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Lando has little experience with cuddling.
Sure, he’d slept with a teddy bear before, but that doesn’t count when you’re eight and scared of anything with more than four legs. Not that cuddling makes him uncomfortable—a hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, a hug from a close friend—none of that bothers him.
Maybe it’s the proximity.
To cuddle is to hold someone close. Close enough to hear their heartbeat, to feel their pulse pressed up against yours, the rise and fall of their chest. Arms either tucked to your body or close enough to wrap them underneath the others’ arms, breaths fanning across cheekbones in an intermittent wind. Your heartbeat slows–or quickens–to the feeling of warmth other than your own, a sensation that Lando isn’t sure he enjoys.
Maybe it’s the intimacy.
There’s a certain line drawn between platonic and something more–a line too often blurred, effaced, redrawn. One that’s pushed to the limits of none other than the two holding its movement hostage. Each side waits, waiting for the other to concede. And when the line shifts close enough to wrap around heartstrings, it disappears, pulling everything with it.
Lando’s line is somewhere hidden, a boundary not yet crossed–not because he’s afraid, but because he simply hasn’t explored it. He’s not sure what to make of this foreign experience, so he listens to stories, sees it happen in front of his eyes. Failed situationships, best friends testing the waters–both situations ignited by close proximity and a few too many conversations past midnight.
He’s cautious, however, a certain colleague and friend of his often catches him off guard. Oscar had been in his life for some time, and like everyone else, he’d kept their interactions simple. Friendly.
No amount of time spent together would change that. Except Oscar isn’t the type to overanalyze things the same way Lando does. He simply throws caution to the wind and lets the chips fall where they may.
And it’s Lando’s mistake if he doesn’t think Oscar will sweep him up along the way.
-
I.
The very first thing Lando registers when he wakes up is how relaxed he feels.
A warm weight settles in his chest, spreading in a low, electric flame that hums and boils into bright cadmium red. Something soft teases his chin, featherlight wisps tickling his nose, yet gentle enough that Lando welcomes its presence. The air is sweet.
As he comes to, a mass shifts against his torso, prompting his hands to reach further, pulling the movement toward him.
Suddenly, a voice that is unmistakably Oscar’s breaks the morning silence. “Lando?” The boy in question blinks, opening his eyes to Oscar, who turns nervously. In his arms.
What the fuck?
Lando groans inwardly, wondering how the hell they got here, especially after he remembers leaving Oscar’s flat in the UK to visit his parents… oops. He definitely didn’t.
“Wha–?” The Aussie whispers, unmoving from where he’s pressed against his chest, for reasons Lando has yet to discover. As far as he’s concerned, Oscar is way too close for comfort, despite the way his body screams from the loss of heat when he pulls away.
Lando sits up on the couch, cushion shifting under his weight when he takes a closer look at Oscar, who looks ridiculous, hair fanning out from his head like soft peaks of whipped cream. “What are we doing?” Lando questions his friend.
“Cuddling, apparently.” Oscar says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “We fell asleep watching a movie.”
That seems to jog Lando’s memory, because all of a sudden his mind falls back to the previous night, when their horror movie marathon turned into a Disney binge after Lando decided he “got bored of the jump scares,” to which the other said was absolute bullshit. Oscar then proceeded to call him a baby the rest of the night. “Oh.” Is all Lando says.
“You good?” Oscar asks, a note of genuine worry in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m good. Caught me off guard, that’s all.” Lando responds and Oscar falters slightly at the former’s tone.
“Well, if you want something to eat I’m ordering in.” Oscar sits up to grab his phone.
“Alright. You pick, I’m too tired.” Lando lies. To be honest, he’s more well-rested than usual, and it has nothing to do with how comfortable he was, with Oscar nestled innocently in his arms, his cute snores a lullaby he wouldn’t mind hearing again.
“You’re such a baby.” Oscar pulls him away from his thoughts.
Lando scoffs, pouting dramatically. “Take that back, you muppet.” He pulls a threatening tone, but it comes out as anything but. “Or you’re paying for our food.”
