Work Text:
Since his early age, Oscar realized he had to school his features for people not to misinterpret him.
He is not as unexpressive as the media tries to paint him, far from it – sometimes he thinks people can see what he is feeling by his eyes alone – so he really tries to remain calm.
It's not working because George has been hanging off Alex Albon's arm all night, and he is jealous. And, to be fair, Oscar knows, okay? George and Alex are best friends. Alex is very happy with Lily, and George is in a relationship with him and married to Max fucking Verstappen.
The oldest didn't like sharing, but he did love to have the best things life has to offer. So, of course, he had George way before Oscar would've even entertained the thought of having a crush on the Mercedes' first driver. Nonetheless, he obviously saw something in Oscar, too.
Oscar worked for their attention as hard as he worked for his seat on McLaren, and it paid off: the fact that he always ended up tangled together in the couple's extra king-sized bed, eating breakfast in the morning while Sassy bumped her head in his calves, is a testament to that.
Almost like the other man sensed Oscar was thinking about him, Max's head turned. He could barely pretend to be under control, yet Max was way worse: eyes narrowed, jaw locked tight, and annoyance painted all over his face. Oscar almost snorted if it wasn't for how hot he found it.
However, Max looked like he would rather rip Alex's head off. Despite being slightly fearful, there was this electric sensation of lust passing between the three. George finally looked back at his boyfriend and husband and fucking winked.
"Little minx," Max muttered.
Oscar nodded, placing himself in front of Max, cutting his line of vision for a second, taking in the world champion, gaze flickering appreciative up and down.
"He is doing this on purpose; don't let him get under your skin."
"Oh, like you're faring so much better, Piastri."
"He is ours, there's no need to be jealous," Oscar grumbled.
"Looks like you're trying to convince yourself, hm?"
Max looked down at him, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that Oscar learned to match but always got him a little weak on the knees.
"I trust George."
"Oh, I trust him, alright. I just don't like to see what is mine too close to others."
To drive his point home, Max pulled him closer by the waist with force and intention. Oscar bit his lip.
"We should get him," Max smiled predatorily at Oscar's words.
"You took the words right out of my mouth, love. Let's go."
He took a step away, but Oscar didn't dwell on the loss of contact, striding alongside Max to invade the bubble George and Alex seemed immersed in.
"Your men are here," Albon acknowledges them with a smile.
"Oh, I was wondering where they'd been," George said smugly, appraising his lovers.
Half of the jealousy melted from Oscar instantly; he always preened under the British's eyes, loving the attention. Max, however, seemed unaffected.
"What you're thinking you're doing, Russell?"
"Oh, last names, scary." Electric blue eyes rolled in jest at the oldest possessive display, but Oscar caught how George's breath picked up. Interesting.
"George," Oscar said, calm and borderline cold, just to see if the other would be affected. "Answer Max."
It was mesmerizing to watching George's pupils dilate in real time, the black engulfing the striking supernova blue. And he could swear he felt in his skin the way Max was proud of his stance and demeanor, how they were clicking in regards to their paramour.
"Well, my job here is done. Good luck, mate."
Alex winked at George and swiftly removed himself from the situation. He and Max moved as one, cornering the taller man. Max left a low sound at the way George smiles at them.
They've done this before, he notices. It's a game new to Oscar, but he thinks he is getting it.
"Use your words, George." He repeated himself just to have the attention turned solemnly to him for another moment. The thrill is exhilarating; he can feel the taste of power in his tongue, even when Max's hand finds the back of his neck.
"Our boy is learning. Words, Russell."
"I was talking to my friend, catching up. Why? Jealous?"
The way George smiles, with a little lift of his eyebrows, shows he planned this. Oscar has never been more turned on and in love. Max huffs.
"Yes. I was." Oscar admits, what seems to throw both men out of their game.
Max silently says 'unbelievable' with his eyes, narrowing them slightly. Meanwhile George blinks, confused but interested. Oscar smiles at them both, showing a bit of his bunny teeth.
"I was jealous. I want you with me and Max all the time. I feel like every moment we are not together is torture."
