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Oscar can't seem to get a grip lately, it seems. He doesn't get why, or what's changed, or what the hell could be in the air at this time. It was just something to pass the time, in fact it was Oscar's idea to "just let off some steam", and Lando isn't one to say no to him. To his favor, Oscar hastily added that it could improve performance considering how… Pent up they both were with this championship fight. How tight. Tense. Heated.
So— okay, maybe something did change, but to be fair, Oscar didn't think twice about it. The chemistry between them was just right, so Oscar (stupidly) thought their dynamic wouldn't change drastically. Logically, it shouldn't affect him, because Oscar stares, and so does Lando, and they both laugh it off all the same.
So… What the fuck.
Why can't Oscar laugh it off now?
Because why is Oscar's mouth dry staring at Lando in that godforsaken Quadrant leather jacket? Ever since he entered the paddock in his typical model walk fashion, effortlessly handsome as ever, Oscar couldn't catch a break. Lando looks good in almost everything he throws on, and everything he takes off— and thinking about those clothes on the floor is doing a terrible number on Oscar's mind.
With what felt like way too much free time before their obligatory media duties, the two had opted to just shoot the shit in their hospitality building. Much to Oscar's dismay, and blessing in disguise, that also gave him all the damn time in the world to just… Stare.
A silver Mclaren arrow necklace twinkled brightly above Lando's chest, shirt collar way too wide and showing off enough collarbone, enough skin to make Oscar squirm ever so slightly in a seat that now felt way too small. Pretty brown eyes trailed higher, along the veins of his thick neck, a place he traced many times over with his nose— his lips. Oscar really should snap out of it by now, but he couldn't for a second miss it.
Miss the way Lando toyed with his bottom lip between his fingers, languid and long, curled lashes sat barely at his cheeks while he stared down at his phone. Oscar licked his own lips subconsciously— Does Lando know? Does he know how much he affects him? How seeing him do next to nothing made Oscar's heart stutter? How seeing the slight faded purple on his neck made him want to sink his teeth into his skin all over again?
Does he even know???
Oscar inhaled sharply, abruptly standing from his seat— because his face was feeling too hot for comfort, in fact this room was feeling too hot for comfort. The wretched scrape of Oscar's chair had Lando jumping in his own seat, his phone nearly flying out of his hand. "You alright, Osc?" He quirked a brow at Oscar, tilting his head slightly in his worry.
Fuck.
"Fine just- I'm.. A little peckish. Need a snack?" Oscar was already pushing his chair in to leave, yet his eyes never left his throat, watching his adam's apple bob in a thoughtful hum. Lando poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thinking while his eyes wandered around like the answer was written on the windows. A slight smile found its way across Lando's face, dimples popping and hard to miss. Suddenly, Oscar wasn't so much in a rush to leave anymore. He was so annoyingly whipped, but that's much farther than he'd like to go at this moment.
"I'm down for a cheeky lil croissant," Lando beamed, bright eyed and grinning all too sweet just to play into the silliness. It eased Oscar for a moment, an amused breathy chuckle leaving his lips.
"Sure. I'll be back," Oscar nodded, trying to subtly wipe his clammy hands over his shorts as he shuffled off.
"You better!" Lando called, threatening playfully now in a smirk and glistening eyes of mischief.
"Nah, I reckon I'll just eat your croissant on the way back up here," Oscar didn't have to look at Lando's face, hearing it all in the way he gasped obnoxiously loud.
"You would not!" Lando yelled, and Oscar only waved dismissively, descending down the steps in time with his heartbeat so loud in his head. The banter soothed the heat around his neck, fearing that Lando actually did see the blush that rounded his cheeks— but no matter.
Oscar could finally breathe again.
For now.
Oscar slowly loosened the collar of his shirt, slumped in his seat while he listened to Tom talk strategy for the practice sessions today. He was half listening more like— it was the same spiel of which tires they should test, comparing data from previous races, talks of what worked best, and what they could do differently.
Across from him was Lando, also listening, for the most part. They've both done their part of contributing to the conversation, agreeing to starting on different compounds for the first practice session, until the room was filled with voices of only their strategists and engineers.
Oscar should be paying more attention— it's Monaco for fucks sake. Winning around this track is an absolute dream, and being well ahead of Lando in the championship, his eyes should be forward for the race. For the team. For the constructor's.
But Oscar's eyes were elsewhere.
Lando aimlessly brushed his knuckles against his lips while he listened, greenish blues so trained on the strategist, and Oscar's gaze trailed lower to his exposed forearms instead. He was mesmerized by the veins that ran along his arms, snaking around with the slight movement of his wrist, knuckles continuously brushing those pretty lips. Instead of race strategies, Oscar's mind was instead filled with Lando Norris' fucking arms.
Oscar was beginning to think Lando really didn't know how he was affecting him.
Or he was really good at hiding the fact that he knew.
A slight nudge against his shoe brought his gaze up to the culprit, wide and caught by pretty blues. Bright and squinted, Lando was staring back at him clearly delighted to have his attention. Oscar's face grew warm, the corners of his jaw twitching and eyebrows turning in mild annoyance. He swallowed, glaring back at Lando as a way to say hiss "what?"— trying so hard to act like he wasn't currently buzzing with need in his seat.
Lando's grin turned sly behind his fist, seeming to slide a bit lower in his seat, his shoe now brushing between Oscar's ankles. His body stiffened, eyes darting around the meeting room to see if anyone was catching onto their shenanigans. Not a single person looked at the pair near the end of the table.
But relief is a luxury Oscar could not afford when he's dealing with a cheeky Lando Norris.
Another nudge had Oscar tightening his arms around his waist— and Lando has the audacity to snicker against his knuckles. Oscar bit his tongue, lightly kicking Lando's foot away with a wholehearted glare this time that clearly didn't burn enough to stave him away.
No way is Oscar getting caught by anyone else all because Lando decided to be a little shit. It was just so much worse for him because all damn day Oscar couldn't get his mind off of him. A single time. Didn't matter what he was doing, or if he was even in the same room as him, Oscar's mind played the dirtiest tricks on him every chance it took. Flashes of his collarbones, how the necklace dangled around his freckled neck all shiny and delectable, tongue swiping across his lips in between conversations, little habits that made Oscar's stomach curl in on itself.
Haunted, even when they were in entirely different locations.
Oscar's attention was stolen by his engineer, a question about the upgrades they brought for Monaco, something to do with the front wing. He answered almost too quickly, clearing his throat for a moment to properly regain his usual monotone, and when he stopped talking— the nudge was there again. A slide between his ankles, this time riding up higher, almost at his calf.
Oscar coughed hard into his elbow, earning a concerned look from the strategist he interrupted. "Sorry, a little dry in here." He immediately leaned forward to grab his water bottle to take a quick swig, catching Lando's eyes glistening with trouble, making him way more enticing than Oscar would like to admit. If his dick was any louder than his mind, Oscar would've jumped across the table by now.
Instead, Oscar was stuck watching Lando also lean forward in his seat— elbows now resting on the table for Oscar to admire pretty forearms, and the way his sleeves wrapped tightly around his biceps. Bright orange against tan skin that Oscar wanted to lick. Fuck, what was he— a dog?? Shaking his head, Oscar propped an elbow up on the table to hopefully hide the flush of his cheeks against his hand.
It was Lando's turn to answer questions, and yet Oscar could still feel Lando's foot continuously glide along his leg. Oscar was the weaker man in this scenario, jaw clenched and mouth hidden behind his hand, glaring at the faint stains on the white table as if they had wronged him. He was trying to push down the heat pooling in his stomach, threatening to travel even lower.
It was way too attractive knowing Lando was simply talking strategy while Oscar was holding on for dear life right across from him. With the affirmative from their strategist, Lando relaxed back in his seat, hanging his arm off the back of it while his foot seemingly slid down slower. Slow, until it rested against the crook of Oscar's foot.
If Oscar shuddered, he wouldn't say a damn word about it.
And maybe Lando did notice, but he didn't spare Oscar a glance after that.
Oscar has seen the race suit already, seen it at least fifty odd times since they were given to them— special photoshoots, social media clips, promotional pieces, you name it. It was the rare occasions where they used white, but this time with their names in script fonts. Admittedly, it was a breath of fresh air from the usual obnoxious papaya orange they dealt with.
Oscar has seen it before.
But whatever seemed to be in the air this weekend was not doing any good for Oscar. Not with the baggy race suit hanging around Lando's narrow hips. Their media team insisted they take more photos for the socials, so they now stood at the balcony just above the pit lane, looking off towards the track while their photographer snapped photos and directed their poses.
"Alright boys, let's take fifteen then we'll get a couple more shots before your practice session." Their photographer shot them a thumbs up before stepping inside with the rest of the media team to look over the photos. Oscar sighed, relieved of media duties once more, but not relieved of Lando's presence.
"These suits are rather clean, don't you think?" Lando flicked the sponsor on Oscar's arm. Oscar does not remember Lando stepping in next to him, but here he was smiling with the sun in his eyes.
Oscar took a moment, smiling slightly. "Definitely better than the bright papaya orange," He chuckled, and that earned him a squeaky laugh from his all too handsome teammate. His eyes all squished and cheeks barely dusted in pink, even obvious as he bowed his head between his shoulders.
