Archive of Our Own

Perhaps it was Valentino's fault.
Maybe he made himself an easy a target, maybe he believed letting Marc have some semblance of control would help loosen up the tension the rookie had whenever he tried to talk to him.

In spite of those thoughts anchoring themselves at the base of his brain and branching out into a sphere encompassing it whole, there was one singular objection, barely audible to his own ears.
Maybe Marc's idea of "having the upper hand" manifested itself in making Vale fall victim to his shamelessly bold charm lest the roles be reversed.

The thought remained barely audible, for mere nanoseconds before it instantly gets snubbed out time and time again without fail.
He would never blame Marc.

Shifting the blame caused by his own inability to remain unaffected by a man half his age is, unfortunately, beyond pathetic. He couldn't justify it to himself even if he tried—And heaven help him, he tried.

He wasn't even sure if Marc had meant any of it.
Yes; the spaniard noticeably goes out of his way to make his presence known to Valentino. Sure, he sounds almost shameless in the way he tries to surprise Valentino even with words alone. Keeping a straight face as he touches, teases, looks up at him with that doe, brown, gaze as if begging him to enact thoughts Valentino was ashamed of thinking up even in the privacy and safety of his own bedroom, even in silent, passing thoughts he'd never say aloud.

All without a single trace of hesitation.
Seduction is what it felt like– Flirting if he was being generous.
And yet, Marc kept such a cool-headed demeanor, an unbreakable expression of confidence that made Valentino lose faith in his own judgement.

Maybe the spaniard was just naturally affectionate like that, maybe he doesn't mean it when he eye-fucks his supposed "hero" every time Vale looks away from him.
Maybe him cornering Valentino when there's a chance of them being seen and takem pictures of in such a compromising position all the while smiling smugly as Valentino flushes and stutters a polite, half-hearted rejection to his advances was just a friendly joke Valentino found trouble being in on.

....Point is, Valentino is grasping at straws to excuse and defend the younger champion currently taking pleasure in bullying him for sport.

There was a hint in his eyes.
A glance of what Valentino believed people saw in himself when he was in Marc's position–an unyielding fire taking offense to anyone who dared put it out.

Valentino found himself caught in the burn of it every time. Silently, he resigned to the idea that he was attracted to it–
Intellectually attracted; God forbid it be any other form of attraction.

Then there was the smile, because when he'd get tired of only feeling Valentino's gaze aimed to him, he'd acknowledge it. Smile calculated to only start if the italian decided to maintain eye-contact with him. As if he were giving him a treat for being so brave.
Like he's some kind of puppy.
Pathetic. Fucking pathetic, Vale. He noted to himself.

It kept him unfocused. He hated it.
Hated that someone would have that kind of effect on him. Like he's been put under a spell of the dark arts since the other rider has entered his consciousness.

And with twenty minutes before the start of the race, Vale already resigned to his fate, knew that he'd been doomed.

No—rather, he knew he'd been doomed since yesterday, really.
Since qualifyinh ended, and checking the lineup; He was in p4. Not too bad, he can recover from that in three laps at a worst case scenario, and he always find recovering positions throughout the race more fun than cruising by for an hour.
His brain had been unfocused, and he unfortunately only searched his starting position. On second glance, in spite of Vale's near-sociopathic poker face, his lips parted slightly on their own.
Marc was on pole.
Of course he was.

It's not that Marc was difficult or anything—quite the opposite. Vale enjoyed battling the young talent.
It felt abnormally euphoric, meeting him in parc fermé after crossing the finish line. Win or loss, A shake of the hand, a deplomatic 'you did well', followed by an embrace they both had to be self-conscious about, and absolutely not let it linger.

However, being this close to him before the race, arguably closer than he would've been had he started behind him, it felt dreadful.
Because he can see him, because he'll be forced to see him before lights out, and stare at him for at least thirty minutes before that.

Valentino felt like an idiot.
Because Marc doesn't play before a race. Once the helmet is on, it's unreadable, alien precision till the bike is parked before a sign with the title 'P1' written on it.
And Vale wanted that smile he would give him any other time now moreso than ever.

Because it was special. They both knew it would be special had Marc only smiled at him at such a crucial moment.
And he was special to Marc. He told him himself. Valentino just wanted to be more greedy about it is all.

He should learn to find a way to qualify ahead of him. This is just cruel.

