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twiceeshy · 6 days ago

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3% [chapter 3/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

Chapter summary: A dinner, then Valentino goes.

E, rosquez, 5.6k words.

[start] [prev chapter]

There was a dirty part of Marc that wanted to squirrel away Valentino's used shirt for himself. So he did.

Valentino had left it hanging in the bathroom he'd used to change his clothes, maybe to let it air, or maybe out of carelessness. He would surely notice that it was gone, but if Marc didn't say anything, he might not ask. He seemed averse to saying anything of value anyway.

Marc had sent Valentino out of his room after Laia fell asleep because he needed to put himself through the dairy cow treatment. He didn't want Valentino to see that.

For the sake of hygiene, he always washed his hands and cleaned his chest before and after pumping. He discovered the shirt the first time he went to the bathroom, and he couldn't help himself the second time. There was not so much harm in a little indulgence.

Valentino's scent steeped deep into the fibres of the shirt he had been wearing for the entire day. Marc double-checked that the bathroom door was locked and took the blue shirt off the hook. He knew what he liked - turned it inside out and buried his nose and mouth right where Valentino's armpit rubbed against cotton. He took a few greedy, gulping breaths. He loved this; had been deprived of it for far too long. It roused wetness between his legs that he didn't entertain.

If he had the real Valentino, he would bury his nose into his armpit and take a good bite at the soft flesh. The unrealistic corner of his mind that fancied having Valentino in his stomach salivated at the idea.

But he would never really eat Valentino. His entire life had been spent keeping his baser urges at bay for long-term benefit. Otherwise, he would have smashed himself to bits in some race decades ago.

He pulled the shirt over his head, still inside-out. It was large. The hem fell to Marc's mid-thigh. If Valentino stayed for Laia, Marc would have to find some excuses to keep taking his used clothes.

Their scents mingled in a decent imitation of Valentino's hotel sheets all those years back. Marc basked in it for several long minutes. He pulled the front of their shirts over his nose for a sniff. He would still bottle their combined scents if he could.

He was surprised to find tears leaking from his eyes. This prompted him to take the blue shirt back off and fold it into a neat square for safekeeping.

Once he was sure that the coast was clear, he brought the shirt back to his room and rummaged around for a resealable plastic bag. He discovered one that contained his winter coat, stored this way so the air could be pressed out. The coat could find another bag later.

Delicately, he placed Valentino's shirt in and took one more sniff before he zipped the seal. It would keep the scent for a longer time and prevent it from rubbing over the rest of his clothes so Laia wouldn't get too used to it, in case Valentino chose not to come back. Marc didn't want to desire this scent so much, but his body was built the way it was, and he had hurt enough.

He didn't really feel guilty. Valentino owned him this.

With one last exhale, he shut the door and went to join his family.

Marc overheard Valentino's voice when he headed to the kitchen. His conversational Spanish was basic and interspersed with English.

Out of curiosity, Marc inched backwards to avoid being detected. To his knowledge, Valentino had never interacted with any of his family members alone, least of all his mother. They'd crossed paths perhaps twice in passing when Roser attended Spanish races to see her children.

"These- ah, fruit, I don't know to say. They are nice in Thailand," Valentino said.

"Pitaya," Roser provided, very tolerantly, all things considered. "We don't see the ones with red flesh very often."

The sound of metal clanging travelled, maybe a knife or spoon being put down in the sink. Marc recalled that Valentino had squeezed a fruit hamper into his backpack. He was probably cutting it up.

"Does he like these?" Valentino asked. Marc's throat went dry, suddenly. He inched forward to hear better, back against the wall, standing as near to the kitchen as he could go without casting a visible shadow in the doorway.

Another clang, somewhat impatient. A brief pause. "Yes, he's not a picky eater. But you should know all of these things yourself," Roser said, sharp this time.

She was being protective. It brought a small grin to Marc's face. Being reminded that he was loved was always nice.

"I will learn," Valentino said, so lightly that Roser would only hate him more. But Marc carefully filed it away with everything else he knew about Valentino. It was a miniscule weight for the balance in favour of him staying.

"Learn properly. And when you don't know, respect him. Ask him," Roser chided.

Marc chewed his lip to contain his smile upon hearing this. Much as he was enjoying himself, he thought it was necessary to intervene before Valentino got scared away forever. Roser would probably find that to be an acceptable outcome, but Marc had his own plans.