"You can't just say that, Osco. You should be so proud to be a papaya boy," Lando teased, bumping his shoulder against Oscar's. He bounced off of his little bump, shaking his head with his own soft laugh.
"I am proud. Just not a fan of the color." Oscar turned to lean on his side, fully facing Lando this time. The banter was good, yet another breath of fresh air from the hell he's been subjecting himself to for the last several hours. He was smiling, softer this time, to just be around Lando without any cameras on them, no fans to try and steal their attention, no media probing question after question.
Just Lando.
"I quite like the color on you, thank you very much. It brings out the…" Lando turned to squint at Oscar, who raised an eyebrow back at him expectantly. "..The pink in your cheeks."
"Oh shut the fuck up, Lan," Oscar groaned, shoving a laughing Lando away from him. Unfortunately, he was still a piece of shit. And unfortunately, Oscar was also into that.
"Not my fault you blush so easily!" Lando tried to defend his case, even while laughing— same glittery eyes and same dimples that made Oscar's heart tremble. Fucking hell, Oscar had to have some dignity for himself— but Lando's laugh is still contagious and now they were both leaning away from each other in shared laughter.
"Didn't think you stared at my face that hard, mate," Oscar tossed it back to Lando. Clearly, it threw him off as he scoffed, shaking his head.
Lando jabbed a finger in his direction, glaring as he laughed. "Nuh uh, the internet loves to point it out all the damn time."
"Oh, so you look me up all the time then? Woooww, the Lando Norris is obsessed with me." Oscar smirked, despite his cheeks going pink.
"You think you're so damn funny, don't you?" Lando grinned, poking his tongue against his cheek.
"I'm the funnier teammate, of course."
"You've got to be joking!"
Oscar was full on laughing this time, a hand clutching his stomach, leaning back against the railing. His face felt warm with his joy, and Lando only giggled instead of throwing another stupid remark at him.
"Ugh, whatever." Lando snorted softly, not having it with Oscar's delight. As it died down slowly to breathy giggles, he opened squinted eyes to Lando stretching his arms high over his head, finding the slim, clean shape of his sides more delectable.
Never a dull fucking moment, Oscar suspected.
He swallowed visibly, biting his lip slowly, watching the muscles ripple down Lando's torso as he groaned from what looked like a very satisfying stretch. Oscar's hands twitched against the railing, wanting to grab those hips, pull him close, tell him how badly he's wanted him all day. Or maybe he should jump off right now.
None of that happened.
Oscar bit the inside of his cheek to steady himself, not finding anything funny or silly anymore. Maybe a little turned on, and maybe that was a bigger problem right now.
Oscar's stare burned.
And Lando noticed.
"Take a picture, why don't you mate? It'll last longer than all that starin'," Lando chuckles, biting his lip slightly. Oscar's jaw snapped shut, not realizing his lips had parted the longer he eyed his waist.
Caught red handed. Again.
Oscar sputtered, swearing his neck cracked with how quickly he turned away from him. "Fuck off." It sounded breathless, and god forbid Oscar even have an ounce of a good time today without embarrassing himself immensely. Lando's laugh betrayed him entirely, sounding all too pretty that Oscar had to look again— like a siren call in the form of dimples and squeaky little laughs from the prettiest mouth.
That mouth…
Shut. The fuck. Up.
"Oh my god, the look on your face." Lando pretended to swipe away a tear, little giggles still escaping him. It was difficult enough to stay mad at Lando when he was giggling all cute like, it was contagious and it made Oscar laugh slightly himself, maybe to seem more at ease. Maybe to hide the fact that he was thinking of shoving that race suit off of Lando's waist and-
"C'mon Oscar."
Oscar barely had any time to process his own thoughts with Lando now fully in his space. He pressed back against the railing, nowhere to escape to. Oscar should at least try to flee, he should be trying to push Lando's hand away, try tell him to stop because their media team was behind the damn door. He stood stock still instead as his tanned hand grabbed his chin, giving Oscar's head a little shake.
"Focus a little, yeah?" Lando cocked a brow, lips parted in a slight smile that spelled something dangerous. An insinuation to something else, something Oscar's heart has been screaming at him to take. Take, and take, and take, it's all Oscar wanted to do.
Lando tsked at him, that gentle hold turning into a full grab at his jaw— nothing tight, but Oscar couldn't ignore it, eyes unfocused and fuzzy with his touch. He missed it. Fuck, he really missed Lando's hands on him. How long has it been since they last did anything? Since Miami? Hot and sweaty, sweltering kisses in full anger…
Fuck.
Oscar leaned into his palm ever so slightly, fighting back the urge to hum in his grasp. He was literally playing into his hand, this fine line, this sneaky game— bringing him as much adrenaline as the lights finally going out. The things Lando did to Oscar… It was sickening to think that he was this malleable with him.
"Alright boys!"
The two immediately jumped back in their rightful spots— Oscar facing forward on the railing, hands shaking where his arms hung off of it. The ghost of Lando's hand lingered under his jaw— searing and unrelenting with the heat that pricked his skin. He didn't dare look in Lando's direction, afraid that his eyes would give away everything he's ever wanted.
"Ready for part two of this mini shoot?" Their photographer was none the wiser, fixing up his camera to set up in its previous spot.
Oscar swallowed too hard that it echoed in his head, nodding to hopefully rid any thoughts that could plague him for the remainder of their time. "Uh, yeah. Yeah let's get it over with." Oscar glanced over for a second, curiosity gnawing at his ribs— because of course he had to get one more look in.
Lando rubbed his palm slowly, massaging into it with his thumb— the hand that was under his chin previously. He was looking down, and Oscar made the mistake of waiting to see his gaze.
Their eyes met. Heated. Tongue wetting his lips. Hands adjusting the race suit around his waist, slowly, effortlessly, peeks of skin under the tight black Nomex shirt.
Oscar turned away again, clammy and uncomfortably hot.
So much for reprieve.
The garage was bustling with noise— power tools, jumbled conversations, barked orders left and right. Oscar watched as the car got worked on in front of him, looking intensely deep in thought even knowing that the cameras were set on him. A little entertainment for the folks at home, the championship leader so focused on the car in front of him. Its served him well.
Although, his mind wandered. To pinkish lips wrapped around the long straw of his water bottle, mussed up curls dampened with sweat, balaclava lines indented on tanned cheeks, a broad hand dragging down his mouth slowly— Oscar was staring. Again. And the object of his affections now approached him at top speed. Now what the hell could Lando be doing at his side of the garage?
Lando made it next to him in record time, flashing a bright smile in greeting. Those same pinkish lips moved, a peek of his tongue darting against the corner of his mouth, but fuck what did he say? Oscar leaned in closer to Lando, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes to concentrate on what he was saying. Lando leaned in with him, speaking louder over the noise.
Either the conversations were too loud, or the power tools went off in tandem with Lando's words, because he still couldn't hear what he was saying. At all. Could barely read them from his lips when all he could think about was pushing him against the wall and kissing him until they couldn't breathe anymore.
Oscar blinked rapidly, tilting his head. Shit.
"Mate, what??" Oscar frowned. Despite his distractions throughout the day, he truly was trying to pay attention this time. Clearly, Lando wasn't having any of it, clicking his tongue and glaring at the mechanics literally doing their jobs.
A warm, strong grip wrapped around the back of Oscar's neck, a thumb pressed against his pulse. Everything blurred at the edges, any other sound muffled and far away— like Oscar was sucked into a vacuum as everything went quiet. Lando dragged Oscar in closer, warm breath against his ear, lips tracing the shell of it with every word now spoken clearly. Spoken clearly, yes, but comprehended? That was a better question.
"I said, how's the car feeling on your end? Tapped the wall?" Lando's voice was low, yet loud enough for Oscar to finally hear. He didn't have any other choice but to focus on Lando— a broad palm right at the nape of his neck, his thumb stroking the side of his neck ever so slightly, soft breaths tickling the side of his face. Oscar felt hot, hotter than usual, sticky with dried sweat on his now flushed cheeks. Lando squinted at him, waiting, and Oscar realized he hadn't said a word.
His jaw clenched, mouth shut tightly, scrambling to find an answer. "Uhm." He blinked, hard, opting to fixing the velcro of his race suit just to stall— find literally anything to say. Oscar leaned in towards Lando, though his eyes stayed forward, afraid that if he turned fully, the camera would catch more than just a hand on his neck. "Fine. Not too much damage on the car, thankfully. Just a love tap."
Lando gave Oscar's neck a gentle squeeze, meant to be an assuring squeeze as he nodded. Heat waves traversed Oscar's entire body, needing to grip the counter behind him before he dropped to his knees for the entire fucking world to see him. Those fingers barely pressing his pulses felt like electric shocks to his system, and yet Oscar felt like he was melting under the heady weight of his desire.
"Jesus Osc— Has the heat gotten to you?" Lando's hand snaps away from Oscar's neck, watching his face grow rosy with warmth.
"I'm fine," Oscar's voice cracked embarrassingly so. Fantastic. So great for him. Oscar cursed as he turned away from Lando, dragging his hands down his face, up through his hair because—
Holy shit.
This was getting ridiculous.
"I'll be back." Oscar loosened the velcro around his neck, shouldering past Lando before he could attempt to get a word in. He needed to get away from Lando— being a mere seconds away from giving in and bringing Lando with him instead. Yeah, he definitely needed to get away from him. He had at least forty odd minutes before the second practice session was supposed to start.
