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The hotel suite in Monaco smells heavily of rain, stale champagne, and the sharp, chemical burn of high-end gin. Outside, the Mediterranean lap is a low, rhythmic thud against the concrete harbor walls, but inside, the noise of the night is condensed into the erratic, wet sound of teeth clashing and fabric ripping. Lando has his hands buried deep in Oscar’s hair, fingers tangled in those tight, damp curls, pulling back until Oscar’s neck stretches out completely, a long line of pale skin gleaming under the dim amber lamps of the bedroom. They are both profoundly, sloppily drunk—the kind of intense intoxication that completely strips away the polished PR veneer, the intra-team rivalry, the careful technical briefings, leaving nothing behind but a raw, heavy, animalistic hunger.
"Lando, wait," Oscar breathes heavily against his mouth, a slurred, thick sound echoing in the quiet room, his hands clutching Lando’s hips to anchor himself as the floor seems to tilt beneath them. His usual stoic reserve is completely melted away, replaced by a dark, unfocused glare that fixes entirely on Lando’s lips with a desperate intensity. He tells Lando to fucking move, his voice rougher than it ever gets during a race weekend.
"Make me," Lando mutters back, his voice raw. He doesn't move backwards; instead, he shoves Oscar hard against the mahogany sideboard near the entrance. Bottles rattle loudly against the wood. A half-empty glass of tonic spills over the polished edge, dripping onto the heavy carpet, but neither of them looks down to care. Lando’s mouth is back on his immediately, bruising and incredibly low wet, tasting of pure alcohol and deep heat. He bites Oscar’s lower lip until he feels the sudden, sharp shudder go through the younger boy's chest, a low grunt breaking in the back of Oscar’s throat as the pain spikes his arousal.
Lando pulls back suddenly, his chest heaving under his torn shirt, his eyes flashing with a sudden, venomous memory that the alcohol has dragged to the surface. The liquor makes his buried frustrations flare up hot, clumsy, and entirely unyielding. He grips Oscar’s collar tighter, shaking him slightly against the heavy woodwork until the bottles rattle again.
"You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?" Lando spits, his voice thick and slurred with the gin. "Always acting so perfect in front of the media. Today in the paddock, you completely cut me off during the engineering debrief. You ignored my feedback on the front wing just to push your own data to the team."
Oscar doesn't flinch at the harsh words or the aggressive grip. Instead, a slow, helpless flush creeps up his neck, turning his cheeks a bright, undeniable, burning crimson. The stoic, unreadable facade he wears for the cameras shatters completely into a thousand pieces. He looks up at Lando, his mouth spreading into a wide, bright, uncontrollable smile that he can't seem to suppress no matter how hard he tries. His prominent snaggletooth catches slightly on his lower lip, making him look absurdly soft and vulnerable, like a dazed rabbit caught in high beams. His eyes are wide, glassy with the sheer amount of alcohol in his system, completely fixed on Lando with an endearing, unbothered warmth.
Oscar chuckles softly, the sound low, raspy, and vibrating deep in his throat. He looks down at Lando’s aggressive fountain bunched into his expensive shirt, then looks back up, his grin widening until his cheeks bunch up beneath his eyes. "Yeah? Uh, okay. I get it. I hear you. I take full responsibility for that. I'm the bad guy if that's what you want."
"Don't fucking laugh at me," Lando growls, genuinely riled up by how completely unaffected Oscar seems by the scolding, how he just stands there bleeding pure affection through his eyes while being reprimanded. "You always do this. You think you can just smile your way out of it."
"I'm not laughing," Oscar mumbles, though his snaggletooth is still bared in that stupid, incredibly fond grin, his face completely red under Lando’s furious gaze. He reaches up anyway, his large, warm palms cupping Lando’s jawline, leaning in with a heavy sigh until their foreheads touch. "I'm just listening. Go on. Tell me what else I did wrong today."
Lando’s frustration completely dissolves into pure, reactive lust at the sheer proximity of Oscar's skin, the heat radiating from Oscar’s flushed face silencing the rest of the argument before it can even form.
The clothes come off in clumsy, violent tugs that speak to the desperation building in the room. Lando’s team shirt is torn completely at the collar, the remaining buttons popping off one by one and skittering across the dark floorboards. Oscar’s hands are unexpectedly rough against his skin, his blunt, calloused fingers digging deep into the meat of Lando’s waist, leaving immediate red marks on the pale skin. Lando is kicking his own trousers off, his heels catching stubbornly in the heavy denim, stumbling slightly against the sideboard before he pins Oscar’s thigh securely between his own legs, pressing his hardening length directly against Oscar’s hip through their underwear.