He stepped into the kitchen loudly so they would realise they had been overheard. Both Roser and Valentino fell silent and turned to look at him. The scene was a tableau from his wildest dreams: his estranged ex standing barefoot in his family's kitchen, arranging neat slices of fruit into concentric circles on a large plate; his beloved mother frozen in the middle of stirring a delicious pot of stew, less than a metre away from him.

Marc waved the bag of milk in greeting before heading over to the small freezer on the counter. He'd been accumulating a small stash so that Laia wouldn't have to rely on formula milk too much when Marc finally went for his shoulder operation the following week. And it was just useful to have some extra.

"Moo. I'm a cow," Marc joked to break the tension.

Valentino snorted. "A very disobedient one. Moo," he said back sarcastically. His posture settled into something practised yet relaxed.

Marc observed him through stolen glances. He had never met another person with Valentino's natural magnetism. He could tuck all of his sincerity away and still make people want to look.

His eyes followed Valentino's fingers as they danced over the fruit, putting them in place efficiently. His fingertips, stained pink by juice, beckoned for Marc to take them into his mouth so that he could taste sweetness from Valentino on his tongue once more.

Surely Marc's pathetic hormonal imbalance would right itself soon. He couldn't keep up with this hunger for all things Alpha.

"Ahem," Roser cleared her throat. Jolting slightly, Marc tore his stare away from Valentino and turned his head to the side. He found his mother watching him with an unimpressed lift of her eyebrow.

Marc smiled at her, quashing his earlier turmoil so she wouldn't worry. "Love you mama. Dinner smells good," he said.

She was always sweet on him, though she didn't show it with words. When he approached, she let him taste the stew off her ladle and ruffled his hair. "Don't be useless and go set the table," she instructed, giving him a light push.

With a tray of cutlery balanced on one arm, Marc squeezed past his mother, which put him in proximity of Valentino. He had been sharply aware of Valentino's attention, as he studiously observed and carded information away.

Marc touched a hand to Valentino's forearm when he passed. He smiled and hoped it showed in his eyes.

Valentino was not to be outdone. He caught Marc's hand below his and held it in place. "My toro bravo, I am done here. Let me help you," he said.

Marc hadn't been Vale's anything since 2015. He leaned in closer for a fleeting moment, ducking his head under Valentino's nose as Valentino's arm snaked around his waist to hold him in place. Then they parted to a more reasonable proximity.

He ignored his mother's pointed stare. "I guess you better get used to how we do things around here," Marc said cheerfully as he led Valentino out.

Valentino managed to back Marc against a wall and cage him in with his body, which was some feat when Marc was holding a heavy tray in front of him.

"Why do you smell like this?" Valentino questioned.

There you are, Marc thought. This aggression was familiar territory. Though he didn't necessarily like it, it was easier to navigate.

"You like? You miss it?" Marc taunted. Such rudimentary body language was easy to read. Valentino's nostrils flared, admitting everything he did not say with words.

"You did something," Valentino said, pointedly breathing through his mouth and not his nose. Too bad for him, Marc would enjoy their scent all on his own. Strangely, the stressed out stink didn't consume him again. It wasn't Valentino that his body minded, but Valentino's proximity to their daughter. He would have to find some way to remedy that.

He offered a tilt of the head and a calm smile. "You always say I'm doing something. You're not going to start a fight in my house, no?"

Somehow, his body knew what was going to happen before it did. Marc set the tray down carelessly atop a stack of newspapers. his feet rested their weight on his toes, his chin tilted up in waiting.

Valentino scowled, twisted his fist in the front of Marc's shirt, and planted his lips on Marc's in a searing kiss. In Marc's house. In Marc's fucking childhood home, not ten metres away from his mother, and with all of their history unresolved.

Marc loved this. There was no thought, it was all instinct. He clutched Vale's shirt in response, to pull him down and impossibly closer. Months of loneliness, now he was warm. Kissing anyone else ever again was unthinkable. Vale was his, and he was Vale's, and nothing else made sense.

Something made a dull sound, and they sprang apart. Marc whipped around to identify the source of the disturbance and found his father standing there, awkwardly frozen at the entry to the dining area.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. Your mother used to finish cooking around this time," Julia said, as he swept imaginary lint from his shoulder.

"No, no. She's almost done. We were going to prepare the table," Marc said, crashing back to earth. He felt caught out, like a child in hiding. As though his own father didn't know what people got up to for a very real baby to be created.