“You won’t make me pay.” The Aussie stares up from his phone to give him the look . The pretty look that bores into your chest like a perfectly fired arrow, flint edge claiming anything it lands on, including Lando.
Of course, he’d never let him pay. "Okayyy" He draws out the last syllable. "As long as you pick something without fish this time."
"No promises." Oscar smiles deviously. Frankly, Lando couldn't ever be mad at Oscar, he revels in his cheerful demeanor, the flash of teeth bright as the unbridled mirth in his eyes.
Besides, everything’s better when Oscar is smiling.
-
II.
The next time it happens, Lando doesn't think too much of it.
They're sim racing, eyes wired to the screens before them. Sometimes, it seems Oscar’s competitiveness is brought on more when off the track. His racing is competitive, but calculated. Sim racing is another story.
“Oscar!” Lando yells, eyes flitting momentarily to the Aussie sitting at his side.
“What? Can’t handle the pressure?” Oscar smirks. Deft hands steer the wheel through their second to last lap, dive bombing Lando at every corner. He can afford to be more aggressive with his driving when it’s virtual-when there isn't a multi-million dollar car under his responsibility.
Logan had invited them over for F1 sim racing, this time with two side-by-side seats. A sponsor had gifted it to them three weeks prior but they’ve only now gotten to using them. He’s not here of course, Logan is busy on a call with Alex while Oscar and Lando test out the game. So far, it’s going fairly well—at least, for Oscar anyway.
Lando sighs in defeat when his car locks up, spinning unattractively into the gravel just before the checkered flag.
“YES!!” Oscar screams at the top of his lungs. P1. He stops short halfway when a door down the hall swings open to reveal a frantic-looking blond holding a phone to his ear, snapping with three fingers at the Aussie. Oscar grins, knowing that a certain Williams driver is on the other end, whom Logan has spent way too much time calling the past few weeks.
Lando spares Logan another shout. To Oscar’s dismay, a heavy hand finds his mouth, pressing against curved lips that Lando just wants to—no. He shakes away the beginnings of that thought.
Oscar doesn’t notice Lando’s lingering stare. Instead, he shuts off the simulator, small hands gripping the Brit’s shoulders to shove him off the racing chair. It’s cute, watching him hold back as if to not purposely send Lando headfirst into the carpet. Lando isn’t as forgiving, one push from Lando and Oscar’ll be wheeling backwards onto the floor.
So he does just that.
Oscar falls off the chair, pulling Lando over with him in a flurry of limbs and tangled fingers, and it gets harder for the Brit to focus, with Oscar’s hands slipping from his shoulders to his chest to keep the older from collapsing on him.
Only then does he realize they’re close.
Unexpectedly, Oscar doesn’t push Lando off. Instead, he keeps his hands where they are, and it drives Lando insane, silk-strung fingertips pulsing through his shirt, the heat rising to his neck like hot steam.
Fuck.
“Okay, you win.” Oscar shoves him gently aside and raises his hands in defeat, leaving phantom pains where Lando felt his touch was missing.
“Giving up so soon?” Lando teases, fighting to keep the red from spreading any further, though anything, everything Oscar does guarantees the flush will only grow. He stands from his spot on the floor, placing a hand on the couch on the way up.
“I finished P1. You’re the one that should give up.” Oscar follows, standing until they’re a few inches apart–his breath is sweet, a warm sensation on the tip of Lando’s nose. Part of him wants to drink it in.
“That doesn’t count. Tell me when you win another race.” Lando chides.
“Let’s put a pin in that.” Oscar rolls his eyes, changing the subject. “How about we finish the show we were watching?”
“So now you’re accepting defeat.
“I just wanna watch a movie with you.” Oscar flops onto the nearby couch, open hands gesturing to a spot beside him–an invitation for Lando to join him.
“Since when?” Lando takes the invite, standing an arm’s length from where Oscar is seated.
