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"You too, yeah?"
Marco jolted out of his thoughts, spinning around in place to stare at—
"—Márquez? What are you, I mean, why are you talking to me?" That also came out wrong, Marco's voice immediately taking a defensive edge. Marc didn't seem to mind how he switched to suspicion, instead smiling politely. It seemed a bit—his smile seemed to be strained.
Marco wasn't surprised, they had never been on the best of terms with each other. Well, a long time ago, he had admired Marc at the same level as Rossi. Probably more than his now teacher/employer. It had all changed so quickly, his two idols fighting each other and forcing Marco to pick sides. Really, who was he supposed to pick? Vale was at least offering to mentor and teach Marco, it was only logical to choose him instead of Marc.
"You are a fellow rider, I can talk to you when I want. Do you not want me here, Marco?" Marc's tone was teasing, lilting words pitched into a higher tone. He was being annoying, even worse than how Cele got at times. It was starting to piss Marco off. Besides, no one except Vale and his family called Marco by his first name. It made him feel childish when someone used Marco instead of Bezz. It just felt wrong, like Bezz was a different person. Like Marco was worse, weaker, but also who he truly was. Maybe that was why he always thought in "Marco's" instead of "Bezz'."
Marc was still waiting for an answer, seemingly not minding the long pauses between his attempts to answer. Honesty and cruelty urged Marco to tell the truth, to tell Marc to go and fuck off. The other part of him, the part that yearned for approval and praise, told Marco to play nice. No logical thought kept the following words from tumbling out of his mouth.
"You can stay, I mean. I don't mind. Well, I do, but no, I. I just," Marco cut himself off, a hot blush building on his cheeks. He couldn't have been more embarrassing, god, Marc will never think of him as a rival now. He almost expected his stuttering words to be met with laughter. And his words were met with loud chuckles, but they didn't sound mean. A little teasing, sure, but not cruel.
If Marc had been like Vale described him to be, he'd already be tearing down Marco's self-esteem and playing his famous mind games. But he wasn't, unless kindness was the weapon he harnessed to win championships. Marco didn't know what to think. This entire situation was just—he came here to watch Vale and his team race for six pleasant and relaxing hours. Instead, Marc had shown up. Why was Marc even here anyway? His musings were interrupted by Marc's answer, and—why did Marco immediately perk up to hear the answer?
"You really are useless without Vale here." Well, ow, that hurt a bit. Maybe Marc was out to play mind games or eliminate a potential competitor. Strangely, the thought that Marco might be good enough that he'd even be considered a danger was exciting. It felt like someone finally believed in him, which was stupid because so many people did believe in Marco. Those people just weren't Marc. "When is he done with his stint? An hour to go now, right?" He continued, looking at Marco expectantly.
"Um, yes, I think."
"Ah, good. I think I'll have to leave before he comes back and sees me corrupting you, yeah? But we still have time." The words being spoken just weren't making sense, swirling around in Marco's face and back out of his ears. He just nodded his head dumbly, stuck staring at Marc, which seemed to draw another laugh from him. "You look at him the same way I did—Well, how I still do. Don't tell anyone I said that, okay?"
Marco wished anyone else was here, this situation was just, it was just too much. "I, what do you mean? I don't—" Marc leaned over, wrapping his arm around Marco's shoulders. He felt so warm, and Marco couldn't move, stuck like an insect in Marc's amber touch.
"Like he is a god and all you want is a chance to touch. You think about it, yeah? What it would be like if his full attention was on you, only you. What his voice would sound like praising your name. And to get that, you'd do anything, wouldn't you?"
"I—Marc, what are you talking about?" A high-pitched giggle escaped Marco, all nervous and anxious. He didn't know what was going on, he really didn't, this just wasn't—what the fuck was happening? "You're, this is just some kind of projecting. Leave me out of this mess going on between you two, it's not right, I'm just trying to do my job and win races."
The hand resting on Marco's shoulder tightened, fingers digging into his skin. Marc's nails were sharp, uncut and jagged. What would they feel like scratching into his back? "Shh, I'm not making fun of you. I can tell you what it is like. I can show you." What was he even asking? What—Marco felt confused, panicked, anything but normal. Marco said as much, whispering his confusion.
He felt like everyone was staring at him, but a quick glance around proved that everyone was still focused on the screen, on the track, the data. The nearby screen displayed Vale's team name in second, only a little while back from the car in first. Marc's voice pulled his gaze back to the man still holding onto his shoulder tightly. "You know exactly what I'm saying. We can leave now. Come with me, Rossi won't even notice that you've disappeared. He doesn't care about you, you aren't his shining and glorious Pecco."
Marc was pulling him slowly to the exit, moving in slow steps backwards. He had no choice but to follow Marc, head hung low in shame as he let himself be pulled from the team garage. Marco didn't even make a noise as he got pushed into the passenger seat of some rental car. The leather of the seats was clearly expensive, but the car itself was discreet.
