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Lando used to hate the blue in Alpine garage, long before he saw Oscar wearing it. It’s just not his color. Blue is too dark, cold, resembling sadness, not what he would choose to wear on nights where heat waves hit hard, and they always do in Bahrain. He finds himself thinking about it as he listens to the team working around his car, trying to make it drivable, putting their souls into something Lando is not sure is gonna work. The whole winning a championship, being the driver number one. Might not work.
He’s usually dwelling in thoughts about his increasing insomnia to pay attention to mechanic's gossip, sometimes he’s stuck in his own head, plotting ideas, imagining fake scenarios where he is not a driver, in some of them he is not an alpha, although Lando would never wish to be an omega. He fears the idea of being socially judged, which, even with the eventual change in society, omegas still had to deal with that sting of prejudice. Perhaps that same fear leads him to turn his eyes to Oscar, or at least, the group of men talking about him.
The mechanics are from the majority betas, hardly an alpha, and very little are omegas. There is actually some logic into the act of choosing them as the preferable group at the paddock, betas can maintain focus better, reasonable and efficiently, still moved by instinct but not as much as alphas. Because that’s the thing about alphas, they get stressed easily, they scream and throw hands, they act like the world will end if they don’t do something. Mostly, Lando thinks it’s because of ruts and pre ruts. It’s hard to be around each other when they are filled with nothing but pheromones. Everything can become a reason to behave possessively, areas have to be determined, the smell must be insufferable around specific places such as rooms and garages. Betas are not easily surprised at the alpha way of dealing things, therefore they’re the best choice.
“What was that again? He has a— what?” One of them laughs, it’s enough to catch Lando’s attention.
“Mate, it’s real, I know, ask Pete about it!” Another one speaks. Lando doesn’t know a Pete, so all that’s left for him is to blindly believe mechanic number two.
“Is that possible, though? How’s he gonna live?” Mechanic number three seems to be worried. Lando decides that’s enough of overhearing them.
“Who ‘re you guys talking about?” He knows they’re talking about someone, number one pointed towards their left, another garage. Must be just pointless gossip about someone cheating, but Lando is bored enough, and the air seems heavy with heat, foggy, he just wants to get a distraction.
Guy One looks around, more specific to Guy Two, who seems to be the one that brought up the situation if he can remember well when that group joined him in the garage. Lando knows most of the mechanics, not these men ‘cause two of them are new, and the other he accidentally forgot the name. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for the story. They look around, as if searching if anyone can hear them, normally the Netflix crew are always too close, gossiping around them is a huge mistake. They all close into a circle, making sure their voices are low enough not to be heard, Lando thinks that’s stupid, there is noise everywhere. Someone’s twirling screws on his car, the sound of other cars doing the same, battery tests, motor testing, everything happening all at once. Nobody’s going to hear them.
“C’mon, who is it?” Lando asks impatiently.
“You know the dude Alpine has been keeping? The reserve driver, what was his name again? Pistol?” Says Guy Three.
“Piastri.” Lando hisses, impatient and already rolling his eyes over how stupid this must be.
He knows Oscar Piastri, partially, at least. They interacted on Twitter once or twice, Max Fewtrell commented about him when Oscar officially became a quoted driver for future seats, even Lando congratulated him on Instagram DMs after winning Formula 3 and 2 in a row. There is some conversation surrounding him, probably some speculation about whether he’s going to drive for Alpine or another team. Lando thinks it’s a good sign, since he’s good enough to have people fighting for him. They never really had a long conversation in person, maybe a “Hi”, “How’s the weather in Monaco?” Basic stuff.
“There’s— Like, it’s probably not true by the way, but there’s this, huh, rumor?” He looks around, then sighs and goes back to Lando, “There’s this rumor circling around that he— huh, he can’t do it with omegas, you know?” He struggles to find the right words, stuttering in the process of speaking and looking rightfully dumb.
Lando waits for the joke, patiently ready to laugh with them, but no one bats an eye. He laughs alone then, because that’s the most hilarious thing he has heard in ages. He laughs so hard he has to cover his mouth and hit his chest in order to stop it, almost cries out of laughing, and clearly loses his breath. Lando raises his head, looking at each one of them, feeling his face aching at the smile he’s holding.
“What do you mean he can’t do with omegas? Is he, like, omegaphobic? Is that even a thing?” The grin doesn’t leave him, he’s somehow having a bit of fun.
“We mean very much what it means,” says Guy One, who seems a bit confused at Lando’s reaction so he explains further, “Apparently, he can’t have sex with omegas.”
Lando bursts laughing again. The sun that was shining on him when he entered the paddock is long gone, he’s tired after the practice sessions and his body is fighting the urge to find a bed to stay forever. He’s exhausted. His mind is just not working right as it should, and he must be imagining this conversation, it’s too unreal for him.
“Mate, he is an alpha.” Lando says while wiping away the tears.
“We know.”
Now that’s something.
“So you know it’s kinda sus what you’re saying.” Lando is getting scared at how much they’re taking this seriously. That is just crazy. He knows the idea is not impossible, people can have sex with whomever they want, but for alphas it is different. It’s always different when it comes to them.
“Mate, it’s just what the streets been saying,” Guy Two raises his hands in surrender, “Besides, it’s not like we’ll ever gonna know.”
Lando grabs his things after the chat, he’s feeling a bit nuts over the thoughts running through his head, like his mind is so tired he can't comprehend what’s going on. Either way, he has worse things to worry about, like his car being a disaster, it’s not like Oscar is his problem anyway.
—
Oscar wears hoodies. He looks small in them, but Lando knows better that he is quite tall. They officially met after Silverstone, when Lando already knew he was going to sign a contract with McLaren, because of course the universe would play that game with him. At the first half of the meeting, he doesn’t think about the rumors, and when he finds the memory of the conversation he had with the mechanics, it just seems too unreal. Everything in Oscar exhales alpha — even though his actions are quite the contrary —, he’s calm and collected in a way that should be alarming, but everyone seems to really like him. It doesn’t make sense to believe, he looks so right, the type of person to have curfews and skip parties to watch movies.
They talk about the car, how the season is going to end, what Oscar and Lando should have in mind while working as a team, how they should be careful with their ruts and always schedule it beforehand, preferably in summer break and on different days. Scent blockers are given for free in the MTC, although Oscar doesn’t seem to be very bothered at the topic, since he’s apparently using them already.