“Since the game ended.” Oscar looks up at him with a grin, a venturing hand on his side releasing butterflies in his chest, a delightful storm that stirs powerfully, a promise of something sweet. “Join me, will you?”
“What if I don’t want to?” Lando jokes.
“You don’t mean that.” Oscar looks up at him with wide eyes.
Lando leans closer, their breaths mingling until the notes of citrus and vanilla cascade upon them in a bittersweet curtain. “No, I don’t.”
“Good.”
All of a sudden, Lando sinks into the cushion next to him, propping a leg up on the other end of the couch. As the show they’re watching drags on, Oscar blinks tired eyes and slumps against his shoulder. He presses against him in a way that sits right on the line Lando hadn’t expected to cross so soon. What immediately strikes his attention is how right it feels, Oscar’s warm thigh against his own, feet tangled in a knot that’s unwilling to ever come apart.
It feels different. It feels...intimate.
He’s sure this was entirely unintentional, that Oscar just happened to scoot closer in his tiredness, head perfectly slotted between his neck and shoulder. Although it goes without saying that, like polar magnets, Lando and Oscar can’t ever stay far from one another.
-
III.
Strangely enough, Oscar finds his way into Lando's arms again.
It’s loud, the sound of cars rushing past, even through the barrier of glass separating the two of them from the busy highway.
Logan is driving (lord please save them), and Lando is sitting in the back after Oscar had begged, hours earlier, that he didn’t want to sit alone. Lando gladly accepted, of course; he rather enjoys talking to Oscar, as if sitting up front would change anything.
There they sit.
Oscar is curled in Lando’s side, head resting uncomfortably on his right shoulder, though the discomfort subsides soon enough. His hair smells faintly of citrus with a few floral notes he wouldn’t be able to detect otherwise. Sleeve-covered hands cling to him in a delightful embrace, and at the end of each sleeve, tender fingers graze over the hairs on his arm, a prickly yet tranquilizing sensation.
As much as his conscience yells at him to pull away and lean Oscar’s head back onto his headrest, his body doesn’t respond. Lando’s limbs don’t want to move. He doesn’t want to move.
“Is he still sleeping?” Logan asks from the driver’s seat, an arm slung lazily across the passenger headrest, eyes locked onto the road.
“Yeah. He’s drooling on my shoulder.” But that’s alright. So what if Oscar is drooling, mouth agape in a way many would look at in second-hand embarrassment? Lando appreciates the honest look of contentment that makes itself clear in the downward slope of his brows, the long lashes resting on sleep-laden eyes, the soft gleam of his parted lips, chapped from the cool air flowing from air conditioning vents.
And without a thought, Lando wraps his free arm around Oscar, holding him close to prevent his torso from shifting under the car's movement. His hand rubs small circles into Oscar's side, a soothing touch that he isn't sure Oscar is awake to even notice.
Logan looks up into the rearview mirror after the lack of a follow-up from Lando. The American chuckles mirthfully, an indication of just how much he enjoys seeing Lando becoming so close to Oscar in so little time. The Brit rarely seemed to let his guard down with colleagues or friends, throwing up an invisible barrier of jokes, ill-timed remarks, and banter when things got awkward. It’s refreshing. He never would’ve expected it–he’d known Oscar years before, though he welcomes their bond nonetheless.
As Oscar slumps deeper into the crook of his neck, Lando has come to accept that these cuddles, lingering brushes, and more-than-friendly touches with Oscar are, in fact, inevitable.
The sound of passing cars fades away until the two in the backseat are fast asleep.
-
IV.
They’re camping in the woods to Lando’s dismay.
‘It’s fun,’ Logan had told him the day before.
No, it most definitely is not fun. It has to be an American thing, to go willingly into the wilderness and set up camp on a piece of dirt. It’s a stark contrast between the neat, cobble-lined streets of England where he feels about a thousand times safer. There’s only a few things Lando’s truly afraid of, and most of those things live in the woods.
So, no. Camping is not fun.
