#bosch ask

Marc doesn't really believe it, but it's nice nonetheless, because now people expect them to give a shallow hello when they cross paths. And as Vale is spending more time with motogp this season (car vroom not a thing this year and all that), he has little interest in dealing with Marc-related questions about drama *cough*HE*cough* might create via podcast/interviews.

It means that they're closer though, and their weird half-bond-thing starts pulsing in their hindbrains a lot more. Like, hey, dude, ur sorta mate is close, why the fuck arent you jumping him? That kinda stuff. And both are good at controlling their smells, but Marc has been slowly waning off his heavy blockers the past years because of complications with his medications. Idk. We're just making stuff up for wolf-porn reasons.

So the scent is more noticable to Vale, how it carries in the paddock, something that's not happened since the start of 2015. And ufffff, look at hiiiimmmmmmm, he's glowwiiiiiingggggggg. He's in his hot-girl-era-two electric boogaloo, he's in all red, he's getting manhandled by all the old men in his garage, his tits are big and his ass is fat. Even his hair is doing those beautiful flicky locks thingie when he's on the podium and tipping his head back and baring his neck for all to see. Amazing stuff all around and Vale.....notices lets say. (I'm very biased but baby marc? nowhere even near current Marc when it comes to attractiveness)

And look, Vale's fucked around, he's much less problems with sleeping with others, both outside and during a rut, than Marc. Marc, who's been suffering through this heats mostly alone the past decade. Rosquez has maybe spent one together? Or two? And then there were a few attempts with Dovi, but the half-bond kinda fucked it and there was little enjoyment found. So sweating through them with hands and toys and unsatisfactory orgasms for a few days it is. Yay. Marc's gotten used to the ordeal, the supressors helping somewhat with the effects, and maybe his body didn't even go into heat during his worst injuries because his biological clock was like, nope. No kids rn. Bad idea. And then Vale retired anyway, so there was much less risk about him acting out during a heat.

But nowwww Vale is in the paddock more and Marc is off his strong supressors and he's hot, but so is Vale, and Marc notices in the same way Vale notices him and the urges are pulsing in the back of both their minds'. And if we're going with fun reversels of the dynamics, I'm putting back the 'Alpha's might also nest'. Maybe not quite as explicit as in my earlier ramble, but it's something an Alpha will do; create a place of comfort for a (possible) mate, store up on pillows and scents and character to show and give.

Normally Vale isnt a big fan of nesting. But he starts unconciously scrunching up on pillows and blankets in the bed of his motorhome which he puts down to the exhaustion of traveling. Marc does the same, but he understands where it's coming from. He has more experience with handling his hindbrain and the consequences of the half-bond. He still refuses to acknowledge it of course; fighting through the paaaiinn babyyyyyyyy.

so, we have a set-up. Now. The actual heat.

Marc's heats are a bit irregular, his body skipping a few because of injuries and all that. So he doesn't have a set schedule and can be a bit shite at recognizing the symptoms, especially now that he's off the surpressors. The champ of both motogp and ignoring his body's signals.

So he's be walking around for the weekend, his smell carrying even more, but most think it's because of Misano. Marc is coming in a bit sharper, he's a bit more drawn back, eyes going into terminator mode etc. It's when he feels something vicious curl behind his teeth because somebody stepped to close to his territory (side of the garage) that is Not wanted, that he goes. Hm.

Vale on the other hand smells him and fuuuuuuuck. He's not a hundred percent sure either, it's been a bit, but he can feel the need to stand up straighter. To let his gaze linger behind his rich auntie sunglasses. To smile big and show off his canines as he entertains the crowd. Look how great he is! How funny and iconic! He's charming everyone and their grandmother during all his interviews! Isn't he the best??? (he ignores why he feels the need to do it, even more so when he lays out the most comfortable pillows on god's green earth in his Not-Nest. Thank you for staring, Uccio, now fuck off)

And it kinda works? Marc is walking through a sea of yellow, everything plastered with Vale's face and postering and fuck, it's rude how hot he is, isn't it, Marc? He's very determinded to ignore it all, no matter how much his brain is pulsing with the urge to bury himself in the colour, to purr and look up under his lashes like he did almost a decade ago; to lean in and say Alpha and lick up that one drop of sweat rolling down Vale's throat in one of his fuckass interviews and-

No. Bad Marc. Stawp.

