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It started out innocent enough. Lando’s weird, unexplainable fixation on Oscar, that is.

2023 came and went without much excitement. Oscar joined the team and seamlessly fit himself into the only life Lando has ever known.

With that, admittedly, came a bit of resentment. Oscar had been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so eager to learn. Lando kept his distance as best as he could, not wanting to give anything away. He knew the feelings he had towards his new teammate really had nothing to do with Oscar, and everything to do with himself.

If he came off as territorial, sue him. He never had an issue when he worked with Carlos or Daniel; they may have been more experienced, but Lando had always been the one in the spotlight, the one who bleeds papaya.

Young, ambitious Oscar was a whole new ballgame. Suddenly, everyone at McLaren was fretting over him, making sure he was comfortable. Lando was left to do nothing but sit back and watch, feeling like an only child who just gained a new sibling.

Between Oscar’s announcement on the team and the first race, the conversation online consisted of one thing: what was the dynamic between them going to look like?

The predictions varied. Some people thought that they would become fast friends, they could bond over the unlikely nature of their upbringings. Others suspected they would instantly become rivals, their innate competitiveness overshadowing anything else.

The majority of people, however, hit the nail on the head. Lando has spent enough time sharing his life with the world that they have come to know him pretty well. Lando would be kind and cordial. Simmering beneath the surface, he would quietly be harboring animosity towards the other. At first glance, you’d never be able to tell.

That’s how it started, at least. Then, the races began and Lando was consistently placing higher than him. It came as no surprise, Lando had experience and familiarity on his side.

What did come as a surprise was how the public perception of the pair quickly shifted. It was the marketing videos that did it. Ever since his start in F1, Lando never really liked to watch those videos back. He’s always nitpicked himself to no end – the way he looks, how he acts – it always left him feeling stupidly insecure.

For the entire season, he avoided watching all of it. That didn’t stop him from seeing the endless posts about them. More particularly, the comments about Oscar heart-eyes Piastri.

He’s seen the looks Oscar has given him, of course. He’s the subject of those looks after all. It never really felt like a thing, until it did become a thing amongst their fans.

Oscar looked at him like he was in love with him, so what. It didn’t actually mean anything.

That’s what he told himself for the remainder of the 2023 season. Once the year came to a close, Lando finally had time to reflect.

And by reflect, he means take a trip down memory lane. He watches all of the videos he’s avoided for the last few months, starting from the beginning.

Oscar’s longing stare and soft smile remain the same throughout them all. No matter how much Lando can recall the both of them complaining about their endless media duties, Oscar always looks much too happy sitting right there next to him.

It’s not much of a surprise. It’s his reaction to Oscar, really, that strikes him. As time goes on, the way he’s looking back at him progressively grows downright hungry. His gaze lingers on his lips, his eyes wander down his body, his voice takes on a more teasing lilt.

Throughout winter break, he spends way more time glued to his laptop, going down the Oscar Piastri rabbit hole, than his Instagram would ever suggest. He feels very lucky that they’ve grown up at a time where Lando can track Oscar’s entire journey up to F1, hours of footage documented on YouTube.

He watches his racing highlights, the silly prema videos, even the compilations of moments where Oscar talked about him before they knew each other. (That leads him down a whole other path of times he’s interacted with Lando’s content, spanning across multiple years and social media platforms).

It all leads up to one totally rational conclusion – Oscar is completely and utterly obsessed with him.

As soon as the seed of the idea gets planted in his brain, the more Lando convinces himself it’s true. He’s always had a bit of an addictive personality, becoming infatuated by the idea that Oscar’s sitting around and waiting for Lando to give him an ounce of attention. The boy that he’s spent the last year trying to pretend barely exists has suddenly become the only thing he can think about.

After all the research he’s done on his teammate, Lando can now tell he has a wall up, longing for someone to break it down. Lando wants to do that. He wants to know everything about Oscar, to find out what makes him tick and what makes him tremble.

—

The thought lingers all the way up to preseason preparations at the start of 2024.

It’s their first day back in Woking, and there’s so many ‘welcome back to the factory’ celebrations that the two star drivers barely have time to talk to each other. It’s better this way, Lando thinks.

That’s before they’re reminded at the end of the day that they’re no longer staying in their usual local Hilton hotel. Now that they’ve both signed contract extensions, the team thought it was finally time their drivers have more of a home base near the factory.

They’re both passed identical keys, all fancy with a McLaren keychain and everything. They're given an address and told the new apartments are already fully stocked with trainer-approved food and branded apparel for the few weeks they’re spending in Woking.

Soon enough, they’re loading all their luggage into company sponsored cars and heading over to their second homes, Lando’s car trailing behind Oscar’s for the ten minute trip. It sparks an idea in his brain, or maybe a fantasy. Following Oscar at the end of a work day, just to see what he does when he’s on his own and has time to spare.

He would never actually do it, it’s just something to ponder.

In the hallway of their new building, they realize their apartments are right next to each other. He looks over, watches Oscar unlocking his door, biting his lip as he fumbles with the lock. This isn’t going to end well.

Oscar turns to him and looks surprisingly delighted. “We’re going to be neighbors,” he comments, eyes shiny and bunny teeth on display. The thought that maybe Oscar has dreamed of something like this before pops into his brain before he quickly squashes it.

God, he’s so cute.

“Expect me over for a cup of sugar,” Lando jokes, trying his best to sound positive. Pushing the door open, he shuts it behind him with a quick “night” before he’s leaning back against it and taking a deep breath.

The resulting slam of Oscar’s own door shakes Lando out of whatever moment of zen he was trying to go for. He stands frozen in his spot, because it takes all of five seconds for him to gather that the walls are thin, he can hear every step that Oscar takes throughout his apartment.

He tiptoes over to their shared wall, so Oscar can’t hear him. Pressing his ear up to the plaster, he can envision everything the other’s doing in there, assuming that their units are identical.

They thankfully came furnished, so based on the sounds he’s hearing, Oscar toes off his shoes, drops his bags by the doorway, and settles onto the couch. If he strains hard enough, he can just about make out the sounds of the TikToks he’s watching.

Eventually, Oscar gets up to go turn on the shower and Lando’s reminded that he should probably do the same. Oscar comes over to the doorway to grab his bag, right where Lando’s standing on the other side. The increase in noise makes him want to flinch away, like there’s any chance Oscar is aware that he’s inches away from him.

He presses his body flat against the wall and mouths “sweet dreams Oscar.” A depressing attempt of giving him a hug goodnight.

—

A couple uneventful weeks later, Lando is lying and watching TV with the volume soft enough so he can still hear that Oscar is doing the same in his living room. He’s honestly paying more attention to the sound of Oscar shuffling around every few minutes, groaning out loud as his muscles stretch and pop. When Oscar pauses his TV, Lando’s aware of it immediately.

He turns the volume down on his show and listens as Oscar stands up, walks into his bathroom, then bedroom, then retreats into his living room. He doesn’t stop there, though, he keeps on walking until he’s all the way out the door and turning down the hallway.

A few seconds pass, then there’s knocking at his door.

Lando looks around to make sure there’s nothing embarrassing out (how can there be when he barely lives here) and heads over to the door, pulling it open and ushering Oscar in like he’s pleasantly surprised to see him.

“Welcome in, neighbor. Sit, sit.”

Oscar smiles at him, says hi, and goes to sit on one end of Lando’s couch that is all of a sudden way too large. Lando sits on the other end, looking up at him expectantly, curious as to why he’s here.

“Thanks for having me, neighbor,” Oscar chuckles lightly. “I’m actually here because I have a favor to ask. Thought it was easier to just come over since I knew you were up.”

It’s only about 10 PM, so that means one of two things. Oscar assumed he would be up because it’s not actually that late, or Oscar can also hear Lando moving about through his apartment despite his best efforts to remain silent.

“What is it?” Lando asks, mind running wild with increasingly debauched ideas. The chances that Oscar came over to ask for a friendly blowjob is not completely out of the realm of possibilities.

In the end, Oscar says, “my mom sent me loads of plants to make the new place more homey.” That would explain why Lando heard him moving all around his apartment a few days ago, he was curious as to why he was more mobile than usual after a long day at the factory. “I’m gonna be out of town for the next few days. If I gave you a key, would you go in and water them once or twice? She’d kill me if she found out I let them die.”

Lando’s nosy and he wants to know why Oscar’s not going to be here, right next to him. He bites his tongue, because Oscar is sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out his set of keys, unhooking the duplicate and holding it out towards him.

The slightest touch of their skin meets when Lando grabs it out of his hand, telling him “sure can do, mate!” way more enthusiastically than he actually feels. Or maybe way less, considering which way you want to look at it. The idea of being alone in Oscar’s space, amongst Oscar’s things, it’s dangerous for him.

