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“Wait. You’ve never flown private before?”
Lando stared at him like he’d just confessed to never having seen the sun. Oscar didn’t even look up from his seatbelt, fingers clicking it in place with that calm, unbothered precision he had for everything. “Never.”
Lando blinked. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“Not even once?”
Oscar sighed, looking slightly exasperated already, though not nearly enough to make Lando stop. “Well,” he said, tone flat as ever, “some of us don’t come with the Lando-Norris bank account, unfortunately.”
Lando leaned back in his seat, grin spreading slow and shameless. “Mate, you’re gonna love this.”
Oscar gave him a sideways look, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “It’s just a plane, Lando.”
“Just a plane,” Lando repeated, scandalized. “You can’t call it just a plane when there’s a bed in the back and a mini-fridge stocked with actual food. You’ll see.”
Oscar adjusted the headrest, still maddeningly calm. “Right. I’m sure the fridge will change my life.”
Lando squinted at him, then grinned again, that half-feral, too-bright grin that usually meant trouble. “You’re way too chill for this. You should be, like, excited. You’re a private-jet virgin, Osc.”
“Please never say that sentence again.”
He laughed, loud and unfiltered, head falling back against the seat. The kind of laugh that made the cabin feel smaller, warmer. Oscar’s eyes flicked to him, and Lando caught it, the quick glance, the way his lips pressed together before curving up. Got him.
The flight from Singapore to Nice wasn’t a problem. Lando actually liked flying. Good food, good Wi-Fi, and no one asking him to do media.
He just needed something, or more like someone, to keep him entertained. And really, what better entertainment than Oscar Piastri? Calm, quiet, perfectly composed Oscar, sitting there like he was posing for a brochure about emotional stability. Scrolling through his phone, legs neatly crossed, not even twitching when the plane started to roll.
Yeah. That just wouldn’t do. Because if there was one thing Lando refused to tolerate on a ten-hour flight, it was boredom.
And if there was one thing he loved more than winning races, it was watching Oscar’s ears turn pink. He’d made it a personal goal, maybe not officially team-approved, but who cared, to see just how far he could push before Oscar cracked. Just a bit of teasing. A few harmless comments. Maybe a compliment or two, if it got him that look; the one where Oscar tried not to smile and failed, every damn time.
He’d try his fucking best to make those pretty cheeks blush. And he didn’t wait long to start.
“So,” Lando said, twisting in his seat, elbow hooked over the armrest. “What are your plans?”
Oscar looked up, brow furrowing slightly. “My plans?”
“Yeah,” Lando said, grinning. “To make your first private flight special.”
Oscar looked up, tone perfectly even. “Sleeping,” he said, reaching down to adjust the seat angle. “So I don’t get too jet-lagged.”
Lando groaned, dragging out the sound like it physically pained him. “Christ, Oscar. Could you be more boring, please?”
A hint of a smirk curved Oscar’s mouth. “I could, actually.”
Lando scoffed, slumping back in his seat, head thunking against the headrest. “You know, I was actually trying to be nice. Engage in conversation. Build team spirit.”
Oscar shot him a sideways glance, calm as ever. “What’s this, a team directive?”
Lando blinked. “A what?”
“‘Bond with your teammate,’ signed Zak Brown.”
Lando snorted, half a laugh breaking out before he could stop it. “Oh, shut up. Like you wouldn’t love that.”
“Being ordered to talk to you?” Oscar asked, deadpan. “Thrilling.”
“Come on, Oscah,” Lando said, dragging out the accent until it sounded ridiculous. “Be a team player.”
Oscar exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking back to him. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, calm as ever, “you’re not going to shut up at any point?”
Lando grinned, teeth and mischief. “Not a chance.”
Oscar sighed, leaning back, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like of course not. Which Lando took, naturally, as an invitation to keep going.
“Alright then, mister jet-lag prevention,” he said, leaning forward across the table. “If you’re not gonna sleep yet, I’m taking control of in-flight entertainment.”
Oscar finally looked up, one eyebrow lifting. “That’s… worrying.”
Lando gasped, hand to his chest. “Excuse me? I’m excellent entertainment.”
“I’ve seen your Twitch streams,” Oscar said, tone flat.
Lando’s mouth dropped open. “That’s outrageous slander.”
“Recorded evidence, actually.”
“Mate.” Lando pointed at him, mock-serious. “You’re dangerously close to being muted for the rest of the flight.”
Oscar hummed. “Would that include noise-cancelling you?”
Lando squinted at him for a beat, then broke into a grin. “Alright. Look at you getting sassy.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched, the faintest smirk, before he slipped the headset off his neck and set it aside. Then he folded his arms over his chest, settling back like he had all the time in the world.
“Okay then,” he said, voice easy. “Go on. Show me the full Lando-Norris-flying-private experiment.”
The movement was nothing special, really. Just Oscar leaning back, except the sleeves of his t-shirt had other plans. They clung a bit too tight around his arms, fabric stretching over muscle that hadn’t been there quite like that last year. He’d filled out, broader shoulders, stronger frame. And it was… noticeable.
Lando blinked. Forgot what he was about to say.
Oscar tilted his head, waiting. “Well?”
Right. Words. Those.
Lando cleared his throat, straightened up like he hadn’t just short-circuited. “Okay. First things first: champagne.”
Oscar groaned, low and immediate. “Like we hadn’t had enough yesterday.”
Lando grinned, pushing up from his seat. “Nah, mate. It’s like... mandatory.”
He crossed the short space to the fridge, crouched down, and pulled the door open. He scanned the rows of neatly stacked bottles before grabbing one at random. He glanced up toward the shelf above. “Could you, like, help me with the glasses?”
A quiet snort came from behind him. “What, no five-star service? Bit disappointing.”
Lando grinned, not turning around. “It’s a team experience. Participation required.”
He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps before Oscar came to stand next to him, close enough that Lando could catch the clean scent of his aftershave. Sweet. Oscar reached up for two flutes from the cabinet above, movement smooth, and, yeah. Biceps again.
Oscar glanced sideways at him, two glasses in hand. “What? You need help opening it as well?”
Lando scoffed, trying to sound offended, mostly to cover the fact his brain was still catching up. “Who do you think I am?”
He twisted the wire cage off with practiced fingers, thumb steady over the cork. A quick turn, a soft pop, and a puff of cold air. Nailed it. “See?” he said, smug, reaching for the flutes still in Oscar’s hands. He filled them both right there, bubbles fizzing high.
Oscar handed one over, faintly amused. “Cheers, then.”
Lando grinned, clinking his against Oscar’s. “Cheers, mate.”
They made their way back to their seats, the hum of the engines steady in the background. Oscar settled in again, glass balanced easily in his hand, looking maddeningly at ease, like he’d been born for first-class serenity.
Lando, meanwhile, folded himself cross-legged into his seat, glass in one hand, elbow resting on the armrest. He took a sip, crisp and fizzy, not bad actually, and watched Oscar over the rim.
Back to business. He still had a mission, after all. Oscar sipped his champagne once, eyes on the window, the faint glow of the city fading below, looking calm and relaxed.