“Hey Lando,” Logan calls out as Lando busies himself with a stick, prodding stray pine needles back into the firepit while Oscar sits silently across from him roasting marshmallows a little too close to the fire. It’s a wonder the little white puffs haven’t burst into flames. “I’m driving us home tomorrow so I’m gonna get some rest. Keep an eye on the fire for me?” He says.
“Sure. G’night, Logan. Don’t wanna crash again, do you?” Lando laughs. It's a harsh jab at the American, but they both knew that one instance a few months back was nothing more than a brake failure. He still teases him about it, because Lando's convinced that Logan needs to get accustomed to driving on the opposite side of the road from what he's used to.
Logan shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t sleep too late. Oscar, you too.”
“Okay, mom.” Oscar responds sarcastically, drawing back his skewer just as the marshmallows look like they’re about to melt. Out of the corner of his eye, Lando catches a glimpse of the Aussie sputtering after taking a hasty bite of molten marshmallows. He chuckles amusingly, despite the death glare Oscar flashes him.
Mouth still half full, Oscar gives Logan a little wave before the blond disappears into a tent.
It’s a warm night, which Lando’s thankful for, because it makes the shadowed trees and moon-less sky much less sinister than they would have been. The fire burns steadily. He counts the cinders swirling above until they disappear into the night, ascending into either the smoke or clouds, Lando can’t tell which.
Minutes pass—only when he closes his eyes for a little more than a second does he realize he’s been staring at the fire for too long. Colorless shapes cloud his vision for several moments afterward.
“Hey, it’s getting late.” Lando tells the younger, also as a reminder to himself. “Do you wanna stay out here?”
“Yeah.” Oscar says quietly. Lando finds it endearing that he’s still holding the now marshmallow-less skewer, rolling it repetitively between his fingers. “I’m bored.”
“I can see that. Are you tired?”
Oscar lets the tip of the stick inch closer to the fire. “I’m not tired, but I’m still bored.”
Lando hums in agreement.
“Ask me a question.” Oscar says simply.
“What?”
“Ask me a question,” he repeats, “Say something. Maybe then I’ll fall asleep.”
“Aww,” Lando coos. “Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” Funny he should talk. He'd be lying if he said he wouldn't want a lullaby himself while out in the woods.
“No.” Oscar responds coolly. Under that emotionless expression, Lando knows Oscar is laughing at how ridiculous he sounds.
“Alright.” Lando begins. “What’s your favorite football team?”
“You can’t be serious.” Oscar laughs full of mockery, and underneath that, mirth. “Logan can’t convince me enough to watch the Miami Dolphins, let alone explain how the yard lines work again .”
“I meant football football, like the sport with the ball you’re supposed to kick, but ok.” Lando motions with his feet so Oscar gets the picture. He does, alright.
Oscar gives him his classic eye roll—the one he’d used a thousand times over, yet Lando anticipates it with waiting hands every time. “Give me something better.”
“Alright mate, I shall give ya anothah.” Lando mocks in a terrible Australian accent, one he knows bothers Oscar to no end.
Oscar does nothing but scoff.
Lando continues, more nasally this time. “Would ya like it on a silver pladdah? Or is a spewn beddah?”
“What the fuck.” Oscar comments, brows pinching. “I don’t sound like that.”
Lando ignores the comment, mimicking him with a talking hand. “I know you like being spoon-fed, Ozzy Bear.” He sees Oscar recoil instantly at the name, barely catching the tiniest smirk that follows. Both actions light up Lando’s face regardless.
“Spit it out, Norris.” Oscar says.
“Pulling the last name card now, huh?” Lando chides, tutting with an extended finger. “Hey! You almost burned my leg.” He shouts, the younger wielding a skewer with an unapologetic grin, the charred stick still glowing red at one end. “Alright, alright. Rapid fire mode. I’m not gonna make this easy.”
“Ok, shoot.” Oscar shoves the sick back into the firepit. “Go hard on me.”
Lando snickers at the innuendo.
“Stop it.” He swears he can almost see Oscar blush.