He grinned shamelessly at his father, then yanked Valentino with him by the wrist. "You need to pull your weight," he nagged.

They both committed to the thinly-veiled farce that they knew what they were doing. Valentino picked up the tray and balanced it precariously on one arm. He would possibly not appear to be troubled at all, to a specific group of people who were born yesterday. Casting a quick glance at Julia, he put his arm around Marc's shoulder. "You say that but you distract me," he scolded.

"You distracted me first. I am trying to be peaceful," Marc said, somewhere on the spectrum of truth.

Valentino gave him a patient, tolerant look. He always used to when he pretended to be mature, in contrast to Marc's youthful zeal. Had they not only been acting, Marc would be overjoyed.

If other people could observe the behaviour of Valentino Rossi at dinner with the Marquez Alentas, they would probably be quite fascinated. Valentino did not look like one of them - they were a household of fairly average-sized people, except for Alex, but he shared most of Marc's face so they obviously came as a set.

Valentino was tall and always had a hunch in his spine, unlike Marc who had his back permanently straightened to meet people's eyes. Sometimes the hunch read like a sign of confidence from someone who didn't need to expend effort to assert his authority. Apparently when he was feeling out of place, it could read as stiff and awkward.

He had never been in a room where he didn't command attention, but in the scheme of their family dynamics, Valentino didn't have much position. Marc watched him with interest, and wondered if he would ever appear to belong a little bit more. If he would find things to start conversations about, and share in their inside jokes, and learn to navigate their habits with more ease. Laia was a Marquez Alenta as well, and it would be nice if Valentino would be comfortable with her, then the rest of them, by extension. It would be nice if he could brush up on his spoken Castilian so he could speak as fluently as he listened, though there was nothing wrong with mostly listening on his first day there. But Marc was thinking too far ahead.

They got to the end of dinner without Valentino asking Marc if he liked pitaya. Marc only noticed when he watched Valentino struggle with stained fingers for the second time that day. He'd dropped a slippery cube onto the table and picked it up by hand. Then there were no more pink fruit on the plate, and he was none the wiser about Marc's feelings. What a strange thing to be disappointed by.

Alex noticed the direction of his gaze and kicked him under the table to catch his attention. "Don't be silly Marc," he worried. He had been speaking almost exclusively Catalan since he returned home, to Valentino's visible consternation. Valentino was such a curious person that being left out of a whole conversation had to be killing him.

"It's like you don't know me. Actually, I am quite smart," Marc said. He laughed obnoxiously when Alex looked for his foot to kick again caught someone else in the process. Marc hoped that it was Valentino.

He speared the last slice of mango onto his fork and caught Valentino's eye, from where he sat across him at their rectangular table. "I like all the fruit, by the way," he enunciated clearly.

Valentino looked jolted from his socially awkward silence. His face puckered, as though he had bitten into a lemon instead of something sweet. "I am glad. You should be eating well," he said, reading the script a normal co-parent without quite pulling it off.

Marc's parents traded doubtful looks. They might not be together anymore, but they still shared a healthy amount of understanding where their children were concerned.

He and Valentino had much to learn from them. Dismayed, Marc realised that a passionless, non-romantic co-parenting situation might be something he was supposed to aspire towards.

His mouth tingled with the memory of their aborted kiss. It felt as though they had the opposite problem, of having passion but nothing else.

He touched a hand to his lips, and the movement caught Valentino's eye. Marc scrunched his face and hoped to convey something. He needed to catch Valentino alone, when there was nobody else around to complicate things. They had a lot to sort out.

Only after everyone turned in for the night did Marc seek out Valentino. He still had the same shirt on, partly as a statement of unrepentance, and partly because he had planned to wear it to sleep in the first place.

He wandered into the living room and found Valentino squatting on the floor to rearrange some things in his backpack. He had somehow found space in it for a hardcover book. Infant Care for Alphas read the title. Marc's chest gave a little twinge of relief to realise that Valentino did at least care enough to do some research.

"Hey," he said quietly. He made a quick decision to sit down on the pull-out bed, folding a leg beneath him. It was his house, and he didn't want to have a long-drawn conversation while standing.

Valentino nodded in greeting. "I never knew your parents were separated," he remarked.

Marc smiled wanly. "They waited until me and Alex were adults so we wouldn't have to worry about custody, then it took some time to split the assets. It wasn't happening when I was with you."

