Thinking of omega marc who takes suppressants all season long.
During summer break, he takes a break from them, the doctor told him to. But this time, his heat is more painful than ever.
Marco comes over and takes care of him.
After that, the doctor tells him he needs to at least take a break from using suppressants because that could damage his body. So now he has to go to races wearing some scent patches, which barely do anything since his smell is so strong.
All media can talk about is how he's letting his scent free. Fellow riders are shocked. And bez is conflicted between being happy cause he can enjoy Marc's scent all the time, and being irritated at everyone else liking Marc's scent🤭🤭
I imagine Marc's scent like something citrusy it's a bit sharp but sweet. Meanwhile Marco's scent I think would be maybe bergamot or lavender
OHHH I'm loving this actually sorry if this ends up being long I'm feeling inspired sksksk (i really need to write abo marcmarc hhhhhhhhhh) this is going to be a big ahh rant.
Marc did stop his suppressants on doctors orders. Honestly, he tried to argue with him; he has no need for biological distractions in his life. He already has a mangled arm that causes him pain every day. He does not want to be stuck feeling things and stinking up the rooms he enters. Or, even worse, have the urge to nest. He's not done that in ages, and that's fine with him. He simply does not feel the need to comply with his biological needs at all. So yeah, there was some arguing in that doctor's room. What am i saying, there was a LOT of arguing.
Well, no matter what, Marc was told it was for his own good and for his career. He can't argue with that. He gets his usual heat, expect it's different this time. It hurts; a whole lot more than it's supposed to. He almost wants to cry and beg from it. That's not something Marc does, even in heat.
He calls Bez. He has to. This isn't a normal heat, clearly, and he's shared a couple of heats and ruts with the younger Italian over the years. He quite likes the younger man, and there's no one else to ask. He can simply hope Marco won't refuse (who is he kidding).
Marco would rather die than refuse this.
To be honest, he's been trying to figure out a way to properly court the older man. It's hard, what with Marc being an older omega with so much more experience than Marco. He's fumbling around and hoping for the best conpared to the Spaniard. He hopes he can be a satisfactory mate. So he agrees, and he helps Marc through that rough patch and tries not to whisper in the man's ear that he wants to do this for the rest of their lives. Together.
He does whisper it after a while, knot firmly in place an in a drunken haze.
Marc does not remember it after.
Once this is over, he's told he can't get back on suppressants for security purposes. Which makes him want to rip someone's head off, really. He's fine, he can be fine, he doesn't want to go into the paddock without his suppressants.
As compensation, the stupid doctor throws him a box of IFO-approved scent patches and bids him goodbye.
Marc fucking hates hospitals.
Marco does text him to ask how everything went, which is sweet from the younger man.
Marc tells him he's going to kill someone.
(This might be the hormones talking.)
He arrives into the paddock for the first race of the year and there's no second lost on wondering why people are looking at him. Heads are turning, people are double checking, riders are sniffing the air questioningly.
Marc fucking stinks.
(He does not.)
((He's an unreliable narrator.))
Marco immediately notices that Marc isn't taking his suppressants. He's had the chance to smell the older man quite a few times when they shared heats and ruts. He has to say, Marc probably has the most delicious scent he's ever smelled. It makes him want to salivate, it stops him from fully focusing, it makes his teeth ache painfully in his mouth. So when he smells what his stupid alpha brain has deemed as his in the paddock, he freaks out.
He's torn between feeling smug now that people are realizing how delicious Marc smells when they can't have him, and between wanting to tear everyone's head off. Why are they looking? Why are they touching? Why is Fermín reaching for the small of Marc's back? Why is Pecco looking at him like he's never seen him?
Marco wants them all dead.
(He can't lose Marc to someone else. The older man is it for him. If he can't have him as his mate, then he would rather have no one. He's terrified Marc doesn't feel the same. Why would he want a young and stupid alpha like Marco who used to despise him?)
So he decides to stake a claim and stays as close to Marc as he can. He almost let out a deep rumble in public when he realises Marc is letting him. So he puts himself in between the Spaniard and any alpha who thinks they now have a right to act on what they are smelling. He almost snaps at the media, too. But Marc stops him with a hand on his scent gland. He freezes and lets the older omega massage his gland until his hands are bathing in Marco's scent. Then, he brings them to his own neck and rubs them there like you would do with fancy perfume.