That was enough time.
Oscar ducked into his cramped little driver room and slammed the door shut behind him, huffing as he slumped down against the door. He could not stand it. Oscar Piastri, ever so calm and collected, who gave little to no fucks about what people had to say or what they did to sully his name— and here he was getting hot and hard over his teammate's hand on his neck.
He glared down at his crotch, twitchy and sticky with need. "…You're fucking serious," Oscar hissed, bumping his head back against the door, hazy eyes glaring at the ceiling, cursing the universe for making him this way— because he needed someone else to blame other than himself right now.
With caution thrown out the window, Oscar unzipped his race suit and shrugged it off until it hung loose around his waist, muttering annoyed curses at himself. This was absolutely ridiculous, and a very, very, very idiotic thing to be doing before a god damn practice session. But if he doesn't alleviate this shit now, he's definitely sending it into the wall, which almost sounded better than dealing with this issue while suffering in the cockpit.
Oscar panted softly, biting down at the fingertip of his glove and hastily pulled it off to throw— somewhere, he didn't care. With his hand free, he immediately slipped it under the waistband, groaning at the friction. Nothing about this was graceful— how he wrapped a sweaty hand around his aching cock, trembling at finally being able to touch himself after denying it since yesterday. A slow downstroke already had him whimpering pathetically.
"Fuck…" Oscar hissed, finding a steady rhythm that sent shocks of pleasure up his spine. God, what would Lando even say if he saw him like this— Needy, desperate, begging to be touched, begging to touch him. He would never hear the end of it, and the thought of Lando being mean about it-
Oscar squeezed the base of his cock, grunting in the back of his throat, eyes squinted shut, hips bucking into his tight fist. If he could just— get his hands on Lando's hips, watch his lips part in gasped moans, hear how he sang his name like a fucking prayer— if Oscar could just have him right now.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head, swiping his thumb over the shiny tip, having yanked his cock well past the waistband of his underwear. He winced with the wet sounds he was making, but fuck he was close— imagining all sorts of colorful things. All colorful and everything Lando.
Oscar smacked a hand over his mouth, rolling his hips up in more languid motions— growing dizzy with his drunken pleasure, with the idea of Lando bouncing-
"Oscaarr? Ya in there, mate?"
A pinched moan buzzed behind Oscar's palm, coming embarrassingly quick right into his hand, lurching forward with the force of his orgasm. He panted heavily, bleary eyes staring down at the horrible mess he's made. Three rapid knocks were the only thing that snapped him out of his daze, now scrambling around his driver room to hide any evidence of him wanking it.
"Oi! C'mon now, it's like— Ten minutes till practice two. The hell are you even doing in there?" He heard Lando laugh behind the door, barely finding a shirt he tossed to the ground to haphazardly wipe his hand, tucking himself back into his undergarments in the process.
"Just- Give me a sec!" Oscar would rather wash his hands, this was disgusting, but also the consequences of his actions.
"The fuck is my glove-" He hissed to himself, eventually finding it in the corner of his driver room next to his bag. Whatever, he'd wash himself of his crimes after practice. He felt lightheaded from it all— barely being able to recover from his surprise orgasm, but it was just enough to function as a human being for at least an hour. Lando relentlessly knocked on his door like the piece of shit he was, singing just behind it.
"If you're wanking it, ya better make it quick mate!"
"Shut the fuck up-" Oscar had the bright idea of throwing the door open just to get Lando to stop yelling— his race suit was barely zipped on, his glove still pinched between his teeth, and he was more than aware that his face was three shades redder than usual.
Lando was now faced with Oscar barely keeping it together— hastily cleaned and shining in a different kind of glow. Different from the sweat after a fairly decent practice session. He tilted his head, dimples popping out as he smirked back at him.
"Did you actually-?" Lando's eyes flashed with amused glee, his gaze lowering to the glove still very much hanging from Oscar's mouth.
"No." Oscar pulled his glove back on as he shoved past Lando, ignoring the heat that radiated off him— pushing down the fact that he wanted nothing more than to burrow into that comfortable heat instead of this sticky, humid warmth that clung to the back of his neck. Lando laughed, catching up to his teammate to throw an arm over his shoulders.
"Awwhh Oscarrr, no need to be so embarrassed. Sometimes you just have to-" Oscar elbowed him off to his side of the garage just as they passed by it, not wanting to hear him say another word.
Thankfully, Tom called him to get in the car, inadvertently separating the two for the session. Oscar went straight for his helmet, purposely keeping his back towards the open garage. Physically, he felt relieved, yet his mind still buzzed with the warm feeling of Lando at his side.
Eternally fucked.
Lando won the Monaco Grand Prix.
It was a double podium for Mclaren, P1 and P3, but of course Oscar was a mix of bitter and proud. He knew the pecking order the moment they started, and especially when they got the strategy just right in Lando's favor, it didn't suck any less for him.
But watching Lando getting onto that top step from his place in third, basking in the glory of winning around such an iconic track— Oscar could push the bitterness down for today. It was definitely a better feeling than the heat that's been swallowing him whole for the last two days, on and off track.
As the British national anthem rounded out, and the trophies and medals were distributed, Oscar grinned back at Lando both with the champagne bottles in hand. Lando's signature champagne pop kick started the splash zone— almost immediately getting sprayed in the back by Zac who laughed all too obnoxiously. Oscar laughed with him, spraying him back at full force until he felt a nudge against his shoulder.
Lando had his back to Oscar, spraying at Charles ahead of him. Drenched in champagne, dripping and glistening with his victory, Oscar could only watch in awe even when Lando glanced back at him with the biggest smile he's seen all weekend.
Lando took a step back from the rest and tipped his head back to get a nice swig of the bottle, his face already shining under the sun with the sparkling sweetness. His adam's apple moved slow with every sip, skin sunkissed and sparkling— God, he was just beautiful. Oscar almost forgot himself while he admired, before he was sprayed square in the face by the damned thing Lando was already drinking himself.
Oscar hissed in his laughter, ducking his head and doing his best to wipe the champagne from his eyes. Despite any bitter feelings, it was still a gratifying feeling to be able to share the podium with his teammate, and to have their team cheering them on below for an amazing race— even if the results were already set in stone by lap 1.
Oscar felt a hand at the small of his back, squinting and blinking through the sting of champagne still sticking to his lashes. "Y'alright?" Lando chuckled, still holding the champagne bottle at his hip.
"Yep. Just.. In my eyes, as always," Oscar snorted, eventually just dragging a wet hand down his face to get rid of most of that sticky champagne. Lando chuckled, nodding before leaning in close. Oscar shivered slightly feeling his lips brush his ear.
"Hey," Lando murmured low, hand pressing more into his back as if to keep Oscar close at his side, "There's gonna be a party at… Some. Yacht? You should come."
"And you know where this yacht is?" Oscar snickered out, both stepping back up onto the first step of the podium to get their photos taken.
"Yeah yeah, I'll send you the details after. Be there, will ya?" Lando grinned, sparkles of hope shining in his bluish eyes. They looked a bright blue this time, matching the bright day and the glories of his win with his white race suit. Pretty— it was the only word that flashed in Oscar's mind.
Fucks sake, rich people yacht parties weren't really Oscar's thing, not when his apartment was a mere five minute drive away— but if Lando looked at him any longer, he'd say yes to more than just a yacht party.
"We'll see." Oscar shrugged, tucking himself close to Lando's side, making space for Zac to fit up on the podium with them. They posed for their photo, but Oscar could only focus on the hand that now slid around to his side. Even through his race suit, he could feel the weighted warmth of Lando's palm on his hip.
Enticing.
Wanting.
Waiting.
"I'll see you there, Osc." Lando left him with a quick squeeze, his smile cheeky with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. There was no room for "maybe's", as if he was demanding Oscar's presence at this celebratory party.
Oscar licked his lips slowly, tasting that bittersweet champagne still, and immediately Lando's gaze shot down. It wasn't meant to be a quiet answer of something more, but in that moment, Oscar hoped his mind would lead there. That he wasn't alone in his wants and needs to have Lando completely and unapologetically.
Lando winked.
And they were off.
So, Oscar did accept the invitation. It took a long, cold shower, and going back and forth with himself about what the hell to wear. Debating if he should go at all. Wondering if Lando actually did want him there, and if he'd be sober enough to see him there.
And now he was on a yacht with a bunch of people, some familiar, some not so much.
This was not Oscar's scene. At all. But he's been high strung all day, that glance at his lips on the podium has been stuck on his mind and will not leave him alone, so hell— why not party it up on a yacht with a couple of drinks? Maybe then Oscar could finally relax and not think too hard about Lando's waist in that white race suit.
Max waved Oscar down, other hand already occupied with a drink. "Oscaarr! You made it, mate! Congrats on that podium," He smiled at the Aussie, who smiled kindly in return. Something small and quick, even as he was glancing around for the only reason he even was here at all.
"Thanks," Oscar chuckled, waving to the rest of Lando's friends who looked well off in their own drunk. They were just at that sweet spot where it was still fun to be standing around on a surface that was barely steady— considering where they were.