He’s polite, good-looking, weirdly funny, and Lando can’t feel a single smell coming from him. It’s not like he wants to know about Oscar and his scent, he really doesn’t want to, but there is a sting of curiosity on the back of his mind reminding him that Oscar might be something else, something that Lando doesn’t know about. It comes to him the idea of finding out by himself, so he enters this completely normal journey to be friends with his teammate.
Even though Lando keeps obsessively trying to convince himself that some friendship is growing between meetings and dinners with sponsors, it’s not until Bahrain — ironically —that he can tell a phenomenon is happening. Maybe it’s the shit box they had to drive, the hot weather, the stress hitting Lando’s nerves as he parks on the number 17. He hates it. Being unable to do anything but raise his head and face people asking him what’s the problem, as if he knows. He’s sweaty, pissed, mostly sad, and his instincts are hard to control. Lando knows he's making people uncomfortable with his alpha presence, perhaps he should take a pill to stop the spread of his scent, he can tell it’s not the best ones, stinky with anxiety and anger.
Oscar crosses his way when he is storming to his driver’s room. They stop, look at each other. Occurs to Lando that this is the first time he’s been with an alpha teammate, he only had betas before. It also occurs that this may be the receipt to disaster. However, what happens next is weirdly surprising. It’s natural that alphas look for dominance, it’s what they are. Lando can feel his bones going rigid as he sees Oscar in front of him. Another alpha is competition, someone he should take down and pull away from his area, someone he should be careful with.
Oscar holds his own nose, looking worried. Lando imagines if his instincts are telling him to run, that he is on enemy’s territory, or if he will stay and fight for dominance. Lando stares at him, ignorant to the amount of pheromones he’s letting out, proclaiming he’s there, and he’s mad, and he is more than ready to argue. Oscar stares back for some minutes, and then just walks past him, touching his arm in the process, and it burns. He doesn’t know why, but feels like someone cut his arm off, it’s not a physical pain, it’s only a ghost of a feeling.
Lando doesn’t think about it. About the touch, about the meaning of it, about the understanding that comes late that day when he realizes Oscar is also carrying the weight of frustration, about the rumors that hammers the back of his skull, about the sharing they are unconsciously doing. At least, Lando names it as ‘sharing’, the fact that they both walk with a stressed gaze around the paddock. It’s nice to have another equal, another alpha who understands the rage and fatigue that follows the problem of having a shitty car. Oscar is nice to him most of the time, Lando only knows he’s not on a good day when Oscar shuts down completely. Then he won’t talk, only shake his head, he won’t let any bit of scent out either, which serves as a proof that he’s way better than Lando at keeping calm.
Lando himself is a total mess, he forgets scent blockers, takes his pills at random times of day instead of setting an alarm, he’s often seen walking around with hints of his thoughts lingering in the air. Oscar — besides knowing when Lando is upset — never bothered telling him anything about his smell, so Lando presumes he’s holding composure well. That is until Monaco.
“Pastry, you're going out with us tonight, right?” Oscar locks his phone, watching Lando make himself home in his little driver’s room.
Lando says he’s not getting the bed he asked for until next year, that’s why he hangs around annoying everyone he can, maybe it could get them to give him the bed faster. Today, however, Oscar is the victim.
“Uh,” he watches as Lando sits on the floor, next to the small bench Oscar is on, “Yeah, no, I don’t think so.”
It’s not the first time someone rejects him or his company, let alone this someone being Oscar ‘cause he’s always saying no to parties, but still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“C’mon, it’s Monaco!” Lando sees Oscar peeking at his cellphone, the screen is bright, a message pops up, “Unless you have other plans, of course, don’t want to be a buzzkill or something.”
Oscar stares at him for seconds, trying to comprehend the words Lando just said. At first, he seems uncomfortable, nervous even, like he’s anxious about being caught, which shouldn’t bring Lando back to wondering about Oscar’s life, but it does. They talk almost every day, and see each other more than they see their own families, still, there’s a thin wall separating them. Could be blamed on the alpha stereotype that one doesn’t get along with the other, but it’s quite the contrary, Lando is slowly becoming interested in the idea of Oscar and what he hides behind his big deer eyes.
“Oh,” Oscar realizes, “No, it’s not what you’re thinking, I’m just talking to Logan ‘bout games, it’s not, uh— you know.”
Does he? Lando crosses his legs, and he thinks about Oscar ditching his invitation to stay at some hotel room playing god knows what with Logan Sargeant. He’s not jealous — although the same sour taste is back —, he’s just intrigued. Logan is also an alpha, what would they be doing? Just playing? Can they be together without the need to mark the whole place with their smell? Lando’s mind brings the conversation with the mechanics to the spotlight, he unconsciously scrunches his nose, it’s a bit unpleasant to think about that. It shouldn’t matter to him whatever Oscar is doing. Still, as he wonders about that, something weird grows in him. If they’re fucking, then would it be Oscar doing it? Or would he be giving it? God, two alphas sound unnatural, wrong, dirty. Lando licks his lips, he might be getting obsessed with the thought of Oscar being dicked down.
“Mate,” Oscar covers his nose, “Your smell is, uh,” he points to the whole room, “Think you forgot to—“
“Yep, probably, anyways I kinda have to go,” Lando quickly gets up, ashamed of his mind and the scenarios it creates, “I’ll see you later, Oscar.”
In fact, he doesn’t see Oscar after that. Neither after the race, nor at the party — because deep inside some part of Lando actually expected him to show up. He goes home drunk, sleeps on the sofa and tries hard to not think about Oscar.
—
Lando expected Suzuka to be worse than it actually was. Probably because he’s been overthinking about every single move he does, he’s stressed on the inside but can’t really get deep into the matter due to the lack of time he’s been having. He tries his best to extract what he can from the car, afraid he’ll eventually go back to nothing. He struggles to find a good position to sleep, has issues when eating because all the food seems to taste like cardboard, and his body gets tired easily.
Every second of sleep counts at the point he’s in, so the team just lets him stay a bit longer in his driver’s room, even if it’s just a bit. He chooses the best songs to nap to, mostly country music, some sort of nostalgic vibe to remind him where he came from. He tries not to put it really louder, so it won’t bother anyone, but as Oscar knocks twice, he already knows it’s the volume.