"You’re a clumsy bastard," Oscar mutters, his voice thick and heavy, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at the messy way they are tangled together. His chest is heaving rapidly, the pale expanse of his torso flushed a deep pink.
"Shut up," Lando growls, reaching down between their bodies. His palm smacks loudly against Oscar’s cock, gripping him tightly through the fabric. Oscar flinches, a sharp gasp cutting through his teeth as Lando squeezes hard, sliding his hand up and down the rigid shaft with a friction that is unyielding and brutal.
"Ah—fuck, Lando," Oscar lets out a low, breathless moan, his head dropping back against the wall with a dull thud. His eyes roll back slightly into his head as Lando’s thumb grinds over the weeping tip of his length, smearing the thick pre-cum over the sensitive head, then using that scant moisture to jerk him much faster. The sound of skin friction is incredibly loud in the quiet, dark room, a steady, rhythmic slap. Lando watches him intently, his own breath coming in ragged, shallow gaps. Right here, drenched in sweat and smelling strongly of gin, Oscar is entirely at his mercy, his breath hitching repeatedly every time Lando’s grip tightens around his shaft.
Lando drops heavily to his knees on the hardwood floor. The transition from standing is sudden and reckless, his knees hitting the wood with a dull, painful crack, but he doesn't care about the pain in the slightest. He grabs Oscar’s thighs, pushing them wide apart with brute force, forcing him to lean back against the mahogany sideboard for support. Oscar’s cock is twitching violently now, fully erect and glistening brightly in the dim light of the suite. Lando doesn't hesitate for a single second; he opens his mouth wide and takes the head in all at once, his tongue swirling aggressively around the sensitive rim before he sucks him down deep into his throat.
"Fuck, Lando—" Oscar gasps out, his hands immediately finding Lando’s hair again, this time pushing down firmly, guiding the rough rhythm with an uncharacteristic urgency that borders on desperation. Lando takes the length easily, his throat stretching around the thick, hot mass, the size filling his mouth until he gags hard, his eyes watering instantly. He likes the choking sensation, the way his own breath cuts off in his lungs, but he wants it harder, faster. He uses his free hands to slick his own fingers with Oscar’s running spit, then reaches behind Oscar’s thighs, finding the tight, puckered heat between his cheeks. He shoves two fingers straight in without any warning or preparation.
Oscar shrieks, a raw, high sound that is cut short as Lando’s fingers stretch the tight muscle inside him. "Lando, please, it’s too much," Oscar pants, a strained moan escaping him, his hips twitching involuntarily as he tries to escape the dual assault of Lando’s wet mouth and the fingers stretching him open so ruthlessly.
"Hold still for me," Lando orders, pulling his mouth away with a wet click. He ignores the plea completely. He adds a third finger, spitting into his palm and rubbing it against the opening before forcing the blunt tips deep inside the heat. He moves his hand in a brutal, pumping motion, opening Oscar up ruthlessly. Oscar’s thighs are trembling violently now, his knees buckling slightly beneath his weight, his entire body slick with a fine layer of sweat.
Lando stands up abruptly, his own cock leaking heavily, aching and throbbing for a release that feels overdue. He shoves Oscar back onto the large bed, the mattress groaning under their combined, sudden weight. Oscar lands hard on his back, his legs sprawled wide across the sheets, his face flushed a deep, violent crimson from the exertion and the alcohol. Before Oscar can even draw a full breath into his lungs, Lando is over him, straddling his chest with a heavy, unyielding weight. He places his right hand directly over Oscar’s throat, his fingers wrapping around the sides. He presses down firmly.
Oscar’s eyes widen instantly, the pupils dilating into pitch-black pools as the airflow is restricted. His hands fly up to grip Lando’s wrist, his fingers digging into the skin to find purchase, but Lando holds fast, leaning his entire body weight into the palm resting heavily on Oscar’s windpipe.
"Look at me," Lando commands, his voice dropping into a low, vicious register that leaves no room for defiance. Oscar looks up, his vision swimming, his lips parting as he tries to suck in air through the small gap Lando allows him. A thin string of saliva runs down his chin onto his neck. "You like that, don't you? You like being choked out by me."