"You down for a shot with us?" Oscar blinked at the clear liquid shining in the shot glass, opening his mouth to decline— shots weren't really his thing. But now Lando was approaching from the other side of the yacht, yelling some nonsense that hyped everyone up on the deck. And by the fucking gods— Oscar would not survive sober when Lando was wearing a button up with half the button downs and a breeze that showed practically everything—
Oscar snatched the shot out of Max's hand and immediately threw it back. "Oh my," Max laughed, clapping a hand over Oscar's shoulder. He choked slightly but swallowed down the sharp burn of vodka, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Ohh my days, OSC!" Lando laughed full of glee, having watched the scene unfold right in front of him. He'd never been more delighted to see Oscar drinking until now, and Oscar himself was not feeling nearly as drunk as he should be. Especially as Lando stuck himself to Oscar's side, tucking under his arm with pinkish cheeks and a dimpled smile.
"Glad you could make it, mate. D'ya just get here?" Lando pressed in closer, plucking the shot glass from Oscar's hand as he looked up at him. Hanging out under Oscar's shoulder, so warm and so absolutely welcomed— probably the closest Lando has gotten to him all weekend.
"Uh yeah. Like ten minutes ago or so," Oscar blinked, gazing down to meet Lando's eyes— pretty and twinkling. There was a faint smell of tequila on him— not that Oscar even minded. He'd gladly get drunk off of his scent alone if that's what it took.
His eyes lowered further, full chest showing from his open shirt. There was nothing to hide this time, all sunkissed skin and cute moles that Oscar has memorized, stashed away in his mind where he knows his hands will go, where his lips will touch.
Oscar needs another drink.
"Well, don't let me spoil your fun. This is as much of a celebration for you as it is for me. Live a little, for me at least?" Lando patted Oscar's chest, then pushed a cold drink right against it. Wherever Lando conjured that from was none of Oscar's concern, because this is exactly what he needed.
"For you, huh?" Oscar finally managed a couple of words instead of just staring like a pervert, holding the eye contact as he sipped at the cocktail in his hand. A lemon sour, Oscar figured from the color alone, and how the tartness stuck around his lips as he licked slow.
There it was again.
Lando glancing down, his arm tightening around his waist ever so slightly. "Yeah," Lando spoke quieter this time, biting is lip slowly, letting it tug, and drag, before popping out in a slight smirk. "Do that for me, Oscar." Its as if they were the only people on that stupid yacht. Or, more like Oscar didn't give two fucks about the people around them.
The music bumped loud enough that they did feel like the only two people there, everyone else more preoccupied in their own conversations and mixed drinks. And, fuck, if Oscar didn't want to just take Lando out of here now.
But he had a game to play.
Suffering alone was terrible enough, so fuck it. He'll rope Lando into it too. Even if he didn't purposely play him throughout the weekend, Oscar needed to get back at him. The competitive side of him bit down and hung onto his shoulders, so of course he played. And since he didn't win the Monaco grand prix, he'll win Lando over instead, perhaps on merit alone. He did it best, after all.
"Sure." Oscar leaned in close to Lando's ear, tightening his arm around him to slide a hand down his side. "I'll do it for you, Lando." He squeezed gently, before peeling away from the brit to go off and make random small talk with whatever group wanted him around.
That gaze burned in the back of his head, but Oscar paid no mind. He took every drink that was offered to him as he slid between conversations— no shame in a bit of liquid courage. Something to get a bit of that edge off, make him smoother in his steps and the way he flowed through the crowd. Until he was finally at that same sweet spot as everyone else.
Oscar slipped away to the bar, laughing and waving off the group he was talking with. He barely remembered their names, only the silly stories they told and the few plans they had for the rest of their week in Monaco. He stared down into his glass— empty. Clicking his tongue, he leaned back against the counter, about to turn to the bartender when he felt a nudge against his shoulder.
"Why, hello there, Mr. Piastri."
Oscar's full attention was now on Lando— now sat on the bar stool, sporting some dark shades and a backwards hat. Because of course he fucking is. "Mr. Norris." Oscar nodded his head towards him, well aware that his face was rosy and cute, but he could blame it on the alcohol this time around.
"How many drinks have you got by now?" Lando snickered, jutting his chin out towards Oscar's empty glass. He twisted his lips in thought, tipping the glass and turning it on its edge on before letting it settle with a soft clink against the wood.
"..Not sure, to be honest. Just been accepting drinks that looked good," Oscar smiled, sliding his glass away from him, raising his gaze up to the bartender. "I'll get a coke and rum. And for the grand prix winner…" He turned to Lando slowly, the swoop of his hair falling over his face. There was a sudden softness to him with his hair almost over his eyes— but those eyes were telling a completely different story.
Lando swallowed visibly.
Score.
"Two tequila shots and a vodka cran." Lando's voice cracked just at the end of his sentence, and Oscar fought every urge to coo at him for it. If those glasses were off, Oscar would bet money that they were unfocused and hazy.
"Please," Oscar added, smiling as the bartender nodded to the two. "Two shots? Still haven't had enough?"
"It's not just for me, you muppet," Lando snorted, and already the shots were presented to them before their mixed drinks came in along with a little plate of limes.
Oscar raised an eyebrow at Lando. "You said you were just accepting drinks, weren't you? C'mon then." Lando slid the shot against Oscar's hand, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. Oscar chuckled and picked up the shot glass in tandem with Lando, both clinking them together without even prompting.
"To a solid race?"
"To a solid race."
The two tapped their glasses down on the counter and shot back the tequila— scorching hot, yet incredibly smooth. Or, perhaps they were both several drinks in that it really did feel like water. Oscar immediately grabbed the lime to bite into, grunting as the alcohol shot up to his head.
"Fuckin' mint," Lando laughed around his lime, shooting it down into his little shot glass and licking his lips clean of all the lime and alcohol. Oscar was a damn sucker for that stupid tongue of his, watching the way it lined his lips and poked out in his chuckling.
Lando lowered his shades to properly look at Oscar, but with all that alcohol running through his veins, simmering under his skin— there was no room for embarrassment this time. Oscar was undoubtedly and fully unfiltered, looking up to smile at Lando.
"Yeah, mate?" Oscar tilted his head slightly, taking his ice cold coke and rum to sip from the skinny black straw— never breaking eye contact with Lando because he demanded it. And Oscar isn't one to back down.
"Nothin'. Jus' look a lil different tonight." Oscar did not miss the way Lando practically gave him an up down— Oscar wasn't wearing anything special, really. He looked down at himself, wearing a black t-shirt and some wide straight black pants with black sneakers. An all black attire, a comfy one at that. But Lando was staring at him like fresh meat.
"In a good way or a bad way?" Oscar tested, leaning in a bit closer, until their elbows touched. Lando looked down at where they were connected, then back up to Oscar's face— just enough space between them to smell the mix of alcohol in their breaths.
"Didn't take you as being vain, Osc." Lando smirked, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. Oscar kissed his teeth, sneering slightly. He just had to hide behind his shades.
Fine.
"Well if you're the one looking at me like that," Oscar emphasized slowly, his voice low to catch Lando's attention— lure him closer, to do something they definitely should not be doing in a yacht full of eyes. Lando tested further, throwing his hat into the ring, pressing his arm against Oscar's.
"Like what? Do tell, Mr. Piastri." Lando chuckled, bringing his glass up and curling his tongue around the straw before sipping slowly. At this point, Oscar wasn't sure who was playing who, but he should've known better. Lando was still the teammate to beat, even off track.
Oscar set his drink down between them, only the air separating the two of them. The space between that Oscar could easily close if he wasn't still cautious. Lando watched his every move with rapt attention— even behind those stupid shades, Oscar could feel the way his icy stare traced his hands, his neck, his eyes, the slight lick of his lips.
"You know," Oscar started, his voice a low rumble that Lando was sure to feel in his own throat. He brought his hand up next to Lando's face, smiling slightly when the man in front of him froze, sucking in a soft breath in anticipation. Oscar dragged a finger along the side of his dark shades, tilting his head just a smidge closer— and maybe from a certain angle it looked as though they were sharing more than just a banter of words.
Oscar slowly dragged the glasses off, watching how it slid down the slope of Lando's nose, catching the heat of his sharp gaze. "It's like you want to eat me alive." Oscar looked up, grinning to see pupils blown wide, like he was fully awake now with how green his eyes looked under the flashing lights.
Lando let out some semblance of a laugh, sounding more like a shaky breath. "Don't know where you got that idea, mate." His voice trembled with the casual nickname, and Oscar knew then and there that he got it. Not quite the win yet, but he was close— and it smelled so delectable under his nose.
"Sucks to be wrong then," Oscar grinned, all cheeky like as he slid the glasses onto himself. He could barely see a thing through the shades, but it hid just enough of his emotions to watch Lando shift, watch him squirm as he tried his damned hardest to come up with something. Oh, Oscar has learned from the absolute best, and it was almost laughable to see Lando barely able to dish something out against his own craft.
"Go on then, looks like the crowd's waiting for you." Oscar took his glass and leaned back into his own space, the sound around them coming back to life— the music, the warbled conversations, the occasional shout of laughter, and the now obvious calls of Lando's name. Neither of them had noticed it until they were far from each other's bubble, Lando standing stark straight and turning stiffly to his group of friends beckoning him to dance with them. Oscar nudged him towards the crowd, bringing his glass up to sip just to hide behind it.
The night was young after all.
