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Truly, when Marc starts to playfully flirt with Pecco, it's with nothing but good intentions.
Last season was…stiff, to say the least, and he doesn't want the team spirit to be dampened because of it. They all have a good momentum going, and Marc is not going to screw that up because things are a little tense.
Pecco is obviously more wary for this season, mistrust and apprehension tainting his every move. Marc doesn't want that.
He doesn't want his teammate to be so nervous. All Pecco needs is a good reset and some proper encouragement in a healthy working environment.
And Marc, being the wonderful teammate that he is, obviously volunteered for this honourable endeavour.
(Riga laughed at him, saying he was being stupid. Marc didn’t think so. Pecco is important, and sure, he's a rival, but Marc…)
(Well. He kind of likes the awkward man.)
“Did you grow out your hair?” he asks innocently during the team launch, crowding in closer and invading the man’s space, batting his eyelashes innocently. His “punchable face” in Álex's biased opinion.
But Pecco reacts to none of it, instead staring at him in blank confusion before only uttering a small “ahh…yes,” in answer.
Marc watches him as he stiffly leaves with a frown on his face. So that was a complete failure.
He tries again, obviously.
“Pecco! You should teach me how to ski one day! Maybe we do a mountain date with just the two of us,” he adds with a wink and wraps an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. This is also great because Marc is freezing his ass off, and the Italian is unusually warm right now.
“But you already know how to ski,” Pecco points out in confusion.
He can't be that dense, right?
“Well—”
“You should ask Riga. He's better than I am.”
Marc feels his eye twitch in annoyance.
“Of course, I should've thought about that.”
And again, just to be sure.
“Pecco! You should give me a shoulder massage, all that riding was exhausting!” He says with an obvious grin after Ducati made them ride in the cold. All that’s left is for him to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, and he’d get told off by the team for improper behaviour.
His teammate only raises an eyebrow.
“Your physio is here, why are you asking me?” the Italian wonders, and it seems like he's genuinely asking too.
Marc just gapes at him for a while.
“You're an idiot, Pecco.”
“Huh??”
☆
“Am I a bad flirt?” He asks Álex a day later.
He's tried a couple more times after the earlier incidents, and it led to absolutely nothing. Pecco either redirected him to other people he thought were more competent or he straight up refused right in Marc’s face.
Surely Pecco isn't immune to flirting? Or maybe Marc isn't using the right technique to befriend the younger man. Perhaps Pecco is just...not interested.
(Which is fine, Marc isn't either. He's just mildly offended, is all.)
“I mean, you kind of are? The looks make up for it, though,” Álex says with a shrug.
…he doesn't know whether he should be insulted or flattered.
“Rude,” he settles on mumbling.
Álex rolls his eyes, “It's not my fault you thought the best way to befriend Pecco was to flirt with him. Are you an idiot?”
“Why are you just insulting me now?!”
“You deserve it!”
Meaningless to say, Marc does not ask Álex for any more advice after that.
Still, as someone who cares about good team relationships, Marc isn't feeling too deterred.
He'll find what makes Pecco tick.
☆
“Pecco, you what?!”
“Yeah. But he's a very bad flirt, so.”
“I am going to kill you, you bastard.”
“What do you even want me to do? I think we get along fine already!”
“No. I won't let this slide. Here's what you're going to do—”
☆
Marc has no idea what changed.
One moment, he's trying to get a reaction out of Pecco, and the next, the Italian is smiling at him and walking him back to his motorhome.
He's confused.
“...Do you want to come in?” He asks on a whim, not expecting anything out of the man. Marc is getting used to the constant rejection of his advances, unfortunately.
But to his surprise, Pecco nods and follows him inside. He silently gives a glass of water to the man, appraising him still.
“So, decided to stop ignoring me?” He wonders with a smirk, loving the way it makes Pecco blush in embarrassment. He knew there was no way the man didn't notice his flirting. It's just impossible.
(Marc doesn't remember the last time he tried so obviously hard to charm someone.)
“I wasn't ignoring you,” Pecco mumbles awkwardly, sipping his water.