“Thanks, mate. I’m flying out tomorrow morning and should be back before Friday. I’m thinking Tuesday and Thursday should be watering days.” He’s getting up to leave, and Lando simultaneously doesn’t want him to go and needs him to leave the country as soon as possible.  “There’s a little watering pail next to the sink. Fair warning, there’s quite a few of them.”

Lando flips the key in his hand as he watches Oscar walk out, calling out a “got it,” before he disappears out the door and Lando can go back to listening to him through the safety barrier of their thin walls.

—

Oscar left on a Monday morning, and although Lando was instructed that the plants didn’t need to be watered until Tuesday, he thought it was only right to check in on them a day early to make sure they aren’t wilting. He’s a nice guy like that.

Once getting back from MTC, Lando stops at his place first, dropping his stuff and weirdly fluffing his hair in the mirror, as if Oscar’s belongings will be able to see him. Before making his way over there, he presses an ear to the wall. He just wants to double check no one is home.

Lando lets himself into Oscar’s apartment and it looks exactly like he’s been picturing it. An inverted copy of Lando’s. Just like his, with the cheap furniture and bland art, you would never be able to tell someone actually occupies this space if it weren’t for the dishes piled in the sink and the tossed aside throw pillows on the couch.

He ventures further, making his way into the bathroom and taking in the few self-care products scattered about. Drug store brand, unsurprisingly. He makes a mental note to maybe buy Oscar some higher end products for his birthday or something.

Next is the bedroom, and Lando has to take a deep breath before crossing the threshold. The room is plain, yet clearly lived in. The bed is messily made, the duvet all rumpled. There’s a large pile of dirty laundry discarded on the floor, since their furnished apartments did not come with a hamper.

It looks like it’s been picked through, like Oscar pulled out each article of clothing, sniffed them, and tucked the ones deemed clean enough into his suitcase. For some reason, the image makes him fond. And weirdly jealous.

For what? He’s not totally sure.

Right at the top of the mess of laundry is a pair of light gray briefs, the fabric wrinkled like it was just worn. Lando’s hands tingle with the urge to reach out, his mind screaming at him that it’s a terrible idea.

His body wins out, snatching the underwear up in a daze, the material of them worn and soft against his palms. He tucks them into the pocket of his sweats and goes back out to the kitchen to fill up the pail and actually water the damn plants like he was asked.

Walking around his living room, pouring water into many pots of plants - Oscar was not lying – it all feels way too domestic. At least, to Lando it is. Oscar probably would’ve been content with anyone coming in to do this. As long as the plants don’t die and he doesn’t have to face his mother’s wrath.

As soon as his task is finished, Lando is out the door.

His hands are shaking by the time he makes it to his room, locking both the front door and his bedroom door, just in case.

All rational thought is out the window when Lando lays back on his bed and pulls the underwear out from his pocket. They’re a standard pair of Calvin Klein briefs, the type that most men have in their wardrobe. Gray in color, it probably came in a pack of multiple identical pairs. Lando has a few of them himself, although the waistbands are slightly different. His are probably the more expensive version of these.

Oscar deserves the expensive version, too. He should be wearing, like, luxurious silk boxers at all times.

Holding them in his hands like they’re something delicate, it’s the closest to Oscar that he has ever felt.

It’s like his motor skills are moving on their own accord. He pulls them over his face, so the inner crotch of them is resting against the slope of his nose. Using both hands to push them tight against his skin, he breathes in deeply. No room for oxygen, just Oscar.

The scent is intoxicating. He knows it’s barbaric, borderline psychotic, but he can’t help it. The dirty underwear is musky, overwhelmingly so. They smell like sweat, skin, yet somehow enticing. It’s perfectly fitting for Oscar.

His lips part, teeth clenching the fabric between them, sucking them into his mouth and running his tongue against it. It doesn’t taste like much, but Lando envisions that he’s still taking in a little piece of his teammate.

The idea that Lando’s consuming a part of him makes his hands fly down to clench at the sheets below. It’s dizzying, makes him feel like he’s going to pass out. His feet brace against the mattress, hips thrusting up into open air.

The tiniest bit of stimulation from Lando’s cock rubbing against the seam of his sweats is enough to get him to let out a high-pitched keen. He can only imagine the picture he makes. Dirtied underwear covering his burning face, throbbing erection threatening to tear through the thin barrier of his pants.

It’s all too much, too overwhelming.

One hand moves down to pull out his dick. Between the nervous sweat coating his palms and the precome already dripping down his shaft, the slide is made easy.

If this was a regular night, Lando would draw it out, lightly run fingers up and down his cock to work himself up before tightening his grip. It’s not a regular night, though. He skips the preamble and goes straight to pumping himself frantically.

After a few jerks, the makeshift lubricant wears away, the drag of his hand getting sharper, almost painful. There’s no time for him to spit into his hand or grab lube, his desperation reaching an all-time high. The slight sting feels fitting, Lando deserving a bit of punishment for what he’s doing.

With his eyes still covered, he can almost picture that Oscar is sitting right there next to him on the bed, watching him pleasure himself and coaxing him through it with soft words.

Just like that, Lando. Make yourself feel good for me.

The briefs are still halfway in his mouth, muffling the volume of him moaning out Oscar’s name. Pretty soon, he’s gasping for a full breath and has to pull the underwear from off his face.

Mind pleasantly blank, he doesn’t consider the repercussions of wrapping the fabric around his cock and dragging it against the length, jerking himself through it. The soaked head pops out from one of the pant legs, and Lando uses his other hand to toy at it as he approaches orgasm.

He’s teetering right on the edge when a thought pops into his head – Oscar making his way into Lando’s apartment, lured further inside by the sounds coming from the bedroom. The door opening, Oscar being met with the sight of Lando falling apart with his dirty underwear stuffed between his thighs. The wet patch from his mouth stark on the fabric.

Would he be disgusted? Would he be turned on? It doesn’t matter to Lando, the mere idea of Oscar being in the room watching him is enough for him to reach his peak, ejaculating all over the inside of the briefs.

It takes all of five seconds for the post-nut clarity to hit, Lando sitting up so abruptly that he almost gives himself vertigo. The weight of what he’s just done fills him with unease. Underneath, the animalistic part of himself is pleased. A little piece of him can be with Oscar now, too. Even if he isn’t aware of it.

He tries his best to clean up the mess with a tissue, tossing the briefs into his own pile of laundry and telling himself he’ll give them a proper wash and put them back before Oscar comes home in a few days.

—

Lando goes about his week like he normally would, throwing himself into preseason preparations and doing everything he possibly can to not think about what he did. Walking around MTC and completing his daily tasks, it feels like he has a big sign above his head that says “I, Lando Norris, jerked off with my teammate’s dirty underwear.”

The days fly by, and before he knows it, Friday morning arrives. The sun is just coming up when Lando suddenly wakes up in a cold sweat, an hour before his alarm was set to go off.

Lando had spent so much time pointedly not thinking of Oscar, that he completely forgot he was supposed to go back and water the plants again. Nevermind the fact that he needs to put his underwear back.

He springs out of bed, grabbing the briefs and inspecting the inside of them. They look suspiciously clean. It’s gross, but the remnants of Lando’s come must’ve dried up and flaked off into the pile of other dirty clothing.

Shoving them into his pocket, he goes over to Oscar’s apartment, knocking before entering. “Oscar?” Lando calls out as he pushes the door open. No answer, he’s definitely not home yet.

Lando goes into the bedroom, throws the briefs on top of the other clothes, and then kicks at the pile to muss it up, not wanting a spotlight on the evidence of what he’s done. He quickly waters the plants again and heads out.

Back in his apartment, Lando goes through his usual morning routine. He eats breakfast, takes a shower, and goes to pick out an outfit for the day. After many long days at the factory, Lando is quickly running out of clean clothes to pick from.

He digs through his dirty laundry, pulls out his go-to baggy jeans, and is about to put them on when something makes him pause. Amongst the clothing sits the briefs. He can tell because they’re half inside-out and have an offending splatter of white all over them.

Fuck.

In his haste to make it over to Oscar’s apartment before he got home, Lando has accidentally thrown a pair of his own dirty underwear into Oscar’s clothing. He’s just about to go over to switch them out when a loud slam of the adjacent door makes him jump.

Footsteps echo, Oscar’s home.

Distracted by trying to do his actual job, the last few days have felt like a fever dream, coming and going with unsettling normalcy. With the confirmation that Oscar is really back, the haze Lando’s been living in clears and suddenly he’s living his worst nightmare. He’s going to know. There’s no way he’s not.

The gravity of impending doom weighs heavy on Lando’s shoulders as he finishes getting ready for the day and goes to leave his apartment. It’s just his luck that Oscar is doing what they both always do, leaving at the exact time that allows them to show up not one minute before or after they are meant to arrive.

They’re both locking up when Oscar notices him, Lando watching like a hawk from the corner of his eye. He lights up, because of course he does, and turns to greet him, immediately addressing that Lando’s been in there.