"They get along well," Valentino said. He must have realised the same thing as Marc over dinner, that successfully co-parenting through personal differences was aspirational. Valentino's own parents were more complicated. He never shared very much about it directly, but from the hints and from learning everything he could when he had only been a fan, Marc could put together a rough picture.

Valentino thumbed the ribbon sticking out of his book, and got up to join Marc on the bed. There was a full metre between them as they sat at the bottom edge. Though nobody else was walking about at that time of the night, being in the living room felt very revealing.

Marc sat close enough to catch Valentino's scent. It was restrained, neat, not like the ranging Alphas that he knew to avoid. Even on track, Valentino had always been more famed for being a thinker than a hormone-driven chaser, until Marc brought out the worst in him.

"Laia is sleeping again, I thought you would like to know," Marc said. She was, after all, the only reason Valentino would visit this house.

"Good. You look well, and you're doing a good job with her," Valentino said.

"Yeah?" Marc asked, but he wasn't desperate enough to dig for compliments. He knew he was doing all he could, and he had great role models while growing up. He spoke again before Valentino could elaborate. "We need to discuss some things."

Valentino hummed in agreement. "Yes. I want to see Laia again, I wanted to tell you this."

"She'll probably wake up in an hour or so, it's hard to sleep these days," Marc said dryly.

"I remember waking up sometimes, when my brother was younger," Valentino said, slightly wistfully.

Marc couldn't remember the last time Valentino shared an anecdote for no greater purpose. He liked collecting facts about Valentino, to shade in the complex details.

"You should remember what to do with babies then. You can hold her when she wakes again," he offered. He would react better, somehow. Maybe he would even teach Valentino how to change a diaper, if he didn't know yet. The prospect of reality could be stranger than his imagination, at times.

Valentino nodded, and placed his book next to him so he could focus on Marc. "I meant, another time also, not in an hour. Between races, I would like to visit."

Marc's heart rate sped up, despite his efforts to temper his expectations. "Good. You have to come by often, so Laia can recognise you."

Ideally they would wrangle some kind of permanent arrangement out, but the whole concept of being an actual family felt too intangible to shape. They had whisps of dedication and intent. Marc would let Valentino stay for as long as he wanted, but he wouldn't beg him to, and he would never agree let Valentino take her away to Italy to raise her there. And Valentino had never been the type of person to commit to more than he was ready for.

"I'll work it out with you. I have to leave some time before my next race to get some things, but next time I will be more prepared," Valentino said.

Marc didn't know what being more prepared entailed. More gifts? Training gear? Clothes? Enough clothes that he wouldn't have to travel to Tavullia between races? Marc was curious but he didn't really want to ask, because Valentino would downplay whatever his intentions were.

"She'll grow big so fast you can't believe it, or at least my mother says she will," Marc said. The chat was already less painful than he anticipated, so he allowed himself to relax slightly. He pulled his other leg up on the sofa bed, and rested his elbows on his knees. "I'm going for an operation next week on my shoulder by the way - the right one, it's been fucked since Buriram last year."

Buriram, which was before Valencia, which was before Laia's conception. Marc could see when the realisation sank it - Valentino's face paled. So at least he hadn't noticed that he had been causing Marc pain that day, and he wasn't just ignoring how he aggravated the injury.

"How bad is it?" Valentino asked.

Marc shrugged. "I can get through life. After that, my trainer told me to get used to speed by karting, before I head back out to track on training bikes.

He planned to take the road bike out for a spin, however. His mother was against it because, as she said, she knew him too well. But Marc was a mother too, and he knew the importance of transporting himself around in one piece when there were no stakes. He simply missed the heat of a bike beneath him, engine purring like a living thing, under his control. It was a part of him. Marc was meant to pass his days on two wheels as much as he had two arms and two legs.

He got back to the root of the conversation. "I mentioned it because we need to put up a birth announcement soon. If I'm around karting tracks, people will know that I'm not pregnant anymore." The last few words filled him with buoyancy.

His temporary happiness was cooled immediately by a furtive look on Valentino's face. "We need to put up an announcement?"

The question was so stupid that Marc took a moment to process what Valentino meant. Then time stopped.

Of course, things had been going too well.

"Obviously, a baby can't have one parent, can she?" he asked, barely holding on to his temper. He was going to shout. Marc never shouted, ever.

"What do you want me to say? I fucked you, is that it? It looks bad for both of us," Valentino argued, but he was scared.