But then it's race-day and Marc wakes up with cramps and he's like. Ah, so that' why. Great. (he's only this horny because of the oncoming heat of course) Not that it makes him skip anything. He's Marc Marquez afterall.

But he's warning Alex that he'll need to skip any after-race stuff and get ready to hide out. It's shit timing, sure, but what is he to do? Not stunt on hoes? Yeah, no. Alex sighs, knows he has more luck convincing a wall to talk back, and says he's gonna lock Marc in. Just in case. Marc can get. Hm. Hungry, lets say.

The race happens and Marc wins, with Pecco as second and Franky third, because it forces Vale to attend and get a frontal view Marc bouncing and celebrating in parc femme. Like, Marc's flushed and sweaty and gloowwwwwiiinnggggggg when he hugs Pecco with his loud cheerfullness. ("You were quick out there, jajajajajaj!! Almost had me, jajajajaja!!" *deapan Pecco staring because Gigi, that is the devil, why did you do this to me*) And Vale reaches over so he can pull Pecco in for his own hugs and a quick pic feat Franky, but when he does, he has a second of meeting Marc's massive eyes, the mania in them, and it's like a fucking gunshot going off. Doubts have vanished. That is an (his) Omega in heat alright, and it's suddenly even more important to get his amazing prodigy of an Alpha close and away from Marc. Marc, who licks his lips and gets handed #HisGoo and feels the time to get locked away rapidly approaching.

Pictures are taken, Vale makes a show of scenting both his alpha kids' to leave his own scent with them on the podium for. reasons. And the show goes on. Podium happens, Vale is watching only his kids (of course) Marc lets himself be sprayed in champagne only for the celebration (of course) and both decide to skip the post race interviews citing whatever reason they want in that moment (of course). (Ducati has been informed of Marc's stunt and are less than pleased but hey, he won.)

anyway, Marc scooters back to his motorhome, feeling that the punch of his heat has gone well past bearable, showers real quick, shoots Alex a message, and hunkers down before he starts losing the last bit of his brain. Alex checks in to see if Marc has enough food and #goo, gets waved out and told to fuck off, and locks the door to get ready for lounging about the next day. Marc's heats, if they happen at all, have been short the past years, and yeah, it's annoying, but no way in hell is he leaving him alone in fucking Misano. He's still departing that motorhome asap because. No. Be back in a few hours to see if anything is needed, byeeeeee.

Vale meanwhile is walking circles into the floor of his own motorhome, stoping and cursing everyone and everything - Marc, Motogp, the world, whoever - from time to time and being so incredibly high-strung, people are leaving him alone. (yes, I'm ignoring that Vale doesn't need his motorhome here, fuck off with ur facts n logic in my wolf-porn)

Because.

Marc fucking looked at him in parc femme. Licked his stupid, plush lips, all sweaty and flushed and so fuckable, and looked at him. Vale should be on his way home, get ready to celebrate with the academy and have a fun night. Or, if not that, talk with his team about the race, go over the data, figure out what worked and not, be fucking productive and shit. But Marc smiled brightly and cackled loudly on the podium, shook his messy hair when Pecco sprayed him with champagne, and gave a perfect view of his beautiful neck when he tipped his head back on the podium. Like he was taunting Vale, his face blissed out in ways Vale is painfully familiar with. Or maybe was. (he hates that thought. and he hates that he hates that thought even more. fuck)

And he's already tried the cold shower, valiantly holding off on touching his half-hard dick because there's only one thing that comes to mind and he's nothing if not stubborn. Doesn't stop his teeth from aching. Nor his dick from chubbing up.