Marco almost passes out.
"What? I like the lavender. And like this, the media will shut up, no?"
Gods, he wants to kiss this man.
Marc, for his part, doesn't mind people staring once they realize he has Bez's scent on himself. He's used to the stares, and he likes how flustered it makes Bez. The media will maybe stop asking questions once they realise, but he can already imagine the articles. He's not feeling too angsty about it. He likes bez's scent, and that's all thag matters to him.
(Not his first rodeo.)
And Bez? When Pecco looks at him in wonder after the race, probably having smelled the residuals of his scent on a sweaty Marc, all he can do is give a stupid lovesick smile and try to act normal about it.
That part inside of him, the one he tries to control, is so deeply satisfied he could almost develop the ability to purr.
That weekend, he panics a little. He scrambles to find a gift for Marc, something that the older man will accept from him. Now that the Spaniard isn't wearing suppressants, everyone can smell him and how inviting he is. Marco doesn't have that security bubble around him anymore. He can feel the seconds ticking by.
In the ends, he finds nothing. Because he's a stupid alpha with no abilities to please such a perfect omega like Marc. He tells himself: ah, maybe a bottle of wine, but someone definitely tried that on Marc before. He can't be original. He's a failure.
Marc finds Marco like this, curled into a corner of his motorhome and sniffling into his arms, his scent souring and making the Spaniard want to whine in detress. He almost hits himself. Stupid hormones.
"What's wrong?" He asks Marco and tries to act like he doesn't want to curl up in a ball himself in response.
Then, Bez spills his heart out to him. He tells Marc about the courting, about being an idiot who can't do anything right, about not deserving Marc. Throughout all of this, tears roll down his cheeks. He presents his hand to Marc and shows him something.
"All I have is this."
Marc blinks at first. Not because he has tears in his eyes himself, of course. In Marco's hand is a bracelet. It's red, and there's two Ms on little beads.
"I made it a while ago. It made me happy."
And, oh.
Marco, that lovable fool.
He doesn't understand that Marc is rich enough to have anything he wants. If he's to be courted, buying him a yacht or a place in Ibiza won't do the trick. Many have tried and failed. He doesn't care about objects of financial values.
So this? This little bracelet, with hanging strings and looking two strong tugs away from falling into pieces?
It's perfect.
Marco does not understand when Marc starts purring. Marco does not understand when Marc delicately puts on the bracelet like it's an engagement ring.
Marc looks up at him, wrist glowing a pretty red, and gives a teary smile.
(There’s hope in Marco's chest.)
Marc wraps him into a hug, bathing in his scent, and whispers two little words in his ears.
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After minutes of wandering, searching for the birthday boy, Scar's sharp eye manages to find Sleepy. His smile turns mischievous.
Disguised near the trees, Scar creeps closer before eventually getting behind Sleepy. He puts his hand on top of the boy's hat and grins.
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Sleepy, happy birthday to you!"
His singing is horrible, but his joy isn't. Scar is wearing a party cone on top of his head and seems to be carrying balloons.
He... still seems to be in some pain, but Scar has gotten better at hiding it.
"You ready for the party? I've been preparing it all day."
-- @secret-life-scar-blog
Sleepy yelps and stumbles forward, temporarily stunned by the sudden appearance of his friend. He whips around and stares up at him.
The canary winces slightly as Scar sings, then corrects his face when he realizes how rude that must look. He tilts his head. He's never heard the song, but it's a nice gesutre, and it's the first happy birthday he's gotten all day. When Scar finishes, his claps, grinning wide.
At the mention of the party, however, his expression falters slightly.
"Oh, um. The party."
He flashes Scar an awkward smile, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot.
"I...thought the party was tomorrow?"
Sleepy says it like a question rather than a statement, like even he doesn't find the answer believable.
my feelings right now are either ‘i am a constellation of emotions and i am exploding’ / POSITIVE or ‘i am a constellation of emotions and i am exploding’ / NEGATIVE
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