“Mate, c’mon, it’s the second time this month— Oh.” Oscar opens the door and takes a step back.
“‘S okay, I’ll turn it off anyways, it’s not helping,” Lando pauses the music to finally look at Oscar, “What’s wrong?”
The thing is, the team talked to them about how to make it work. The dynamics between them, how to not let all fall apart, how to act and what to do in most situations. A while passed since McLaren had two drivers with the same secondary genre, and both of them being alphas adds more problems to be solved. Lando is stubborn, born and raised in old manners, he’s not used to feeling like he’s being threatened. He knows it’s primal instinct talking, the urge to be in control, down his veins he wants to fight for it, growl and bark like an old beast. Oscar is not far from it, even though he’s more chill than Lando, it’s not like he ever acted less alpha around the team.
“Your room.”
Lando looks around.
“What about it?”
“It’s not the same, uh, it's darker? More depressing? Is something annoying you?” Oscar stands in the doorway, not getting himself in as Lando usually does in his room.
“I’m fine, just tired.”
Oscar doesn’t seem to buy the lie, but he doesn’t push it, instead, he invites Lando to lunch with him, apparently some people will be with them to make sure they have everything they need when it comes to suppressants and vitamins.
They eat avocado toast together, Oscar eats a weird fish thing that makes Lando almost throw up, but he’s nice enough to just make a face at it. Lando complains about the weather, talks about games, Oscar says they should play Call Of Duty someday. They are a good duo. Even if people around them are constantly worried about something going wrong, it doesn’t feel like it will.
Until they are stepping on the podium. Lando is sweating, his face hurts from the balaclava, his eyes are hyper focused on the path he needs to do, still, he repeats it nonstop inside his mind, he doesn’t trust his feet to take him to the cool down room. It’s bullshit, really. Never helped him calming down, it just adds more to the torture of forcing himself to look chill when he’s not. His brain hurts just to think, and his systems are running on pure chaos and pheromones. He might be stinking that old mixture of stress, anxiety, worry, and some kind of anticipation between the lines.
Lando walks in the room and drowns himself in the ocean. Not literally. But that’s what feels when the smell of long afternoons by the beach hit him like a truck. He stops for a second, all senses going crazy at the presence of Oscar, his scent being around every corner of that small room. His first thought is to back down, the primal wolf inside his guts recognizes there’s competition, and they are not on safe territory. That ugly part of him prepares itself for a fight, to take the lead, as he should do as an alpha. Yet, Lando takes two steps further.
The scent of Oscar leaks through the medicine they have to take. Happens more than expected, actually. Staying on a podium — his first — is too many emotions to be hold by the blockers, it just flows out like the sweat down Oscar’s forehead. Lando allows it to pour on him, intoxicating, basically hammering his nose every time he gets a whiff of Oscar’s smell. It’s like summer, swimming in cold water after hot days, a hint of sweetness like cocktails people buy from random stands, his scent carries some genuine joy that Lando can’t help but feel too. He just sits there and watches his perception be torn into something weird, all his thoughts are towards Oscar.
Max is there through the process, looking closely to Lando, as if he’s noticing what’s happening. He can’t tell him he’s been a bit maniac towards Oscar, or the ideas that has been running around his mind, he can only let himself be addicted to that sea fragrance blowing out of his teammate. Adrenaline rushs his veins, Lando feels it getting worse, as if he’s getting all the ecstasy from Oscar. Makes him insane. He’s high on the feeling of wanting to beat Oscar and be better than him, screaming alpha behavior, totally gone. He smells the happiness on the podium, knowing it’s not coming from him, and it just makes it worse.
When the celebrations end, he’s lost enough to find himself bursting into Oscar’s room and closing the door right behind. Like two caged dogs waiting for the whistle to begin biting each other.
“Can I ask you something?” The words are sloppy, he’s almost tripping over them, not quite registering what’s his mouth saying.
“You just did.” Oscar laughs nervously, he still has joy and gratefulness lingering around him.
“Not this— I’ve heard something last year.” He states, looking more dumb than expected, and Oscar raises and eyebrow, probably judging him, “I don’t know how to ask so I’m gonna say it just like it is.”
“Mate, just say it—“
“Do you fuck with alphas?”
Silence. Absolute nothing comes out of Oscar’s mouth. His eyes are wide, lips pressing into a thin line, frowning like he’s been asked the most crazy shit ever. And it kinda did happen. Lando fidgets the sides of his suit, he hadn’t change clothes, hadn’t thought of a single thing before knocking the door.
“I mean, this is not how I should’ve phrased,” Lando can’t come up to something more coherent though, “Do you perhaps like alphas?”
Nothing. He’s still staring at Lando as he maintains his posture, head high and crossed arms, not daring to give a hint of submission. He’s an alpha, of course. Slowly, some traces of pink appears in his face, until he’s fully blushing.
“Who told you that?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lando is descent enough to apologize. He’s still high on adrenaline, on the podium, but his mind is taking track of his position.
“No, it’s fine,” Oscar breathes heavily, “I guess.” He seems uncomfortable.
“I should go, sorry again, you don’t have to answer,” Lando is too ashamed of himself. He quickly turns his back to Oscar, “I’ll see you later.”
They don’t talk about that. In fact, they hardly talk about anything other than the car and Qatar. During the break they have between the two races, Lando finds himself working hard to get a good night's sleep. He’s been metaphorically fighting demons, because of course his dreams of Oscar Piastri kissing his neck are not real and directly related to hell. Lando is confronted by the idea of actually going crazy when he dreams of that for the first time. Feels abnormal, like he’s trying to fit in a role he’s not made to play. But as they continue to happen, he gets used to it, and so becomes to like the freakish that rises with it.
He almost falls for the idea that Oscar can be something more than just competition, almost gets a glimpse of control over the beast inside him, almost.
Oscar wins the Sprint. The first thing he does when he meets Lando is babble about not being a real win. Well, he has one “not-real-win”, and Lando has nothing. He truly believes Oscar meant no harm in affirming that to him, but still, it sickens him from the inside out. He’s doing that in kindness. He must pity Lando. He’s just being nice.