“Hey, man,” Oscar says in his usual deadpan tone, nothing unusual so far. “Thanks for watering my plants, they look great.” Lando feels like there's an innuendo in there, intentional or not.

“No problem,” Lando goes for casual, like it’s no big deal he’s defiled something of Oscar’s behind these very doors. He doesn’t remember how he used to act around the other, literally like last week.

At the end of the last season, it had finally started to become easy between them. Lando warmed up and was able to shake whatever conflicting feelings he had about his new teammate. Now, he can barely look him in the eye.

“It’s like a jungle in there mate,” Lando goes for a joke, subconsciously being suggestive himself.

Oscar laughs like he always does, whether or not the joke was funny. “Yeah. Thanks, Nicole,” he rolls his eyes.

Lando’s about to put his keys into his pocket when he remembers that he put Oscar’s key onto the ring. “Here, do you want your key back?” He doesn’t know why he put it on in the first place. Stupidly, it’s because it made him feel closer to Oscar. Selfishly, it made him feel like he owned something of Oscar’s – access into his space.

“That’s alright,” Oscar stops him, “keep it. What if there’s an emergency?”

He slips off the spare key for his apartment instead, handing it to Oscar. “You should have mine too, then. Y’know, for emergencies and all.”

It’s thrilling, giving Oscar access into his life as well, even if he knows he’s not going to do anything with it.

They take the elevator down together and walk out to the parking lot making idle chitchat. Finally, Lando gets to ask where Oscar went.

“I was in Monaco for some meetings,” Oscar explains, “and to tour some apartments.”

“Really?” Lando asks, surprised. “You’re giving in to the tax-evading lifestyle of a F1 driver?” 

“Yup. I signed the lease for a place right across the street from yours,” Oscar states matter-of-factly. “I just can’t get enough of you.” He says it sarcastically, but Lando knows how he really feels, that he actually means it.

“I knew it,” Lando shoots back. “See you there.” Getting into his car, he’s the picture of calm. On the inside, his heart’s about to beat out of his chest. Hearing Oscar admit that he wants to be close to him too, it reaffirms every crazy thought Lando’s been trying so hard to suppress.

But, Monaco was supposed to be his safe haven. When Oscar moves, there will be no escape from him, no way that Lando can keep his distance. Now that he’s gotten a taste, this slight infatuation he’s been harboring is turning into something he soon won’t be able to control.

There’s something childlike about it. Lando doesn’t want to share his toys or something. Having Oscar in his space makes him want to control that space.

He pretends to fiddle with the music even though it connects automatically and is already set to his preferred playlist. Oscar pulls out of his spot and then Lando’s doing the same, following behind. It just makes him feel better to watch after him – you never know what might happen.

—

The fact that his underwear is sitting amongst Oscar’s clothes plays on Lando’s mind for the days following. Based on the way he’s acting towards him, Lando is semi-confident that he hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. He hasn’t had the opportunity to sneak back in and switch them out. At any point, Oscar could still notice the mistake and confront him.

They’re dismissed at the same time every night until there’s finally one evening where Oscar’s trainer asks him to hang back for a minute. Lando’s free to leave, and he bolts out of there suspiciously quick, his engineers joking that he has a hot date he can’t miss. If they only knew.

He’s home and grabbing Oscar’s underwear that he’s left off to the side for easy access, barging into Oscar’s apartment like a madman. His laundry pile has grown since the last time Lando’s been in here and he has to dig through it to find his briefs. He snatches them up, and is just about to put the other ones back when he realizes that he never cleaned them off.

There’s no time to consider his options, Oscar could most likely only be a few minutes behind him. There’s a few other pairs of underwear scattered about and Lando makes the rational decision to keep the soiled pair. There’s no way Oscar will notice when all of his undergarments are identical.

That’s the only logical reason, anyhow. There’s no way Lando just wants to keep them for his own sordid pleasure. That would be ridiculous.

–

With Lando’s underwear back in his possession, he’s finally able to breathe easy.

Their unrelenting schedules before the first race serves as the perfect distraction for him. Lando tells himself no more rash decisions. His blood pressure has suffered enough.

Boarding the flight to Bahrain on McLaren’s corporate jet, he thought he had successfully suppressed it all. He jerked off into Oscar’s dirty underwear, so what. No one noticed and he’s lived to tell the tale.

The plane is almost completely full, so there’s assigned seating. Lando’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that they put the two of them in the back of the plane with no one else, telling them they deserved some peace and quiet to get a good night's sleep. At least there won’t be anyone yapping into their ears and forcing them to look at data.

It’s a long flight, and as soon as Oscar settles into his plush seat that’s facing Lando's, he’s dozing off. Lando shuts his eyes too. He attempts to put himself to sleep before the plane takes off, always the worst part of these flights.

The jet’s engines start to rumble and they’re speeding down the runway and lifting into the air. The stomach dropping feeling makes Lando’s eyes snap back open, wide awake. He plays on his phone to distract himself, finally taking a full breath of air when the plane’s at cruising altitude and the seatbelt light turns off.

That’s when he sneaks a glance at Oscar and finds that he’s dead asleep already, wishing he could be too. Oscar’s fully knocked out, head heavy by his shoulder and lips dropped open, glistening in the low light as saliva pools in his mouth.

I wonder what he tastes like.

It’s such an outrageous thought that Lando has to look away from Oscar’s face to get a fucking grip. Despite packing Oscar’s underwear in his carry on, he told himself this was over. Whatever fascination he has with his teammate (and that his teammate potentially has with him) must be on pause for at least the duration of the season.

He shuts his eyes again, trying to get some sleep and feeling comforted by Oscar’s close proximity. Getting to sleep even by him is a privilege.

Minutes pass by and the urge to crack his eyes open and stare Oscar down again is too strong. He must be deeply in REM sleep by now, slumped even further into the leather. He seems so open like this, completely at peace.

This is the Oscar he wants to be around all the time, the one that looks at Lando like he trusts him with his life, completely unsuspecting. He studies his peaceful face and lines his breathing up with Oscar’s slow, deep ones.

He looks like a piece of art. All art should be captured.

Lando takes his phone out to open his camera, pointing it directly in front of himself to get a full body shot of Oscar’s sleeping form. He doesn’t have the forethought to consider that the cabin is dark, the overhead lights turned off. His auto-flash goes off, bathing Oscar in bright white light before going dark when Lando shoves his phone between his thighs.

Oscar stirs, eyes moving beneath his eyelids before his lashes are fluttering open, Lando frozen in fear. As soon as they're open, they’re shut again, Oscar only half-conscious. He squirms in his sleep, groaning a bit, and then he’s pulling his legs up onto the seat, cheek smushed into his knee.

It takes all of Lando’s patience to wait until he’s sure Oscar’s dead asleep again. He’s still shuffling in his seat every once and a while, finally settling down into a position where his legs are splayed open and his head’s leaning against the backrest.

I can see the outline of his balls.

They’re right there, Lando doesn’t mean to stare. Or maybe he does. When he opens his camera this time, he quadruple checks that the flash is off, taking multiple pictures of Oscar in the same unmoving position.

He spends an unknown amount of time watching him sleep until his eyelids are finally drooping and he gets some well-needed rest himself.

—

Getting back into the car is exactly what Lando needed, only having one goal in mind when he’s in his seat. As the season picks up, Lando likes to think he’s been doing a pretty good job of remaining neutral towards Oscar.

When he’s away from the paddock, his mind strays. It’s almost harder when he’s not in front of his teammate. Alone, he can project any fantasy he wants onto the other. Under their team’s watchful eye, they both can’t relax into each other the way they should be able to at this point.

He does let himself have a few simple pleasures, though. It’s the only way he can cope.

When he can’t get his mind to settle down, he pulls up those pictures of Oscar asleep on the plane. He imagines that they’re wrapped up together somewhere, cradling each other to sleep. When he’s touching himself and can’t get himself all the way there, he pulls the briefs that he travels around with out of his bag and rubs the soft cotton against his skin. Disappointingly, they’ve been through the wash a few times.

They’re less than a third of the way into the season when Lando’s plan to be on his best behavior gets tested.

He’s just won his first race in Miami and he’s on top of the world. Oscar came out to the club for him to show his support and that warmed his heart. Luckily, he was too drunk and completely bombarded by his adoring crowd to have done anything dramatic in front of the other.

There was one thing, though. At the start of the night, when Lando was still coherently tipsy, Oscar had asked him for another favor. Once is whatever, twice has to mean something. Like maybe Oscar trusts him for some undeserved reason.

Lando was talking about how he was excited to go back to Monaco and celebrate there which was what reminded Oscar. They both were going back to Woking to debrief, except Oscar was already told he had to stay back to do some more sim work after placing out of the points. Makes sense, the only issue is he just sent several boxes of his belongings to his new apartment in Monaco.