George is visibly smitten, with his blush rises in his cheeks. There's something else in Max's eyes, dark and all-consuming, that pulls Oscar in like giant whirlpools at the stormy sea.
"You heard him, princess. Are you going to quit wasting our time?" George laughs.
"What am I going to do with both of you, hm? So possessive."
George's ring finger tangles into Max's tie, bringing the oldest closer for a kiss. Oscar feels like his body is catching fire, like it always does when he sees those two together, how they look like their kisses are a battle.
His hands go to George's waist, to support him and feel his slender frame against his grip, to have a better look at how Max blushes when he is trying to convey how much he wants George by kisses alone. It is a hypnotizing sight that Oscar wants to keep looking at forever.
He bites his lips when the two separate, feeling his pants tightening.
"Oscar..." George's voice is like a siren, melodic and alluring, luring him to his death. And he goes oh so willingly every time. He has no control when it comes to George and Max.
When the soft lips of the Englishman touch his, the world is narrowed to it – it feels like a dance, like he's being conducted through the steps in a careful and precise manner – a deliberate surrender. He feels Max's hand still in the back of his neck, pulling his hair.
He separates from George, and instantly, Max is on him, devouring. He knows the Dutchman kisses him differently from George, because Oscar does not engage in the fight, does not dance like George, he just gives to Max. He lets the man take, and take, and take. But there's a catch.
Oscar has endless ability to give, and Max is addicted to consuming him; Oscar can stop at any second, which makes him ultimately the one in control. George is panting at their side as if he were the one being kissed, while Max bites and pulls at Oscar's bottom lip.
"Do you think he deserves having us after the stunt he just pulled?" Max spoke, not looking at George, just at Oscar. He pretends to ponder, forcing himself to ignore the presence by their side for a second.
"He is a good kisser; maybe he can make up for it."
"Oh no, don't you dare," George all but whines, getting closer enough to bite the junction of Max's neck and shoulder, making the oldest let out a beautiful hiss. Neither man responded to it.
"So now you're going to ignore me? Seriously?"
George's elegant fingers dig into Oscar's biceps, and the youngest finally looks at him, breaking easily. He tugs George impossibly closer, moving the Mercedes' driver to place between Max and himself, and then looking at Max for directions, eyebrows up in question.
"You want to play 'good cop and bad cop', Piastri?"
"Well, I do believe in gentler teachings, Verstappen."
"Oh my god, you two are really going to do this, really?"
"Well, you were being a brat to get a rise out of us, so yeah," Oscar says, finally addressing George.
"Now, that's what we are going to do, princess: we are going to leave this party. Oscar is going to open you up gently in the back of your Mercedes while I get to drive it, and when we get home, I will tie you up. Understood?" Oscar feels George's whole body shiver.
"Yes." The Englishman's response was barely a whisper, coated in desire.
"Color?" Oscar asks, just to be safe.
"Green." Both men reply at the same time, and despite the heated air, the affection is crystal clear, the love and care being the foundation for their dynamic.
"Good," Oscar's smaller hand slips into George's pocket, grabbing the keys to the Mercedes and tossing them to Max.
"Hey!" The protests fell on dead ears, and Max's laugh filled the air when he finally stepped back, going to get their ride. Oscar was left to support George's weight.
"You two are going to kill me, oh my goodness." Oscar smiles when he feels George's words are those of a man lost in anticipation.
"That's what you get playing with fire," He says, leaning in to talk in the tallest ears. "Now you're going to have to handle us all night."
"Fuck, Oscar... I should've never left you alone with Max!" The slap on his shoulder is playful at best.
"Hm. Now let's go, we wouldn't like to make your husband wait." He makes George stand straighter and offers his arm, which is taken when they cross the saloon.
The moment they step out, Max Verstappen is already in the driver's seat, window down, looking at them as they are more tasteful than any champagne he ever got.
"Get in, both of you. Now."
Oscar all but leaps inside, but not before opening the door dor Geroge. They lock eyes and oh.
They are in for a long nigth.