Marc was going to throttle him. How dare Valentino be scared, when it had been Marc who had to carry the baby, and Marc who had to deform and milk himself, and Marc who had to announce to the world months in advance that he wouldn't be defending his title because he let himself get fucked, and he was too sentimental to give the baby up. If he had a Euro for every time someone on the internet called him "bitched", he would double his wealth.

"You make the announcement, or I'll do it for you," Marc said. He could hear his anger in his voice. His mouth did something that he couldn't control; might have been a grin, or just barred, gritted teeth.

"Who let you decide?" Valentino asked, leaning forward, sharp eyes blazing, but he didn't have ground to stand on. He never did, and Marc had been powerless in stopping him from getting away with his arguments too many times. But no more. In his household, Valentino was not an idol, just a man, and he had nothing on Marc.

Marc got to his feet and balled his fists. He had been too comfortable, he always had too much faith in Valentino for no reason at all. How could he have ever let him into the house without ascertaining Valentino's intentions? After all that he told himself to be cautious, to not let him get close to Laia until he could he trusted, Marc had opened the door wide and given him free entry. No wonder Valentino thought he had the leeway to keep his secrets as he wished.

"Vale," Marc said icily, "my daughter has two parents. Even if you don't like it, the other one is you. You already know, but she can take a genetic test if you want. And Laia will not grow up with people starting rumours about who her father is. If I tell her it's you and you say it's not, the world will believe you. You're not going to turn my daughter into a liar."

Valentino swore. "I won't disown her Marc, what are you saying? I already said I want to come back."

"Then what's the problem with an announcement?" Marc demanded. He had already drafted it out on his phone with great difficulty, and planned to lock the comments on all of his accounts so that people couldn't say hurtful things. Because he knew that Laia would grow up and be able to see everything that people said, so her birth had to be treated delicately. They were too famous to not be careful about how they shared things.

He thought it would be prudent to run through what he had written with Valentino, since they both had a stake in the announcement. Valentino could vet his Italian version for typos and cast the announcement in a way his fans would be more receptive to. And he'd wanted to ask for a photo together, so Laia wouldn't wonder why she had none with both parents when she grew up.

All along, he thought it would be pretty obvious that they both had to claim her in public. Whether Valentino took part in raising her or not, this seemed like basic human decency to him.

He thought. Marc always made the mistake of believing that Valentino would share the same thought process as regular people.

Valentino was speechless. What defence could he have? Surely, he just never fully considered the inconvenience a baby would bring to his life, because he didn't have to spend time with her until now. Not for the first time, Marc was bitter that Valentino had the fortune of living regularly and racing.

"Tomorrow, I'm publishing it. I don't care if you're ready," Marc decided.

"Fuck. Marc, at least let me tell my mother, huh? My friends?"

"You haven't?" Marc's voice was getting shrill. "You had months."

He had all the time in the world to decide how to break the news. Marc had to waddle around with a pregnant belly and endure weird looks from strangers who recognised him.

Valentino paled. "How can I, before I'm sure?"

Sure of what, Marc didn't ask. Maybe he thought Marc would get rid of Laia, as though Marc would have changed his mind after telling Valentino he was to be a father. After a certain point, it wouldn't even have been legal anymore.

"So you tell them," Marc said. He was livid and he was pacing. He felt like a hysterical Omega, the type who used to annoy him in movies, only now he knew that it wasn't their fault. These situations were unfair and difficult, and it always seemed to be him to have to suffer his life crumbling before him while Valentino put on a hurt face and got away.

Valentino sighed, contrite at least. Better than 2015, but that was such a low bar to clear that being reminded of it only enraged Marc further. "I will, alright. Give me time, I'll see them face to face and break the news. I won't disown our daughter."

"Okay," Marc stopped in his tracks, he met Valentino's eyes with enough anger to bite his head off. "Go then, if telling them face to face is so important. Leave my house now. I'm still publishing tomorrow."

Valentino regarded him as though he was a wild animal. Toro bravo, Marc recalled him saying. Well, perhaps Marc would be better off being a fighting bull. He could use the horns - he was mad enough to murder.

"I'll call," Valentino conceded. "I should have thought further ahead."

"No," Marc said. He could feel the expression on his face, uncontrollable, but sliding into a smile. He never could maintain true anger for long, much as his body vibrated with it. Channelling it into something else was always easier, until he could adopt the new feeling.

He snatched the book off the pull out bed and strode towards Valentino's backpack, then unzipped it and stuffed the book it. Without really looking, he reached his hands out for the few of Valentino's possessions that had made their way around the room.