“If I gave you another one of my keys, could you please go over and pretend you live there? I can just put your name on the delivery so you can sign off on it.”

Something about Oscar acknowledging their previous exchange of keys, and inadvertently referring to what Lando had done, sent a flurry of panic through him. The champagne he’d been consistently sipping on served him well enough to not be totally useless. “First neighbors, now roomies. I’m in. Just text me a reminder.”

Oscar had smiled and said thank you, patting at his shoulder in an awkward display of affection. Lando knows Oscar initiated touch simply because it’s his big night, yet he would like to think it’s not the only reason why. He appreciates Lando.

The key was given to him at the factory with a simple “thanks, mate,” from Oscar. Even though it wasn’t much of an interaction, it pleased Lando how they just had that exchange with no one else around knowing that Oscar’s entrusting Lando with access into his new home, one that he’s barely been inside of himself.

He hasn’t heard from Oscar in the few days that he’s been back in Monaco. Eventually, Oscar texts him an address and asks what time tomorrow works best for him to pick up the delivery. Lando has loose plans all day – padel, shopping, dinner, maybe going out – and he tells Oscar that anytime works for him.

Once he has the address, he’s immediately looking it up and realizing Oscar was not bluffing when he said he was moving right across the street. If Lando goes out on his balcony, he can see the adjacent balconies of Oscar’s building.

Oscar tells him that he scheduled the people to come at noon tomorrow and all he has to do is show his ID to the front desk and they’ll let him up.

That’s exactly what he does the next day, turning up way more presentable than he would usually look for a thirty second exchange. The woman at the front desk is kind, telling Lando that now that he’s been “checked in,” he’s free to come and go from Oscar’s place as needed.

Lando has to hold his breath for a second when he unlocks the door to Oscar’s apartment and crosses into his space.

It’s scarcely decorated, a few boxes and miscellaneous pieces of furniture strewn about. The one thing that catches his eye is the big, brown leather armchair in the middle of the living room. It looks worn and comfy as fuck. He has time to kill before the delivery arrives, settling himself down into it.

Lando uses the few minutes he has to really take in the room, the place that is soon going to become Oscar’s home. It feels so intimate, being the first person to be let in here. Except for maybe Mark fucking Webber.

A buzz comes on the intercom, a couple minutes later there’s a knock at the door. He holds the door open as two men bring loads of large boxes in. Afterwards, he signs his name on the papers, which makes him feel delusional all over again.

He’s just about to text Oscar when his phone buzzes with a call from the very man. Just like at the start of a race, Lando grants himself about five seconds to freak out before steeling himself and accepting the call.

“Hey, I was just about to text you. I got the boxes.”

“Oh, great!” Lando can hear Oscar’s smile through the phone. “Have you left yet?”

He’s only been here for a few minutes and hasn’t done anything irrational (yet) and he’s still immediately nervous he’s overstepped somehow.

“...not yet.”

Oscar sighs, like he’s relieved. “Good. Could you quickly just open them and make sure nothing broke. I threw a bunch of my trophies in there.”

“Yeah, mate. I can check. I’ll text you if anything looks broken.”

When he clicks the end call button, a smear of nervous sweat from his palms comes off on the screen. This feels like a big moment. Oscar has granted him access to snoop through his shit. And to think Lando was going to do just that anyway.

Lando looks through the boxes one by one, actually ensuring nothing broke in shipping. There’s nothing crazy within them. One is full of pots and pans, another has miscellaneous workout equipment. The last box, however, is full of clothing. He’s not sure why something tells him to dig through the piles of folded clothes.

Underneath it all is a black drawstring bag. Lando pulls it out and embarrassingly falls back from his kneeled position onto his ass upon opening it. The contents are certainly what he was hoping for, but not really expecting – a plethora of sex toys. A dildo, buttplug, bullet vibrator, even handcuffs.

The dildo is made of flesh-colored rubber – not too flashy, fitting for Oscar. He takes it out and quickly looks around the room, hoping and praying there’s no hidden cameras anywhere. Lando pulls down the front of his pants, comparing the length of the toy to his mostly soft penis. It’s a bit bigger, but Lando’s always been a grower, not a shower. If he was hard, the dildo is probably pretty similar to him.

Lando sniffs it, because what else is he supposed to do? It very faintly smells clean, like soap, which tells him that it’s most definitely been used before. The very thought that this object has been inside of Oscar makes his whole body go tingly.

He brings it up to his mouth before his brain can tell him any better, wraps his lips around the silicone head. Lando’s never given a blowjob before. Ever since his fixation on Oscar has set in, the idea of giving his teammate head in various risky situations is a frequent plot point in his late-night fantasies.

Opening his mouth as far as it will go, Lando pushes the dildo all the way in until it hits the back of his throat. He has to pull it out on a gag, a thick string of saliva attached to it.

Lando knows it’s completely reckless when he sits back down in Oscar’s armchair, dildo in hand, and begins to fist his cock that was still hanging halfway out of his pants. One hand is used to pleasure himself, the other holding the dildo up to his lips so he can suck on it like a lolly. Lando manages to convince himself that the taste of plastic is just barely covering the taste of Oscar.

He’s moaning carelessly loud like a freak, the intrusion in his mouth only doing so much to muffle him. It’s the danger that’s doing it for him. He knows Oscar is in a whole other country right now, but there’s always that risk that he’s going to know.

Lando comes embarrassing fast, cupping his release in the palm of his hand. He’s made a mess and the only thing he can think to do is grab a dish towel from the box full of kitchenware to clean himself up. He obviously can’t put it back, so he shoves it into his pocket. He rinses the dildo off in the sink, puts it back in the bag, and stuffs it under all the clothes again.

—

Lando’s proud of himself for remaining a certain level of normal towards Oscar for the next two races after the Monaco incident.

They’re back in Monaco now and Oscar’s just placed second in the race. A P2 doesn’t normally call for celebration, so it comes as a surprise when he tells Lando he wants to go out tonight.

Almost all of the grid makes an appearance at the club they’re at. Lando’s usual plan of action for these types of things is to chat with as many people as possible, he lives for people telling him he’s the life of the party.

This time, though, Oscar’s here, and he’s suspiciously bubbly. Lando tries his best to fade into the background, as much as an F1 driver in Monaco can do. He watches from afar as Oscar giggles away, taking shots with some of the other drivers, even stiffly dancing at one point.

Lando makes sure he’s constantly engaged with someone or other, gladly accepting the free drinks people hand him while his gaze remains fixed over their shoulders. He’s on his way to properly drunk when the crowd disperses a little and Oscar’s suddenly coming up to him.

“Hey,” Oscar looks at him expectantly, like he’s noticed that Lando is trying to keep some distance.

“Having fun?” Lando asks, pointedly eyeing down the way he’s slightly swaying on his feet.

“Yeah,” Oscar smiles, bright as sunshine. “I should do this more often. Now that I live here.”

As if Lando needed a reminder. He selfishly hopes that Oscar’s joking about coming out more. This is definitely the drunkest Lando’s seen him, and Oscar’s still annoyingly looking way more put together than Lando feels.

“We’ll get you behind the DJ booth in no time,” Lando jokes.

Oscar laughs like he always does at Lando’s blatant attempt at being charming. Unlike usual, he leans into Lando, making head to toe contact to kinda curl against his side and laugh into his ear. He pulls away as soon as he does it and looks a little confused with himself, thankfully still smiling.

“It’s so weird being here, I don’t know where anything is,” Oscar slumps back as he says it, leaning his ass against the back of a nearby booth, legs open in front of him. His hair flops adorably into his face and he looks way more intoxicated than he did a minute ago.

Lando takes the opportunity as it presents itself, stepping into the space so he can continue the conversation. It’s just so Oscar can hear him well, of course. “I can take you around, show you where everything is,” he offers.

“Sure. Would you let me drive one of your cars?” Oscar asks.

He surprises himself with how quick he says yes. He doesn’t let just anyone behind the wheel of his precious cars. Oscar grins at him and Lando proceeds to list every single place in the city and surrounding it that’s worth his time.

By the end of it, Lando’s really leaning into him, the sides of his legs pressing against the insides of Oscar’s. His yapping fizzles out and then they’re just staring at each other, not much space between their faces.

Oscar looks a little dazed, his small hand coming up to wrap around Lando’s waist. “I’m getting sleepy. Do you wanna walk home together?”

It’s probably only past one in the morning, Lando usually stays out until the sun is starting to come up. Oscar wants someone to escort him home, so there’s no hesitation when he tells him “let’s go” and reaches his hands out to pull him up.

Lando reluctantly lets go of his hands to lead them out of the club, not saying goodbye to anyone.

It’s not a long walk to their street and still Lando very quickly realizes that Oscar really is pretty drunk, not being able to walk in a completely straight line.

He verbalizes what he was thinking before. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink this much.”