Lando tilted his head. “So tell me,” he said, tone light, the grin already forming. “On a scale from one to ten, how much are you enjoying this?”
Oscar didn’t look at him. “Currently? A strong three.”
“Three?” Lando gasped. “You’re sitting across from me on a private jet, drinking champagne. That’s at least an eight.”
Oscar finally turned to him, eyes glinting under the cabin lights, the corner of his mouth curving up. “You’ll have to try harder.”
Lando smiled to himself, hiding it behind a sip. He fucking loved it when Oscar played along. He usually did. More often than people thought, anyway. Everyone liked to paint him as the quiet one, the calm, polite, data-driven guy, but Lando knew better. He set his glass back down on the table between them and leaned forward, elbows braced, chin resting on his hands.
“Alright then,” he said, eyes still on him. “Give me some material. What do you usually like to do?”
Oscar blinked once, clearly suspicious. “Like… in general?”
“Yeah,” Lando said, feigning innocence. “For fun. So I can tailor the experience.”
“Race. Watch cricket. Practice.”
Lando let out a strangled sound before dropping his face into his hands. “Fucking hell, mate,” he said, voice muffled against his palms. “You wanna do some push-ups while we’re at it?”
Across the table, Oscar’s mouth twitched, that almost-smile again, the one that drove Lando mad because it meant he was enjoying this. Lando dropped his hands again, staring at him like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You just enjoy showing off.”
Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “Comes with the job.”
“Yeah, well,” Lando said, leaning back, grin lazy, “those arms are getting dangerously close to showing off too much.”
Oscar’s head turned, slow. “Excuse me?”
Lando smirked, pretending innocence. “Just an observation. You’ve been spending way too much time in the gym.”
Oscar blinked once, unimpressed. “Sorry for taking my job seriously.”
“Don’t be,” Lando said easily, hiding a smile behind his glass. “It’s paying off.”
Oscar’s eyes flicked up at that, a half-second too slow. “Glad to have your approval,” he said, tone steady, maybe a bit too steady.
He went back to his drink, gaze fixed on the bubbles like they’d suddenly become fascinating. A small tell, if you knew where to look. And Lando did. The faint flush along his cheekbones wasn’t much, barely there, could’ve been the cabin lights, but it was enough to make Lando bite down a grin.
Lando let his gaze drop again, maybe a second too long, to where Oscar’s sleeves cut against his arms. “Yeah, mate,” he said, voice low, “totally approved.”
And well, he wasn’t lying, was he?
Oscar’s throat worked as he cleared it, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Are we going to keep talking about my arms,” he asked, tone dry but not quite steady, “or are we moving on?”
Lando grinned, stretching back in his seat. “Depends. You planning on giving me new material?”
Oscar exhaled through his nose, the hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “Weren’t you supposed to be the one entertaining me?”
Lando perked up instantly. “I am!”
“By staring at my arms?”
“Hey, don’t flatter yourself,” Lando said, grinning into his glass. “That was just… part of the assessment.”
Oscar shook his head, still smiling as he reached for the bottle. “Yeah. Whatever you say.”
He refilled both their glasses with practiced ease, bubbles rising between them. Lando took his and slid back into his seat, lounging like he owned the jet. “Seriously, tell me,” he said, swirling the glass. “How do you keep yourself busy now that you live in Monaco?”
Oscar looked up, already wary. “Uh.”
Lando arched a brow, grin returning. “Come on. Fancy restaurants? Yacht parties? Late-night clubs?”
Oscar cleared his throat, suddenly very focused on his drink. “None of that, really.”
Lando tilted his head. “You’re kidding.”
“Not my thing.”
“Mate,” Lando said, sounding halfway between disbelief and amusement, “you live in a tax haven built for people who love all that.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched. “I like the quiet parts.”
Lando leaned forward, elbows on the table again. “So what then? You just spend your evenings alone in your flat? Brooding over data sheets? Running laps on the sim for fun?”
Oscar hesitated, just a beat too long. “Something like that.”
And there it was. The flicker. A slight shift in his posture, the way his hand tightened around the glass, the faintest colour crawling up his neck. Lando saw it immediately.
“Oh,” he said, tone slow and amused, “tell me more, Piastri.”
Oscar frowned, eyes on his drink. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“There is plenty to tell,” Lando said, leaning back, grin spreading. “Come on. Spill the tea.”
Oscar’s eyes flicked up, cautious now, but his lips twitched like he couldn’t quite help it. “You’re reading way too much into things.”
“Am I?” Lando asked, all fake innocence, swirling the last of his champagne.
The silence stretched, warm, and somehow charged, until Oscar looked away first. Lando tilted his head, watching him for a moment. Then, with that same lazy tone, he asked, “So… who’s keeping you company then?”
As he said it, his foot nudged lightly against Oscar’s under the table, a tiny, almost careless motion, but deliberate enough.
Oscar froze just a second too long before answering. “No one,” he said finally, voice a little lower. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Lando groaned, dramatic. “Don’t be so shady. Give me some gossip.”
Oscar sighed, eyes dropping to his glass. “There’s no gossip.”
Lando waited.
Oscar hesitated, then said, a little too casual, “I mean… I see people. Sometimes.”
That made Lando sit up straighter, grin instantly back. “You see people?”
Oscar’s ears went red. “From time to time,” he muttered. “Nothing serious.”
Lando pressed a hand to his chest, mock-gasping. “Oscar Piastri, are you having casual sex?”
Oscar groaned, colour flooding his cheeks now. “For fuck’s sake, Lando. What are you, twelve?”
Lando laughed, full and unbothered, champagne nearly spilling from his glass. “Nah, mate. Just really enjoying making you feel self-conscious.”
Oscar shot him a look, half glare, half disbelief. “Are we done talking about my sex life?”
Lando shook his head immediately. “Absolutely not. Where do you find them? On Raya?”
Oscar scoffed, tipping his head back. “Oh my God. Just stop.”
“Come on,” Lando said, grin widening. “Just checking we’re not pulling the same girls, yeah?”
Oscar’s eyebrow lifted. “Can’t imagine that happening.”
Lando tilted his head, mock-offended. “Oh yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I doubt we’ve got the same type,” Oscar said simply, voice even, eyes steady.
Lando leaned forward a little, grin lazy. “And what makes you so sure?”
Oscar met his gaze, a slow, deliberate look. The kind that said he knew things. Because, yeah, Lando had maybe flirted with a few girls in front of him once or twice.
Lando blinked, heartbeat catching half a beat late. “You been keeping tabs on me, Oscar?”
Oscar didn’t flinch. “Don’t have to. You’re not exactly subtle.”
Lando huffed a laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Alright, fair. Then what’s your type, huh?”
That earned him a small pause. Oscar’s fingers tapped once against his glass, eyes flicking down before meeting his again.
“Don’t really have one,” he said finally.
Lando arched a brow. “Liar.”
Oscar smiled, barely, but it was there. “You just asked the question, you don’t get to judge the answer.”
“Yeah, but I can tell when you’re dodging.”
Oscar tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Maybe I just don’t like talking about it.”