“Ok, first question.” And Lando has to think for a little while, because the late hours, combined with drowsiness, shroud his thoughts in fog. “What animal would you want to be? It can be anything.”
Apparently, the fog doesn’t affect Oscar. “Koala.” He answers quickly. “I’ve always wanted to climb trees when I was younger.”
“Figured. They sleep twenty hours a day, you look like ‘em too.” Lando jokes.
Oscar ignores him, parting his lips. “My turn. What was your dream job besides motorsports and racing?”
“Uhh…when my mum used to show us old American western movies, I dreamed of being one of those cowboys…” He pauses. “Don’t laugh.” Lando warns just as Oscar lets out a bright giggle. It’s lovely, so lovely that it rivals the nearby fireflies, glowing and fluttering around in tepid air.
“Too late.” He can almost hear Oscar say, even if all he does is laugh.
“What’s wrong with that? They wear cool hats and ride horses, y’know?” Now, Oscar is calming down, drawing careful breaths around the smoking campfire. “I always wanted to ride one but I never got the chance.”
The next thing that comes out of Oscar’s mouth is anything but restrained. “You can ride me, cowboy. ” Lando swears his eyes glint a little, every lick of flame taunting him devilishly.
“Oscar!” Lando yells, horrified. “What the hell? What the actual hell, Oscar?”
“What?” He wants to wipe the grin off Oscar’s face for that, though he’d never actually do that if given the chance.
“You’re bold today,” Lando chuckles at the Aussie’s uncharacteristic remark.
“‘M just tired.” Oscar mumbles. “I say a lot of things I shouldn’t say when I’m tired.” He looks more than just tired now, Lando thinks. Oscar’s eyes haven’t left the fire.
“Sure. Let’s just get back to the questions. Don’t even think, just answer.” He says, the dangers of his suggestion going unnoticed.
“Alright.”
“Favorite driver not on the grid?”
“Mark Webber.” Oscar says, unblinking. “Favorite sport other than racing?”
“Definitely—”
“Golf.” Oscar finishes, smiling.
Lando beams. “Favorite Disney movie?”
“Mary Poppins.”
“Is that even Disney?”
“Hell if I know.” Oscar shrugs, tilting his head up to peer through the trees where, millions of miles away, a star blinks at him happily, echoing his every heartbeat. “Where was your first kiss?”
“I already told you before.”
“You never told me where it happened though.”
“Trackside bleachers.” Lando remembers. “I was 16 I think.”
“Must’ve been nice.” Oscar says, gaze trained on the sky, lips parting breathlessly in a silent calculation like he’s numbering the stars. The count stops once Oscar meets his stare.
Pine brown eyes hold Lando in place when he asks, “Have you ever fallen in love?”
The night stills.
“Yes.” Oscar answers. Without skipping a beat, he moves immediately to the next question, “what is your—”
“Wait.” Lando says. “Last time we played, you said no, and that was when you first moved in with me and Logan.”
Oscar nods.
“No way.”
Oscar doesn’t respond, instead giving him a sheepish smile that sets his face aglow. Lando feels the corners of his mouth rise involuntarily, warmth of the fire spreading evenly throughout his fingertips.
“Holy shit. Are you gonna tell him?” Lando asks.
As quickly as his smile had appeared, Oscar’s face falls into a tight-lipped expression of guilt that Lando wishes he never had to see. God, Lando is so oblivious. “I’m not ready yet.” Oscar says, rolling with the assumption that he’d fallen for Logan instead.
Lando gives him a sympathetic look. “Either way, I’m happy for you Oscar. Thanks for telling me.” He says softly.
As far as Lando knows, it’s possible Logan will like him back, yet it’s just as likely he won’t. But either way, Oscar is, admittedly, in love. Lando feels a pang in his heart, knowing that one day, Oscar will settle down with someone who makes him just as happy as he does, that he’d find sanctuary in arms other than his own.
June bugs and fireflies venture audibly in an evening trance, singing, dancing as the firepit slows to a crawling flame. “Thanks, Lan.”
His nickname sounds a little less foreign on Oscar’s tongue.