“Yeah, I was just trying to assimilate myself into being a proper F1 asshole.” Oscar must realize Lando may mistake his comment as a jab towards him because he pauses in the middle of his stumbled steps. “Seriously, thank you. For just, like, always being there.”

If that’s not the understatement of the century.

Lando stops walking too, and he has no idea what to say which ends up not mattering since Oscar’s throwing himself at him, hugging him in what’s probably the most intimate embrace they’ve ever been in.

His arms instinctively wrap around him, Oscar settling his weight onto him, his forehead pressing into Lando’s shoulder. “Always,” Lando promises and really means it. He’ll be there way more than Oscar could even imagine, always on his mind.

They stand on the corner of some empty street for way too long, neither of them moving away. Lando slips his hand around Oscar’s waist. “Let’s get you home.”

He essentially has to drag Oscar the rest of the way to their block, his footsteps getting heavier with each passing minute. When they're standing in front of Oscar’s building, he’s looking at Lando sleepily and asking “can you come up with me? Make sure I get the key in the door and my shoes off.”

It’s another one of those things where Oscar definitely doesn’t realize the effect he’s having on him. He’s opening himself up to Lando in a way that feels exclusive, like Lando’s the only one he trusts to help him.

Lando does what any good teammate would do and he brings Oscar up to his apartment, going as far as sitting him down on the edge of his bed to kneel down and slip his shoes off. When he looks up, Oscar’s eyelids are drooping almost all the way closed, completely out of it.

Before Lando can get up, Oscar’s jerkily leaning forward and pawing at the side of his face.

The absolute unthinkable happens. Oscar kisses him. It’s only a few seconds long, just a hard press of wet lips. Lando freezes, staring at Oscar in shock when he pulls back.

Oscar’s looking at him a bit cross-eyed, mumbling “goodnight, babe,” and promptly crawling up the bed and passing out.

He must have no idea where he is or who he’s with, Lando rationalizes. There’s no way that actually happened. And now Oscar’s already asleep and Lando’s left to deal with the rush of emotions buzzing through him alone.

Oscar’s still dressed in his going out clothes, white button up and much too tight jeans. Lando knows better than trying to undress him. He goes to do the usual routine of knowing your friend is gonna wake up with a hangover, gets him a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen.

When he gets back into the room, Oscar is clearly dead asleep, drooling onto the pillow and softly snoring. He looks precious curled up on his side, hands almost cupped into a heart in front of his chest.

Lando does something that he knows he’s gonna look back on tomorrow and deeply regret. He lays down on the bed in the space between the edge and Oscar’s sleeping form.

He watches Oscar the whole time, making sure he doesn't wake up. When he doesn’t stir, Lando shuffles down a bit and closes his eyes. They’re not close enough to be touching, but Lando can still feel his warmth.

Not much time passes, Lando’s pretty sure, he knows he needs to get out of here long before Oscar wakes up. Once his thoughts take an inappropriate turn and his cock starts to stir, he knows that’s his cue to leave. As irrational as Oscar makes him, even he knows it’s a step too far to be laying in his bed with an erection unbeknownst to Oscar.

Lando goes to get up, and as quick as lightning, Oscar’s reaching out to grab his wrist to keep him from moving. “You can stay, Lan. Just lay down.”

Nodding to himself even though Oscar’s eyes are closed, Lando scoots down against the bed so he’s stiffly laying flat on his back. Oscar blindly reaches for his arm to pull over him as he turns over, forcing Lando into the spooning position.

Oscar shuffles back and his ass bumps into Lando’s erection. Maybe Oscar’s too drunk to tell or maybe he doesn’t mind, all he does is wriggle closer into the contact and hums to himself.

Lando spends all night remaining as still as possible, sleep nowhere to be found. He’ll be out the door before Oscar wakes up, and he’ll have absolutely no idea any of this happened.

—

The next morning is a rough one for Lando.

He slipped out of Oscar’s apartment just as the sun was rising. So pent up from being wrapped around Oscar all night, he spends the hours of the early morning pacing around his apartment and telling himself that last night was a one time thing.

That’s not to say that Lando doesn't still believe that Oscar has a thing for him. He surely does. It’s just that, whatever feelings Oscar has for Lando, from Lando’s end it’s reciprocated tenfold. If Oscar had any idea what foul thoughts are constantly playing through Lando’s mind, he would want nothing to do with him.

Lando doesn’t just want Oscar to want him; he wants him to need him, to rely on him so deeply there’s no room for anything or anyone else.

He’s aware that it’s selfish, that’s just how it is. He’s not so far gone to ever share it with anyone.

His phone pings. A text from Oscar.

Did you take me home last night?

So he does remember.

yea u asked me to

It’s the truth, Oscar had asked him if they could walk home together.

Oh, OK. I was just wondering because I saw the water on my nightstand and knew I was too drunk to have gotten it myself.

Was I being embarrassing?

Oscar could’ve vomited on Lando’s shoes in the middle of the club, and he still wouldn’t think that Oscar was being embarrassing.

As stressful as it is to be texting with the subject of his Oscar-induced freakout, it makes him feel a little better that he clearly has no recollection of what happened when the two of them were alone together.

nah u were fine

good luck with the hangover

He has to cut the conversation off there. Anymore discussion of last night’s events could lead to Oscar remembering something that he shouldn’t.

Lando vows to himself that he will never let another slip up like this happen again. It’s too risky.

—

In the long painful months that lead up to Abu Dhabi, Lando keeps his promise to himself to the best of his ability.

Similar to the start of the season, Lando finds a way to cope.

It used to bother him to no end, the way that Lando is included in every email chain that has to do with Oscar’s schedule. He’s complained about it in the past, how the constant notifications clog his inbox, causing him to miss out on information that actually has to do with himself.

He was told that his inclusion on these threads was for the sake of transparency. For example, if Oscar is going in for sim testing, it’s only fair that Lando is aware of it. And vice versa.

Now, he takes the emails as a blessing, another glimpse into Oscar’s life. He can track where the other is on any given week. Because of this, Lando knows whether or not Oscar will be in Monaco. If he can’t have him, he’ll take up his space instead.

It was a months-long process, Lando creeping through the lobby of Oscar’s building, nodding at the desk attendant each time like he belonged there.

It started with him just lounging about – whether that’s on Oscar’s couch, in the signature chair, or pressed nose down into his sheets. Each time he turned up, the longer he would stay, shaking with nerves the entire time even if he was absolutely sure Oscar was far away.

What began as a way to stay connected with him between race weekends turned into an obsessive challenge within himself to escalate things each time. Napping in his bed, then taking a shower using his shitty beauty products. Somewhere between the last few races, it turned into jerking off in his bed.

He never took it too far, not allowing himself to get messy with it. If he had it his way, he would be humping every surface, jizzing on things he shouldn’t. Surrounded by Oscar’s scent that always lingers on his sheets, Lando tells himself that this could be enough.

The weekend of Abu Dhabi is a stressful one for him, the WCC riding on him. There’s no time to focus on Oscar.

He’s in the right mindset and he does it, he wins the race and the Constructors’ championship. Nevermind what Oscar’s result was, they’re in it together throughout the celebrations. Oscar’s hand like a brand around his waist while they pull from their champagne bottles for the sea of cameras.

The euphoria from doing this for his team, that Oscar and he did it together, doesn’t fade as they wrap up at the track and head back to their hotels to get ready for the night. McLaren rented out a club for the team, which thankfully means it will be much easier to avoid Oscar when they’re surrounded by so many people they know.

Lando takes his time getting ready, just because he isn’t planning on talking to Oscar doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to look good for him. By the time he’s stepping into the club, almost the entire team is already present. Most of them look like they’re more than a few drinks in, arms wrapped around each other and shouting in excitement.

Oscar’s in the middle of it all, seemingly sober. Lando’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He’s standing with Zak and Andrea, chatting away with beers in hand. He’s smiley, as beautiful as ever. Lando’s feet move on their own accord.

Receiving pats on the back by his team, Lando makes his way through the crowd until he’s joining the little group. He’s pulled into a bear hug by Zak, Andrea grabbing him by the cheeks and congratulating him once again. Oscar offers his hand in greeting, dapping him up and pulling him into a bro-hug.

After exchanging pleasantries and expressing his gratitude for the tenmillionth time, Lando excuses himself to get a drink and mingle.

He flits around the room like he always does, making chitchat with anyone that will engage with him. He hopes it goes unnoticed by everyone that as soon as his teammate gets within a few feet of him, close enough to join the conversation, Lando is stepping away to chat up another group of people.

The constant moving around on the dancefloor, to the bar, amongst the high rise tables, brings Lando to a level of drunk that he was really hoping he wouldn’t reach before his higher ups and his Oscar left for the night. It’s probably the fifth time in a row Lando sidesteps Oscar before he’s apprehended.

Oscar grabs him by the arm before he can completely turn away, asking “got a minute?”