“Or maybe,” Lando said, grin returning slow, “you don’t want me to know.”
A faint colour rose along Oscar’s neck, subtle, but Lando caught it. He leaned forward again, seizing the opening. “Come on, give me something. Blonde? Brunette? Tall? Short? There’s gotta be a pattern.”
Oscar didn’t answer. Just stared at him, quiet, steady.
Lando’s grin faltered, just slightly. “What?”
Oscar’s voice came out calm, almost too calm. “You do know I’m not into girls, right?”
For a beat, nothing. Then Lando’s brain just... stopped.
“What.”
It wasn’t even a question. More like a system error.
Oscar huffed a laugh, the sound quiet, warm. “I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
Lando just blinked at him, mouth open, brain still buffering. “Huh.”
Oscar chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “It’s alright, mate. I just don’t really mention it.” He paused, eyes flicking back to Lando, a small shrug. “I just thought, y’know… you’d noticed.”
Lando was still frozen halfway through a thought that refused to make sense.
Oscar liked men? What the— Oscar. His Oscar. Liked to get— well. No. Not going there. He cleared his throat, trying to look composed while his brain ran laps at 300 km/h. The silence stretched, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. Then he reached for the bottle and poured more champagne, mostly for something to do with his hands.
“Alright,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “But you didn’t answer the damn question.” He glanced up, attempting a grin. “What’s your type?”
Oscar smiled then, small, amused, clearly entertained by how much this had thrown him. “Told you,” he said lightly. “Don’t have one.”
Lando snorted, taking a long gulp of champagne, mostly to recover, really. “Bullshit.” He set the glass down with a clink. “Alright. Let’s make this simple—”
“Could we just—” Oscar tried, tone edging toward nervous.
But Lando was already talking over him. “Would you fuck Charles?”
Oscar choked mid-sip, coughing hard. “What?”
“Charles,” Lando repeated, grinning now, far too entertained. “Leclerc. Charles Leclerc. Is he your type?”
Oscar wiped his mouth, glaring half-heartedly. “Jesus, Lando.”
“What?” Lando said, feigning innocence. “Perfect hair, nice face, drives a Ferrari. He’s basically everyone’s type.”
Oscar stared at him like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or throw the glass. Then, finally, he said, “As you said, he’s basically everyone’s type.”
Lando grinned, undeterred. “Okay, okay. Bit more difficult. How about… Niko?”
Oscar groaned. “Man, he’s like old.”
“Mmh. Not that old. Lewis’s older.”
Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Lewis is fitter.”
Lando blinked, then broke into a grin. “Oh, wow. Didn’t even hesitate there.”
Oscar smirked, sipping his drink. “You asked.”
Lando leaned back, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Alright, then. Let’s keep going,” he said as Oscar groaned, “Please don’t.”
“George?”
“Too polished.”
“Lance?”
“Absolutely not.”
Lando laughed, almost spilling his drink again. “Okay, okay. Harsh.”
“Max?”
Oscar paused, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Why not. Bit too daddy-ish, though.”
Lando choked on his drink. “Daddy-ish? Jesus Christ, Osc.”
Oscar only shrugged, unapologetic.
“Carlos?”
Oscar’s lips pressed together for a second too long before he answered. “No.”
Lando blinked. “What? He’s fit!”
Oscar arched a brow, tone flat. “Still no.” Something in the way he said it, quick, almost clipped, made Lando grin wider.
“Alright, tough crowd.”
He should’ve stopped there. He knew he should’ve. But the champagne buzzed warm in his veins, and Oscar was looking at him with that lazy half-smile that made thinking difficult. So his mouth moved faster than his brain.
“Alright then,” he said, tone playful but his chest tightening a little, “what about me?”
The cabin went quiet. Oscar didn’t answer right away. His glass hovered midair, fingers loose around the stem. Then he breathed out, short, steady. “You’re fine.”
It landed wrong. Or maybe too right. Lando blinked, waiting for the rest, the joke, the smirk, anything, but it never came. Just you’re fine. He felt the warmth crawl up his neck, sudden and uninvited.
“Fine?” he repeated, voice half a laugh, half disbelief.
Oscar shrugged a little, the movement small but giving him away, his cheeks were definitely pink now.
Lando leaned back, still grinning, even as something warm twisted low in his stomach. “That hurts, mate.”
Oscar let out a quiet laugh, dry and nervous all at once. “What do you want me to say? ‘Oh my god, Lando, you’re so fucking hot’?’” he mocked, voice low and teasing.
Well. Lando had to admit that being called hot by Oscar Piastri was… quite something.
He forced a smirk, pretending ease. “Yeah. For a start.”
Oscar’s laugh caught mid-air, eyes flicking up to meet his. Then he shook his head, a small smile breaking through. “You wish, mate.”
Lando bit his lip, grin tugging back into place, pulse ticking faster. Maybe he did. He didn’t know if it was the champagne or just… the idea, the sudden, electric knowing that Oscar might actually find him attractive.
Something in his chest pulsed, heat spreading low and slow, like his body had caught on a thought his brain hadn’t processed yet. Lando’s grin didn’t fade, if anything, it curved sharper, a little unsteady around the edges. “Are you flirting with me right now?”
Oscar huffed a small laugh, leaning back against his seat, eyes soft but tired in that way that meant don’t push it.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not!” Lando protested, hands raised in mock innocence.
Oscar arched a brow, half amused, half exasperated. “Mate. Being gay doesn’t mean I flirt with every bloke that crosses my path.”
Fair point, really. Didn’t stop Lando from thinking about it anyway. He felt his cheeks warm before he even registered the words leaving his mouth.
“You could though,” he said, tone too casual to be casual at all. “Flirt with me, I mean.”
What the hell.
Oscar blinked, eyes widening. “Lando, what the fuck?”
Lando froze, realising a second too late what he’d just said, or what it sounded like.There wasn’t exactly a rewind button for this kind of thing.
“I—” he started, then stopped, because there was absolutely nowhere to go from there.
Oscar snorted, tilting his head, eyes glinting. “You alright there, mate?”
Lando slumped back, trying to recover some dignity. “Uh.”
Oscar smiled, a slow curve that made the corner of his eyes crease. “Relax. I’m not gonna flirt with someone who won’t end up in my bed. I’ve got some self-respect.”
That… was a sentence.
Lando nearly choked on his champagne, eyes wide. His mouth worked faster than his brain. “Who says I won’t?”
Oscar blinked once, incredulous. “Jesus Christ. Do I really need to spell it out?” He leaned back, still eyeing him with that half-amused disbelief. “Man. You’re like… straight-straight.”
Lando arched a brow. “Well, that doesn’t mean I—”
“Please,” Oscar cut in, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Don’t start with the gay-curious line. It’s tragic.”
“It’s not tragic,” Lando said, too fast. “It’s like—”
He stopped. Because honestly, he didn’t have a clue what it was like. Whatever point he was about to make had fled the second Oscar looked at him like that, all calm, half-smiling, impossible to read.
Oscar tilted his head. “What? A social experiment?” He took a sip of champagne, eyes glinting. “No thanks.”