Oscar nods weakly against the mattress, a strangled, desperate sound caught in his throat, his hips lifting off the sheets in a blind, instinctual urge to match the pressure on his throat. His cock is leaking heavily now, the thick fluid dripping onto his own stomach as Lando keeps him pinned, dominating his breath, dominating his entire reality.
Lando reaches down between them, grabbing his own rigid shaft, aligning the wet tip with Oscar’s twitching, stretched opening. He doesn't use any lube; he relies entirely on the messy mixture of sweat, saliva, and pre-cum that covers both of their bodies. He drives forward in one single, heavy, punishing thrust.
The entry is thick and incredibly painful. Oscar’s body arches high off the bed, a muffled scream dying completely in his throat because Lando’s hand is still squeezing his neck tight against the mattress. "Mmhph—!" The tight ring of muscle catches hard on Lando’s crown, stretching to the absolute limit before tearing open to swallow the rest of the thick shaft. Lando groans, a deep, animalistic sound that comes from his chest, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as the intense heat of Oscar’s internal muscles squeezes him from all sides like a vise. He stays perfectly still for a moment, letting their bodies adjust to the sudden invasion, his hand maintaining the firm, choking grip on Oscar’s throat. Oscar’s eyes are watering heavily, tears leaking from the corners.
"F-fuck... Lando..." Oscar chokes out when Lando eases the pressure slightly, the words barely audible, a rasp of pure friction and lack of air.
Lando begins to move with a sudden, vicious speed. He pulls out almost completely, leaving only the very head inside the tight, weeping ring, before slamming back in with a wet, heavy, echoing thud. The sound of their bodies colliding is loud in the room, a rapid, fleshy percussion that fills the silence. He pumps into Oscar with a steady, brutal rhythm, his hips cracking against Oscar’s backside with every single downward stroke.
Oscar is making soft, broken noises now, "Ah... ah..." his hands weakly gripping Lando’s biceps as his brain starves for oxygen, the pleasure amplified tenfold by the hypoxia. Every time Lando bottoms out, hitting the sensitive wall of his prostate, Oscar’s toes curl tightly, his stomach muscles clenching hard around the invading length.
"You’re so tight, Osc," Lando pants, his sweat dripping down onto Oscar’s chest. "Taking it like a good boy. Tell me how it feels."
"Too... deep... fuck," Oscar gasps, a broken moan tearing from his throat. Lando releases the pressure on Oscar’s throat for a split second, letting the younger boy suck in a frantic, rattling breath of air, before slamming his hand back down, cutting the air off again just as he drives his cock deeper than before. Oscar’s hips jerk violently, his entire body convulsing around Lando. The sex is vulgar, dirty, and incredibly fast. Lando changes the angle abruptly, lifting Oscar’s legs up over his shoulders, opening him up even further to his weight. Now, every thrust goes straight down, bottoming out completely against Oscar's depths, the friction so intense that the skin around Oscar’s opening is bright red, chafed and glistening with wetness.
"I'm going to cum," Lando warns, his teeth bared, his face contorted in a mask of pure concentration and overwhelming lust. He increases the speed further, his hips becoming a blur of motion, shoving himself into Oscar with a feral desperation that shakes the entire bed.
Oscar is shaking his head from side to side against the pillows, his eyes completely unfocused, lost to the overwhelming sensation of being filled and choked simultaneously. His own hand finds his cock, jerking it with a fast, erratic motion that matches Lando’s frantic pace exactly. Lando tightens his grip on Oscar’s neck one last time, squeezing until Oscar’s face turns a deep, bruised purple, his thighs locking tightly around Lando’s waist with a dying man's strength.
"Lando—ah!" Oscar cries out, a final, strangled moan breaking past his lips. Lando growls, and then he freezes completely, his body going rigid as his cock pulses inside Oscar, shooting thick, hot jets of semen deep into the tight, twitching canal. The sensation triggers Oscar’s own release instantly. Without even stroking himself anymore, Oscar cums hard, the white fluid spurting out across his own chest and face, his internal muscles clamping down on Lando’s spent shaft in a series of violent, exquisite spasms. He lets out a long, high whine that is cut short by Lando’s hand, his body finally going completely slack against the mattress. Lando collapses forward onto him, releasing Oscar’s throat at last. They lie there tangled together in the dark, the heavy, wet sounds of their breathing filling the silence.