“Right now? Jon wanted me to take a shot with him,” is the first thing Lando’s brain could come up with, trying to buy himself some time. It doesn’t really make any sense, considering Jon has been jumping up and down on the dancefloor for the last hour.

Tugging on his arm, Oscar leads them to some dark corner of the club, obscured by black velvet curtains. Lando would be worried someone watched them suspiciously disappear, but the lights are flashing and the drinks are flowing way too much for anyone to be paying attention to them.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Oscar asks bluntly.

The question catches Lando so off guard that he doesn’t have to fake his surprise when all he says is “huh?”

“You walk away every time I get close,” Oscar elaborates, tentatively stepping forward. Lando takes small steps back, not getting too far since he’s bumping into the wall. It’s like he has a physical reaction to the object of his desire actually being so close. It scares him. “Not just tonight too. The only time you’re willingly in the same room as me is when you have to be.”

“I-I don’t know what to tell you, Oscar. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s a flimsy excuse, the best he can do under pressure.

Oscar gets even closer, voice low. “Is it because I kissed you in Monaco?” He’s slightly smirking at him, but Lando can read his eyes all too well and can tell he’s shitting it. That flicker of uncertainty as Oscar searches his eyes.

To boil Lando’s skittishness down to Oscar simply kissing him is majorly downplaying it, so Lando maintains eye contact when he mumbles “no, that’s not it.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Oscar gets even closer as he says it, pressing him into the wall until their faces are just inches apart.

“I don’t know what I want,” Lando answers honestly. He wants Oscar more than he can even put into words, having Oscar means him getting closer to the truth. He would have to confront the things he’s done headon.

Oscar takes it for something that Lando didn’t mean it to be, leaning in and pressing their lips together for the second time. He doesn’t pull away after a few seconds this time, grabbing Lando by the waist and pulling him closer.

Lando’s arms lay limp at his side, moving his lips sloppily against Oscar’s in some kind of trance. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before Lando comes to his senses, mind running a million miles per hour.

His whole body feels like static, mind numbed and stuffed with cotton. This is everything he’s ever dreamed of, and still he’s pawing at Oscar’s chest to push him off and hissing “what the fuck?”

Oscar’s eyes go wide, completely in shock by the turn of events.

“We’re with our entire fucking team,” Lando scolds. “Are you even gay?”

“Um…” Oscar’s face colors, eyes getting shifty.

“Whatever,” Lando pushes past him. “I’m not.”

It’s a half truth. Whatever Lando feels for Oscar, he has never felt about another person before – man or woman.

He’s not sure where he’s going exactly, beelining for the exit. He’s stopped by one of his engineers before he can get too far, pulling him into a conversation Lando would rather not be a part of while he can feel his heart beating in his throat.

After a few minutes, his eyes track as Oscar slips out from behind the curtain, walking towards the exit himself.

No one stops him.

—

Winter break is more of the same hideous routine.

Lando eats, sleeps, parties, and breaks into Oscar’s apartment. Average F1 driver stuff.

He replays that moment, pushing Oscar off of him when his body was screaming at him to pull him closer, over and over again.

There’s been no word from Oscar since that night. They don’t normally talk when they have time off. Somehow, the silence seems deafening.

Lando’s heartbroken, to put it simply. It’s completely his own doing.

He can’t let himself wonder about what Oscar might be thinking right now. His words ring in his brain on repeat.

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

Oscar was right, of course he was right. Everything he thought he wanted before means nothing now. He can’t have him. Lando would throw absolutely everything away to have him. That’s why he can’t. It means too much to him.

It becomes an obsession within itself, torturing himself thinking of Oscar, looking up his name on social media, spending time in his apartment like it’s his own. What makes matters worse is that Oscar is half the world away in Australia, seemingly having the time of his life.

His timeline is filled with constant photos of Oscar out with his friends, spending time with his family, doing regular person stuff. Throughout all of them, there’s a smile consistently plastered on his face. No indication that whatever went down between them has affected him whatsoever.

It gets so bad that Lando can barely get off anymore, even when he’s alone in Oscar’s bed. All he wants is one mind numbing orgasm, something to shake this anxious feeling.

The sadness, regret, anxiety all turns to jealous anger when halfway through the break he opens Twitter to find a plethora of new Oscar photos. A day at the beach with his friends, all of their faces completely unknown to Lando. He wasn’t even sure if Oscar still had friends in Melbourne anymore. Clearly, he does.

It’s not the fact that Oscar is out living his life that boils his blood, it’s who he’s with. 

Throughout all the photos, there’s one man that’s glued to Oscar’s side all day. A man that looks absolutely nothing like Lando, yet Oscar is looking at him with the same stars in his eyes that’s typically directed towards him.

The guy has long blonde hair, tied back into a man bun. He’s tall, taller than Oscar by a good few inches. He’s also ripped, with a defined sixpack and bulging biceps.

He finds the link to the paparazzi website so he can examine every photo. The paps must’ve followed Oscar’s friend group around all day. Lando irrationally thinks that Oscar called them himself, knowing it would be all over social media, just to torture him.

There’s dozens of photos to go through. The pair of them lounging on towels together at the beach, swimming in the ocean, playing games. At one point, they played American football. Those are the ones that get to him. There’s several action shots of this fucking freak tackling Oscar into the sand, hands on his waist, Oscar’s heads thrown back in laughter as he falls to the ground.

Blinded by rage, Lando stomps across the street to Oscar’s apartment.

He’s not proud of it, the way he howls like a feral dog, destroying Oscar’s room. He pulls the sheets off his bed, chucks pillows at the wall, throws all of his clothes around the room.

Lando collapses amongst the mess, the dam breaks and suddenly he can no longer suppress the sobs that wrack through him.

And the thing is, he doesn’t really know why he’s crying. He’s the one who pushed Oscar away, not knowing how to handle his own emotions towards the other.

Once the tears run out, Lando dutifully puts the room back together. You’d never be able to tell Lando just had the worst mental breakdown of his life in there.

Before going back to his own apartment, Lando blocks the phrase ‘Oscar Piastri’ from his feed.

—

Lando spends the rest of his break in a bit of a sulk. By the end of it, with Oscar out of sight and out of mind, he’s able to return to the UK with a renewed mindset. 2025 will be his year.

His perceived indifference during preseason is endlessly praised by Zak and the other higher ups. What Lando would call avoidance is seen as a complete dedication to racing. Due to his newfound focus, Lando is able to limit his interactions with Oscar to what is strictly necessary.

This time, Oscar doesn’t seem to have any issue with his distance.

He rides this wave all the way up to the Australian Grand Prix. Oscar is so busy with home race activities that Lando can fade into the background, focusing on his own data.

With all the variables at play, Lando’s race goes as perfectly as he could imagine, earning his first win of the season. Oscar’s race, on the other hand, is a bit of a shitshow. Spinning off the track, he’s at least able to claw back a few positions to make it into the points.

Oscar comes to him afterwards, offering his congrats in the form of a handshake. Lando’s just about to turn away when Oscar asks “you going out tonight? Got a few friends I was gonna take out, but I don’t know much about the club scene here.”

That gets Lando to perk up, the mention of friends.

Lando has already publicly declared that his only focus this season is securing his first title. He’s not going to do what he did the years prior, needlessly go out and get wasted. It will only throw him off his game.

“Yeah, mate. I’ll text you the address later.”

Later comes sooner rather than, well, later. Lando gathers a group of willing participants and chooses the bougiest club in Melbourne to book a table. True to his word, he texts Oscar the address and tells him to use his name. It makes him feel powerful, having Oscar rely on him for plans even though he could easily get into any room in Australia himself.

By the time Lando and his entourage get to the club, Oscar is already there, surrounded by his friends. Lando hates how he recognizes most of them after endlessly scrutinizing those paparazzi photos. Mr. Manbun in particular.

Despite all that’s happened, Lando’s pretty sure Oscar hasn’t shared any of that with these people. Lando wants his friends to think of him as Oscar’s best friend, even if they’re anything but.

He inserts himself into the group like he belongs there, introducing himself to each person as “Lando, Oscar’s teammate.” Everyone seems excited to meet him, offering him congratulations for the win.

All the while, Oscar himself is off to the side chatting with the man that’s number one on Lando’s shitlist. Once he runs out of hands to shake, he finally approaches the pair. Before he can stick out his hand, Oscar’s grabbing him by the shoulder and cutting in.

“Lando, this is my mate, Oli.”

Oscar’s hand remains on his shoulder as they clap hands, fingers digging in when they make contact. His touch burns.

This Oli character greets him with a simple “hey man, congrats,” and Lando already doesn’t like him. His voice is gruff, commanding, everything that Lando isn’t.

Someone taps on Oscar’s shoulder and then he’s gone, leaving Lando to immediately go into questioning.

“So you guys seem pretty close.”

The guy laughs and shakes his head. “Not really. We went to grade school together and haven’t seen much of him since recently.”

Somehow, that’s worse, that they’re just now reconnecting. After everything that happened with them.