And his gut feeling was right.
Lights out. By lap five Valentino was beside Marc— Not behind, beside him. Gliding past him, even. Ran it wide, passed by Marc, two turns later he takes the place back, a lap or two Marc has it again.
The championship was already decided. The few races till the end of the season are personal glory only. A yearn for victory and applause. And of course, Marc wanted that too.
Valentino didn't need it either, proving himself was something he had done years before now.
But dammit did he want to win the second he knew it was Marc who wanted it just as badly. Arguably worse.
It was sweet. Vale liked him bitter because Marc wouldn't allow him to see it.

Over and over, they toss and turn, an elegant duet Valentino began feeling jealous seeing Marc share with anyone but himself.

Valentino lost.
Or, well.. He came in second. He only lost to Marc, no one else.
Not bad. He didn't mind. Again, it's not like they're fighting for a title.
He honourably shook Marc's hand once they passed the finish the line, patting his helmet in a silent congratulation before leaving him to celebrate.

The hand shake, the bright smile, the embrace—
"You fought well, Vale." A whisper.
Breathy on his neck–Marc's height disadvantage wasn't helping–, words seeping directly from his ear and rushing through his veins.
The stupidest laugh escaped him once he pulled the spaniard rider off of himself.
Valentino's face was red. No one will know, they'll think it's because of how hot the weather is, how exhausted he probably was, the adrenaline—
Marc's face was visibly heating up too in spite of the obvious, smug smile.
Two flustered expressions are far harder to excuse than one. Valentino couldn't find it in himself to care right now.

"Were you going easy on me?" Again, right against his ear. Cornered into a wall, caged as a wanted man chased into a dead end. Valentino answered with an offended scoff.
Chest to chest, damn near kissing him as he kept mouthing off onto his neck. Valentino's legs were open to let him in, leaning against the wall to be on equal footing with him height-wiseand, and still it wasn't nearly close enough for Marc apparently.
"You know I would never do that, Marc—" Fingers snuck underneath his shirt, they're in the honda team's garage, there's cameras for christ's sake—, were possibly the only thoughts which spurred the older rider to hold his hands, putting them back at his sides and attempting to maintain some distance that's been lost in the last twenty minutes.

"No one well see, I checked." Marc protested firmly, his hands once again flattening against the wall. And he'd be a fool to let Valentino go now that he's finally gotten him to this state. One in which he himself wouldn't mind being seen in this way if it meant keeping this atmosphere between them for just a moment longer.
"Besides.. It's not like we're doing anything bad." Marc was lying through his teeth.
He's not an idiot. He knew what would happen if even a single, blurry, barely recognizable picture of them in this position were to be found they'd both be doomed. To some extent he understood Valentino's concerns.. However,

"You're not doing anything to me, right? I'll take the fall. You'll be fine."
It sounded like poison even as he said it. But it certainly worked now, didn't it?
Valentino opened his mouth to object, just to look away and let out a huff once Marc had moved closer to him again.

You think I'm cowardly enough to let you take all the blame? what are you even saying?
Valentino thought, and Marc probably guessed he would say something like that.
However, Valentino's in no mood to argue.
Reluctantly, his hands found their rightful place on the spaniard's sides, arms attachinh themselves around the small frame, pulling him closer.

And Marc was finally quiet for a second.
Just a second, till Vale felt lips on his neck, and his knees damn near gave out. Suffocating a gasp into the skin of Marc's neck, and the power was instantly back in Marc's hand again, stabling him against the wall kissing his neck. Only holding himself from biting marks on Valentino's request.

"I'll come to your room tonight." Loud and clear. Perhaps he didn't want Valentino to feign ignorance to the request later.

Request wasn't the right word. A request can be denied, and Valentino found trouble ever denying Marc under these circumstance.

Eyes closed, memorizing the feel of having the other rider close to him, his arms tightened against Marc's back, squeezing his ribcage closer, he nodded just enough for the spaniard to feel it.

Valentino was doomed since the season's beginning, now that he thought of it more carefully.

He shouldn't expect anything, because guessing wrong would be more embarassing than not bothering to guess at all—Not to mention, Marc wouldn't let it go well into both their retirements.
"Hey, Vale, remember the time you thought I wanted to sleep with you? Wasn't that sooo funny?" While staring at him with the most obvious mocking grin imaginable. Cackling that god-awful sound as Valentino recoils in shame at the mere memory of it.

Yeah, not ideal.
Arguably, even worse is the fact Valentino was already imagining them hanging out into the next twenty, thirty years well past the end of their careers and life as athletes. The thought felt intimate to a disgusting degree.. Like he can't bare to let him go, can't bare to just move on and forget Marc was ever a presence in his life the moment he drops the sport for good.

