doors opening on their floor and the light going on in the hallway.
“I’ll make sure to go out with a tanktop again tomorrow, stay jealous.”
They hung up just in the nick of time. When Pecco opened the door and entered Marco was scrolling on his phone, casually and totally not withholding a massive grin, knowing he could crawl under Marc’s skin.
“Hello and goodnight.” and with that Pecco flopped down on the bed, lazily kicked off his shoes and pulled the blanket over his body. Marco’s phone buzzed a last time and he saw Marc had sent him a photo. Shirtless, flipping him off. A tentative tongue stuck out and Marco wanted to throw his phone across the room. He kept laying awake for much too long, thinking of all the possible ways to pay him back for how Marc made him feel right now.