“Sure you weren't,” Marc laughs.
He watches as Pecco scans his motorhome in curiosity and gives a small hum.
“Cozy, isn't it?” He says just to bring back his teammate to the present.
Pecco startles, “Ah, yes. Are you still sharing with Álex? Or with, you know…”
Marc raises an eyebrow.
“No, not as often anymore. And don't worry, you won't have to walk in on me and someone else, I'm very single,” he adds with a smirk and takes delight in the embarrassed noise Pecco makes.
“That's—I'm not—”
“I know, Pecco. Unless you've been keeping secrets from me?” He winks suggestively.
Pecco's face bursts into flames.
“No! I'm not—”
Marc listens as the man defends himself as if his life depends on it and smiles. His teammate already looks far more relaxed than when he came in, so Marc must be doing something correctly.
Maybe this season will be nice for them.
☆
They keep hanging out after this, to Marc's utmost delight.
(Yes, he has friends. But this is nice too.)
Sometimes, they go back to Pecco's motorhome after a race and simply talk about the bike for hours and hours. If not, they go to Marc's, and they do aimless activities such as watching a movie or playing chess.
It's nice. It really is. Marc can already feel how much lighter the air in the garage is.
He can give himself a pat on the back for this good idea; everything is running very smoothly.
Well, except that Pecco keeps trying to ask him oddly personal questions out of the blue, but Marc doesn't really care about that. His favourite colour isn't some kind of guarded secret. Nor is his favourite food or the flowers he likes best—although he has to admit that the last one is weird. Marc never thought about flowers before.
Every time they hang out, he ends up learning more about Pecco—specifically the people around him. His teammate seems to really love the other members of the Academy. It makes sense, he supposes.
He stares at a picture of a sleeping Marco Bezzecchi with sharpie on his face and wonders if the VR46 boys are more akin to some kind of found family than he thought before.
“—but Bez doesn't like coffee without sugar because he's an idiot—Marc?”
He keeps staring at the picture in front of him.
He's not really talked to Marco since the beginning of the season; both of them are very busy people after all. Marc found himself wishing the Aprilia was as fast as everyone was saying. Fighting the Italian was nice; he wouldn't mind doing it more.
Marc observes the small picture and wonders if the younger man likes fighting him as much as he does.
“Yeah?” He answers absentmindedly.
He hears Pecco give an exasperated sigh.
☆
“I hope you don't mind this,” Pecco says as he pushes an awkward-looking Marco Bezzecchi inside of Marc's motorhome.
He stares for a while before shrugging.
“The more the merrier?”
Marc already got what he wanted: a healthy and nice relationship with his teammate. If Pecco is happier with Bez around, then who is Marc to say no? It's not like he dislikes the presence of the younger Italian, anyway.
(He rather likes it, if he's being honest.)
They have fought on track a lot since around the third race of the season, and Marc can easily say it's been one of the most fun starts of a year he can remember.
“Make yourself at home,” he tells the Italian with a warm smile. It makes Bez give a small blush, and Marc has to crush the rush of delight in his stomach.
“Ah, thank you, Marc,” the man says quietly, almost shyly.
It's fine. Marc will work on that.
“So!” He claps his hands loudly, “How do you both feel about a game of cards!”
☆
They are in Italy, and Marc is leading the sprint when he crashes out of the race. A lowside; idiotic and completely his own fault.
He feels stupid about it for the rest of the day.
He doesn't expect Pecco to show up tonight, what with him finishing on the podium and probably celebrating somewhere while Marc sulks and focuses on tomorrow's challenges.
He also doesn't expect Bez be at his door all alone.
And yet here he is, with a bruised hip, standing in front of the man who had taken the gold just a few hours earlier.
“What are you doing here?” He asks in surprise. Marco never showed up without Pecco, and while he’s with them more often than not nowadays, Marc has a feeling the Italian is still a bit too scared of him to visit on his own. He wishes the Aprilia rider were comfortable enough to do so.
Well, apparently, it's not a problem anymore.