“What do you think then?” Lando pushes.

“About what.. Oscar?” Oli asks, eyes assessing Lando, sizing him up.

He nods and Oli’s face turns wolfish. “If you’re asking if I’m trying to fuck that, the answer is I’m working on it.”

Lando has to clench his fists at his sides, hearing the way this man speaks about Oscar like he’s just some object makes him see red.

The guy steps closer, getting into Lando’s face and wrapping a hand around his waist. “I’m not picky, though. I’m game if you are.”

The audacity, to not only speak down on Oscar, but to proposition him, disgusts Lando down to his core. He shoves at Oli’s chest, just hard enough to shock the smirk off his face, not yet causing a scene.

It’s not enough to deter him. “Come on, mate. There’s no way you’re just as much of a prude as your little friend.”

And that’s the straw that breaks the camel's back. Before Lando can think about the repercussions, his right arm raises and he punches Oli square in the face, right on the bridge of his nose.

It’s the first time Lando’s ever truly punched someone, not in a joking way. He fights back the urge to cradle his bruised knuckles. Oli’s hands fly to his face, blood pouring from his nose into his mouth.

Time seems to slow down, loud music turns to a muffle. Everyone’s eyes are on them. Lando braces himself for a punch back that never comes. Two hands grab him by the shoulders, pulling him back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Oscar hisses in his ear.

Before Lando can open his mouth to explain himself, Oscar’s pushing in front of him and cradling Oli’s face in his hands to get a look at the damage. Lando can’t bear the sight, has to turn away and get as far as possible to prevent himself from doing something else stupid.

He hears the bloke exclaim “your teammate’s a fucking maniac” as he speedwalks to the exit.

Stepping out into the night air helps calm his nerves the slightest bit. Lando leans against the brick wall of the club, catching his breath and calling for a car.

The door opens and Lando doesn’t have to turn his head to know that it’s Oscar. He tries to slip away into the darkness before Oscar notices him but it’s no use.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oscar commands.

Lando stops in his tracks, turns slowly back around as if not to spook a rabid animal. Oscar looks a mess. His hair is ruffled, face red with barely concealed anger. There’s a dot of Oli’s blood on the front of his white dress shirt.

What really strikes Lando is the dazed look in his eyes. It almost seems like he’s about to cry.

Lando has always prided himself on how well he can read Oscar’s artfully neutral expressions. At this moment, he has no idea what to think. He can’t tell if Oscar’s upset with him or angry or maybe even flattered.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, suppresses the urge to reach out and comfort him. Lando can’t get himself to apologize, he shouldn’t have to. He did nothing wrong.

“Care to explain to me what happened in there?” Oscar questions.

They’re face to face, breathing each other's air. Lando's chest feels tight, like he can’t take a full breath.

“Your friend was being an asshole,” Lando replies, voice coming out whiney like he’s just been scolded by his mom. Oscar says nothing, simply raises an eyebrow, waiting for more of an explanation. “...about you,” Lando adds.

Oscar’s stern expression softens just a bit. “What did he say?”

Lando doesn’t want to repeat it, can’t repeat it. He can’t say that he punched Oscar’s friend out of jealousy because he said he was trying to fuck him. Or that he also propositioned him because Oscar essentially did the same thing and, although he did freak out, he didn’t punch him.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that his car just pulled up. “Just keep an eye out for him.” With that, he mutters a goodnight and flees the scene of the crime.

—

Races come and go, Lando consistently on the podium but not collecting anymore wins.

Oscar has, though. Four of them. Each time he wins, he goes out with the team. It’s so unlike him. Then again, he’s never been leading a Formula One championship before.

Lando always catches the invite and forces himself to stay in, claiming he’s too focused on racing this year. It’s for the good of the team, Lando letting Oscar have his moment without his irrational behavior ruining everything.

It’s in Imola when he finally gets called out for it. One of his mechanics approaches him when he first arrives at the paddock. “Where were you in Miami?” he asks. “Oscar was proper on one. Taking shots, dancing, he even made out with someone in front of everyone.”

Lando was gonna dismiss it, until that last bit.

“Really? Who was she?”

“He was just some random. One of Carlos’ friends, I think.”

Every nerve ending in his body goes off at once, muscles clenching to contain his reaction. “Wow,” Lando grits out. “Sorry I missed that.” He’s out of the room as soon as he says it, heading straight to his driver’s room, shouldering past Oscar who’s exiting his own room in his daze to be alone.

He shuts the door, locks it, grabs the one shitty pillow left on his tiny couch and screams into it. He doesn’t stop until his voice breaks and he’s gasping for air.

Throughout all the time that he’s known Oscar, all the wasted hours obsessing over him, he’s never felt anger towards the other.

But that’s what Lando is – he’s angry. Angry at Oscar, angry at himself, angry at fucking Carlos for letting this happen.

And still, it’s his fault. He can’t help but feel like he pushed Oscar into this.

Oscar wanted him. He was brave enough to do something about it and Lando, like the coward he is, pushed him away. Made him think that his desire was something to be ashamed of, when the whole time it was Lando who should be feeling that way.

The thought flashes in his mind before he can suppress it.

If I can’t have Oscar then no one should.

The depth of it disturbs him so badly that it causes him to sober up.

Lando stares at himself in the tiny mirror nailed to the wall for much too long. Channeling his rage into focus.

This is it, isn’t it? There’s no coming back from what he’s done.

It’s all for nothing. Lando still comes in second by the end of the weekend.

—

By Monday evening, Lando’s back in Monaco.

The Monaco Grand Prix is this weekend, so he knows he only has a few days of “relaxation’ before he has to, once again, put on a brave face for the cameras.

The night consists of Lando convincing himself that the Oscar situation is over and done with. Oscar’s clearly moved on. He’s moved so far on that he’s now OK with hooking up with random men in front of their team.

Tuesday morning, Lando makes his way over to Oscar’s apartment. Oscar wasn’t on his flight so he assumes his teammate is not yet in the country.

The purpose of his visit is to say goodbye. He’s wasted enough energy on something that will never be.

His hand’s on the knob of Oscar’s door when it twists, and suddenly, the door swings open and he’s face to face with Oscar himself.

Oscar almost slams into him, obviously not expecting someone to be on the other side.

“Lando? What are you doing here?’ he asks.

Floundering for a reasonable response, Lando replies, “hey mate! I was just stopping by, wanted to talk.” His voice is all squeaky, clearly lying.

Oscar’s eyes widen a fraction, clearly surprised by the idea that Lando “wants to talk.” He doesn’t actually want that, he’s just trying to buy time. There’s no way he can share the real reason. I was coming over to say goodbye to your bed. You know, the one I jerk off in.

“I’m about to meet Mark for breakfast.” Lando bristles at the mention of his manager. “Talk later?”

Lando simply nods and walks with Oscar down to the street. Goodbyes are for pussies, anyway.

—

Sunday night, Lando’s soaring high above the clouds.

That’s because Lando Norris can now proudly say that he is a winner of the Monaco Grand Prix.

From the moment the race ended to now, Lando has been soaking in the glory of his win. He’s surrounded by all the people who are most important to him; the center of attention in some average Monegesque club. That’s how it should be.

Oscar’s absence stands out to him, but he won’t let it ruin his night.

He’s physically buzzing with excitement, an unwavering smile plastered on his face.

The amount of serotonin running through him is so high that when Oscar does step into the club, Lando doesn’t second guess himself before walking right up to him and pulling him into a hug.

“Congrats, mate,” Oscar half-chuckles, half-mumbles into his ear.

Lando basks in the attention, the feeling of Oscar’s body against his own. “Thank you. And thanks for coming.” He’s genuinely sincere about it, Oscar showing his face tonight is much more than Lando can say about himself when it comes to Oscar’s success this year.

When Lando pulls away, Oscar is shyly smiling at him, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something.

“What?” Lando prods.

Oscar bites his lip, then says, “did you still want to talk?”

Freezing, Lando shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine,” he rushes out, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder like he needs to go take care of some important business.

Once he’s far enough away, he turns back to check on Oscar. He’s still stood right there, looking confused. After a moment, he shakes himself out of it and heads to the bar.

It’s easy to keep Oscar away for the remainder of the night. Lando drinks in the endless praise he receives from the people surrounding him. It takes up all of his attention, he’s barely even thinking of Oscar.

That is, until the night bleeds into early morning, and some of the crowd starts to disperse. It’s still early in Lando’s book. He’s got a few good hours of partying ahead of him.

Lando’s just about to get another drink at the bar when Oscar steps in front of him, seemingly from out of nowhere. “I’m gonna head out,” he says, turning away and towards the door without giving Lando the chance to say goodbye.

It’s like there’s a rope tied around his heart, getting pulled taught the further away Oscar walks. It’s completely out of his control, the way his feet start moving towards the exit as well.