The worst part was that Lando couldn’t even come up with a decent comeback. His brain was busy trying to ignore the fact that Oscar had just rejected him in theory.
Oscar tilted his glass, then set it down with a quiet clink before straightening a little in his seat. “Anyway,” he said, tone casual but not quite, “if you could just keep it down in the paddock. Don’t really want anyone to know about this.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lando said quickly. Then paused. “Wait. Who knows already?”
Oscar’s brow lifted, calm as ever. “Just a few people.”
That wasn’t helpful. At all.
Lando leaned forward, curiosity already bubbling. “A few like… friends? Engineers? Or a few like, half the grid?”
Oscar’s mouth twitched, not a smile, exactly, more like amusement he was trying to hide. “Close team only. And Max, I guess.”
Lando nearly choked on air. “Max?”
Oscar looked up, unbothered. “What?”
Lando blinked, still trying to compute. “As in Max Verstappen?”
“Yeah,” Oscar said, like it was obvious.
For a second, Lando just stared. Then it hit him, the earlier comment, the too daddy-ish joke, the tone of it. Wait. No. No fucking way. He set his glass down a bit too fast. “Hold on.”
Oscar tilted his head, confused.
“You—” Lando’s voice came out half a laugh, half disbelief. “You didn’t actually—? With Max?”
Oscar burst out laughing, loud and genuine this time, head tipping back. “Nah, mate. Like I said—bit too daddy-ish for me.”
Lando grinned, trying to sound cocky even as his ears burned. “What, you don’t like being manhandled?”
Oscar’s answer came without missing a beat. “No. I’m much better doing it.”
It hit Lando like a punch straight to the gut. Every coherent thought short-circuited at once, replaced by a rush of heat that flooded downward. Like his body had decided it knew exactly what to do with that information before his brain could protest.
He could feel his pulse everywhere. And, of course, his eyes betrayed him, sliding right back to Oscar’s arms, to the way his shirt stretched tight across muscle, to the small shift of tendons under skin when he reached for his glass.
Jesus Christ.
He cleared it fast, desperate to sound normal again. “So—uh. How does he know then?”
Oscar arched a brow, still perfectly calm. “We’re friends. We like… talk?”
“Right. Sure. Talk,” Lando said, voice higher than he’d have liked.
Oscar laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Mate, just—forget whatever mental image you’re having right now. I’m not fucking Max.”
“Yep. Great,” Lando muttered, staring very hard at the table like it might save him.
Oscar scoffed under his breath, a small, knowing sound and thank god that was the moment the door slid open and one of the attendants stepped in, polite smile in place. “Would you like something to eat?”
Lando almost sagged with relief. “Yes. Food. Definitely food.”
Oscar pressed his lips together to hide a laugh. “Yeah. Food sounds good.”
The attendant smiled politely. “Of course. Any preference?”
“Pizza,” Lando said immediately, turning toward the attendant like it was a life-or-death decision. “We’ll have pizza. Whatever kind you’ve got back there. Surprise us.”
The woman blinked, then smiled, professional, but just a bit amused. “Of course, Mr Norris.”
Lando nodded solemnly, as if he’d just done something important. “Cheers.”
The door slid shut again.
Oscar let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and a little disbelieving. “Pizza?”
Lando frowned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, mate. Strong weekend. We deserve the cheat meal.”
Oscar hummed, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Fair enough.”
Lando thought he was safe for now but then Oscar shifted in his seat, stretching his arms out before settling back. “God, I hate being seated for so long.”
Lando’s eyes followed the movement before he could stop himself, the long stretch of muscle under fabric, the way Oscar’s shirt lifted just enough to show a sliver of skin at his waist. Such a pretty waist. He swallowed, hard, forcing his gaze back up.
“You can always walk back and forth in the aisle, y’know. Get your steps in.”
Oscar side-eyed him, one brow lifting. “Right. I’ll do laps between the minibar and the cockpit.”
Lando smirked, grateful for the banter, anything to pull the attention away from the image still burning at the back of his mind. “Could make it interesting. Time yourself. Beat a record.”
Oscar’s mouth curved, that small sideways smile that usually meant trouble, and he pushed his seat back before standing up.
Lando blinked. “You’re actually doing it?”
Oscar laughed under his breath. “No, you muppet, I’m stretching.”
And, well. He stretched. Oscar bent forward first, slow and unhurried, palms grazing the carpet. Lando forgot how to think. The fabric of Oscar’s t-shirt stretched over his back, thin enough to show the flex of his back muscles beneath. Lando’s eyes followed, helpless.
There was flex, a pull, the faintest outline of his abs when he straightened, toned, cut in a way that shouldn’t be legal on a Monday night flight. Then Oscar lifted his arms above his head, full stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up again, higher this time, abs flexing, skin so pale it almost glowed.
He blinked once. Twice. Mouth dry as sand. Christ.
And the worst of it all is that he, the bastard, did it again. Bending, straightening, stretching high, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the stiffness of the weekend. The same slow rhythm, the same pull of fabric, each movement dragging Lando’s attention along for the ride.
By the third time, he wasn’t even pretending not to look anymore. Oscar caught it. Of course he did. He straightened fully, turning just enough to meet Lando’s eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoying the show?”
“What.”
Oscar laughed, easy and quiet. “You’ve been staring, mate. Proper staring. For five minutes straight.”
Lando opened his mouth to answer, something, anything at this point really, but the door to the cabin slid open again, and a wave of warm air rolled in, carrying the smell of melted cheese and tomato and salvation. Thank. Every. Possible. God.
He straightened instantly, pretending this was the best news of his life. “Perfect timing!” he blurted, already halfway leaning over the table. “Best flight ever.”
What he didn’t know, and what he couldn’t have known, was that eating pizza with Oscar Piastri would somehow be worse than watching him stretch. Because, apparently, Oscar ate like a menace. He pulled a slice free, cheese stretching indecently, grease catching the light on his fingers. Took a bite. Hummed, low and content, eyes half-lidded like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Lando just stared. Cool. Great. Perfect. Love that for me.
Then Oscar licked his thumb clean and Lando nearly blacked out. If he was fourteen again, this would’ve been the kind of memory to haunt him for life.
They finished off the last slices in comfortable silence. Oscar leaned back, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and exhaled with the satisfaction of a man who’d just solved world hunger. “That was amazing.”
Lando tilted his head, feigning nonchalance even though his brain was still reeling from the whole performance. “Do you always eat like that,” he asked, “or was that a special treatment?”
Oscar looked up, feigning innocence a little too well. “Like what?”
Lando opened his mouth, words forming before his brain caught up. “Like you—”
He stopped dead. There was absolutely no version of that sentence he could say out loud. Like what, exactly? Like a freaking pornstar? Like someone actively trying to ruin his sanity? Like a man who had no idea what he was doing to the person sitting across from him?
Lando blinked hard, cleared his throat, and reached for his glass just to have something to do. “Never mind.”
Oscar laughed softly, leaning back in his seat, eyes bright with amusement. “No, please,” he said, grin widening. “Go on. I’d love to hear.”