The engine started with a calming purr, soft vibrations soothing for his pounding heart. They drove in silence, Marc occasionally glancing over but never speaking. It took a while for Marco to snap back into action, to realise that getting in a car with his mentor's rival was definitely a bad idea. "Where the fuck are you taking me? What, no—let me out of the car, what the fuck!"
Marc only chuckled again—that was getting annoying—and noticeably didn't stop the car. "Took you a while to react. I thought you'd complain sooner. Just be good, okay?" Why did those words have to send such a strange feeling through Marco? Why wasn't he fighting more, or calling the police, or doing something?
The car came to a standstill, parked in front of some fancy hotel. And, despite Marco's urge to run, he followed Marc inside and into the elevator. He let Marc push the button and watched as the numbers on the little panel climbed higher and higher. The lift stopped at the final floor, door opening into an expensive suite. How much did Marc pay for this?
"I don't want to be here."
"But you are here, Marco. Don't you want to know what it is like for Valentino to actually look at you?"
"I," Marco started, but let the sentence drift away because, well, Marc wasn't wrong. He did want to know, of course he did. Any chance to learn about Vale was worthwhile—and this, this was Marc. It felt wrong to walk away now, so when Marc gestured towards the large couch stationed in the centre of the room, Marco sat. And when a weight settled next to him, Marc's thighs brushing against his own and hand pulling at his chin to force their gazes to meet—Marco didn't run. He should've, he really should have been out the door already. If he left now, he'd make it back before Vale finished his part of the racing. But he didn't run, he sat there, practically in the lap of Vale's rival, and he listened.
Marc's smile was entrancing, captivating, yet saddened. His words were soft, washing over Marco like a wave ready to pull him in and drown him. "He, Vale, he looks at you with this power in his eyes. Like he knows that you'll do anything for just a taste. It would've been awful and cocky, but he was never wrong. Who wouldn't drop to their knees just for a chance to touch The Doctor. And, when he was looking at you, nothing else seemed to matter." Marc's finger trailed upwards, the other hand moving to pull Marco's leg up and over his own. He was making Marco straddle him—what the fuck is going on—and Marco was letting it happen. He squeezed his eyes shut. Marc was too close like this, his voice was too loud.
"Marco." And just with a simple word, that commanding tone, Marco dragged his eyes open to meet Marc's wide smile. He looked proud and happy that Marco obeyed, and the emotions were enough to send the budding sensation of tears burning into his eyes. He blinked them away rapidly. Marco would not cry in front of him, no. "His touch was always cold. His fingers were never warm." The tip of a finger prodded at Marco's lips, slipping past and into the wet heat of his mouth. Instinctively, he swirled his tongue around Marc's fingers, sucking lightly. "Even when he did this to me, when he fucked my mouth."
His words were emphasised by a back-and-forth movement of his fingers, a mockery of the real thing. Marco played his part, sucking, licking, and even humming around the digits. Through his heavy eyelids, he could see the same smile still on Marc's face—and fuck, Marco was so hard it hurt. "Those nights were the best of my life, being Vale's little secret. He knew how to balance the hurt with the good so well, praising you while you writhe in agony or shaming you while you are so close to coming." A crook of the fingers and Marco found his tongue being pushed down, saliva pooling and dripping from the corners of his mouth.
"The thing about Vale, though, was that it was always him first. His pleasure, him in power. You'd be lucky if you even got a kiss. And then, just as fast as you found yourself in his bed, he'd throw you to the side. He kicks you down, breaks you and smiles." Marc slid the fingers out of Marco's mouth, wiping the moisture on Marco's shirt. "And after all these years I still want him, did you know that? I wouldn't call it love, something more. And then, imagine my surprise when I see you with the exact same expression I used to wear when looking at Vale. He is hard not to fall in love with, isn't he?"
Unceremoniously, Marc pushed him away, letting Marco stumble off his lap. Just like that, he walked away into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. With a glance at the clock, Marco realised he'd never make it back to the circuit in time. And, with a glance downwards, he realised even if he did—Marco would probably be fined for public indecency. Slipping a hand into his pants, sighing in relief as he finally got to feel something other than the painful friction of his jeans, Marco moved his hand in quick jerky movements over his cock. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time before Marco was spilling over himself, staining his pants beyond salvation. At least no one heard his whispered, "Marc."
There was no point going back to the circuit now, his appearance was only bound to raise attention. Maybe Marc was right, maybe Vale wouldn't notice his disappearance. Marco was no Pecco after all. Standing up on shaky legs, Marco would have to call a cab to get back to his hotel. He would pay the driver extra to stay quiet. Leaving the suite, Marco realised that he wanted to stay.
He wanted Marc the exact same way they both wanted Vale.