It's ridiculous is what it is. He's ridiculous, and not in the fun way. It also doesn't stop him from checking the fridge. And staring hard and long at his bed. And fluffing out the pillows. Actually, maybe he shoudl lie down in it. To make his scent stronger, you know? Enticing and all-encompassing, that, like, he could stake claim. On whoever could be in it. With him. So, that, you know, when that other hypothetical person leaves, he could never fucking doubt-

He's going insane alright.

It's bad for Vale, being stuck in this tense loop of indecision. Because who is he kidding, he knows what's going on, why he's told the others to go back and leave him. Why he keeps walking and sitting down and standing up and staring at the door to his own goddamn motorhome, waiting for something. Someone. Fuck. He's not saying anything, it would make it worse, make it reality, and he's not giving in. Instead he's sitting down again and tapping his foot and staring some more and maybe getting up again because he has water in his fridge, right? It's important that he has water-

Marc, on the other side of the paddock/layout/whatever, is maybeeeeeee feeling the effects of past months. And might also be going insane for it. Freak4Freak

His heats have been bad before, but this? It's eating him up, swallowing him whole, making him groan and claw and want to bite. The smell, both in parc femme and on the podium, hell, over the whole weekend, the whole year; it's sitting in his brain and mouth, and he's whining and groaning in equal measure, pathetically rutting against the soon to be completely ruined mattress, because fuuuuuccccckkkkk.

He's been short before calling out, just about managed to bite into his pillows and sheets and (painfully) his own arm to stop the name from spilling past his lips. But Marc doesn't know how much longer he can hold out, he's losing his grip on things, and no matter what he's tried the past few hours, his orgasms aren't doing jack shit.

If he can even get himself there.

He's been desperately fucking his own hand, even worked that stupid fucking dildo inside himself ("Sure to help with all your needs ;)" suck his dick actually, what bullshit), but the heat is only getting stronger. And this is only the start.

It doesn't feel like the usual day and a half endeavor either, the way his brain's melting, mind hazy and throat doing overtime with the whines he's letting slip past. And Marc tries to push them down, keep himself focused enough to at least try and get off, but it's difficult to find the coordination between his arm and his base urges screaming at him to Move. To not just play the image of that that stupid drop of sweat crawling down Vale's throat on a loop, but actually get to him. Feel those hands gripping his waist and sharp teeth digging into his neck as he fucks him through his orgasm and pushes him down and finally kno-

Marc barely registers the knock, Alex calling out with a 'everything ok', and yeah, he's fucked. He didn't even notice Alex smell, that's how out of it he is. And Marc can only snap his teeth together with a whine, cover himself in blankets, and press down the need to curl his lips when Alex caaaarreeefully opens the door to Marc's territory. And Alex is staring at him and thinks fuck and Marc barely sees him and says Need him and Alex thinks fuck

And Alex goes no, fuck, no, it's- hey, you've gone through this before, and Marc, eyes focused on the sliver of freedom given by the open door, goes not like this, this is worse, and Alex gives another, empathetic Fuck. Because this is Marc being clear about what he needs. But it's the worst possible thing, person, man, to need and Alex is pretty fucking sure that a non-heat-addled-Marc would rather eat glass than call for Vale. But he isn't dealing with that Marc, he's dealing with Marc in a heat that is apparently fucking him over quite heavily. Because it has Not been long enough for Alex to hear the occasional whine for motherfucking Valentino Rossi. Who, coincidentally, is still at the track. Fuck.

So Alex carefully closes the door on the tense and terrifying bundle of blankets that is Marc, goes brb, locks him in to some terrible, cut-off whine, and calls their trainer, Google, Marc's health-expert, the church, fucking anybody to help him out here. Because he is Not equipped to deal with this, not alone.