Lando looked up, glass halfway to his mouth. For once, he didn’t bother dodging. “You eat like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing,” he said.
Oscar laughed quietly, head tilting just enough to catch him off guard, that same amused spark lighting up his eyes. “Are you flirting with me now?”
Lando swallowed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin that was braver than he felt. “What if I was?”
Oscar studied him for a moment, the laughter still ghosting on his lips but something sharper underneath it now. “Are you really?” he asked, “Or are you just trying to keep yourself from being bored?”
Lando grimaced a little, even he didn’t know, really. Was he flirting? Like… flirting with a purpose? Like, would he even want something to come out of it? Kissing a boy had never been a problem. Lando was quite open with his own sexuality. More attracted to girls, sure, but making out with a guy could be good fun as well, messy, spontaneous, stupid fun.
Still, this didn’t feel like that. Not really. Because Oscar wasn’t just some random boy at a party, and this didn’t feel like curiosity. Then his gaze flicked to Oscar’s mouth, quick, stupid, impossible to hide.
“Can’t it be both?” he said, quieter this time, the words landing heavier than he meant them to.
Oscar’s smile curved slow and lazy as he slid a little lower in his seat, legs stretching out until his knees brushed the edge of the table. “Can be,” he said, voice warm, unhurried. Then, after a beat: “But what if I end up wanting to kiss you?” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, eyes steady on Lando. “What if you end up wanting to kiss me?”
Lando felt his face heat instantly, the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the champagne. “So what?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed and failing miserably.
Oscar chuckled, low and amused. “You sure you want your teammate to be the first guy you kiss?”
Lando frowned, the tiniest spark of confidence breaking through the heat still crawling up his neck. “I’ve kissed guys before.”
Oscar’s mouth curved, a small, entertained smile. “Oh, did you now?”
Lando shrugged, feigning ease. “Yeah.”
Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him, eyes flicking down, lingering on his mouth for a beat too long. The air between them stretched thin.
“Interesting,” he said finally, quiet, the word almost lazy.
Lando laughed under his breath, nerves pushing it out of him. “What? Wish you’d known that before?”
Oscar’s gaze lifted, slow and deliberate, back up to his eyes. “Honestly?” he said. “Yeah.”
Lando felt his heartbeat spike, sudden and stupid, echoing in his chest like it was trying to make a scene. He forced a grin, tried to sound normal, casual, anything but overheated. “Oh yeah?”
Oscar nodded, slow and unbothered. “Mmh. I could’ve hit on you way sooner.”
The words landed like a spark straight to his bloodstream. Lando’s face went up in flames before he could even try to hide it. He tore his gaze away, staring very intently at the table, the window, anywhere that wasn’t Oscar’s mouth still curved in that damn smirk. Oscar laughed, low and delighted. Fucker.
“Shut up,” Lando muttered through his teeth, eyes still fixed anywhere but on Oscar.
He felt the light tap before he saw it, Oscar’s foot nudging his under the table, playful, deliberate. “What?” Oscar said, voice all mock innocence. “I’m keeping you entertained, aren’t I?”
Lando exhaled through his nose, trying to steady his breathing, but it was hopeless. His pulse was everywhere, loud and restless. Why the hell did he feel like a fucking horny teenager again? He could feel the heat spreading through him. It wasn’t just his neck anymore, it was everywhere, running down his chest, settling deep in his stomach until even breathing felt like effort.
And yeah, he knew exactly why. He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his hoodie. “It’s hot,” he said, voice uneven. “Aren’t you hot?”
Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know,” he said, eyes flicking over him once. “You tell me.”
Fucking tease.
Lando groaned, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Oscar laughed, low and easy. “You’re making it too easy, mate.”
Lando shoved the hoodie off, the fabric sticking a little to his skin. His hair was a mess, pulse worse, and he could feel the beat of it in his throat when he finally looked up. Oscar was watching him. And his eyes—yeah, they were definitely a shade darker.
Oscar cleared his throat, still leaning slightly toward him, elbows resting on his knees. His voice dropped, softer now, almost thoughtful. “Remember when I said you were fine?”
Lando’s breath caught, just a little, as Oscar’s gaze dragged down, slow and deliberate, taking him in from head to toe. It burned, everywhere it landed.
“I lied,” Oscar said, lips curving. “Always found you hot.”
Lando bit back a fucking whine, every muscle in his body screaming don’t react and failed spectacularly. His foot found Oscar’s under the table, pressing against it like his body was moving faster than his brain.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he managed, voice rough around the edges.
Oscar laughed, bright and disbelieving. “Not so bad? Man, you talked about my fucking arms for ten minutes straight.”
Lando grinned, cheeks flushed, pulse a wreck. “Yeah, well. They deserved the airtime.”
Oscar hummed, sinking back into his seat again, lazy as ever. He shifted just enough for his other foot to find Lando’s under the table, the light brush deliberate this time. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“What’s your type then?” he asked, same tone, same question Lando had thrown at him earlier.
Lando cleared his throat, eyes flicking down to where their feet were still touching. “Guy type or girl type?”
Oscar rolled his eyes, smiling. “Mate. I couldn’t care less about your girl type.”
Lando let out a small laugh, trying to keep his voice steady. “Dunno, man. Never thought about it.”
Oscar arched a brow, smile edging toward a smirk. “What, you need me to break it down for you like you did earlier?”
Lando snorted. “Nah.”
Oscar’s foot brushed lightly against his again, slow, absent-minded, but definitely intentional. “Come on,” he said, voice dipping into that same mocking tone Lando had used earlier. “Give me some material.”
Lando bit his lip, lifted his gaze, caught Oscar’s eyes waiting, open challenge written all over them. Alright. Let’s play.
“I like tall.”
Oscar nodded once, slow. “Uh-huh.”
“Broad shoulders.”
He didn’t look away.
“Big quads.”
A smile tugged at Oscar’s mouth, lazy, knowing, as he shifted in his seat and spread his legs just a little wider. Lando’s pulse tripped.
“Big arms.”
Oscar let out a quiet, breathy laugh, more a murmur than a sound. “Yeah,” he said, eyes dropping briefly to Lando’s mouth before lifting again. “Figured.”
The flush on Lando’s cheeks deepened, hot and impossible to hide, but he didn’t look away.
“Small waist.”
Oscar wasn’t looking away either. If anything, his gaze sharpened, slow and intent, like he was tracing every inch of Lando’s face and committing it to memory.
“Soft eyes.”
Oscar’s lips twitched, amusement curling slow at the edges as he leaned in just enough to make Lando’s pulse spike. “Is that what the guys you’ve hooked up with look like?”
Lando shook his head, his pulse drumming everywhere. “No,” he said, voice lower than before. “That’s what the guy I want to hook up with looks like.”
Oscar held his gaze, unblinking. “Yeah?” he murmured, head tipping slightly. “And you actually think you’ve got a shot?”
Lando didn’t flinch. “Hard to tell,” he said quietly. “He’s not exactly easy to read.”
A slow smile pulled at the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “No?” he breathed. “Then maybe you should just ask him.”