The silence that follows is thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of Oscar gasping for the air that had been denied to him for so long. His chest rises and falls in jagged, erratic movements, his throat burning from the pressure of Lando's palm. Lando remains heavy on top of him, his forehead resting against Oscar’s damp shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against Oscar's skin. The spent length of his cock slips slowly out of Oscar’s stretched, aching heat, a wet, sticky sound accompanying the separation. A mixture of semen, pre-cum, and sweat leaks out onto the sheets beneath them, staining the expensive fabric, but neither of them moves to clean it. Oscar’s hands, still trembling from the intensity of the orgasm and the lack of oxygen, move slowly up to touch Lando’s back, his fingers tracing the tense muscles of his teammate's spine. Oscar lets out a low, ragged sigh, his eyes still slightly rolled back. The flush on his face hasn't faded; if anything, the deep crimson has settled into his cheeks, making him look completely undone, his lips swollen and bitten raw. He turns his head slightly, his nose brushing against Lando’s hair. Lando shifts his weight, groaning softly as he moves to lay beside Oscar, his arm slinging over Oscar’s waist to keep him close, pulling him into his side with a possessive, rough tug. Oscar doesn't resist; he allows himself to be pulled, his body molding against Lando’s side with an ease that only exists when the cameras are turned off.
"You're a fucking animal," Oscar whispers, his voice incredibly raspy, the words scratching at his throat. He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a dry cough instead. He clears his throat, his hand moving up to soothe the red, clear imprint of Lando's hand that is already darkening on his pale neck.
Lando doesn't look at him immediately. He keeps his eyes shut, his chest still heaving slightly. He mutters that Oscar asked for it, his voice low and gravelly. He tightens his grip on Oscar’s waist, his fingers digging into the skin just enough to remind him who owns the marks there. "You shouldn't have been such an annoying bastard during the engineering meetings. You deserved every single bit of what just happened."
Oscar turns his body fully toward Lando, his knees hooking over Lando’s thighs, tangling them together once more in the center of the ruined mattress. Even now, with his throat bruised and his body aching from the rough entry, that same wide, dazed smile begins to crawl back onto his face. His snaggletooth catches on his lip again, that familiar, soft look returning to his eyes as he stares at Lando’s profile in the dim amber light. "Yeah? I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant getting you this worked up," he says, his voice fond, completely lacking any real malice or regret for the track politics that had sparked the anger in the first place. He reaches out, his thumb brushing against Lando’s lower lip, wiping away a smear of spit and dried blood.
Lando opens his eyes then, looking at Oscar with a mixture of lingering irritation and deep, heavy affection. He bites Oscar’s thumb gently, a silent warning, but he doesn't push his hand away. "Keep talking like that and see what happens," Lando mutters.
"Go ahead," Oscar murmurs, his smile turning a bit more wicked, his hips shifting forward just enough to grind his own spent, sticky length against Lando’s leg. "Show me what happens."
Lando doesn't waste another second. He rolls back on top of him, his knees forcing Oscar’s legs wide apart once more, the friction of their sticky skin creating a sharp, wet sound against the sheets. He doesn't bother with foreplay this time; their bodies are already slick, already used to the shape of one another from the previous round. He grabs his cock, which has rapidly hardened back to a rigid, angry state, and pushes the head directly against Oscar’s opening. Oscar gasps, his hands immediately coming up to grip Lando’s shoulders, his fingernails digging deep into the skin as Lando shoves himself back inside with a single, heavy, unyielding motion.
"Ah—fuck!" Oscar lets out a sharp, high cry, his head slamming back into the pillows as Lando begins to move immediately, his rhythm fast, brutal, and completely undisciplined. He pumps into Oscar with a feral desperation, his hips slamming against Oscar’s thighs with a heavy, fleshy thud. Oscar is completely helpless beneath him, his legs shaking violently as Lando drives deep into him, hitting his prostate with every single stroke. "Lando—ah, wait, wait—" Oscar cries out continuously, his voice raw and broken, his internal muscles tightening completely around the intrusion.
Lando reaches up, his hand automatically finding Oscar’s throat again, his fingers closing around the windpipe and pressing down with a familiar, heavy pressure. Oscar’s breath catches instantly, a muffled groan cutting off behind his lips, his eyes rolling back as the oxygen is cut off once more. He arches his back high off the bed, his internal muscles clenching down on Lando’s shaft with an incredible, crushing force.
"Look at me, Oscar," Lando pants against his ear, his voice a dark, vicious whisper as he continues to slam into him without mercy. "Take it. Take all of it."