“Mate, uh, we’re sharing a car to the hotel.”
Oscar stays far, not coming too close to him. Lando presumes he made it clear that he didn’t want to talk when he ignored Oscar right in his face. Just stormed past him, closed his door, and didn’t come out until someone reached for him. He usually holds himself — if that’s even possible — but now Lando is just exhaling frustration.
“I know.” He says bitterly and hears Oscar sighing.
Oscar didn’t apologize, and Lando doesn’t think he should do that anyways, but still, it doesn’t stop him from getting dissatisfied at the situation. They walk side by side the way out the paddock, like nothing’s wrong. Lando is tempted to push Oscar off the car and go alone. Since Suzuka he gets these random moments where he kinda feels the ghost of a scent whistling in the air. Today, it’s like a stormy ocean, leaving him with the feeling of being dragged down and sinking. He doesn’t like this one.
Lando sits on the left, the space between them is not big, he could easily close it with a movement. He looks away while they wait for their driver to arrive. Being alone with Oscar has never felt more empty. The lack of noise around them, lack of words to be said and jokes to be laughed at, the hot weather that makes sweat run wild, the leather seat catching on his skin, everything adding to the bothersome atmosphere floating in the car.
“It’s true.” Oscar says to the nothing ahead, not quite looking at Lando.
“What?”
“The thing you asked in Suzuka, it’s true.”
Lando stares at him. He’s divided between making a joke or apologizing. Oscar stares back, seemingly unbothered but his shoulders are down, it’s a sign of apprehension he always lets pass, and Lando wonders if it’s just his nature talking louder. Wonder if the alpha living in him has been fancying a battle.
“Why you’re telling me this?” It’s a genuine question, although it sounds rude in Lando’s voice, perhaps because he’s still a little out of it.
“Figured would be a way to get your attention.”
It’s disgusting how easily Oscar can read Lando, how he was so right because the minute he mentioned Suzuka Lando was ready to stop whatever game of silence treatment he was playing. It’s another level of exposure, to be known, to recognize he’s seen.
“So, uhm, how do you—” Lando shuts, might not be polite to be asking about his teammates preferences.
“Spit it out, mate.” Oscar does not blink once, he just stays there, staring.
“How do you spend your ruts then?”
He finally looks away.
“It’s complicated.”
Lando wishes he had time to ask more questions, or the intimacy needed for it, but the guy they’ve been waiting for enters the car, and they are back to absolute silence. He expects Oscar to bring it up when he feels comfortable, Lando can wait for that. He’s normal about that information, at least as normal as a person can be. Insanity feels like a friend if he dwells too much in the idea of Oscar, he can be normal about it.
—
The best day of Lando’s life is ironically in a place known for its beaches. He can’t tell where he starts and the car ends, tears of joy streams down his face, his head it’s about to explode in the helmet, it’s all at once, he’s winning.
The world moves slower, the car parks in Position 1, the ocean settles down to let him be the loudest thing in Miami, the sun shines so bright that he closes his eyes, the trophy is being carried and given to him. There is a numerical order of things that leads Lando to believing it’s too good to be true, starting with the moment he steps on the podium and his body shakes by the feeling of it. He’s used to feeling the thrill gushing out of him like an open wound, but that’s different. Something tells him, whispers in his ear, it’s too different. Hidden behind champagne and blue colors, covered by happiness and excitement, something brutal lays bare.
Lando can faintly discern what’s real and what’s not, what should be normal and what shouldn’t. He never won before, it’s his feelings that speak louder. It only occurs to him that it’s a rut when his senses are already starting to dissociate from itself. Andrea sends him home quite fast, not thinking too much on how to solve the problem but how to avoid dealing with it. Ruts are technically not a team obligation, they are required to pay assistance when needed, in case it happens on a race weekend. But rather than giving support they can’t do much. They have to keep track of their schedule, so it’s avoided to deal with situations like Lando’s.
He couldn’t be more angrier when he gets home. His apartment is too big, and he kinda wants to break it to pieces. He should be in Miami, partying and having the night of his life instead of being miserable in his bed. Lando hates being alone during ruts, but he also can’t call random people and suggest a fuck, and he’s not going to get a stranger inside his home. He hates it but it’ll have to do.
For a whole day, Lando can do nothing but mope around the corners of his place and jerk off. He feels the need of territorial control above his head, he lets his pheromones fly freely, marking everything as his.
And when it’s the second day, he can tell someone’s coming by the mere squeak of the wind stumbling into his door. Lando must’ve felt Oscar’s presence before he was even in the elevator. His insides twist at the thought of having him near, while part of his brain shakes in suspicious ways. It’s not fear that possesses him, but something more savage, it’s what alphas have done for millions of years, to dominate. He can’t be afraid when he’s drilled by anticipation.
He hears the knock on his door, it’s almost as if he’s expecting to be visited. Lando opens the door to find the smell of salty sea and summer nights. Oscar’s floppy hair falls to its side, he wears a white shirt and jeans, it’s one of those few times where Lando can see him out of job duties. He seems out of place at first, curious eyes scanning his surroundings, and then the old tension that built up allying with them makes its presence. Lando’s heart crumples itself with adrenaline. It’s painfully beating against his chest, and it threatens to get worse the more he gets of Oscar’s scent.
Lando feels his foggy mind focusing only on the threat that happens to be his teammate. He’s submerged in his smell, but also feels an intense impulse to be hostile towards him. Although he tries his best to keep manners, he’s still an alpha in rut, so he looks up to Oscar and growls at him. Sounds pathetic, but should be used as a warning. Oscar doesn’t bat an eye.
“Easy there,” he deadpans, “Just wanted to make sure you’re alive, mate.”
“I’ll survive,” he shrugs, “Not the first time doing this alone, probably not the last.”
Something switches in Oscar’s face as he stands on the doorway, keeping a safe distance of three or less steps, he suddenly looks confused.
“I thought you— Don’t you have someone for this or…?” He leaves the question open, Lando sarcastically laughs at it. Sounds bitter, but the eventual paranoia provided by the rut makes him like this, especially towards another equal.
“I should, yeah.” Lando’s voice has a nasty intonation. “Guess everyone is just busy at this point.”