Lando swallowed hard, he didn’t have a fucking clue where this was heading, but his body had apparently decided it no longer needed permission from his brain. Again. He pushed up from his seat before he could talk himself out of it.
Oscar’s eyes followed him immediately, head tilting up as Lando stepped around the table until he was standing right in front of him, between his knees. Close. Too close.
“Can I?” Lando asked, voice barely steady.
Oscar looked up at him, eyes dark, and one of his hands came up to settle on Lando’s waist, warm and firm. “Can you what?” he murmured.
Lando stepped in closer without even meaning to, like his legs were on autopilot and his brain was jogging ten steps behind. His knees brushed the seat Oscar was in, and suddenly he could feel everything: the heat between them, the way his own heartbeat punched against his ribs, the buzz under his skin like he’d just touched a live wire.
“Touch you?” he asked, voice embarrassingly soft.
Oscar’s smile warmed instantly, nearly gentle. “Yeah.”
That was all it took. Lando’s hand decided to act without consulting a single brain cell he possessed, brushing along Oscar’s jaw. The spark that shot through him was immediate, electric, like his nerves had been waiting for this exact moment without his permission.
He’d never touched Oscar like this before. He’d imagined it maybe, accidentally, stupidly, but this was real, warm skin under his fingertips, the slight shift of muscle, the faint breath Oscar released.
His hand slid up, almost careful, fingers finding the heat at the back of Oscar’s neck. He pushed into soft hair, tugged lightly, and Oscar’s head tipped back into his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lando’s stomach flipped. Hard.
Oscar exhaled, barely a sound. “What else?” he murmured, voice lower now, curious, inviting.
Lando swallowed, thumb brushing the soft skin under Oscar’s ear, nerves firing bright and stupid.
And then—
Of course—
“Can I… sit with you?” he asked, quiet but very, very real.
Oscar stilled. His eyes lifted slowly to Lando’s face, then dropped, unmistakably, to his hips, to the space between them, to the seat he was occupying. Only one seat. Only one way to do this. When he looked back up, something warm and devastating flickered there.
“Sit with me,” Oscar repeated, just to make sure he’d heard right. His hand tightened on his Lando’s waist, steady and warm, not pulling… but definitely inviting. “Here.”
Lando nodded, one sharp, stupid movement, because talking suddenly felt dangerous.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said, voice gone soft around the edges. “That’s okay.”
And Lando felt himself leaning in, gravity, adrenaline, and Oscar fucking Piastri looking at him like he’d been waiting for this. One knee on the edge of the seat, then the other, and before his brain could even register what he was doing, he was lowering himself onto Oscar’s lap.
Oscar didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He just took him, steady and sure, as if this had always been the plan. Their faces ended up close. Ridiculously close. Barely a few centimeters between their mouths, breaths mixing, eyes locked like neither of them remembered how to look anywhere else.
The hand Oscar had on his waist slid lower until it settled at the small of Lando’s back, warm and grounding, keeping him exactly where he was. His other hand came up, fingers curling around Lando’s thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once, light but impossible to ignore.
Lando’s breath stuttered, and he didn’t even try to hide it. His own hand was still in Oscar’s hair, thumb against his neck, feeling the pulse there kick just a little faster. Oscar’s eyes dragged up to meet his again, darker now, focused, searching. “Anything else?” he murmured.
Like a challenge. Like an invitation. Like he already knew the answer.
Lando swallowed, hard, his heartbeat punching at his ribs like it was trying to break out. “Kiss you?” he managed, barely above a whisper.
Oscar’s smile deepened instantly, like he’d been waiting for those exact words. He leaned in, closing the last bit of space until his breath brushed warm against Lando’s lips. “Thought you’d never ask,” he murmured and then he closed the gap.
The first touch was soft. Tentative maybe. Oscar testing the shape of his mouth, testing how he fit, how he tasted, like he wanted to learn him one small movement at a time. Oscar’s lips were warm, impossibly so, gentle but confident, and it hit Lando like a shock straight through the spine.
His hand tightened at the small of Lando’s back, pressing him in closer, slow, firm, like he wanted every inch of him exactly where it was. Lando felt himself sink into it, fingers threading deeper into Oscar’s hair, tugging just a little. The sound Oscar made against his mouth, barely there, went straight to his hardening cock.
Oscar parted his lips, gentle but sure, and Lando felt the soft brush of his tongue asking for more. He let him. He leaned in, opened up, let Oscar taste him. The kiss deepened by degrees, not rushed, not messy, just heat building carefully, breath catching between them, little sparks firing everywhere Lando didn’t know could spark.
Oscar kissed like someone who thought about it first. Like someone who took his time. But once he had you where he wanted you, he owned the moment. And Lando felt every second of it.
Lando’s hand slipped out of Oscar’s hair, sliding down the warm line of his neck, over his shoulder, until his fingers wrapped around Oscar’s bicep. He squeezed. The muscle tightened immediately, solid under his palm. The sound that escaped Lando was humiliatingly close to a whimper, choked off against Oscar’s mouth, but not nearly fast enough.
Oscar smiled into the kiss, Lando could feel it curve right against his lips. That made something in Lando’s stomach flip so hard he nearly lost his balance on Oscar’s lap.
The kiss went hotter, really fast. Oscar kissed him like he wanted to chase the sound Lando had just made, like he wanted to find every other one buried in his chest. Their breath tangled, messy and loud, the kind of breathing you only heard this close, this pressed together. The kisses turned wet, hungry, then slow for a beat, then hungry again, like Oscar couldn’t decide whether to take his time or ruin him on the spot.
Lando tore his mouth away only because he physically needed air, chest rising fast, breath catching hard in his throat. He leaned back just an inch, just enough to breathe. And then he made the mistake, the massive, life-altering mistake, of looking at Oscar.
Oh.
Oh.
If he’d thought Oscar was hot a minute ago, this was something else entirely. Devastating. Unfair on every possible level. Oscar’s cheeks were flushed, colour spreading high across those stupidly pretty cheekbones. His lips were parted, kiss-rough and shining. His breath stuttered like he was still fighting to catch it. And his eyes, Christ, darker than Lando had ever seen them, intent and hungry and fixed entirely on him.
Then he smiled. Slow. Almost amused. Like he knew exactly what he looked like. And exactly what it was doing to Lando.
Lando leaned back in like gravity had him by the throat, like there wasn’t a universe in which he didn’t kiss Oscar again. Their mouths crashed together, needy and messy, and he felt Oscar fall backwards into his seat, dragging Lando with him like he had no intention of letting go. Oscar made a muffled sound against his mouth, half-groan, half-laugh, and kissed him back even harder, fingers tightening on Lando’s waist like he needed something to hold on to.
“Lando—” he breathed into his mouth.
Lando ignored it, swallowed the sound, kissed him deeper, harder, chasing the way Oscar tasted and the way Oscar gave, like he couldn’t help himself either.
“Lando.”
More insistent this time.