Drowning in a well of his own thoughts –one he jumped into to his own accord, really– He was beginning to believe that he'd been tricked.
It was nearly midnight, Marc has yet to show his face. And it should be a relief; A weight off his chest. If only.

Calling it a disappointment would make the burn in his chest tangible, so he doesn't—
Instead, curiousity, maybe worry, is what he justified it to be.
What if Marc had gotten hurt, or sick, or something else that stopped him from showing up?

What if he simply lied, speaking an unfair, decievingly sweet statement to get a reaction he knew Valentino would gladly give in the heat of the moment?
He would lie and say Marc isn't cruel like that, and truly Marc isn't. Because the spaniard doesn't view this as cruelty.
In turn ridding Valentino of the right to call it out as such either.

And still, just as he thought it, as if manifesting him into a reality, a knock sounded at his door.
The spark for his inner turmoil caught flame, and his legs moved before his mind allowed him the grace of thinking it through enough, to hold his dignity tight and wear his pride like an armour the way he always does, and hopefully ignore the sound altogether. He doesn't.

The door was barely halfway open when the figure behind it slid inside, inviting himself in as if it were his own room. Muttering a small apology for how late his arrival was–All the while seeming like this is when he was meant to be here–.
It's midnight. You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't let you in here. This is stupid. We're both idiots.
Valentino only thought those things, but he didn't say,
"It's fine, I wasn't going to sleep any time soon." was all he said, following the other further inside his own room.

Valentino knows how to be a good host.
He asked if his guest wanted anything to drink or eat, he told him to make himself at home, he sat him down at the couch and excused himself whilst strolling into the kitchen to get some water. Typical pleasantries. Nothing too difficult.

What's difficult is the aforementioned guest who wasn't following the protocol Valentino was.
Marc liked being in Vale's space–Intentionally or not, that was something he'd noticed and accepted a while after knowing the guy.
And yet, up until recently it wasn't this close.

The second he put the water bottle down at the table, he felt a weight on his side, an arm on his waist.
"You could just go and sit down, you know?" Commented Valentino, a nervous laugh followed every word.
"I don't need you to be doing all of this," Marc wasn't smiling, which was rare. It should feel unsettling, but it didn't. His face still had the same light it always does, so it wasn't the smile that gave him that charm.

"I only wanted to ask you a couple of things, mind if we use the TV in your bedroom?" Vale's smile dropped, Marc's reappeared, and now it was unsettling.
"Sure— You.." Vale had to cough off his own stutter, "You go ahead, I'll follow you in a second." Marc muttered a small 'sure', feather-light kiss landing on Vale's cheek, and just like that Marc was gone.
Valentino lamented agreeing to this earlier that day. And momentarily, he wondered if he could get away with simply running away and leaving the spaniard on his own.

No, that would be too cruel, obviously—
But still, what's he trying to get at?
It's midnight, what could be so important that he needs to discuss it now? Dos he plan on staying over? Not that he's opposed to the idea, but again, why would he??
Is he making fun of him– No, is he hitting on him??

Maybe it wasn't him being unrealistic, maybe Marc expected the same thing he did— Not that it matters anyway! Because Valentino wouldn't do that to him, even if Marc wanted it, of course, of course..—
Or that is what Marc would want him to think!
It's all a friendly gesture that means nothing, the second he admits to it it'll materialize into something Marc will use to mock him for the following years.
'You thought i was flirting with you? Have you never kissed a friend in your entire life?? You're being ridiculous, Vale.' Marc never used that tone with him. Come to think of it.
Still, he can imagine it so vividly it might aswell have happened before his very eyes.

Marc respects him, he respects him alot. He looks up to him. Valentio is very much aware– Making him all the more culpable for even considering such intentions from the younger rider. Even if Valentino wouldn't mind if he did have those kind of feelings towards him—Him reciprocating is an entirely different ordeal, however..

He scoffed, with no one to hear it besides himself.
What is he even thinking? What's there to even worry about?
Marc is a straightforward man. More blunt than Valentino himself could ever be, if he wanted something, he would've said something.
Starting to make his way towards his bedroom, he's getting worked up over nothing. There's nothing to worry about. He's being self-conscious, that's all—

....And Marc was laying on his bed. Suddenly it was incredibly difficult to think clearly again.