-
Morning brings crisp air and fog, the ceiling of their tent dipping where light dew gathers in a puddle.
They’re cuddled up again, the bottom halves of their sleeping bags intertwined, both half-unzipped near the top. Lando’s face is close enough to Oscar's that he can count the constellations of moles on his face.
One thing Lando starts to notice after a while is the way Oscar wakes up.
It’s quite interesting, he must say, though he’s grown to appreciate the way Oscar’s mop of hair never seems to flatten out until hours after he rises from a good night’s rest.
The first thing Oscar does is turn over, a quick rustle of a blanket—or in this case, a sleeping bag—is a sure indicator that he is going to, or about to wake up. In doing so, Oscar moves closer to Lando, hands reaching out and making themselves home on the Brit’s face and neck. His fingertips burn at each point of contact.
Then comes the mumbling. Lando hasn’t a clue what Oscar is saying at the moment, but it’s adorable all the same.
For fear of waking him up, the older tucks the nylon fabric under Oscar’s chin, leaning a few centimeters to press a kiss on his forehead. Oscar’s forehead is warm, lightly shadowed by tufts of silky hair.
And if there’s one thing Lando has learned, it’s how pretty Oscar is when he’s sleeping.
-
V.
At this point, it’s not a surprise when he finds Oscar curled at his side. They’re napping in Lando’s room after a long day of none other than sim racing and PC gaming.
He’s half-asleep, yet still content, so he brings the Aussie closer until he hears him sniffle quietly. It’s barely audible, a silent torrent brewing between them, wind and slate clouds hiding any indication of an after-rain sunshower.
“You’re crying.” Lando notices.
Oscar blinks open red eyes, lids swollen and heavy. Silver streaks of tears trail down his face, tracing the outlines of his cheek, jaw, neck. “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He mumbles.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell you.” Oscar says with a bated breath.
It pains Lando to hear those words fall from Oscar’s mouth, a toxin powerful enough to burn holes in his lungs. He finds it harder to breathe. “You can tell me anything Oscar, I promise I won’t judge.”
“That’s the thing.” Oscar explains, “It’s because you won’t judge that it’ll hurt even more.” His tears have slowed, and all Lando wants to do is wipe the drying trails away. What could I ever do to hurt you?
Lando wonders if it could have been something between Oscar and Logan.
Is he ashamed? Oscar’s right–Lando wouldn’t judge him for loving his friend, but it wouldn’t mean that Logan necessarily feels the same. If Logan didn’t like Oscar back, it’d be easier if Lando did judge Oscar for falling for his roommate and friend.
Lando could tell him it’s a bad idea. Except he wouldn’t. He’d support Oscar, convince him it’d work out, and when it doesn’t, Oscar will be devastated.
He raises a curled index finger, slowly erasing the saline tears from Oscar’s skin. “I’m sorry.” Despite attempts to figure Oscar out, he hopes his apology is enough for now.
“Don’t be.” He lightens up just a little, smiling at Lando’s touch.
Oscar doesn’t say anything afterwards, but Lando can feel the grip in the folds of his shirt tighten.
-
VI.
Everything’s calmer.
It’s nearing the end of their summer break, and besides the steady pattern of rainfall outside, things are awfully quiet. Amidst the quietude, nothing has happened between Lando and Oscar as of late.
Lando doesn’t have a clue as to what prompted this change, whether it was something he did, something he said, or maybe it’s what he hasn’t said. Every time words trickle to the tip of his tongue, they’re caught by anxious, waiting hands that quench every sound that slips past his throat. He can’t even bring himself to look at Oscar, no less hold him in steady arms.
This distanced feeling makes him wonder what he could have done.
Was he too insistent?
Was he too selfish?
He should have asked earlier when things weren’t so complicated, when he could hug Oscar tight and kiss him on the forehead, just because. In hindsight, Oscar never said anything against it at all; the Aussie rather enjoyed waking up with Lando like there was no care in the world—there isn’t anything to worry about when you’re not alone. He shakes away a nagging feeling that things might've worked out between Oscar and Logan. That him and Lando cuddling was only temporary.