And then Oscar’s hands pushed at his chest, not to stop him, just enough to break the kiss, tugging lightly at Lando’s t-shirt as he tried to pull in air. His breath was a complete disaster, chest heaving. Lando whined at the loss, actually whined, leaning forward like if he didn’t get Oscar’s mouth back immediately he might physically malfunction.
Oscar’s voice came out low, a little wrecked, breath still catching. “You’re going to kill me, mate.”
Lando’s hand slid back down Oscar’s arm, squeezing his bicep again, because honestly, how was it even legal for someone to feel like that. He pressed himself closer, almost clinging.
“Why’d you stop?” he asked, voice embarrassingly needy.
Oscar laughed, breath still all over the place, his hand sweeping up Lando’s thigh in a slow, grounding touch. “Because I actually need to breathe from time to time.”
Lando muttered, pouting, “That’s annoying,” and before Oscar could say anything else, he ducked his head down and pressed his mouth to Oscar’s neck instead.
God. That neck. Strong. Thick. Warm. Unfairly good-looking, if that was even a thing.
Oscar’s breath hitched instantly, fingers tightening on Lando’s thigh, his whole body going a little tense under him. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Lando took that as an absolute green light. He leaned back in, mouth finding Oscar’s neck again, pressing slow, warm kisses along the skin, just under the jaw. Then higher. Behind his ear. A tiny bite there, barely more than teeth on skin, but enough to make Oscar’s breath punch out of him.
Lando felt Oscar’s chest rise sharply against his, felt the way he tensed, the way his fingers curled on Lando’s thigh.
“Jesus, Lando, don’t—”
And that, in Lando’s very biased opinion, was dangerously close to a moan. But then Oscar said don’t, which made Lando pull back, frowning, still straddling him, breath uneven.
“What?” Lando asked, genuinely confused. “You don’t like that?”
Oscar looked wrecked in the prettiest way, cheeks flushed, lips red, eyes darker than they should reasonably be on a plane. He blinked up at Lando, half laughing through the mess of it.
“I like it,” he said, voice low. “A bit too much, if you know what I mean.”
And Lando’s heart did something stupid and impossible in his chest.
Oh.
Lando’s breath faltered. He didn’t need to look down to feel it, the press of Oscar’s cock through his shorts, on the way of getting fully hard just from their little kissing-session. Oscar shifted under him, the kind of subtle adjustment that said everything without saying anything. And suddenly Lando was hyper-aware of his own body too, of how tight he felt in his jumper, how close they were sitting, how hard he was himself.
Oscar cut in quickly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, a lazy smile tugging his mouth. “Sorry. Told you I found you hot.”
Lando let out a breathy laugh, the kind he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. “Well,” he said, shifting just a little closer on Oscar’s lap, like he wasn’t already basically glued to him, just enough to roll his hips against Oscar's, “I don’t mind.”
Oscar tilted his head, eyes dropping briefly to Lando’s mouth before sweeping lower, his hand smoothing absently up and down Lando’s thigh. “You don’t mind turning me on?” he asked, tone light, amused. He clicked his tongue, smile widening. “What an ego you’ve got, Lando Norris.”
Lando huffed a laugh and let his hand slip under the hem of Oscar’s t-shirt, fingers meeting warm skin. Oscar’s breath caught instantly, his abs tightened under Lando’s palm, defined, unfairly solid. Oscar blinked at him, heat flickering hard in his eyes.
Lando leaned in, thumb brushing along the edge of one of those ridiculous muscles. “What can I say?” he breathed, voice tipping into a smirk. “I like making you blush.”
Oscar let out a soft laugh, quiet, almost breathless, and yeah, he was definitely blushing now. It spread across his cheeks, warm and stupidly pretty, and Lando felt it hit him in the chest like a punch. Oscar’s hand slid up from the small of Lando’s back to his hip, fingers settling there like he owned the spot.
“Yeah?” he murmured, eyes flicking to Lando’s mouth and back. “Wanna try again?”
And it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t even teasing. Just… an invitation. Lando’s hand slid around to his waist, fingers pressing into the warm skin there. He squeezed, because he couldn’t not, because apparently touching Oscar had become a biological instinct at this point.
“Yeah,” he said, breath catching. “Let’s try.”
And he kissed him again, messy, open-mouthed, zero patience left in his body, all teeth and tongue and spit. Oscar kissed him back with that stupid calm confidence that made Lando’s pulse go vertical, one hand bracing his back, the other gripping his thigh like he was anchoring him in place.
Then Oscar’s hands moved, up his thighs, until they reached his ass, squeezing slightly and oh fuck Lando felt his entire brain short out. Oscar pulled back a breath, their lips still brushing, the warmth of his mouth still ghosting over Lando’s.
“That okay?” he murmured, voice quiet, unfairly gentle.
Lando’s breath hitched so hard he practically jolted. He managed a strangled, whispered, “Yeah— yeah, that’s— that’s okay,” even though absolutely nothing about him was functioning correctly.
Oscar must’ve taken that “yeah” as a full green light, because his hands on Lando’s ass tightened, firm and confident, pulling him in until there was no space left at all. Lando gasped into his mouth, the sound sharp and embarrassingly high, because oh Christ, he could feel Oscar’s hard cock rocking against him, thick and heavy.
“Osc—”
And then Oscar’s mouth wasn’t on his anymore. It slid down on his jaw, then lower on his neck, warm breath brushing Lando’s skin before Oscar’s lips pressed against his neck. Oscar kissed him again, slower this time, open-mouthed and way too wet for Lando’s remaining sanity. His tongue traced a line just under Lando’s ear, the softest drag, and Lando felt it everywhere. He clung harder, fingers tightening in Oscar’s hair.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, voice wrecked, head tipping back to give Oscar even more access without meaning to.
Oscar hummed against his neck, low, satisfied, like he’d known exactly what that would do to him. And Lando’s brain? Absolutely fried. Nothing left but heat, breath, and the fact that his fucking teamate was kissing his neck like he wanted to ruin him at 30,000 feet.
Oscar’s hands moved again sliding under the waistband of Lando’s jumper, fingertips brushing warm skin, and Lando outright moaned. No chance to hide it.
“I should’ve known you’d be so loud,” he murmured, lips ghosting over his neck, his smile practically audible.
“Shut up,” he gasped, which would’ve been more convincing if it didn’t come out sounding exactly like another whine.
Oscar bit lightly at Lando’s skin, just enough to make Lando’s breath break, then pulled back, lifting his head to look at him. Lando groaned at the loss of his mouth, sounding way too needy for someone who thought he had any control left in his body.
Oscar’s hands stayed exactly where they were, gripping him firmly at his ass, keeping him close, grounding him in place like he wasn’t planning on letting Lando go anywhere just yet. Oscar’s eyes dragged up his face, slow, assessing.
“I’m not convinced this is the smartest place to be doing this,” he murmured, voice roughened at the edges, like even he was struggling to sound reasonable.
Lando blinked at him, chest heaving, absolutely not reasonable in the slightest.
“Why not?” he managed, still breathless.
Oscar gave him a look, one of those looks, flicking pointedly toward the cabin walls, the closed door, the reality that they were on a private jet with staff onboard and zero soundproofing.