Bez raises his hands and presents him with a small box, “Sorry! I can go if you want! I just wanted to give you this, since…” since Marc crashed, probably.
But it doesn't feel like pity. Bez is shuffling on his feet like he’s terrified of Marc.
Tentatively, he gives a smile and accepts the gift. Marc opens the box and is greeted by chocolate. Dark chocolates, to be more precise.
His favourite.
How did…
“How did you know I liked these?” He asks in wonder, picking one and eating it.
Marco chuckles a bit, “You mentioned it. In an old interview, I mean.”
You watched my old interviews? He almost asks in surprise.
Marc ignores the heat in his cheeks and invites Marco inside, “I probably won't be good company,” he warns.
He probably won't be, but he hopes Bez will want to stay even then. Marc doesn't want to be alone.
But Marco only gives him a blinding smile, “I'll manage.”
And manage he does.
☆
“Do you think you'll get a lot of texts? If you win your tenth, that is,” Marco asks him one night as they relax on Marc's couch.
He tears his eyes away from the movie to look at the younger man curled under a blanket beside him. He looks soft, like he belongs in Marc's motorhome.
He doesn't know when he started thinking like this.
All he knows is that as the season went by, Pecco showed up to their ‘dates' less and less until it was only him and Bez hanging out. Marc didn’t even notice at first, so damn entranced in the way the Italian was laughing at his jokes and how he became so adorable when retelling stories about Rubik. He realizes he doesn't really care that Pecco simply disappeared off to somewhere.
They still get along.
“I mean, probably? Like usual, no?” He shrugs. Bez shuffles closer.
“Do you think he will text?”
Ah.
“Maybe he will, maybe he won't. You'd know better than me,” he messes with Bez's hair only to hear him grumble about it. His curls were soft, and stupidly, Marc found himself using all sorts of excuses to card his hands through them.
“He's been better!”
And wasn't that the truth.
Marc has been left in the dark about the whole situation, but since Marco had burst inside his motorhome in Germany, upset and shaking, there had been a clear shift in the behaviour of the retired rider. Valentino became less and less cutting, preferring to ignore him to Marc’s relief.
Again, Marc has no idea what actually happened; Marco wouldn't tell him, but he knows that something did.
“I'd be surprised if Jorge sends me a text,” he jokes.
“Is he still pissed about Hungary?” Bez laughs, his shoulders shaking in mirth. Marc joins him.
“He is! He's always angry for so long! Even back then, it was terrible, and I wasn't even fighting him this time!” He defends between two cackles.
“You know how he gets about Mav,” the younger man says, imitating Jorge's Spanish accent. Marc feels himself lose it once more, hitting Bez's thigh with his hand.
They stay close like this for a while until the laughter dies down. They're almost huddling for warmth now, their thighs pressed together. Marc wants them to be closer still.
“How was it? To fight against the Aliens in their primes?” Marco asks quietly, his breath just hitting the side of Marc's neck.
He suppresses a shiver.
“It was different than now. It was like...going to war every race. I could give my absolute best and not know if I would win,” he whispers as he looks at the bright screen of the TV.
Fighting Dani, Jorge, Vale, Dovi was something else. He never knew how different it was until he lost it all.
“I wish I could've raced against you back then,” Marco confesses softly. Marc turns to look at him.
“I would've eaten you for breakfast,” he murmurs.
Still, the thought sends a thrill down his spine. They're close now, close enough that he sees the way Marco's pupils blow over at the words.
“I would let you,” the Italian mumbles feverishly.
Marc feels like he's been put in a trance as he rests a hand on the back of Marco's neck. He lets his fingers play with the small hair there, and the shiver he’s rewarded with makes him want to say fuck it and crash their lips together.
“Would you?” He asks again, so close to a purr Marc can feel it reverberating in his chest.
Marco lets out a whine.
“Marc,” he gasps out, and he tugs on the Italian's hair.
“I would race you until you cannot move anymore,” he says against those lips. He wants to bite them; to devour them and swallow Marco whole, but he keeps the game going just a little more.
“You—” Marco moaned, “you already do that to me.”