He looks straight to Oscar. He’s probably unconsciously trying to intimidate him, he can’t change that, it’s running through his veins. Oscar shifts from one leg to another, frowns, licks his lips and pretends not to care when his salty sea turns into a messy mixture of anger, reluctance and desire.
“Why you’re here, Osc?” The nickname blurs out.
“To check on you, of course,” Of course, “but you seem to be just fine,” Liar. “Unless you want me to get in.”
A silence offer, because he would never say it like it is. The words echo beyond Lando’s perception, cuts into the mist that surrounds his brain, he almost jumps at the statement. He tilts his head, it’s not like he’s not curious about it. Actually, the idea pops up more frequently than it should, but he still hesitates. He can tell Oscar does the same. It's a bad idea. It already was a bad idea from the moment Oscar stepped on his building. Lando moves out of the way, and Oscar enters.
As he closes the door, and leans on it, Oscar feels like he’s trapped, not literally, he knows he can just go home if he wants to. But the overwhelming sensation of being covered in Lando’s smell is almost suffocating, his fingers shaking in desire and savagery with the sudden change in the atmosphere. He turns to look at Lando, who stares at him like a prey. Oscar breathes, the air heavily settling into his lungs.
Lando growls again, seemingly unable to get out of his alpha behavior. Oscar bows his head as a sign. He’s asking permission to enter a territory that is marked as foreign for him, also means he recognizes Lando as superior, that he won’t attack and is temporarily defeated. It’s the first time Lando has seen that, it drives him insane.
“I need to, uh,” Oscar backs up, “Bathroom?” Lando points to the end of the hallway and hands him some lube, “Good, okay, uhm, this gonna be useful, I’ll be right back.”
He disappears behind the door. Lando holds on, this is new to him, in a way that is weirdly exciting. He imagines what Oscar’s doing there, fingers working him open enough to fit a knot, searching for a spot to feel pleasure, adding more and more until it’s enough for an alpha cock. Lando palms himself through the clothes, he’s so hard it hurts, almost worse than when he was alone, because now his instincts are just screaming for attention. He wonders if Oscar thinks about him while touching himself, if he’s desperate for Lando, if he had all of that planned from the start.
He eventually goes out of the bathroom, cheeks flushed and messy hair, his trousers are gone, so is his shirt and everything else. Lando scans his body, his strong thighs, his arms, his thick cock hanging half hard, his softened knot on the base of it. He’s so fucking horny that it’s embarrassing. Lando wastes no time and quickly strips. His hands are clumsy on their task, and Oscar gets closer to help him. He’s gentle, pushes Lando’s underwear down for him, leaving feather touches on his skin. It aches like a cut of a knife.
There is no kiss, but the touch of Oscar on his neck, as he buries his nose there and inhales is so intimate that Lando’s heart skips a beat. He grabs Oscar by the waist and leans him down on the bed, his knees are solid on the sheets, holding his body in all fours. Lando’s hard dick brushes against his ass in the act, making both of them sigh at the mere friction. Lando repeats his act of scenting. Oscar’s smell fights with his own in the room until it mixes into something he doesn’t recognize anymore.
Lando grabs his cheeks, spreading them to take a look at his hole. Lube drips down, and Lando can’t help wanting to stuff it back in him. His fingers messily running through the path made by lube gives him goosebumps. He can’t see Oscar’s face like this, which is not ideal, he scowls at the sight of his back, feeling a bit bothered by it. Of course he says nothing, perhaps it’s better like this. Looking at Oscar while Lando fucks him would be too much, although he already feels like this whole experience will change him permanently.
Lando taps twice on the inside of Oscar’s thigh, he spreads his knees wider. Lando shuffles, aligning himself to his hole.
“Oscar,” He sighs, “If hurts—”
“I know,” Oscar tilts his head, getting nothing more than a glimpse at Lando’s now fully hard dick resting in his hand. “Just do your thing and go slow.” His tone is provocative, a grin appearing on the side of his face.
Lando feels embarrassed by the way he loses his composure towards Oscar that easily. It’s like he has a manual on how to make Lando insane. At first, the feeling was weird. Penetrating Oscar seems like an endless torture where he can’t do much to stop. He presses the tip until his rim stretches and receives it inside. Lando keeps pressing, holding himself back, as slow as he can be. It takes some time before it’s all in, he looks down where they connect into one, his whole length swallowed by Oscar’s eagerness, his knot ready to be taken like he was made for that. Especially made for Lando.
Oscar is awfully quiet. Lando holds his waist, keeping them together. His mind is fuzzy, and he’s suddenly aware of the buzz in the air, mixing them into a new thing, a brand new smell around the room. Lando licks his lips, humidity drops on his tongue like mist, he can almost feel the taste of Oscar just by breathing an intoxicated oxygen filled with his scent. Salty sea, summer, pistachio ice cream, white sand. It all hits at once.
“You— uh,” Oscar seems breathless, “can move.”
He bends over to scent Oscar. His movements are messy, he pulls just a bit, trying his best to make it acceptable and pleasurable for Oscar. He licks a line on his spine, tasting the skin against his teeth, suddenly realizing he wants to bite there. Lando thrusts deeper, as he feels the clenching around his cock tightening him. He can hear a whimper, so far and strangled that he thinks it’s his imagination, until he shoves his hips again and again, and the sounds get louder. Oscar whines, pretty sounds leaving him as Lando thrusts harder. He’s desperate to get more of that, more of his addicting scent, more of his white skin turning red when Lando grabs too strong, more of Oscar.
At some point he might lost the ability to think straight and fucks into Oscar like his life depends on that. He feels this need to be above, to point out he’s the one in charge, he owns the territory Oscar had the audacity to step in. Lando wants to see him crumble down by touch only, tell him he’s defeated, that he’s better than Oscar.
He could even push a little, whisper that he will fuck Oscar until his body decides to become an omega, until his hole has the perfect shape of Lando’s cock. He feels drowned by the idea of having Oscar as his, while listening to him moaning softly, Lando wants to bite Oscar. It’s the rut talking, he knows, still he can’t help but feel the yearning to do so. Alphas can be bitten, but it’s different, because they were not made for that. Lando thinks it’s messier, must hurt a lot more, and stains the sheets with blood. He licks Oscar’s neck this time.