“Because,” Oscar said, thumb brushing against his skin in a way that made Lando’s stomach drop, “we’re here. On a plane. In public-ish space.”
Lando let out a frustrated groan and grinded against him, a small movement, instinctive, absolutely not subtle, pressing his hips into Oscar’s hold without thinking, wanting to make him feel how bad he wanted this, how bad he wanted him.
“So what?” he breathed, way too wrecked to pretend he was thinking straight.
Oscar’s laugh came out soft, warm, almost fond, like Lando being a disaster was endearing instead of dangerous. “Lando,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Lando’s jaw, “I’m not really into the whole public sex thing.”
“There’s no one watching,” he muttered, even though they both knew not staffed right this second was not the same thing as soundproof private suite in Monaco. Oscar gave him a look that was both exasperated and stupidly fond.
“That’s not the point,” he said, voice low, still amused. “The point is—” He breathed out, warm against Lando’s skin. “—if we keep going, I’m not stopping. And that’s… not happening on a plane.”
Lando felt his heartbeat trip violently.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Oh.
Oscar smiled, slow, a bit dangerous but impossibly soft.
“Yeah,” he said.
Lando swallowed hard, pulse tripping. “By… not stopping you mean…”
Oscar huffed a laugh, quiet, warm, maddening, and slid his hands out of Lando’s jogging waistband, placing them safely back on his hips instead. Lando actually pouted, because why the hell would Oscar do that to him, of all things, right now?
“I mean,” Oscar said, eyes flicking up with a dangerous little smirk, “if you want this, and only if you want this, we could have sex.”
Lando blinked. Once. Twice. His brain blue-screened.
“Have… sex?” he repeated, voice about an octave too high.
Oscar’s smile widened, fond and amused and way too confident for someone who was basically destroying Lando’s ability to think. “Yeah?” he said. “You want me to draw it out for you maybe?”
Lando went red instantly, pinching the skin at Oscar’s waist in protest. “Shut up. I know what sex means.”
Oscar snorted, eyes crinkling. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Lando groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it hurt, lips pushing into another involuntary pout, which only made Oscar grin wider.
“No, but— seriously,” Lando said, stumbling over the words, hands fluttering uselessly for a second. “Sex. Like… uh. Actual sex?”
Oscar practically choked on his own laugh, the sound bright and unhelpfully attractive.
“Oh my God,” he said, amusement dripping from every syllable. “Just spit out whatever you’re trying to ask.”
Lando felt his face burn, the words tripping over his tongue before he could filter them. “Like— you wanna fuck me?”
Oscar huffed a breathy laugh against his skin, tightening his arms around Lando’s waist, pulling him in closer. His mouth brushed along Lando’s jaw, slow and warm, and when he looked up, his eyes were devastatingly sure.
“Yes, Lando,” he murmured. “I really want to fuck you.”
He kissed Lando’s jaw again, entirely too soft for the words coming out of his mouth.
“But if that’s too much,” Oscar murmured, calm and casual, like he was offering him a snack, “I can just… Suck you off or whatever. No big deal.”
Lando’s brain just... stopped. Hard crash. What the— Did Oscar just casually offer to suck his dick like he was asking if Lando wanted gum?
“Mate.” Lando blurted, voice cracking in eight places.
Oscar raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “What?”
“No big deal?” Lando sputtered.
Oscar shrugged, unfairly calm. “Well, I don’t mind. I bet your cock would look pretty inside my mouth.”
“Oh my fucking God,” Lando groaned, face burning so hard it hurt. “Shut the— shut the fuck up, Oscar.”
Oscar laughed, soft, delighted, absolutely evil. Then he leaned back slightly, eyes flicking down Lando’s face with a heat that was almost lazy. “Or,” he said, voice low, maddeningly calm, “I could eat you out. Bet you taste sweet.”
Lando groaned and dropped his face into Oscar’s neck, like hiding would somehow help. “Just— stop. Please.”
Oscar laughed, soft and warm against his ear, hands steady on his hips. “You sure?” he murmured, like he genuinely wasn’t. “Because I can keep going. For hours.”
Lando shivered in his arms, his breath hitching like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.
Oscar slid one hand up Lando’s back, slow and steady, fingertips tracing soothing circles through the fabric. “Breathe, mate,” he murmured, amusement threading through the warmth of his voice. “I’m just messing with you.”
Lando groaned something incoherent against Oscar’s neck, which only made Oscar huff a soft laugh.
Then Oscar shifted his grip, pulling him a little closer, his voice dropping to a calm and grounding tone. “I’ll only do what you let me.”
Lando let out a breathy little laugh against Oscar’s skin, the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all, more like relief shaking loose in his chest.
“I want a lot of things now,” he muttered against Oscar’s neck, smile ghosting over his skin, “thank you very much.”
Oscar laughed quietly, the sound vibrating straight through Lando’s chest. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss into Lando’s hair, gentle, almost absent-minded, like his body did it before he even thought to.
Lando melted. He lifted his head after a moment, arms looping loosely around Oscar’s neck as he leaned back just enough to look at him. God. Oscar looked gorgeous. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair a mess because of him, eyes warm and bright and so, so soft.
Lando wanted to kiss him stupid for the next six hours.
And probably the next six days.
He smiled, small, hopeful, a little reckless. “You should come back to mine when we land.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips, looking softer now. “A sleepover party, yeah?”
Lando rolled his eyes, but he was grinning too. “Yeah. And, y’know…” He swallowed, pulse jumping again. “Kinda wanna… see what you’re like when you’re not just talking shit.”
Oscar laughed, a real one, sharp and warm. “Yeah. Fair.”
Lando felt himself loosen without meaning to. He shifted a bit on Oscar’s lap, just enough to settle, not enough to make it weird. Or, well… weirder. Oscar’s hands stayed right where they were on his waist, steady, warm, grounding in a way Lando absolutely refused to think about too hard.
For a few seconds, they just breathed. Lando let the warmth sink in, Oscar’s chest under his palms, the quiet hum of the jet, the stupid calm settling under his skin.
He could get used to this. Probably shouldn’t. Already was anyway. It was dangerous. Exactly the kind of moment his brain loved to overanalyse. So he shut that part off. Leaning in, letting the warmth press into his chest, letting Oscar’s fingers rest at his waist like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He breathed out slowly and finally straightened just a little, enough to see Oscar’s face again, flushed and pretty. A grin slipped back onto his mouth before he could stop it.
“So,” he said, tilting his head like he was about to conduct a very serious survey, “on a scale from one to ten… how much are you enjoying the whole flying-private experience now?”
Oscar’s eyes lit up immediately, that spark he got when he was entertained against his will. He leaned back in his seat, lips curving slow, warm, a little dangerous.
“Solid ten.”
Lando couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth.
Well. That hadn’t exactly been the plan when he boarded the plane.
But now he had Oscar laughing with his whole chest, his cheeks still faintly pink, his hands on Lando’s waist like they’d always belonged there. So yeah, maybe the flight had escalated. Maybe a tiny bit.
But whatever. He still got Oscar to blush.
Small win. Massive win. World championship kind of win.