Marc feels a tentative hand creep up on his thigh, and he has to bite through his cheek not to ravage Marco here and there.
“Marc, please—”
Marc's vision goes white, and the next thing he knows, he's straddling the younger man and kissing him like it's his last day on earth.
And it feels good, like it was a long time coming. Marc presses himself ever so closer to Marco and makes sure to map every corner of his mouth with his tongue.
He doesn't remember the last time he'd felt such an urge to make out with someone, but he doesn't spend a lot of time pondering it.
(This is Bez, and as he lowers his mouth on that pale neck, he finds himself thinking he would never wish for it to be someone else.)
☆
“So, any plans tonight?” Pecco asks him a month later.
Marc gives him a side eye.
“Why do you sound so smug?”
Pecco gives him a proud smile, “Well, you are going out with Bez toni—”
Marc jumps from his seat and clamps a hand on Pecco's mouth, batting his defensive arms away, “Shut up! We're in public, Pecco! How do you even know?!”
He feels a tongue lick the palm of his hand and reels back in disgust.
“Because Bez can't lie to save his life,” his teammate says with a roll of his eyes, “and I'm the one who set you guys up, remember?”
Marc gapes at him.
“But you just—you said you were busy!” He exclaims in defence, crossing his arms. Sure, Pecco had stopped showing up, but he told Marc it was because of some team-related issues unrelated to Marc.
Marc, being an idiot, believed him.
Of course, Pecco wasn't busy; of course, he was setting them up. All the weird personal questions, all the insistences about Bez tagging along, all the—everything.
“I lied,” the younger man says with a smile.
Marc kicks his chair.
“You know, I was meant to be flirting with you,” he jokes with a laugh.
Pecco doesn't follow suit.
“Yeah, you were terrible at it. Painful to watch, really. I don't know how Bez can find you ‘seductive'”
Marc is about to spit back an insult when the last part of the statement is computed in his brain. “He finds me seductive?”
Well, obviously, Marc is a good flirt. Pecco simply has poor taste in men. Still, Marco saying he finds Marc seducing is flattering enough to make him want to blush and jump around like an idiot. He never thought he'd experience anything like this in his life ever again, yet here he is.
He lets out a small giggle.
“Dio mio,” Pecco sighs.
“I have to go, Pecco! Thanks for setting me up, I love you!” Marc says as he turns to leave.
“Keep that to yourself!” He hears his teammate yell.
Marc rushes to Álex's motorhome without a single afterthought. His brother is the only person he told about this, and he's pretty sure Marco has done the same.
Marc needs to tell Álex about this before he leaves for his date.
“Marco finds me seducing, take that, asshole!” He crows as he barges inside the blue motorhome, only to stop in his tracks.
Marc stares.
Luca stares back, his spoon of yogurt hovering in front of him.
“You're lying,” Álex says as if there isn't an Italian eating his pre-race yogurt in his motorhome.
Marc chooses to ignore Luca as well.
“I am not, Pecco told me,” he clarified proudly.
Álex gives him a baffled stare, “How the hell does he know about this? I thought Bez didn't tell anyone?”
“Clearly he didn't,” he hears Luca mutter.
Marc clears his throat. He doesn't know why this feels embarrassing to admit.
“Well, he's the one who set us up, so.”
Luca chokes on his bite.
Álex starts laughing like he told the funniest joke in the world.
“You—Francesco Bagnaia was your wingman?”
“Yeah?”
Álex doubles down in laughter.
He opts to stare at Luca, “It can't be that funny, right?”
The Italian seems to snap out of his horrified daze at that. He blinks at Marc.
“It is pretty funny. You guys must have been pretty helpless,” he said with a chuckle.
“No, we weren't!” He defends petulantly.
“Pecco Bagnaia,” Álex repeats.
Alright, that's it.
He gives a middle finger to Luca, “Screw you guys, I have a date to get ready for.”
“Hey, what did I even do?!”
“Make sure to bring your wingman just in cas—”
Marc shuts the door and tries to repress a huge smile.
Yeah, he has a date to prepare for.
(Pecco not included this time.)