Marc on the other side of the now behated door comes to the realisation that ok, he's only at the start of the heat and he's already becoming very unhinged. His solutions are a. riding this thing out (he almost whine-snarls and bites a pillow again) or b. escape and solve this problem. The latter seems strangely reasonable to him which is maybe helped by closing his eyes and thinking about that stupid drop of sweat and stupid hands waving at the crowd and he is stupidly close anyway because Marc is 100% sure he would know if he weren't. So why shouldn't he?

(Look, he isn't being particularily smart rn and the time of his....I wanted to say logical but who am I kidding, brain has run well out)

The door is locked, meh, but Marc looks at the window, thinks easy, and puts on some pants because Nobody gets to look at him rn except One person. Modesty because of territorial hornyness. And who was going to win this, a window or Marc Marquez? It's not even locked.

So a feral Marc mission-impossibles his way up and out, doesn't even consider the dangers of jumping down from that height (he knows how to fall at 250+ km/h, this is nothing) (debatable but whatever) and zeros in on that fuckass yellow motorhome.

(sidenote; but I hope everyone knows this is ridiculous and solely for fun musings. My brain is kinda meh rn. I'm not even thinking about the implications of people running places like some sort of feral, horny racoon. We're just gonna put it down to Marc being Marc rn. Good? Good.)

Vale, for his part, has given in to lying in bed. And staring at the ceiling. It's marginally better than staring at the door in his opinion. He'll call it a new practice of patience. Look, between the urge to go out and walk to that stupid, red motorhome and lying in bed, the latter won out, and he thinks that is admirable. Somewhat.

He can feel the oncoming migraine because Vale is someone that genuinely hates this stupid bullshit so much. The loss of brain-capacity and self-control are uncomfortable on the best of days. But sitting around because his ex-something is going into heat might just have won in matters of instinct-bullshit. Vale is working very hard at staring a hole into the ceiling to convince himself to get home.

Which is a thought that's getting harder and harder to entertain because the pulsing in his brain is kicking up again and it feels like. Maybe. Something is closer. Someone. And yes, that's insane, but Vale sits up from his Not-Nest and stares at the door very intently because he's picking up a smell and-

It's not really a knock and more of a slam with the palm of a hand. Vale is moving like somebody ran lightning through him, fingers at the door already, but maybe. Like. This. It's bad. Or not bad, but stupid. And. Fucking. He can almost hear Uccio in his ear and-

Marc whines and the door is open and Vale is standing in the light of the motorhome, eyes wide and focused on only Him. And Marc pushes in and up, brings his scarred fingers into Vale's hair and kisses him. And it's amazing.

Because when Marc bites down, the sound - the groan - Vale makes, is the same, and his hands still drag over Marc's body like he can't stop himself from touching everything, and Vale still meets him firm and hungry in that way Marc loves, needs.

And fuckin, man, my guys

Marc is barely taking a breath before he leans back in, puts his tongue into Vale's mouth, taste him, and licks behind his teeth. Because Marc is hungry, has been for too long. And it feels good, driving his teeth over Vale's lips that have Vale making a sound and picking him up. His hands, bigger than Marc's, longer, finer, under his ass and one on Marc's thigh.

Marc whines when he settles, looking down at Vale, legs around Vale's waist, and kisses him some more. Marc is hard and hungry and his alpha, his mate, he's here, meeting each bite with his own. And he smells good. So so fucking good. Marc wants to keep kissing him but he also wants to bury his nose in Vale's neck and under his arm and lick and bite and lick some more and why is a stupid fucking shirt in the way-

Marc lands with a yelp in blankets and pillows and it takes him a second to understand. He hadn't even realised that Vale was carrying him through the motorhome. But he turns his face to look for Vale and instead breathes in spice and comfort and heady need. He's in Vale's bed, nest, whatever, and he opens his mouth because he wants to take in everything. Rubs his cheeck over the texture and doesn't know he's started purring, shifting like a cat on it's back, hands up and legs stretched out.

And Marc can't see the way Vale is staring, how taken he his with having Marc in a place he clearly should've always been. Too busy with soaking up the scent he's been wanting for a decade now. But Vale stares at a shirtless Marc, all tan skin and glistening muscles and fucking, perfection, and he almost chokes on his growl.