Still, with a smile and a wave urging him to come over, like a pirate being lured to his demise by a siren, Valentino had no choice but to comply, clearly.
Closing the door as silently as he could –As if anyone can hear, let alone know he had Marc in his bed.– He practically leapt towards the bed, settling down a respectable distance to the other man.

Fixing his attention towards the screen hung at the wall opposite to the pair, the bright colors, blurry visuals, and beyond familiar atmosphere drew him in instantly.
A replay of an old race. A race Valentino participated in. More importantly, a race he knew Marc is old enough to have seen live on TV as a kid.
Concerning, but nothing strange.

"You invited yourself to my room just to watch an old race together?" Arms crossed, leaning against the headboard, Vale laughed with an eyebrow raised at Marc.
"Like I said, I had to ask you a few things." Marc insisted, a smile present still, but he didn't let a laugh accompany it.
Not even a second later, upon further reflection, Marc might've noticed he may have made himself an unwelcomed guest. His determination only faltered for a moment— "If you're fine with it, of course– I know it's late, Vale, I'm sorry–"
He was cut off by the sound of the broadcast on the screen starting, Valentino didn't bother with an answer. Only shifting closer to him as he dropped the TV remote on the nightstand, nodding towards the younger rider.
If he noticed the starstruck gaze Marc looked at him with, he pretended he hadn't.

Valentino isn't enabling him, it's his duty to guide the newer generation, right?
He just happens to have favourites. And Marc just happens to be his favourite.

The mere thougt of it left a strange taste on his tongue.

"Why'd you make that move there?", "Were you sure it would work?", "I was wondering how you did that–" one after the other, it's like Marc had been holding back all of the questions he had since his first time watching the race, and the floodgates had erupted into a tide which drowned out any ounce of shame or politness he had shown towards the older rider.
Valentino didn't mind. Quite the opposite, he enjoyed discussing old races, especially ones he was particularly proud of his performance in – Not to sound self-centered. Who doesn't like being complimented so unconditionally it borders on worship, after all?

However, his mind enjoying the exchange couldn't deter the exhaustion slowly branching throughout his body. It was midnight, after a race no less, it's impressive how energetic Marc is being, Valentino's just can't keep up with someone as energetic as him–Nothing to do with age, Marc is just naturally caffeinated, he guessed.

With his arms crossed against his chest, the roar of engines and constant chatter of the commentators slowly turned into quiet, barely legible static to his ears. His head hung low by itself, eyes dropping, fighting to remain open.

"Vale?" There was a weight on his leg. Upper thigh, to be precise. He only hummed, lifting his head the slightest bit, it's rude to fall asleep while having someone over. It was Marc's hand–The weight on his leg, that's what it was, he now noticed.

"Hey, if you're tired, I can go–"
Why? You came over so late, clearly you wanted to stay with me, why leave?
"It's my fault, it's late, I should've taken the hint. You should rest, too."
He was leaving. Valentino had been leaning on him without noticing, and the moment he had attempted to leave, Vale jumped.

Hand tight around his arm, Valentino dragged him back down onto the sheets.

"Where are you going?" He almost felt drunk, a reasonable result of his fatigue, the sudden rush in his voice even caught him by surprise. But it proved affective in halting Marc's departure.
The smallest twitch to his lips gave him away–Marc was smart. He knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. He wasn't going anywhere, he just wanted Valentino to want him around aswell.

With what they both seemed to consider the greenlight hanging in the air, Marc wasted no time straddling Valentino's lap.
Bold, so very like Marc that Valentino only blamed himself for not expecting such an outcome.
Furthermore, he only blamed himself for not objecting to their position, for not removing Marc's arms once they circled around his neck like a python threatening to choke his soul out of his body, for only going limp once Marc's lips landed on his own.

For leaning in as his conscious wailed at him to push away.

It was warm, soft. So unexpectedly kind Valentino froze, before embracing the affection being graciously given to him. He could drown in this, he could breath it in alteration with the oxygen his lungs needed—

Except Marc pulls away, and Vale stumbles on his own thoughts, tightening his arms around the younger rider before he could think the action through.

Marc looked down at the noose-tight grip around him, lips parted, surprised– No, amused, would be a better description..
Then he laughed. He was laughing, laughing at him.

Valentino doesn't expect much from Marc.
Not as a rider, and much less as a person.
It wasn't fair of him, after all – It's not like Marc's his boyfriend or anything similiar.
Even having this is alot. Maybe he should act more reluctant. Grow a spine and draw a line in the sand never to be dismissed again.