With a loud suspicious sob, Oscar’s arms give up and he falls on the pillow. He turns his face to the side, to catch some air, and it’s beautiful. His eyes are glassy, mouth agape in pleasure, his pupils are wide, lips swollen and red like he’s been biting them to keep himself low. Oscar is flushed on the cheeks and ears, his eyebrows twitching as another moan is punched out of him. Lando can’t take this. It’s too much already.
“Lando— Gonna, uh— ‘M gonna—” He calls him in a whisper, panting and shaking. Lando thinks his name never sounded more pretty. “Lando.” Another moan. He breaths and whimpers as if he’s a caged animal, struggling to be free. Oscar says it again as if he’s dreaming, repeating his name with lust, already in a delirious state.
Lando comes inside Oscar, seed pouring down his tight hole. He doesn’t knot him, the idea sounds good though, but also hurtful. He moves for a while, overstimulating Oscar’s sensitive walls in some attempt to make him feel so good that he’ll beg for Lando. Although he knows it’s impossible. He can’t bite Oscar, lick his blood and feel the metallic taste in his tongue. He can’t have Oscar begging for him. He’s an alpha, and that’s not what alphas do. Still, he craves for him. A hunger that seems to hide between rumors in Bahrain and a podium in Suzuka, and it won’t go away.
Lando bends over again, pressing his nose near Oscar’s scent gland. He tries his best to get them into a comfortable position, pressing his chest against his teammate’s back and nuzzling his nape, even though they’re not knotted, he longs to be somehow locked with Oscar. There’s something sticky between them, besides the sweat, Lando can’t think straight to wonder if it’s lube, or—
“Mate, think you’re laying on my cum.”
His dick throbs, still inside. He’s not in the right mind to be thinking about making Oscar come, he’s tired and probably won’t be back to his normal self until his pulse settles down and he can be sane for some hours. And then his rut will start again, same process, four days if he’s lucky, the presence of another alpha can make it change. Given the fact that he’s not stressed by Oscar, he hopes it can be better.
Lando hums, squeezes Oscar’s waist as he closes his eyes. He 's sleepy.
“Can you stay?” His voice shows his tiredness, Oscar goes stiff. They’re not looking at each other, stuck in that same position.
“Yeah,” Oscar does not sound that sure, but his body relaxes, “I can stay.”
They stay like that until the adrenaline is partially gone and Lando can move. He pointedly told himself not to think too much about what this means to their relationship. He fears he won’t be completely able to be the same around the camera if Oscar is with him, and he truly doesn’t need another PR training. They don’t look at each other. Lando watches as Oscar’s back moves up and down with his breath, he traces the line of his spine, reaching to touch and backing off. His skin is pale as it always has been, like he was made from moonlight and could cry stars.
Lando shifts, it’s not ideal to be looking at his teammates’ chest and wanting to hide in there. He stares at the wall, but the shape of Oscar is marked forever in his eyes, and even though he’s looking at nothing but darkness, his vision draws the pattern of Oscar’s body. He shifts again, torn between making himself sickeningly obsessed with Oscar or being crazy and imagining things in the shadows. When he shifts for the fifth time he knows sleep is not coming.
Oscar, who’s never been the one to wake up easily, finally turns to Lando. His eyes are closed, but he mumbles something and grips Lando’s waist.
“Sleep, you need.” He speaks softly, still halfway sleeping.
“Can’t,” Lando feels the skin burning where Oscar touches, but he remains silent to that, “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
Lando rolls his eyes, holding back a chuckle.
“Are you omegaphobic?”
Oscar doesn’t move, just breathes, and for a second Lando thinks he’s sleeping again.
“No? Jesus, what is that question?” He shifts, still not opening his eyes. Lando takes it as ignoring, maybe he can’t bear with what happened and rather not look into the situation.
“What is it then?” He frowns.
“The smell, my nose is very sensitive to them,” Oscar yawns, “Omega pheromones have no reaction in me, too.” He blinks once or twice, that’s the biggest reaction shown by him. “I’m not sick, by the way, and alphas always have strong scents, which makes it better.”
He doesn’t need an explanation for that specific part. It’s a car accident, he can’t turn away from the subject but also doesn’t want to know about Oscar’s past experiences. He would rather talk about Melbourne, Oscar’s childhood, his struggles during kart times, not the part that he tells in interviews or the one his mom exposed on the internet, but the real story. Perhaps he was a funny kid that liked the ocean, loved it in fact, and his pheromones were nice enough to carry that part of home around.
“So every time you’re in rut…?” The question dies on his throat.
Lando’s self sabotage appears to be worse whenever he’s lacking sleep, he pushes the unpleasant question on Oscar hoping for an answer that he definitely doesn’t want to hear. The thought of Oscar being intimate with someone leaves a sour rage on the back of his mind, not something to think about either.
“No. A few times, but this only with you, I mean— your scent is different.” Lando wants to throw himself in Oscar’s neck and rip its skin off. It’s not like he expected with details whatever he’s been doing but that answer only makes him more curious. Lando scratches his elbows harshly, as he always does when mad. “Lando.” Oscar’s tone is reproving, like he’s about to scold someone, “It’s the middle of the night, can’t we talk about that tomorrow?”
Oscar rubs his nose, movements slow and lazy, fighting his sleep whilst trying to make comprehensive sentences. Lando presumes his smell is revealing too much of his feelings, although he can’t control that, he’s still embarrassed by the exposure.
“What is my scent like?” Lando asks, shifting into what must be a proper sleeping position this time, fully facing the wall.
Oscar moves behind him, hot breaths hitting the skin of his nape, probably the closer they would get. For what seems to be eternity, the silence creeps into the bed and makes itself home. Lando thinks Oscar might’ve slept before he even got the chance to hear the question.
“Like cookies,” his voice is hoarse and low, almost a mumble, “Comin’ home after a long day and finding food and soft sheets,” he stops to sigh, “long funny nights, like warmth. It’s good, it’s like I can really see you.” He’s too busy thinking about those words to remember the times when Oscar just knew. Suzuka, Monaco, Qatar. He could’ve known about the rut before Lando even started to contemplate the possibility of it.
Oscar eventually stops talking, and Lando is back to hearing his quiet breathing again. He counts the intervals between inhales and exhales of Oscar, desperate to have some part of him that only Lando will ever know. He stays awake for most of the night, until the moonlight picking up the window has bored him enough to sleep.