And Marc turns, looks at him, eyes all molten heat and hunger, and slowly lowers himself back into a sea of yellow and blue. Marc is here for something specific. His sweatpants have gone well past damp, his dick tenting obscenely, and he opens his legs. But Vale doesn't move, only stares at him some more.

He isn't in his rut, but it almost feels like it. He knows Marc's heats get vicious, but he's never seen him that feral. Completely lost in it. Vale can feel another list of pros and cons start in his head, debating whether he should leave Marc here. If his smell would be enough to help out.

But Marc keens, tilting his head again, throat and neck presented to Vale like an offering, looking at him with sharp eyes, and his chest heaving up and down. Alpha, he says, and Vale had no chance.

He's over him with another growl. Pushes his tongue into Marc's mouth, hands at Marc's sweatpants, trying to shove them down, and almost stops when he first feels and then sees slick cling to Marc's inner thighs, to the cotton. To his smooth and perfect skin. To his dick. But Marc nips at his jaw, Come on, and Vale drags them off, leaving Marc completely naked in His Nest.

And he's, god, Marc is everything, isn't he?

There's more muscles now, more scars too, not an ounce of babyfat left anywhere, his face all sharp lines and a confidence in his body that wasn't there when they first did this. Not like this. And Marc parts his legs again - he really does laser everything, doesn't? - and Vale gets a perfect view of his hard dick, his balls, the soft skin under them and down to his wet hole. There's so much slick, pre too, a mess really, that makes Vale think; it would be so easy to slip in.

Marc makes sounds, he's vocal like that, one hand on his own dick, the other tugging at Vale's shirt. Vale gets the message, doesn't take his eyes off Marc's bruised knuckles moving up and down his dick though, and throws his shirts away. His pants too, no use for them, is there?

And when he crawls over Marc again, kissing up the sweaty valley between his tits, he takes a long second to breathe him in. Nose buried in Marc's neck, mouth open so he can lick over the skin there, the gland, and his brain is purring. Or Marc might be. It's difficult to differentiate at this point. But Marc is grinding his dick up against Vale's stomach, heels and nails digging into Vale's back, another urgent Alpha moaned into the room, and he gets the message.

It shouldn't be that difficult to get a hand on his own dick, but Marc is clinging to him, keeps nipping and kissing and licking everything he can get his mouth on. And if not that, then he's rubbing his cheeks all over Vale, tucking his head in to get under Vale's scruffy chin, and purring against his collarbone. Vale scents his kids. Hell, he scents during a rut/heat, but Marc is, like, trying to bury under his skin.

Not that it matters because Vale pushes his fingers through the mess between Marc's legs ("fuck, yes, please, Alpha, need you, need you, please-" he's gonna be the death of Vale fr) and wets his dick and finally pushes in. Or, well. Pushes the head of his dick against Marc's hole, slips past because SlickMessWetFuck, but Marc moans into his ear because y e s. Vale hushes him, Don't move baby, and fucking finally.

Vale was right. He slips in, no resistence at all, and Marc really might be everything. Vale knows for a fact that Marc uses toys, had the chance to use them on Marc even, and he's loose enough because of it. But Marc is also all tight and wet and heat around his dick and fuck; Marc might be everything. And they don't move for a few seconds, taking in the satisfaction of being together, of both their brains purring and the feel of skin on skin and Them being Them.

Because Vale isn't in his rut, but Marc is under him, sweaty and flushed and glowing, eyes half lidded; this beautiful, hungry perfection that is only satisfied because he's filled with Vale, sitting on his cock, and Vale might get there. His hormones are going crazy right now.

And Marc, fuuuuuuucckkkkkkkk, it's so good. The aching is gone, the painful cramps reminding him of how hollow he is, not even his arm is fucking this up for him. Instead he has his Alpha looking down at him with those too-blue eyes that glow against the orange light of the ceiling.