Lando misses it—he misses the feeling of the taller boy pressed against him, fitting like a pair of socks that don’t match but fit perfectly together just because they said so. He misses the warmth they’d share, even if it was a hundred degrees outside, cause when Oscar is cuddling him, how could he complain?
The bed is emptier than usual. He wishes a certain Aussie would find his way back to where Lando wants him.
As though on cue, Oscar walks into his room, treading lightly until he stops a few feet away from where Lando is lying in bed. “Hi.” He whispers.
“Hi.” Lando breathes, like he hadn’t seen Oscar in years.
Oscar takes a step closer, eyes asking for permission and Lando nods slowly without a word, watching the Aussie sit carefully on the side of the bed. Despite the small distance between them—not even an arm’s reach—Oscar has never felt so far away.
“C’mere.” Lando says after what feels like much too long.
Oscar’s movements are slow, graceful, intentional—he slides into bed like it’s second nature, leveling his eyes with Lando’s in a restrained gaze. He accepts Lando’s open arms, sharing the gift of warmth and unbridled affection that tickles Lando’s ribs with delight. “Can we do this more often?” Oscar asks, tucking his head beneath Lando’s chin, hair smoothed over where it’s pressed snugly against his stubble-lined jaw.
“Of course. Whenever you want, Oscar.” Lando says.
“How about,” Oscar flushes with purpose, freckles washed out in a cherry tint—a sight Lando wants engraved in his mind for as long as he lives. “This?”
A kiss finds its way onto Lando’s cheek.
“Or this?” The Aussie says with a kittenish smile, confidence building each time Lando blushes a mad red, so embarrassingly bright he wants to hide his face deep in Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar kisses him on the nose. It takes him by surprise, leaving him a sputtering mess.
Lando has just enough time to process the most recent kiss before Oscar asks him—
“Can I?”
“Can you what, Oscar?” Lando asks. “Tell me.”
Oscar parts his lips. “Can I tell you something first?”
Lando hums calmly, or as calmly as he can when he’s inches away from his best friend, inches away from crossing the line, tripping the wire that sets everything aflame.
“I love you.” Oscar whispers. “I couldn’t kiss you without telling you first.”
“Kiss me?” Lando says in shock, “but you’re in love with Logan.” It’s less of a statement than it is a question, an open question that he anticipates with every beat of his heart.
Oscar breaks into a smile. “You’re an idiot, Lan.”
Lando will never tire of hearing the nickname bloom from Oscar’s lips like ethereal orchid blossoms. “Does that mean…”
“Yes, I’m in love with you.” Oscar says, awaiting a response, any response from the Brit, who proceeds to stare at him deeply. Lando thinks back to their conversation that night. How oblivious of him, he thinks. To think all those instances, those touches that made him feel at home, not once did he stop to consider it was him Oscar was torn over.
And then everything clicks into place.
Lando lets his body bring his lips closer and closer because he can’t stand looking at Oscar like this without doing something, anything that’ll tell Oscar that, yes, he loves him back.
Words fail him, so his body guides him into a soft kiss.
It’s nothing like he’d imagined, yet it’s everything he ever dreamed of.
Oscar kisses back with ardor, pressing his lips firmly onto Lando’s own, savoring the pure warmth that rises with every kiss, every touch that had driven him insane all those times they cuddled. “I love you too,” Lando says unabashedly between kisses.
He could’ve drawn the line from the moment they held each other, staying safely behind glass walls made of fleeting touches, stolen glances, and late conversations. He could’ve been content with having something more than platonic but less than romantic.
The thing is, Lando likes the danger. He’s willing to take the risk if it means he’ll be Oscar’s, and Oscar will be his.
Life is better on the other side of the line, as long as Oscar is there waiting for him with open arms.
As Lando tugs Oscar even closer, kissing him with ardent fire and affection, he decides that cuddling is definitely something he could get used to.
-