He increases the speed, his movements becoming completely frantic, his sweat dripping down onto Oscar’s flushed, purple-tinged face. Oscar is completely gone, operating on pure, raw instinct as he lifts his hips to meet every single deep, punishing thrust. Lando can feel the orgasm building deep in his hips, a sudden, violent rush of heat that he can't hold back for another second. He squeezes Oscar’s throat even harder, cutting off the air completely as he drives himself into Oscar one last time, bottoming out so hard that Oscar’s entire body goes completely rigid beneath him.
Lando screams out, a loud, animalistic sound of pure release as he ejaculates deep inside Oscar, his cock pulsing violently as it shoots wave after wave of hot semen against the sensitive walls of Oscar’s internal tract. The sheer intensity of the clenching muscle triggers Oscar’s own orgasm immediately; without any touch, his cock spurts out another thick stream of white fluid across his own stomach, a long, high whine tearing from his throat before being cut short by the pressure of Lando's hand. His body convulses in a series of long, violent tremors that leave him completely spent, hovering on the very edge of consciousness.
Lando lets go of his throat slowly, his hand sliding off the wet skin as he collapses heavily onto Oscar’s chest, his face buried in the crook of Oscar’s neck. They lay there for several minutes, neither of them moving, the only sound in the room being the frantic, rattling gasps of Oscar trying to rebuild the air in his lungs. Oscar’s hands slowly move up to wrap around Lando’s back, his fingers trembling as he holds him close, his dazed, fond smile slowly returning to his face even through the sheer exhaustion that threatens to pull him under. He looks down at Lando’s dark curls, his heart eyes completely soft and focused on the boy resting against his chest.
"Fucking hell, Lando," he whispers, his voice a slurred, broken rasp full of an undeniable, deep affection. Lando just grunts against his skin, his arm tightening around Oscar’s waist, pulling him even closer into his side as the dark weight of the alcohol and the exhaustion finally takes over, pulling them both down into a deep, heavy, dreamless sleep while the rain continues to fall outside over the silent harbor of Monaco.
The morning light cuts through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains, casting long, sharp lines of pale gray across the ruined bedroom. Lando is the first to stir, his eyelids fluttering open with a sudden, sharp ache behind his temples—the unmistakable punishment of the gin they had consumed so thoughtlessly hours before. He groans, a low, miserable sound, his muscles stiff and aching as he tries to shift his weight. He feels a heavy, warm pressure against his side, and when he looks down, he sees Oscar still deeply asleep, his face buried against Lando’s ribs. Oscar’s neck is completely ruined; the clear, dark purple outline of Lando’s hand is stamped perfectly across his pale throat, the bruises already setting in deep against the skin. Lando reaches down, his fingers hovering just above the marks, tracing the shape of his own violence without actually touching the tender skin. He looks at Oscar’s face, which is finally pale again, though his lips remain swollen, split slightly at the corner where Lando had bitten him too hard during their first frantic coupling.
Oscar stirs at the movement, a low, soft whine escaping his throat as his eyes slowly blink open against the gray light. He looks up at Lando, his vision clearly blurry, his mind slow to process the transition from sleep to wakefulness. But as his eyes settle on Lando’s face, that same familiar, stupidly fond expression begins to take shape on his features. Even with a massive hangover, a bruised throat, and a body that must be aching from the sheer ferocity of the entry, his mouth curves upward into that slight, snaggletoothed smile. His eyes, still half-closed and heavy with sleep, lock onto Lando with that total, uncritical devotion.
"Morning," Oscar rasps, his voice completely shot, the sound barely clearing his damaged throat.
"Don't try to talk," Lando murmurs, his voice equally rough, though his fingers soften as they slide back into Oscar's damp curls. "You look a mess."
"Your fault," Oscar whispers, his smile widening just enough to show that prominent tooth, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn't say anything about the pain, or the bruises, or the mess on the sheets. He just reaches out a slow, heavy arm, wrapping it around Lando’s neck to pull him back down into the mattress, his face burying itself back into Lando’s chest with a contented, low sigh. Lando lets himself be pulled, his own arms wrapping around Oscar’s shoulders, holding him tight against the morning chill. He knows they have a technical briefing in a few hours, knows they have to sit in the same room with the team and pretend that nothing has changed, pretend that they are just teammates fighting for the same piece of tarmac. He looks at the bruises on Oscar’s neck one last time before burying his face in Oscar’s damp curls, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, this dark, vicious reality belongs entirely to them, locked away behind the heavy doors of the hotel suite where nobody else can ever follow.