And Marc arches his back, pushes his chest up again like a present, and presses his thighs against Vale's waist. Alpha, he says. Mate, he purrs, pulling Vale down for another kiss that doesn't happen because Vale rolls his hips and Marc chokes on the feeling. It's been so long since he had this during a heat. And a dick is a dick is a dick. But this is Vale's dick. His mate's dick. And Vale's fucking him in smooth rolls of his hips that Marc's feels somewhere above his navel. And Marc tries to meet Vale, but it's been So Long, and he kind of wants to cry, maybe, but also no. So instead he moans and claws at Vale's back, moves his hips as best as he can, and enjoys.

Like, god. Vale is fucking him. Vale is fucking him. During Marc's heat. He's fucking him with his cock that is so perfect for Marc and thick at the base and god, Vale has to knot him. He has to knot Marc or Marc will go straight from crying to biting. And not the fun, slightly sharp one's they keep trading, but something vicious and hard to make Vale Stay. He'll even do all the work. Will bounce in Vale's lap like a grade A whore if he has to, but he needs Vale. Needs him bad, needs him to come in Marc, to fill him up and leave him plugged and satisfied for once. Because Marc can't go back from this again, not when he sees Vale so much. He can't go through another Parc Femme while watching Vale scent others like that because it makes something horrible curdle in his stomach. But it also makes him think about how fucking Good Vale is with his kids and it was so hard to not push in there, to tell Vale, plainly, Give me one, so Vale has to Stay.

But Marc's brain is becoming even more mush because Vale is going from smooth rolls to hard and fast and Marc is feeling it in his throat. Lets himself be manhandled, Vale taking his leg and pushing it back, stretching Marc, leaving his hips canted up and unable to do anything. Can only get sounds fucked out of his lungs, watch as Vale fucks him, fucks into him, his own dick drooling on his stomach. But that isn't important because Vale's ring is pressing into the flesh of his thigh and he says Omega and Marc and Baby, so good, so good for me, have you, fuck, you take it so well, knew it, know you, cazzo- and Marc can't even keep his mouth shut at this point. He's drooling onto the yellow pillow under his head, drowning in his own smell, in Vale's smell, their scent of sex and satisfied and good and lets himself be taken.

Because the aching is finally gone; the feeling that his own skin is too tight replaced by Vale's hot mouth sucking marks into his chest and the push of his knot against Marc. And he wants it. Needs it. Tells Vale, Knot me, and Vale looks up at him, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead. You want? and Marc nods and Vale kisses him again, lets Marc taste him with a whine, and slows his thrusts. Makes it pointed and hard, pushes into him, and Marc comes when he's finally being split open and filled by Vale's knot.

And it's so good, fucking toe-curling good, perfect even. The heat in him, the fullness, how Vale is working is knot inside him with a drawn out groan, calling him Perfect and Beautiful and You needed that, hm? Needed me, only me, didn't you? and Marc can't even form words. Whines. Tucks under him. Keeps Vale.

And Marc is clinging, arms and legs wound around Vale (matematematemate his brain keeps chanting and every part of Marc agrees) as he rides out his, their, orgasms. Feels himself pulse in waves while Vale is shallowly fucking into Marc, coming in him.

Their stomachs are wet with Marc's come because of course Vale doesn't even need to touch his dick, fuck. He's a mess, they both are, but Vale knotted him, keeps kissing Marc's neck and throat and lips, and Marc can't bring himself to care. Not when the tension is leaving his body and Vale is holding him in his nest. Arms around each other, Vale leaving longer and longer kisses, with Marc under him. Slowly dragging the soft inside of his thighs over Vale's hips to encourage each careful roll that makes sure Marc is full of Vale's knot and come, plugged up with it.

And yeah, this is absolutely fucking insane, images of things that Won't Happen now dancing in both their brains, something about Marc maybe round and full and them curled into each other, Vale kissing his temple and shoulders and scars, but that's another whole fucking thing.