The crowd grew louder, the space tighter as Lando snaked his way into the middle of it. Always the center of attention, and Oscar was more than happy to watch him from afar while he nursed his drink. Slow sips, eyes trained on his teammate as it always has been since the dawn of time. Lando drunkenly yelled the lyrics to the songs playing— Oscar was barely paying attention to it. All until Lando was lifted up by some bloke, bouncing around with his hands waving in the air and a squawky laugh.
Hazy eyes locked with Oscar's— tempting him, despite how absolutely plastered he looked. Lando had enough semblance to curl a finger towards himself. Oscar laughed softly, shaking his head and mouthing "no".
"C'mon over here, Oscar!" Lando yelled finally, getting the attention of a few people from the crowd. Oscar threw his head back in a smiling groan, because he knew the inevitable was to come. His skin buzzed with the alcohol in his veins, moving a bit slower than he usually would— so he let the flow of the crowd reel him in as they sang his name. He was not one to dance, not a single bit, but he bounced along with everyone, laughing as he was encouraged to get his hands up too.
Oscar was unknowingly nudged closer and closer to the center, only realizing it when he was faced with the man that was currently holding Lando up. Oscar grinned at him, laughing at his twisted expression.
"You alright there, mate?" Oscar motioned to Lando bouncing on his shoulders— honestly he didn't catch the bloke's name, not that it mattered to him really.
"Course I am!" He laughed with him, and Oscar shrugged. Sure, he supposed. Oscar thought it funny to continue some sort of small talk with him while dealing with a dancing Lando, but his attention was quickly snatched from such a silly conversation.
Lando bent down to grab Oscar's face in both hands, bobbing along to a song more familiar— The Days, that one house song that Oscar used once in a post, and now could not get away from it. Lando mouthed the lyrics straight to Oscar, and boy did he lose his fucking mind.
Large hands tugged Oscar closer— the poor guy below him dealing with the position— but hell Oscar could only see Lando right now. He bit his lip slightly, leaning up into his hold, bouncing along with the crowd. He was bound to find this moment on video at some point, but here he was living it.
A flushed Lando Norris holding him close, nodding along to the rhythm, singing terribly, and now pushing both hands through Oscar's hair, bumping the glasses off from his face and letting them fall to the ground. Seeing Oscar's puppy brown eyes glistening up at him finally— it seemingly made his dimples pop out more.
Long fingers carded through soft waves of his hair, Oscar's head leaning back with the movement, biting his lip slowly and keeping those eyes right on Lando. Those hands slipped lower, holding Oscar at the sides of his neck, tickling the nape, nails digging ever so slightly into his skin.
Oscar went a little lightheaded watching him, feeling it down to his toes— how the buzzing warmth now pooled in his lower abdomen. If a sober Lando was a dangerous game, a drunk Lando was merely the final boss.
Somewhere in between, Oscar got pushed and pulled against the current of the crowd— too lost in his own thoughts to properly comprehend what the fuck just happened to him. Blinking through the haze, Oscar stepped back against the nearest surface— the back of some seat, his only anchor.
Blinding lights, bumping music, and maybe the alcohol was settling much further into his body, feeling that buzz ride up to his temples. Had Oscar even finished his drink? He couldn't exactly see very well into his glass, and it didn't help that the lights bounced off the melted ice in all sorts of colors. He took a couple slow, steadying breaths, gazing up towards the crowd just to admire in his very inebriated state.
Eventually, Oscar's line of sight followed curly hair bouncing across the yacht, laughter singing along with it. With his drink now long forgotten on some table space, he stumbled along like a moth to a flame. There were calls of his name, but everything was distant, so far away from where Oscar wanted to be.
In a haze, Oscar wobbled his way into the narrow hallway, in front of a door to what he presumed was the bathroom. He leaned back against the opposite wall, rubbing his temples slowly because— what the fuck is he doing? The game he promised to win himself was long forgotten, his heady desires completely blanketing the need to win Lando over.
Admittedly, he just wanted Lando's hands on him. Like- Yesterday.
But shit, what if it wasn't even Lando in the bathroom? He's not the only person to have curly hair ever. And in his drunken state, Oscar wouldn't be surprised if he did mistake some curly haired bloke for Lando himself. Oscar dropped his face into his hands, clammy and hot. Accurate to how he's been feeling for more than half the day. Honestly probably the whole damn weekend.
The space between his eyes throbbed with his annoyance. He's been so… Needy. Tugging him around in all sorts of directions— it's honestly starting to piss him off, because Oscar didn't fully know where they stood. Of course he wants to win the championship, there's more vigor and pride on the line now that he was leading, but watching Lando win the Monaco grand prix— for now, getting his lips on his teammate was winning him over.
He loves winning races, the smooth taste of champagne sticking to his skin, the deafening cheers, the swell of joy and relief paired with the weight of shiny trophies in his hands— everything about it was the perfect storm. Lando winning brought about bitter feelings, and that carnal need to bring him down a peg—
But. Fuck.
He just looked too good.
And it was getting under Oscar's skin. This constant push and pull of wanting Lando, and needing to win. Wanting to be world champion, and needing those pretty pink lips on his skin. Needing to beat his biggest rival, and wanting to fuck him.
He dragged his hands down his face just in time for the door to swing open. To his relief— or horror? holy shit— it actually was Lando in the bathroom. The light poured in behind him, casting him in this hazy yellow glow that shone through his messy curls, through the sheer material of his white button up that left nothing to the imagination. He might as well have gone shirtless with only three buttons holding it together.
Oscar could… See. The outline of his waist, in this godforsaken lighting. Drunken eyes slid up to Lando's half opened ones, the two not saying a single word. That's fine, it gave Oscar more opportunity to trace the line of his biceps under that thin shirt, where the wrinkles tightly held on, leading higher up his shoulder to where his hand held the top of the frame. The silence was heavy, the tension palpable, both holding a match to the line— it was just a matter of who would set off the live wire first.
Lando blinked, sliding his hand down the doorframe where he leaned on it, and Oscar followed the movement with darkened eyes. "Sorry- D'you need the bathroom-?" Lando finally spoke up, pushing off from the doorframe to make room. Oscar immediately pressed a hand to Lando's exposed chest, the touch burning under his fingertips. He was so. Close. To getting what he wanted.
Lando made a surprised sound, his own hand shooting up to grab Oscar's wrist like he was going to move him away. "Osc-" Lando sounded out of breath, almost in a whimper. Like he was begging.
The live wire finally struck.
Oscar pushed Lando back into the bathroom, and Lando held onto his arm, following that snap of giving in. As Oscar's back collided with the door slamming shut behind him, his hands found their rightful place on Lando's sinful hips, dragging him into his body and kissing him hard. Teeth clashed and rung in their heads, but Oscar did not fucking care— because Lando tasted like zingy lime and sharp tequila, and it made his head spin as he groaned and licked him up.
Lando moaned around Oscar's tongue, his large hand slipping between them to hold Oscar's jaw. The carnal desire ran through his veins like lava— all encompassing and strikingly hot, electrifying at his fingertips and sending shivers to his core. Oscar arched forward into Lando's hold, his hand braced at the small of his back where his loosened shirt bunched up between his fingers.
"Lan." Oscar panted against his lips, nipping and biting, digging his nails into the exposed skin of Lando's back, panting harder— like a damn dog. "Lando- Lando-" Oscar couldn't think of anything else, let alone say anything else. All it took to make him drunker than ever was Lando moaning sickeningly sweet and a hand sliding down to hold his throat like a collar. So drunk, but feeling more alive than ever.
"Oscar- Fuckin' hell-" Lando gasped between sloppy kisses, both hands grasping at Oscar's side for leverage. He was nearly slipping with how Oscar arched over him. He groaned feeling Lando's hips against his own, stepping forward until Lando hit the edge of the sink. Oscar took advantage of the position, slotting his thigh between Lando's and trapping him there. He pulled away to breathe, lips swollen and reddish, cheeks warm and flushed— something flashing in Oscar's eyes the moment he saw it.
How absolutely wrecked Lando looked.
"I fucking- Hate you." Oscar dipped down into the crook of Lando's neck, breathing him in before closing his jaw around the junction of his neck and shoulder— salty with sweat, vaguely tasting of spearmint and spicy cologne. God, if Oscar could have this scent burning his nose forever, he'd die a happy man. Lando groaned deep in his chest, twitchy hips pushing up against Oscar's thigh— looking for relief while his needy teammate attacked his neck. It was gonna be a bitch to try and hide, but that was so far from Lando's mind right now.
"Jesus- christ-" Lando breathed out, eyes rolling to the back of his head. "Do you-" Lando moaned, Oscar memorizing the buzz against his lips as he kissed at his throat, "-Do you always kiss the people you hate?"
Oscar scoffed, licking slowly at his adam's apple and nipping up at his jaw. "Only people named Lando Norris," he muttered, forcing Lando's hips down harder against his thigh just to hear that high whimper again. Looping it in his mind, sending pulses down under his pants, twitchy with need.
Lando laughing between moans was an even better tune in Oscar's mind— he wanted to hear all sorts of tunes from the man in front of him, needed a playlist of all his little sounds so he can beat the tension out of himself when Lando wasn't around. Oscar was driven to near insanity, and it only took a stupid white button up and a couple alcoholic drinks to get him exactly where he wanted to be.
