#but implied

He never minded charity events if he had to be honest. It was easy to simply smile, make small talk, go around and fall into the perfect image, hanging around with people he saw so rarely, there were way too many topics to pick at. All while doing something good, helping someone out - it was all good. Great, even.

However, this event was much more… ah, different. First of all, it was all with the intent of raising the money for some facilities meant to encourage young racers, or something like that - sweet, and likeable enough to encourage some of Carlos’ sponsors to join, too. But also different people from all over the motorsport world came over.

Including, well, Marc Marquez.

And Carlos couldn’t ignore him, not like he has since that day. After it happened, after he left the motorhome and the track without another word to anyone, the rumour spread. Nothing too much, but rather just one of those fun rumours. Just enough to get Marc's goal, Carlos assumed, because afterwards it was radio silence from the other driver. He didn't exactly mind, all too caught up in his own problems. But now, fully signed at Williams, he was rather… free. Open to hearing all the words and realising how fucked up being ignored after such a thing actually was. And, well, he also ignored Marc, he couldn’t deny that, but now that they were both at the same event, he just - he thought they could talk it over a bit. Figure things out.

He didn't like this silence.

But instead of finding Marc, he kept finding Valentino Rossi for crying out loud. The older man, being a legend who himself worked on training young drivers, was, of course, invited to such a thing. Why he came, Carlos couldn’t tell you; just PR or genuine interest, or something in-between or completely else. It didn’t matter, because it all resulted in the same thing. Carlos, trying to enjoy the night. Valentino, who would side-eye him, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly when they'd make eye-contact. Apparently, Marc's plan worked, but maybe a bit too well.

Carlos couldn’t help but lightly wonder if Valentino did something about it, or only appointed Carlos the role of the devil who took his precious boy away. Not that Carlos minded that much; that meant Valentino was too much of a coward to approach Marc, and that meant that he had a clear way to Marc.

Not that he wanted that kind of approach to Marc… it was just… you know, just a way to rekindle their friendship, just - ah, forget it.

Either way, Carlos was followed by Valentino. His every step and move was under the man's watchful eye, and he started to get annoyed by that. Meanwhile, Carlos was focusing on one thing: finding Marc. Which seemed, well, impossible.

Whenever he'd spot Marc, and approach him through the crowds of people, Marc would be gone by the time he got there. And he just kept going in circles like that, playing some sick game of cat and mouse, constantly searching for the man and missing him. He hated it, with his whole heart, and he was left without any result. He knew Marc was shorter than most, but god, this was ridiculous - he didn't need to play this whole mouse game!

As another one of these fucked up opportunities came over, Carlos was left in one spot, alone, annoyed and dumbfounded. He drank down a glass of champagne in one go, trying his best to push the irritation aside. He wasn’t one to get angry, and he wouldn't let Marc be the one to destroy this streak with this whole game. If Marc didn't want to talk, fine - Carlos didn't either.

Suddenly, though, an arm wrapped around him. He turned to look at the person in question, and he could only raise an amused eyebrow at the man beside him. There stood Thierry Neuville, pushing his glasses to fix them on his nose as he smiled drunkly at Carlos. Of course Carlos knew him; having a father who competed in rally meant that even if he wasn’t there anymore, a curiosity was still lingering at the back of his head, and he was mostly up to date with what was going on. Even with the fact that Thierry was on his way to win that year's championship, and maybe that was why the man was invited, or why he was brave enough to get wasted.

“You know, Carlos,” The man started off, leaning in slightly, almost as if revealing a conspiracy. “There's this guy staring at you. He's quite annoying, too.” The Spaniard could only smile at the words, his eyes darting to find Valentino across the room, now charming some random CEO with his stories on motorcycles.

Carlos patted Thierry on the back, humming as a reply. “Thanks, buddy. I'll watch out.” He reassured while the Belgian laughed, eventually letting go of the man.

Before long, Carlos was once again on his crazy quest of finding Marc. And as he looked around the room, he suddenly bumped into someone and-

“Ah, the young Sainz.” Valentino hummed, gently fixing his suit as he smiled at Carlos. “Sorry to bump into you like this.” His face softened as an apology, head slightly tilting as he watched the younger man.

Carlos, however, was not impressed.

“No worries.” He replied calmly, eyeing the Italian carefully. Valentino, all the charming, quickly regained the excitement on his face, a hand coming to rest on Carlos’ shoulder.

“Ah, how have you been since the last time we saw each other? Enjoyed the race back then?” He continued with that smile of his, turning on the public persona. Carlos nodded along, smiling as well.

“Ah, yeah. It's always nice to find out more about MotoGP.” The Spaniard replied, to which Valentino smirked.

“Hm. And it was nice finding Marc's motorhome too?” There it was.

Carlos shrugged nonchalantly, gaze darting around in search of the man in question. He tried avoiding Valentino's gaze, hiding away from having to admit that yes, they did it, all for Valentino to be jealous, actually, and now Carlos weirdly craved at least a conversation if not Marc's touch on his skin, on his naked skin, no more hugs and lingering hands for the camera and- and-

It was all so overwhelming, and he couldn’t let the older man see it. Valentino probably knew Marc better than Carlos, and he could easily laugh in his face, talk about the way Marc would have reacted if he actually enjoyed it, all in public, just to see Carlos squirm and break down. And it would all be worthless in the end, because Marc didn't want him anyway, and Carlos didn't either, but the torture would still hurt, because Valentino was smart like that, a snake that would always find a place to wrap around and strangle its enemies.