Morning changes things, mainly because Lando is far from the man he was during 3AM insomnia. He’s more out of it, robotically doing things as he’s told to, and he clings onto Oscar in every opportunity he has. They fuck again in the morning, lazy and sloppy. Bathed by sun heat and the annoying light cutting the darkness through the windows. Lando wants them to be closed forever, not even the sky should see Oscar’s pretty face when he comes.
They try to cook something, Oscar does the majority of the job, being carefully watched by Lando as he prepares them peanut butter sandwiches. He promises a better dinner, says he will probably try pasta or steak ‘cause they need the vitamins. Lando is not even hungry, but he holds these domestic like moments as if they’re going to fade away from his hands. They fuck again in the shower, fast and too wet for Oscar’s liking. It’s a bit awkward for them, maybe because it’s not that easy to bring instincts down, sex feels like a battlefield when it comes to their smell, and even though Oscar tries his best to be quiet, sometimes he makes these growling sounds that reminds Lando he is also an alpha.
When dinner is ready, they are barely talking, something solid separating them, making it difficult to communicate. Oscar truly made pasta and some meat for them, tastes great, mainly because he made it. Lando is ready to have another sleepless night when he enters the room, instead, he finds Oscar with a laptop in hands.
“Maybe a movie will get you bored faster.” He says, picking a random action one. Lando is too busy thinking about his lips to pay attention, so he just agrees.
Eventually, they end up forgetting about the movie. Lando shoves his fingers inside Oscar, making sure he’s ready to take his cock. He’s too dumb but also so aware of things that it’s hard to maintain focus on only one task. He grabs Oscar by his thighs, shifts him into a position where Lando can look at him properly.
He settles between Oscar’s legs, hands behind his knees before putting them around his chest, and dives into Oscar, settling different paces until he finds one that makes Oscar tremble under his touch. In the background, someone got shot on the screen, there’s a red light flashing them, and Lando wonders how it would be to have Oscar. To play with him until he gets mad, to be merciless with him, to have his pleading eyes locked only in Lando, to win against him and be defeated by him.
“Knot you.” Lando murmurs between groans and sighs.
“Huh?”
Oscar has tears on the side of his eyes, his eyebrows together, mouth glistening with saliva, his face is kissed by bloody red, Lando wants to paint him whole with that color.
“Knot you.” He repeats, dumbly speaking, drowning in pheromones and primal instincts, “Can I?” His hand reaches for Oscar’s dick, moving up and down in a slow motion that could kill.
Oscar nods. That’s the most verbal he can get. The primal part of him could never admit he will be receiving a knot.
Lando comes with a guttural noise, filling him with cum as his knot locks them together. He moves while it, rubbing his knot against Oscar’s insides until he’s the one coming all over their stomach. Lando watches amused his seed pooling down his own belly, he touches there, presses Oscar’s belly with the palm of his hand, getting it dirty. The only thing that can be heard is gun noises from the movie, and their unmatched panting sound.
“I’m sorry.”
Oscar says. His voice is hoarse, carrying an amount of sadness that rips through Lando as he takes his hand away from his stomach. They can’t move yet, stuck together while unsaid words grow louder between them.
“Don’t.” Lando can manage to say, even though his mind is still trying to get itself back to normal.
“I’m sorry I can’t—” give you more.
Lando wants to kiss him. Desperately. Swallow his sorrow and eat his unhappiness.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He speaks softly as his senses are slowly backing up.
“I know.”
Oscar stays until his rut is over.
—
Some disgusting thoughts begin to grow in Lando. They’re silent, sneaking around his skull, snakes poisoning him little by little. When they hit Monaco, he’s pretty sure his home will be haunted by the ghost of Oscar. He sees him in the corner of his eyes, like a malign spirit, sees him in the kitchen, whispers his name while sleeping, and curses sandwiches, ‘cause they also remind him of Oscar.
There’s this joke on social media, Lando gives zero fucks for it at first, but it becomes something that bothers him. It’s already annoying when just the mechanics do it, mainly because they don’t realize it’s crossing a line when they talk about Charles adopting Oscar. Max notices his behavior. He’s not the best to hide it anyway. He says something mean about Charles having weird daddy kinks and regrets when he realizes it’s too mean.
He can’t help but laugh sarcastically at the destiny when the two of them are standing together on a podium, like some cruel joke prepared for him. It’s agonizing, how he just hates whenever he’s not standing close to Oscar but another person is. A rage boils inside him, burning and aching, making his alpha instincts confused with the fact he’s being possessive towards another alpha. He won’t admit it out loud, could never run over his pride like that, but when Oscar says he’s been invited by Charles to go clubbing and he said yes, it’s really the last straw.
“So you’re going out with him?” Lando asks, pretending to care about his fruit salad when he can’t even manage to put a spoon in his mouth.
“I guess, yeah, aren’t we all going to the same place though?”
They are, but it’s different. He’s going because someone else said so. Although Lando is tempted to ruin everything by burning the Ferrari garage, he finds peace in himself. Instead, he hugs Oscar. It’s actually for a shoot, they say, a good pic of them being nice to each other, silly media content.
Lando presses his back, his chin brushes Oscar’s shoulder, a common hug, nothing much about it. It’s warm, cozy to be in, surrounded by arms and skin and he’s drowning in it. Oscar’s blockers make it impossible to sniff his characteristic sea fragrance, or maybe it’s just Lando that’s been obsessing too much over it.
“Uh, Lando?”
“Hm?”
“Are you trying to scent me?” He has to think for a while before answering.
“No.” He lies and breaks their touch with two taps on Oscar’s back.
“Right.” Oscar looks suspiciously at him, reading his movements as Lando steps aside. “Because you know I’m an alpha, it doesn’t work that way.”
It doesn’t work that way. Does it even have a way to work it out? Lando thinks there must be some path they would’ve followed where problems like that have a solution. Doesn’t matter if he grips on Oscar for the rest of the day, it’ll come a moment where his smell would just disappear in the midst of his own scent. But he thinks that he could do it. Rub his glands on Oscar over and over, to give him some part of him. It’s scary. He would easily show his throat to Oscar and wait for him to take whatever he wants. It’s so fucking scary. He wants Oscar, for him and only him. Scary as hell.