"Osc." Lando panted, head thrown back, exposing his thick neck. Oscar wasn't listening, diving deeper and deeper into his carnal desires as he trailed open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. He had no plans of stopping, his hands sliding under Lando's shirt— shuddering just feeling the valleys of muscle underneath his fingertips. Once flashes in his mind, finally rippling under his touch, pulling strangled noises from Lando underneath him.
Lando hissed, trying to find some semblance of sanity for the both of them— because if he didn't do it now, they were bound to get caught in this cramped yacht bathroom. And Lando was too much of a spoiled brat to get fucked in such a shoddy place when their apartments was a drive way. "Fucking- Piastri-" Lando groaned, reaching a hand up to grab Oscar's jaw in one hand and pull him up.
Oscar blinked rapidly, breathing heavily as he looked at Lando through the haze. With how hunched over he was, they were practically eye-level. It was quiet for a moment, save for their heavy breathing— and in the silence, Oscar tried to push in again, to mark up Lando's pretty skin.
"Oi. Listen, dammit," Lando grunted, holding his face tighter. For fucks sake, it was like looking at a feral animal. Oscar held onto Lando's bare hips, swallowing down a deep breath, focusing his eyes down on Lando's lips at the very least. "..You're not doing anything in this bathroom."
"…I've already done.. A lot of things in this bathroom, actually."
"Shut up, first of all," Lando chuckled breathlessly, slowly loosening his grip on Oscar's jaw once his eyes looked more focused and less wild. Oscar sighed slowly, leaning his forehead against Lando's, brushing his nose against his— grounding himself.
"Okay.. So?"
"We're going to my apartment, obviously."
Oscar pulled away from his tender touching, eyebrows raising. Lando smiled, gently patting his cheek. "You can act like an animal there."
"I was not-"
"-Don't even try it with me. C'mon, I've got a plan." Lando gently pushed Oscar to stand up straighter. Oscar groaned his complaint, but complied, standing straighter right in front of him. It gave Lando an excuse to look at Oscar properly this time— from messy hair to splotchy red cheeks, shirt collar crumpled from all the tugging and pulling, down to the shadow of his tent in his even loose pants.
Yeah, nothing was happening in this stupid bathroom.
"Act drunk." Lando nodded, eyes shooting back up to smug ones. Whatever, Lando would fuck with that stare later.
"I'm.. Well past acting drunk, Lando." Oscar admitted wholeheartedly, leaning against the doorknob and nearly slipping just to prove his point. Drunk, yes, it was just a wonder if it was the alcohol or Lando, or a lovely mix of the two.
"Suppose that should've been more obvious." Lando snorted more to himself, stepping up to grab Oscar's arm and pull it well across his shoulders. "Act proper plastered. 'S the only way we'll get our arses off this yacht."
Oscar inhaled slowly, nodding as he exhaled. Yeah, he had to act well plastered while also sporting a terrible erection. Also while hanging off of Lando's shoulders. Easier said than done. "Yeah, okay."
Lando chuckled and leaned in close to Oscar's ear, "The quicker we're out of here, the quicker you can do whatever the fuck you want." And that insinuation was enough for Oscar to go limp on Lando's shoulders, leaning his head into his arm just to hide the fact that he was flushed for completely other reasons.
The door swung open, and Lando dragged both of their overheated bodies out of the narrow hallway to the rest of the crowd. Oscar kept his head hung low— knowing he wasn't that best of an actor in the face, so he opted to hiding, maybe groaning a bit just to act like he was well drunk.
"Landooo! Oh— Is Oscar alright?"
"Nah mate, found him hunched over the toilet bowl. Not the best sight to see," Lando laughed with whoever he was talking to. Oscar would take this embarrassment on the chin knowing what follows once they were off the damn yacht.
"Partied a lil too hard, eh?"
"Awh you know how it is. Not exactly his idea of a night out."
"Ahh, not his typical scene, I getcha. Well, you lot get home safe then,"
"Aye aye. Have fun without me, cheers!" Lando waved to the rest of the crowd, many yelling their goodbyes and even wishing Oscar well as he was dragged off the yacht and into the open air. Despite being well outside the whole time, it was nice to finally be fully out in the open.
"You're a piece of shit, you know that, Lan?" Oscar picked his head up once they were far away enough. Lando chuckled, looking at him from his phone— having texted a car to come get them.
"Yeah, you love it though."
"Sure I do."
"Hurry up."
"I'm getting there, Osc."
"Not quick enough-"
"Holy shit, you're not exactly helping."
"It's just keys and your apartment door, Lan."
"I will absolutely ruin you-"
"-Yeah, so that's my job, actually."
Click.
Oscar helped this time right as the door opened, pushing Lando into his dark apartment with his full body— hasty before anyone else could catch him entering. Lando stumbled in, thinking it was a grand idea to start getting his shoes off while Oscar ushered him in with his hands running down his sides.
"Lock the-"
"-God dammit, Lando."
Oscar peeled away from his body to securely lock the door, from the latch lock down to the second and third on the knob. He kicked his shoes off aggressively with his impatience and stood there for a moment, head hung back and a deep breath escaping him, before slowly turning to face Lando in the dim lighting of the foyer.
"Can I-"
Lando rushed forward and pulled Oscar into a full and heated kiss, both hands holding his face and keeping him right where he wanted him. Oscar wasted no time grabbing his hips, sliding under his shirt immediately to squeeze at the muscle there, hold him at his sides, gliding around to feel his back shudder under his palms.
That cute pinkish tongue ran between awaiting lips, and Oscar wasn't one to deny Lando that entry. His arms wrapped around his narrow waist completely, moaning at the back of his throat as the bitter and cool taste of cranberry juice and tequila hit his senses. Oscar walked Lando backwards, laughing slightly as he stumbled, their feet tangling together until Lando bumped against the edge of his couch.
It gave Oscar the chance to pull away and pull that stupid sheer button up over Lando's head— because it really did absolutely fuck all to cover anything. He threw it back over his shoulder, pulling Lando in by his hips and kissing down his neck slowly.
"Holy shit, Osc-" Lando gasped as he bit down at a sensitive spot under his ear, pressing his hand against the back of Oscar's head to hold him closer.
"You've been driving me absolutely insane this whole fucking weekend, Lando," Oscar hissed against his skin, licking the forming bruise kissed from his lips. His grip was nearly inescapable, but he'd be damned if Lando were to try to get away from him— let alone part ways from him any further.
"Yeah?" Lando panted, carding his fingers through his hair, tugging to pull Oscar's head back from his neck. He got a better look of him this way— that shiny, quivering need in his hazy eyes, all maple brown lost and enveloped in his darkened desire.
"I kinda figured."
Oscar paused in his ministrations, shaking his head out of Lando's grasp. "You- What- How long?" He frowned. Lando's lips parted, only a half-hearted laugh escaping him.
"I think since… I caught you at the end of your wank— Or maybe before that-"
Oscar gawked at Lando, shoving his shoulder as his face burned hot with the embarrassment of knowing Lando could absolutely tell how downright abysmal he's been for him. "Oh you absolute dickhead-"
Lando pulled Oscar back in by the nape of his neck, shutting him up with his mouth hot and ready on his. Oscar melted almost immediately, his hands slipping around his waist and even lower to grab his ass— any excuse to get him to gasp and lick into his mouth.
"You knew-" Oscar grunted between the kiss. "-This whole damn time," He bit Lando's bottom lip and tugged slightly, ducking in to grab the back of his thighs and lift him right up. "And you did fuck all with that knowledge?"
Lando laughed sheepishly, pushing his hands through Oscar's hair— a bit of déjà vu as he leaned his head back to look up at him. "To be fair, you look fucking hot when you're needy." Oscar was played this whole time. He could be cursing Lando out right now, calling him an absolute ass for constantly leaving him so high and dry— knowing he could've done anything to make him feel a little less insane.
But, unfortunately, he is terribly into it.
"Fuck you." Oscar laughed.
"Oh, yes please." Lando moaned obnoxiously, and if it made Oscar twitch in his pants despite how theatrical this display was, he would never admit it to Lando's face.
With the grace of a drunken man, Oscar shuffled his way around Lando's apartment, kissing full marks along the expanse of his skin— his collarbones, his neck, his shoulders, farther down to his sternum— anywhere he could reach while he stumbled around in the dark. Lando sighed just above him, legs tightening around his waist each time Oscar dragged his teeth across the tender parts of the forming bruises.
The moment Lando's back hit the sheets of his barely made bed, Oscar lips found his again, his hand sliding along the underside of his thigh and squeezing. Lando pulled Oscar in by his hips, moaning in tandem at the contact.
Oscar slipped away from Lando's lips, trailing kisses down from his jaw to his chest, paying extra attention to the more prominent moles that littered his skin. He breathed hot against him, trailing lower and lower until he reached the peak of his hips. Oscar raised a hand up to grab his pec, squeezing just to hear that same pretty moan that Lando let out every time he squeezed just right.
He gazed up, honeyed eyes turned deep and warm as he kissed along the waistband of his boxers, nipping at the happy trail under his belly button. Lando groaned high in his throat, throwing his head back and holding onto the hand that groped his chest.
"C'mon, Osc-" Lando whispered his plea, and that's exactly where Oscar wants him, exactly where he needed him this entire fucking weekend. Begging, needy, aching for him.