Carlos wasn’t that willing to be an enemy.

“Rumours, right?” Carlos replied, smiling politely at the older man. Simple, sharp, leaving no room for interpretation - You're wrong to believe this.

Marc wanted Valentino to know about it, he craved the older man's intense gaze, the anger and the bitterness, the jealousy fueling whatever conspiracy he'd thrown himself in. Carlos, however, didn’t agree to playing into the following rumours. He had no reason to throw himself in the lion's den.

But, eh, Valentino was already pulling him apart like he was a simple puzzle, just a kid's toy, given to an adult to figure out. Fine, so be it - if Valentino saw through his lies, then he'd have to go attack Marc, not Carlos. Carlos was just a pawn in a game of chess he didn't even play. And no matter how much he cared for Marc, how much he craved him in this unexplainable, drowning way, he couldn’t reach out to help him - not when this was Marc’s chess game, Marc’s dance, Marc’s own punishment, be it for himself or Valentino, Carlos didn’t know.

“Hm. Rumours.” Valentino agreed with that tight smile of his that he would pull when Marc came up as a topic - I believe what I want.

Carlos simply overlooked it, the tightness in the other’s actions and the quiet response, and muttered a quick excuse of having to go talk to a sponsor. He wouldn't stay there to be devoured by the lion when the den had an exit, after all.

Now, exhausted and more than upset, he wanted to get out of there - away from the whole place. With Valentino now left behind, silently watching after Carlos, the Spaniard made his way out of the building. Be damned game and rumours and Marc and weird things at all - he didn’t need the Márquez, he just needed to get out.

Suddenly, though, a loud noise made him flinch. He turned around harshly, cat-like hazel eyes staring at him, paired with a smile he knew all too well.

The sight was majestic - maybe even romantic. Carlos, turned around, eyes finding the man he had been searching for, longing for, in the middle of this damned garden. The man himself, so close yet so far, after a whole night of being out of reach, he still couldn’t step closer, separated by a fountain of all things, but maybe more than that. Maybe they were pulled apart by this invisible wall, built and crafted by Marc so carefully, only for him to be the one to play around it, as if wishing Carlos would just jump over it. Now, in that moment, in that garden, looking so beautiful in his suit, his hair done and eyes slightly hazy from alcohol, yet still challenging people, still playing with fate as if he was its only weakness. And Carlos - damn him - he was taking the bait. He was just a man, after all.

And how could he not, when Marc was just blinking so innocently, smiling at him so fondly, so beautiful in the moonlight and winking at him and-

Carlos turned around, determined to get to his car. If Marc would follow, that meant he could fix something. If not, this was a game he was not willing to play - he wasn’t even sure if he was the cat or the mouse in it anymore, a pawn or a king, or maybe even some spectator.

But Marc proved to him that he was neither and yet all of them, that his role in the game was uncertain, dictated by whatever hand laid on him in that moment - be it Thierry’s drunken touch, meant to be a friendly gesture, or Valentino’s grip, wrapped in hate and warning, in unspoken insults and stormy eyes, in bitter jealousy that dripped from his fingertips like venom, or maybe just, just Marc. Marc, who suddenly got to his side as he opened the door to his car. Marc, whose hand slipped on his shoulder, gentle and intimate and coated in a tension that seemed to overtake Carlos temporarily, making him forget all about being upset.

Marc, whose body pressed so close to Carlos’, followed by a whispered “Do you want us to go in the backseat?”

And as Carlos said earlier, he was just a man.

It wasn’t long before he was sat in the backseat, Marc next to him, smiling so sweetly and yet so devilish. It wasn’t long before Marc’s hand found a resting spot on Carlos’ shoulder again, replacing the wrath of his old lover with mischief presented in sweetness. It didn’t feel truly real.

“What now?” Carlos asked before he could stop himself, watching Marc’s relaxed gaze turn into a gentle confusion. He smiled, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we did, you know,” He didn’t know if he was able to mention it out loud, God. “So what now? We go back to being friends?” To that, Marc seemed to freeze. However, he regained himself so quickly, so easily, Carlos had almost missed it.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll see.” He waved his hand dismissively, and Carlos frowned in response.

“But-”

“Did you enjoy last time?” Too much, he almost responded, but stopped himself in time. Marc smirked, as if he could somehow read his mind, make out every little thought inside his head and absorb it, keeping it close to his heart like a prize. It both annoyed and intrigued Carlos. “We can repeat it. Make it better.” He suggested, and Carlos tensed.

He wanted it. Craved it. But he wanted to find an answer, to figure out what Marc’s thoughts were, and finally know what was going on in someone’s head as well. Finally be the one to discover someone else, and not only be discovered, pulled apart like nothing.

“We need to talk first-”

“We’ll talk later.” Marc quickly responded, head tilting to the side. “Tonight’s been too messy. I think we deserve a break.”