—
Something changes between Austria and Silverstone. Perhaps the fact that Oscar lives in Monaco is drawing Lando’s energy to the point of insanity. Such a small place to live, they could meet by just going to the same grocery store. He almost feels like a true beast, searching for his prey, hunting for it.
The rage that once settled and made home in him is now switching to something more feral. He got a podium, but it’s not enough. He walks around like a dog, searching for comfort and being so sad that it could be felt in the air that he breathes. Oscar has been weird during the day, even when he smiles at Lando and tells him it’s going to be okay, there’s something out of place about it.
Lando drinks from his shoe. Disgust bubbling in his stomach as the drink flows down his tongue. It’s the closest he’s got to actually have Oscar kept inside of him. His lopsided grin when Lando throws the shoes to the crowd hides something behind it. He walks with white socks leaving footprints on the stage, and winces when he stumbles into someone. Lando watched from the sidelines, marking these things to ask later. Eventually, later never comes.
Oscar has a broken rib.
The team makes it seem like it’s not a big deal but it is. For Lando, at least.
He visits Oscar on the nursery grounds of the paddock when they are already in Hungary, where he lays facing the ceiling, fingers tangling each other and resting on his chest. He heard someone saying they’re doing their best to ease the pain, but honestly, it truly doesn’t look like it’s doing any help. Due to the medicine he’s taking, Oscar can’t be on blockers or any other kind of suppressants. He says it’s okay, everything is scheduled for summer break. Lando envies his sense of responsibility when it comes to being organized.
His scent is stronger around the room, a reminder of the days after Miami, although this time there's a hospital smell mixed with it. Lando hates it.
“Hey.”
“Hello, mate.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Lando shakes his head in agreement, because he really looks like shit.
“You’re driving tomorrow, though.” It’s a bad idea, it really looks painful. Oscar stares at him.
“Yeah, ‘course I am.” His gaze doesn’t move.
“I just— Are you really fine? Because—”
“Lando, stop.” His voice is cold, cuts through the air and brings that same uncomfortable silence. “‘M not—” he pauses, and finally looks somewhere else. “I’m not an omega, you don’t have to worry, or care about me.” He speaks calmly, like he does on debriefs and interviews. “I’m not. I can’t give you things.”
Oscar presses his chest, some torture to himself so he can tell this is real.
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.” Maybe it’s the hoarse way his voice crashes through the room, maybe it’s the sadness that creeps Lando’s veins, maybe it’s the similarity. “You’ll eventually find someone that’s sweet, kind, and it’ll be your mate.”
Oscar sounds sad, as if he already thought of that a long time ago. There’s some limits that divide their paths. He can’t give in, set down his boundaries as he once did, not all the time at least. He can’t be quiet and submissive, Oscar will always fight back, it’s part of the nature that composes him. The ruthless nature of an alpha. Overpower, want, lack of mercy and violence, it’s all crafted in him the same way it is in Lando.
“But I don’t want that.”
Lando could explain to him what he’s willing to do, what he’s able to give and what he wants to take. The words get stuck on his chest, he can’t tell Oscar that he wants that. The rough touching, strong scents after difficult races, feral laughter and untamed feelings. On that Sunday he stands second place, just to see Oscar getting the first one.
Sad and sour. Heat waves melting the sugar on their skin as Oscar steps into his first win. Lando could rip his skin with his teeth, bite and devour every piece of him until there’s nothing but crumbs of what once was Oscar Piastri, the race winner. He smiles while Lando sprays champagne on him. He smiles like his rib is not broken, like he didn’t change the whole life of Lando, like he did nothing but his job.
Part of Lando dies with his chances of getting those points, while the other one is so damn gone. He wants to scream at the wall, punch someone and eventually hurt them. Violence makes its way into him, he needs to be in control of something to remind himself that he is also an alpha. Everything smells like the ocean. He drinks it, consumes every particle of Oscar that sways in the air of their facility.
Oscar sits by his side on the plane. Eating hamburgers as if it’s his last day on earth, Lando watches his mouth getting dirty with mayo while he explains something to Alex about Monopoly rules. They’re supposed to play board games, it’s what Oscar chose as his celebration for a win, junk food and boring games. Lando couldn’t think of something more Oscar to be done.
They arrange themselves in pairs. The first game is Monopoly, a long match for them, gets most of them tired, barely no one can survive the second round. As just the two of them are left, they change it to chess. Oscar sits across Lando, their ankles brushing almost every time they move. It’s comfortable to stay that way, to touch but not feel. An alpha thing.
“My rut is next week.” Oscar says, moves his horse to what could be the third win in a row.
“Oh.” Lando doesn’t know what to do, so he moves his bishop. “So, what you’re gonna do?”
“I don’t know.” He moves a pawn. Their ankles brush. “You seemed very enthusiastic about it.”
“Enthusiastic.” Lando parrots him, the word sounding funny in his voice. He stares at Oscar, trying to decipher one of his many enigmatic phrases.
“Maybe you could visit my place.” He strikes Lando’s king, “Checkmate.” Another brush.
Oscar 's like this. He could never openly ask for help, not till he’s bleeding and gushing. Lando changes seats, getting by his side. Oscar is taller than him, one of the things that tells Lando that he’s dealing with a stubborn alpha. They’re similar in many things but never music or food taste. Oscar has his own way of reaching for control, he just jumps into it and shows everyone what he’s capable of. He’s the prettiest alpha that Lando ever met.
“D’you realize how bad this can go?”
Oscar stares. Lando nods, he spends sleepless nights thinking about how wrong it can be if they try this, if they let these bonds be developed between them. But Lando is over heels already. He lost. There’s nothing he can do instead of accepting it.
He looks at Oscar for some minutes before bowing his head down. A sign of defeated wolves, the ones that are open to admit they lost a battle, a sign that hides submission and shame. Lando does it anyway. Could do it again, probably will, probably it’ll be his time to be the one getting on his back and having his ass exposed.
Oscar's scent changes to surprise, then to stillness, and finally he’s happy sea again, back to pistachio ice cream on hot days at the beach. Lando kisses him when the lights are off and everyone is sleeping. Wood meeting fresh water, something about the way they fight for dominance even if it’s just a kiss. It’s an alpha thing.