"Uh uh," Oscar murmured, slowly sitting up onto his knees, looking right down at Lando who stared up at him with awe— glistening pools of clear waters swimming with every plea threatening to escape his tongue.
"We're doing this at my pace, Lando."
That stare alone pinned Lando down to the bed, chest rising and falling, quickened breaths escaping him with the anticipation of whatever the hell Oscar had in store for him. He watched as Oscar grabbed his shirt from the back of his collar, pulling it off in one swift motion— and if that isn't the hottest thing Lando has seen so far, he was in for an absolute ride.
Lando sat up to grasp at pale hips, kissing softly at his abs, keeping his eyes right on Oscar. His face twisted with the pleasure, hot and prickly on his skin, lips parted in bated breaths as Lando's hands slipped down tug at the waistband of his pants. Oscar grabbed Lando's chin and bent down to lock lips instead, finding him way too delicious to not kiss.
With his pants and underwear off, and Lando hastily removing his own, Oscar pulled back to cup his hand under Lando's chin. Waiting. Lando blinked and looked down, gazing back up through thick lashes as he spit right into Oscar's palm.
"Fuck, you're the death of me, Lan," Oscar hissed, kissing him again as he wrapped his wet hand around Lando's cock. The whimper that left his mouth went straight to Oscar's own cock, twitching against Lando's thigh. He pressed him down against the bed again, pulling away to rest his forehead against Lando's and look down between them.
Lando glistened in his hand, biting his lip tightly as he moved in slow, languid strokes. A pace so devastating that it had Lando crying out for it. "Oscar you- Fuck-" Lando whined, bucking his hips to get more out of his hand, but Oscar barely switched his pace.
He licked his lips slowly, pulling his hand down to the base and squeezing until he leaked with pre. Oscar groaned at the sight, already sliding down between his legs to lick up the mess that he was making. Lando dropped back against the sheets, running a hand through his own curls and tugging in frustration because Oscar's mouth was so hot and his tongue was so intoxicating— but he wasn't moving any faster.
Despite Oscar's growing impatience, watching Lando get needier and needier was becoming worth the wait. Oscar swirled his tongue around the tip before fully closing his mouth around his cock, bobbing his head slowly with the steady pump of his fist. Lando moaned between gritted teeth, immediately looking down at the performance.
Oscar had every intention to ruin Lando in every way possible— everything to get back at him for making him so high strung all weekend, making him act a damn fool around him. Oscar locked eyes with Lando as he slowly raised his head up, opening his mouth and letting his tongue hang out, swirling his tongue slowly around the tip.
And Lando watched.
Lando couldn't keep his eyes off of Oscar, shuddering as he felt hands wrap around his thighs, pulling his legs apart and giving him a much better view of Oscar taking him down his throat. "Fuuuucks sake-" Lando's head hung back between his shoulders, toes curling into the sheets, thighs trembling as he felt Oscar's throat tighten around him.
Oscar hummed around him, and Lando could only whine about it, squirming only to be held down by Oscar's arm across his his hips. Suddenly his pace changed, taking him deep, bobbing his head faster. Lando's world was spinning, white pleasure shooting up his spine as his back arched off the bed.
Lando panted hard between little whimpers, grabbing at the arm that held him down, the sheets next to him— anything to anchor him down otherwise he was going to send Oscar flying. "Fuck- Fuckfuckfuckshit- Close-!" Lando gasped suddenly, his abdomen burning and tightening the closer he got to his release.
Then it stopped.
"Huh?" Lando choked, pushing up onto his elbow to see—
Christ.
Oscar breathed heavily, cheek squished against his thigh as he held Lando at the base, squeezing tight so he couldn't even come if he wanted to. "Why'd you-?"
"My pace, remember?" Oscar smiled so sickeningly sweet, kissing his inner thigh as he started to move his hand at that same, slow, excruciating pace he started with initially. Lando quivered uncontrollably, being so damn close made his whole body sensitive, just at the precipice and yet not nearly close enough.
Oscar kissed along his thigh, biting softly into the meat of it, sucking new marks while his hand stayed in pace, steady and never faltering. Lando couldn't do much else other than suffer being edged, his cock all wet and twitchy in Oscar's hand. It was a pretty sight for Oscar— Lando all messed up and teary eyed, covered in his bites and purplish marks, clawing at his arm, his shoulders, grabbing where he could just so Oscar could give him—
"More."
The Monaco grand prix winner— so high and mighty on the podium during the day, now crumbling in Oscar's hands by nightfall. Oscar's chest swelled with pride, something dangerously possessive filling him to the brim. And Lando just begged for him so beautifully, he couldn't hold out much longer.
"Greedy," Oscar remarked, slowly letting go of Lando to spit into his own hand, stringy and sticky with a mix of his pre now spreading around Lando's hole. He fluttered from the touch, a broken little oh falling from Lando's lips.
Oscar's middle finger slipped in with ease, both moaning at the feeling— the heat that pressed into both of them. As he curled his finger inside of him, Lando groaned and slipped a hand under Oscar's chin, a favorite place of his.
But Oscar knew that touch immediately.
He shifted up his body to press his lips to Lando in a half kiss— breathing quiet moans and strained sounds into each other's mouths. "Stop-" Oscar panted just as Lando was about to touch himself.
"Fuck off-" Lando grunted, so hard that it was bordering on painful.
"'M gonna make you come untouched."
Lando immediately grabbed his own dick— not to wank— but to keep him from blowing his load right there. "You can't- Oh my fucking god-"
Oscar laughed breathy and hot, managing a second finger while Lando was trying to compose some semblance of a sentence, but he wasn't giving him any means to do so. "Tellin' me not to fucking touch myself— Then you say that of all things," Lando muttered, biting down on his bottom lip as Oscar spread him open so slow. So damn slow.
"Yeah well," Oscar sighed weakly right into Lando's ear, trying so hard to focus on prepping him until he slid his cock against him— groaning so deep in his chest that it rumbled in his own ears. "You're not the only one suffering, Lando."
Lando pressed his hips up to meet Oscar's, smiling as they both moaned so sweetly— it was a win-win situation for both of them. Only for Oscar to push him down by his own hips, cock flush with his abs and the heat of their arousal.
"Fuckin' hell, Osc." Lando's head hit the pillows, rolling his hips down into his fingers, trying his best to grind up against Oscar for some kind of relief. "You're this hard and you still won't give it to me?"
"Maybe if you beg."
Lando's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Oscar's voice was really doing it for him tonight, he would be embarrassed by it if he wasn't seconds away from turning this around and bouncing on his cock himself.
"…Please.."
"Hm? Did you say something?" Oscar murmured, feeling that stupid smirk slide against his ear. He twisted a third finger inside, a shuddering exhale escaping him with the tight pressure around his fingers. Oscar had the patience of a saint right now, seemingly holding it together a lot better than Lando was— but he truly was right there with him. Aching, tempted to say fuck it and take Lando right there.
"Fuck, Oscar, please— I need it. I need you right fucking now." The last words were bitten out, Lando's hips bucking up for that slight friction. Oscar dipped his head down against Lando's shoulder for a moment, realizing a little too late that he was humping against Lando's abs, making a sticky mess mixed with the sheen of sweat wetting his skin.
"Okay." Oscar finally decided, strained in his whisper. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out and turned them over, hands tight at Lando's hips. His entire world was completely turned around, and suddenly Lando was propped up on Oscar's lap.
"What-"
"Take me."
Lando pushed up to look down at Oscar— so pretty. All flushed down to his freckled chest, breathing heavily through his swollen lips, cute bunny teeth peeking under them. "You want me to-"
"Yes, Lando. I want you to ride me." Straight to the point as always.
Lando clamped his jaw shut, cock jumping in his deep seated desire. "And I'm the one driving you insane??" Lando laughed in disbelief, leaning in to kiss Oscar quick with a little nip to his bottom lip before parting ways to grab the lube from his nightstand.
Finally did Lando get his hand on Oscar's dick— so full and perfect, slicking it down with the cold lube in his hand. Oscar grunted, sliding his hands up and down Lando's thighs, watching closely. He did not want to miss this ride for the damn world.
Lando hovered over him, poking his tongue out in concentration as he lowered down slowly. "Shit-" Lando croaked out once the head popped in. He braced his hands over Oscar's hips, sliding lower, and lower, until he was fully seated on his lap. A relieved groan sang from both of them— finally being fully, and finally being inside. Oscar's hands trembled at Lando's hips, eyes squinted shut like he was trying not to come on the spot— and that alone had Lando soaring.
"So," Lando started, swiveling his hips to get Oscar to look up at him, "Is it everything you ever wanted?"
Smirking so sly, biting back all his little sounds just so he could hear Oscar admit it. Oscar was too busy moaning to really think about his question, twitching up into him. "Fuck— So much more, Lan."
Oscar's patience dwindled far enough, digging his feet into the bed and thrusting up into Lando, letting out a surprised whine. "Not even g'nna let me ride like you wanted me to, huh?" Lando pushed Oscar's hips down properly this time, broad palms splayed over his waist— the contrast of tan hands over his pale skin actually starting to drive Lando mad.
Oscar wasn't even sorry about it, only smirking even with his hazy, far away eyes. Lando smiled back down at him, slowly raising his hips up, before dropping back down— head thrown back in that sweet moan Oscar has been aching to hear again. His nails dug into Lando's hips, already working up a sweat as Lando set such a devastating pace.