And yet he doesn't. And with the dismay of seeing his own reflection in the mirror behind the beauty seated on his lap, he figured why Marc had laughed.
Vale looks pathetic—
Incredibly so, over the top, pathetic.
Yearning, doe eyes, arched eyebrows, parted lips and all.
Heck, Valentino would've laughed too.

"I thought you were tired?" Marc quipped, Valentino couldn't bear looking him in the eyes as he chuckled under his breath.
"I am." He replied, fond smile betraying his inner turmoil.
Even if he shouldn't expect anything, if Marc has to pull his leg with unnecessary tricks and ploys, then—
"However," This game is better played in pairs. "It's too late to go back to your room. So sleep with me."
Bold statement, followed by a nervous twitch on Marc's smile and it's all over. He was in.
Lifting him off his legs, just to lay him beneath him on the white sheets of the bed.

White, soft, messy sheets that Valentino suddenly had the horrible idea that if he ignored their circumstance, this scenery would've belonged to newlyweds.
The second that was planted in his brain, and having a flushed, unusually flustered Marc caged in between his palms, flattened against the bedding, it's like a the bubble that had wrapped around his entire system suddenly popped,
And he can finally think clearly again.

Leaving their situation with a now equally flustered Valentino, both frozen, most importantly, incrediblu awkward.

And to make matters worse, Marc was looking at him for what to do next—
Like Valentino can figue that out, as if he hasn't been trying for an entire season!

"...Marc, this is– It's strange, I know, my bad.." Diffuse the situation, back off, played it off as a joke if brought up later.
Even as he thought, laughing it off awkwardly and lifting himself off of the younger rider–
But Marc just take him by the hand, pulls him back, so that he remains on top of him. Silently. Those brown doe eyes piercing through his own, expatiation even clearer, as if to accomodate Valentino's own paranoia.

....Like he would ever believe that.
He wants that position, so what? that doesn't insinuate anything!!
Maybe Marc just wants to cuddle.
A little strange, even if they were friends far closer than he and Marc are – But still, nothing strange.

And if he paid extra attention to how gentle he was whilst brushing his hand over Marc's cheek, if he was tempted to kiss him again when Marc leaned into his touch, then that's nobody's business but their own.

As his hero, as the person he looks up to, as the man guiding him and seeing the talent laying within him, how can he possibly refuse him anything let alone something as simple as a hug whilst they sleep, breathing in tandem with each other's heartbeats?

...That was entirely on him. Perhaps he shouldn't describe it so intimately whilst defending himself.

Valentino sighed, leaning down to place a quick peck to Marc's forehead, before laying his head over his shoulder, arms wrapping around the younger man, whispering a quick 'Goodnight, Marc.' And closing his eyes to run away from any objection Marc could give him.

Opening one eye to read the other's expression, he swore he saw hesitation, followed by an exhausted sigh.
Valentino felt arms lazily drape upon his back, defeated.
"Goodnight, Vale." was whispered into the dead of the night. And that was that.

"Didn't work." Marc started, greetings and platitude disregarded due to his disappointment.
Three months went in-between their last conversation, so the confusion painted on Dani's face was expected. Marc kept his words vague on purpose.

"What didn't work?" Dani repeated, beyond giving up on remembering something they probably only talked about in passing.
He can hardly recall himself saying something like 'Go for it!' while slapping the spaniard on the back encouragingly. To what he had encouraged him, he couldn't remember to save his life.

"You know, what I told you about, with Vale, that I'm gonna stop being subtle and just get tell him upfront?" Explained like the simplest concept in the world.
And suddenly Dani felt a wave of terrible decisions he has accidentally enabled the other rider into making.

Besides, Vale? You never mentioned anything about Valentino, you lying bastard— And if it was about Valentino, then what subtlety do you speak of?? You were openly flirting with him, in press conferences and otherwise!!
"You never mentioned Vale, so he's the lucky guy?" Dani kept his thoughts of impending doom and urge to call Marc out at bay, asking calmly.

"Oh, well, I figured it wasn't important at the time– Doesn't matter now," It does, it really does matter, please elaborate next time! "So anyways, now what?" Like he should know what works if coercing your way into someone's bedroom doesn't work.

.... And in Marc's defense, there's only so much you can really do if that doesn't work.
Therefore, Dani, sensible as ever, decided to wash his hands of anything the two were, or will ever, be up to.
"You know what, Marc? You can figure it out, I believe in you, have fun." With another smile and a pat on the back.
Another conversation he'll probably be asked about later. And hopefully next time he'll remember to play dumb and feign that he had never took part in.