Valentino hurried over and snatched the bag from him. "Marc, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Packing," Marc said. "It's important, right? You should go home and tell your mother she's a grandmother. Mine would be so upset if I told her over the phone.

"Fuck," Valentino swore again. He dropped the bag on the floor and buried his face in his hands. For once, he seemed nearly as miserable as Marc felt. His scent was like Marc had never experienced before, weeping and desperate and acrid. It would seep into the walls. "Are you kicking me out Marc?"

Marc really hadn't planned to. He thought they'd have a good chat and go to bed separately, and Valentino could spend the next few days there getting to know everyone. One more hour to see Laia awake again - fucking hell, they were a disaster if they couldn’t even keep it going for that long.

"Yeah," he said. He smiled properly. His facial muscles had come back to him. "Your family is bigger now. Congratulations. Tell everyone at home you fucked Marc Marquez, they'll think you're cool. Come back after the next race."

Valentino shook his head in denial. "No. No, she's my daughter too. This is- you- it's important to me."

Marc refused to let himself be moved again. They'd kissed just that day, and it already felt like a distant memory. In spite of himself, Marc had been more hopeful and receptive than he had known.

"Then come back after you go," Marc said. He just…he couldn’t, until he had evidence that Valentino was willing to put in the effort. He kept trying to make it easy, Valentino hadn't even realised.

"Marc," Valentino said. He had never invoked Marc's name so many times in a day before.

"What's going on?" a third voice interjected. Marc couldn't believe that he had not noticed they had company, attuned as he was to his brother's light scent and presence. Alex had an empty water bottle in his hand, and a very concerned look. The living room was much too open to a private conversation.

Alex went over to Marc and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. Marc nearly melted into the touch. He had to turn his brain on to hold his body tense. Enough weakness had been shown for the night.

"I was just telling Valentino to come back after the next race," Marc said, without further context.

It was impossible to put together the rest of the conversation based on that. Alex's eyebrows creased as he frowned and scrutinised Marc for hints. Marc held his smile.

After a moment, Alex spoke. "You should listen to him," he said with blind loyalty. He looked at the bag on the floor, and random possessions strewn on the side. Valentino was the one closest to it, yet Marc was the one who wanted him to go. The clues would not add up. Marc didn't know if he would ever have the will to explain the entire conversation in full, and in any case, he didn't think his little brother needed to be exposed to the full brunt of how desolate relationships could end up being.

Valentino looked between Marc's face and Alex's cold gaze. He always, always won arguments, but it seemed that he had lost his words this time.

Marc was a little bit disappointed. The thrill of victory was completely absent. One would hope that the undefeatable Valentino would conjure a compelling argument out of his hat.

"I will do as you say," Valentino said. He took a deep breath and bent down to shove his things haphazardly into his backpack. Sans the fruit hamper and a shirt, he had the space not to organise properly. He slung it over his shoulder, then reached towards Marc as he stood to make his exit. Instinctively, Marc caught his hand, and his rational mind only caught up when he felt Valentino's warm skin against his.

"After the next race," he said.

"Yeah," Marc allowed.

Valentino let go. He nodded at Alex, and took heavy steps towards the front door. Marc followed to let him out of the gate and lock up behind him.

The walk through their porch had never felt so long.

"You can call a cab?" Marc asked, when they reached the gate.

"Yes." Valentino swallowed. "Marc, I'm sorry."

Apologies were rare between them. Marc was horribly sad that it had come to this. "Me too," he said. He thought there were ways that he could have handled the confrontation better, but if he said what he needed to say, he didn't see how the outcome would be different.

He locked the gate, then turned back home where his brother was waiting for him at the doorway, cast in warm light. His legs carried him to Alex's side in quick strides, and he leaned his cheek against his brother's shoulder.

"Now he wants to hold your hand? He's such an ass," Alex said.

"Yeah," Marc agreed, though he liked having his hand held. His neck hurt with the absence of a claim, starker now that he had kissed his Alpha and sent him away, with his own hands and his own words. He was not meant to raise a baby alone. His body was weak with a mixture of chemicals that told him off for his actions, but Marc knew he had done the right thing.

It was good that Alex had walked in on them, because now that Marc knew what a mother's rage was like, he had a feeling his mother would not have been half as kind.

#shu's fics #rosquez #motogp rpf #if there are any egregious typos please dm me 😭

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