Lando worked his hips in those sinful figure eights, grinding down until he found that sweet spot, and Oscar really was along for the ride. "That's it-" Oscar panted, watching the way his cock bobbed all pretty and red. "Fuck, that's it, Lan."
Oscar's strained praises shot right to his dick, his steady rhythm faltering ever so slightly as he trembled. "Shut up-" Lando breathed out, glaring down at a rather smiley Oscar— all red in the face, hair strewn across his forehead, lips parted and breathing with him.
"Too much for you?" Oscar shifted slightly underneath Lando, immediately groaning as the man above him dropped down and squeezed. Oscar's hands scrambled to grasp at his thighs, barely able to wrap his fingers around them— the muscle underneath being enough to make Oscar spiral all over again.
"Absolutely not." A bold faced lie, and it showed with how unsteady Lando's rhythm has gotten, but he aimed to tease for as long as he could. They both toed that line of being desperate for each other, needing to see each other fall apart at the seams, hands grasping, hips meeting each other at the right time that their insides swirled in that pool of pleasure and yearning.
Lando's hands slowly slid up from Oscar's abdomen to his chest, giving him a much better view of his torso this way as he moved languidly on top of him. Oscar was enraptured, completely enamored and lost in the haze of it all— from Lando's glassy eyes to his candy lips, moaning his name into the air for the whole damn complex to hear him but they both couldn't care less.
"Fuck, Lando.." Oscar groaned particularly loud, panting as he gazed down between them where he disappeared into his velvety walls. Every time Lando tightened around him, it send shivers up his arms, choking on his own moans— trying to hold off because for fucks sake, he absolutely needed to see Lando come first.
"That's it, Oscar," Lando chuckled down at him, gasping when Oscar's hips suddenly twitched up inside of him. "Fuuuck- Got you too, huh?" He laughed breathlessly, reaching up to hold Oscar's chin and trace his thumb along his plush lips.
Oscar chuckled, leaning up to bite his thumb softly before taking him fully into his mouth. Lando bit his lip slightly, humming as Oscar swirled his tongue around his thumb, sucking softly until it slipped out with a soft pop. "Fuck, you're so hot.." Lando hissed, not realizing he had slowed his ministrations until Oscar snapped his hips suddenly— hitting that sweet spot dead on.
Lando whimpered, suddenly barreling so much closer to his release, but not getting close enough. Even underneath him, Oscar was able to reach that sweet spot like second nature, and maybe it pissed Lando off just a little bit. He huffed and arched over Oscar slowly, pressing his forehead to his as he fully sat on his lap— squirming, annoyed, aching, so painfully hard all because Oscar demanded he didn't touch himself.
"Lando-?"
"Need you to fuck me."
Oscar didn't need to be told twice. As much as he loved watching Lando ride him into tomorrow, and as much as he was the one who asked him, he was more than happy to oblige. Not without a few remarks, as always.
"Mmm yes sir," Oscar purred.
"Oh fuck you-" Lando grunted into Oscar's neck, his whole face going hot as he laughed against his ear.
"Mm, 'm doing that to you, don't worry," Oscar pressed a kiss to his cheek, reaching down to grab the underside of Lando's thighs and pull them up just as he pushed deeper into him, feet planted on the bed. His core shook holding that position, but the way Lando's breath shuddered into a moan had him holding it for a second longer.
"Good?" Oscar whispered against his cheek, pulling back slowly before pushing in just as slow— a steady rhythm for the ever impatient Brit. Lando dipped his head lower, folding his arms under Oscar's head to hold him close.
"So fucking good."
Oscar smiled as he nestled into Lando's shoulder, tightening his grip on his thighs before thrusting harder— a complete switch up that threw Lando off. He moaned so high in his throat it was dizzying, trying desperately to fuck himself back on Oscar's cock, but he held him tight— taking the force of his thrusts.
Oscar was relentless— fucking Lando so deep, so hard, he could feel it up into his chest. Lando's cock rubbed up against Oscar's abs with every thrust, crying out as Oscar smothered his pelvis against his ass— prodding at that spot until Lando was seeing stars.
"Holy shit- Right there, Osc, please-"
"Fuck- Lando-"
Oscar grabbed a handful of Lando's curls and tugged his head back, enough to smash his lips against his. Oscar held him there, licked into his mouth, drove his hips in so much deeper— groaning into each other's mouths as Lando comes hard in between them.
His whole body trembled with the waves of his orgasm, singing Oscar's name against his lips, barely able to hold himself up by his knees as Oscar continues to fuck him through his orgasm. "Fuck- Oscar- Stop-" Lando whimpered in the back of his throat, toes curling as he tried to get away from the roll of his hips, bordering on overstimulating.
"Not done yet," Oscar panted— he hadn't come yet.
Lando realized it a little too late as he was rolled onto his back, and suddenly Oscar somehow reached deeper. "You didn't-?" Lando croaked, fingers curling around his shoulders.
Oh, Lando was an absolute sight.
Spit slicked lips, reddish cheeks, mottled in purples and reds all down his chest, and his eyes— glimmering clear waters with speckles of gold, teary eyed and gorgeous enough to devour. "Needed you.. To come first," Oscar answered simply between little gasps, testing shallow thrusts inside Lando's tender walls.
At this rate, Lando might just come again.
Oscar slid a hand along the underside of Lando's thigh, pushing it up until his knee pressed against his chest, pressing further into him until he was nearly gasping for air. Lando grabbed onto Oscar's biceps, his leg properly hooked over his shoulder as Oscar rolled his hips right into him.
Everything tingled with sensitivity— down to the hands that held down Lando's hips, gasping soft moans as Oscar pressed his thumbs into his hipbones. Oscar leaned his forehead against Lando's, looking down at him with lidded eyes. "Lando," He whispered against his lips, brushing against each other with each thrust— strained just to keep it together for a second longer.
"C'mon, Osc," Lando grunted out, bringing his hands up to cup Oscar's face, looking right into each other's eyes. "Fuck, c'mon baby, you're so close-" The nickname slipped out like honey, and that was enough for Oscar to slam right into him and come inside with a shuddery moan.
Lando arched into Oscar's chest, tightening around him and coming for the second time without warning— whining as he held tight to Oscar's shoulders. They both rolled against each other, riding out the high of their orgasms with shaky breaths and sloppy kisses before Oscar collapsed right on top of Lando.
Oscar swallowed deep breaths as he laid there, nestled into Lando's shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut instinctively as he felt gentle fingers brush through his damp hair, slowly turning his head press a light kiss to the side of Lando's neck.
They laid there until their bodies felt too sticky to ignore, and until Oscar felt too sore to stay inside of Lando any longer. "Gonna move-" Oscar muttered, slowly pushing up to hover over Lando.
Dammit.
Lando looked so… Satisfied. Completely sated— half opened eyes, lips curled in a small smile, curly hair mussed up and yet he was still the most beautiful man he's ever laid his eyes on. Oscar leaned down to capture Lando's lips— nothing rushed or filled with burning lust— careful and intentional, slow to take their time just tasting and feeling the softness of each other. Oscar took that time to slowly pull out, both inhaling at the same time.
Oscar pressed back down to Lando's body, the arms around his neck not letting him move an inch— not that he minded at all. Oscar slid a hand down along his side, resting on his elbow as he pulled away to look at Lando for a moment. "I'll be right back," Oscar pecked his lips before slowly rolling off of Lando, shuffling to the bathroom as he's done countless times.
Lando laid there, feeling like he was floating, basking in the afterglow of getting thoroughly rung out by none other than Oscar Piastri, his damn teammate. He chuckled to himself at the thought, dragging his hands down his face slowly. He'd worry about the feelings that came with it all another time, because now Oscar was coming back in to clean the mess he's made with a warm, damp towelette.
Oscar stopped for a moment to linger on Lando's face, his eyes loosely shut, looking as calm as ever. "…I should.. Probably go.." Oscar spoke slowly, setting the towel down on the nightstand. Normally, he did leave, and normally Lando would let him.
But a warm hand wrapped around his wrist.
Oscar turned over, blinking at Lando who stared back up at him with shiny eyes. "Stay the night." There Lando goes again— not leaving any room for "maybe" or "I don't know". Demanding Oscar's presence right next to him. Oscar's heart felt like it was in his throat, and the pause between them felt a lot heavier than either of them thought.
"Are you- Are you sure?"
"Yes, now come over here, it's fuckin' cold."
Oscar laughed slightly at Lando's insistent tugging, relenting finally as he crawled under the covers with Lando. They'd worry about showering in the morning, worry about the little slip sometime later, possibly worry about their feelings another time.
Right now, Oscar pressed against Lando's back, strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him right into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, where he was able to see a litter of moles and freckles scattering his skin. Oscar couldn't help himself, pressing light kisses wherever he saw them, before finally nuzzling against the nape of his neck. Lando hummed, pleased with the warm kisses that he wriggled in his grasp and pressed closer.
Oscar inhaled slowly, taking Lando in, squeezing his arms around him as if he'd be gone by the morning. Lando tangled their ankles together, letting his hands rest over Oscar's as he settled in for the night. Warm and satisfied and finally sleepy, Lando's eyes fluttered shut.
"Mm.. Night, Oscar."
"G'night, Lando."