Oscar’s halfway down the street by the time Lando makes it outside. Lando walks in long strides in an attempt to catch up to him. Once there’s only a few meters between them, he slows down. Something preventing him from closing the distance.

If Oscar notices there’s someone following behind him, he doesn’t show it, just continues to leisurely walk down the street with his hands in his pockets.

Every time a car drives past, the windows roll down and people woo at him, excited for his win. Even that isn’t enough for Oscar to acknowledge his presence.

When Oscar’s steps pause waiting at the crosswalk, so do Lando’s. When he starts moving again, so does Lando.

They do this dance all the way to Oscar’s apartment, through the lobby, up the stairs. He lingers at the end of the hallway when Oscar unlocks the door to his unit, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Lando creeps closer, and that’s when he notices that the door was left a crack open. An open invitation.

He pushes it open, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. Oscar’s lounging in his armchair, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for him.

“Lock the door,” he instructs.

Lando locks the door.

“Come here.”

Lando goes over, standing in front of him. Out of breath for no reason.

“What are you doing here, Lando?”

It’s a totally valid question. What is he doing here?

“I-I don’t know,” he stutters out.

“Get on your knees,” Oscar commands, voice firm.

Lando feels his eyes widen. Still, he drops to his knees.

Oscar sits up, shuffling closer to the edge of his seat. His legs are right there, and Lando’s head feels heavy with the weight of the moment. He leans his forehead down to rest against one of his knees, eyes looking up at him innocently.

A soft hand gets placed on his cheek, cradling his face. Oscar’s eyes search his, analyzing him. After a moment, his grip tightens against Lando’s chin, fingers digging in so hard it may leave a mark. He hopes it does.

“What do you want, Lando?” Oscar tries again.

He’s only capable of one word answers at this point. “You,” he whines.

Oscar uses his hold on Lando’s face to pull his head up so he’s fully upright again. Lando mourns the loss of the warmth of Oscar’s thigh against his cheek.

With his other hand, Oscar starts fiddling with the button of his jeans. Lando bites his lip in anticipation. When Oscar doesn’t move to actually pop it open, Lando lets out a confused little noise.

His hands are visibly shaking as he reaches up to knock Oscar’s hand out of the way and undo the pants himself. Once the fly is down and he can see the line of Oscar’s half hard cock pressing against his briefs, he removes his touch and settles his hands onto his lap. Awaiting further instruction.

Oscar lifts his hips up, pulling his pants and briefs down far enough for his erection to pop out.

“Wow,” Lando breathes, unable to conceal the awe in his voice. For once, he doesn’t feel like he needs to. Oscar’s eyes are hard, almost challenging, looking down at him. “You’re perfect.”

In reality, Oscar’s cock isn’t really anything to write home about. It’s pink along the shaft, wet at the head, and average in size, a bit smaller than Lando’s. Either way, it’s attached to Oscar and the first dick he’s ever seen up close. Lando’s vivid imagination couldn’t have dreamt up anything better.

At Lando’s compliment, Oscar’s eyes soften and his cheeks pinken. But then, his face goes back to stern as he wraps his hand around the back of Lando’s neck and pulls his face in closer. On instinct, Lando’s mouth opens and his lips wrap around the tip of Oscar’s dick.

Lando’s received enough blowjobs in his life to know what to do to make it good. If his brain was running at a higher capacity, he’s sure he would be able to get Oscar off properly. As it is, his senses are overwhelmed by the sharp taste of Oscar’s precome, the heavy weight of his cock, the sound of a low rumble coming from his chest as Lando pushes down as far as he can go – trying to impress.

Oscar’s hand remains on the back of his head as Lando sucks him down. Not pushing, just resting there. Once he’s got about half of Oscar into his mouth, his throat constricts, choking on a gag. He tries to keep going, but it’s no use. He has to pull off to catch a breath, knocking Oscar’s hand out of his hair.

Somewhat cruelly, Oscar laughs at the tears in his eyes and the heave of his chest.

Lando can feel his cheeks heat up, wiping at his face to rid himself of the tears and spit gathered there. He can’t make eye contact with Oscar, staring down at his lap when he admits, “I’ve never done this before.”

“I know,” Oscar replies. “You’re not gay.” Having his own harsh words thrown back in his face doesn’t help much with Lando’s confidence, shoulders slumping. Oscar must take pity on him, guiding his mouth back to his dick while softly suggesting to “just take it slow.”

Taking it slow is the last thing Lando wants, suddenly registering the throb in his own pants, years of yearning between the two of them leading up to this. Yet, what he wants more than anything is to please Oscar. He can ignore his own need for as long as Oscar wants him on his knees.

He tries again, kitten licking at the head before providing more suction. He sinks down slowly this time, tracing patterns along Oscar’s shaft with his tongue as he inches down. For some reason, even though Oscar’s cock is literally in his mouth, he feels like he isn’t allowed to fully touch. He puts his hands behind his back, preventing himself from groping Oscar or himself.

Oscar must like the picture that he makes because he moans out, “fuck, Lando. That’s good. Just like that, babe.”

Hearing Oscar’s words, using that pet name on him again, being told that he’s good, allows Lando to relax into it. Throat opening as he moans around him.

The vibrations around Oscar’s cock makes his hip buck up. This time, the hand on his head holds Lando there, his throat clicking every time the tip of Oscar’s dick pushes deeper.

It’s about to be too much for Lando to handle. Thankfully, that’s when Oscar uses the grip on his hair to pull him all the way off, the tug on his roots making him groan in a mix of pleasure and pain.

Oscar’s smirking at him when he looks up. “Was that everything you imagined?” Oscar asks knowingly.

Lando’s mind flashes back to the first time he was ever over here, when he jerked himself off in this very chair with Oscar’s dildo down his throat. His head swims with the idea that Oscar somehow knows about that, even though there’s no way he does.

Simply nodding, Oscar grins back at him. He stands, pulling his pants up and grabbing Lando by the shoulders to get him to his feet too.

Inches away from each other, they stand face to face, Oscar’s eyes searching again. It’s somehow more intimate than it was just a couple minutes ago.

There’s a bit of hesitation in Oscar’s expression, like he doesn’t know what move to make next. Lando decides to finally take matters into his own hands, bridging the gap and slamming their mouths together. He grips Oscar’s waist, licks at the seam of Oscar’s lips, pushing his tongue in and praying that Oscar doesn’t get put off by the taste of himself.

If anything, Oscar seems turned on by it, pushing his erection against Lando’s. Then, a hand is wriggling between them and Lando squeaks at the feeling of Oscar’s touch against the bulge in his pants.

Lando humps against his palm, the pressure already too much. Oscar pulls back before Lando gets carried away, grabbing him by the hand and leading him to the bedroom that Lando has already spent way too much time in.

Unsure what to do, Lando lingers by the foot of the bed until Oscar tells him to lay down. He crawls onto the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and watching for Oscar’s next move.

He disappears from sight for a moment, crouching down to grab something from beneath his bed. When he stands back up, the black drawstring is hanging from his fingers.

“Remember this?” Oscar taunts.

Lando’s chest tightens, the breath stolen from his lungs at the revelation that Oscar somehow knows that he fucked around with his bag of sex toys. Luckily, he doesn’t get the chance to respond, Oscar climbing onto the bed and spreading Lando’s thighs so he can kneel between them.

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Lando.” It’s like a line straight out of a cheesy porno, but it still makes Lando’s cock twitch. Oscar catches it, grinning at him. If he knows what Lando’s done, he clearly doesn’t seem too fussed about it.

Oscar digs around in the bag, pulling out the handcuffs. “Naughty boys don’t deserve to touch. Don’t you think?”

He doesn’t know just how naughty Oscar seems to think he is. The things he’s done in front of the other is already regrettable, and it still only scratches the surface. Again, he wordlessly

nods.

“Need to hear you say it,” Oscar presses.

He’s probably only looking for verbal consent, a simple yes would suffice. Lando’s nothing if not someone who aims to please. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears when he blubbers, “I’ve been so bad, Osc. I don’t deserve to touch.” His voice wavers, feeling embarrassed tears prick behind his eyes at his own admission, not planning on giving too much away. “I don’t deserve anything,” he whimpers.

Oscar softens again at that, brushing a hand through his hair as he whispers, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Another thing Lando doesn’t deserve is pity, holding his wrists out for Oscar to put the handcuffs on.

Oscar smiles and pets his belly, so Lando knows he isn’t actually cross with him. He leans down, pecking Lando a few times before pulling back again. “Eager, are we?”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” Lando answers honestly, chasing his lips, but a hand on his shoulder holds him down.

“Gotta get you undressed first,” Oscar mumbles. His hands push up Lando’s shirt, tweaking at a nipple when his torso gets revealed. The sharp pinch makes Lando want to squirm around, clenching his muscles to stay still and let Oscar do what he wants with him.

After his shirt gets tossed to the side, Oscar’s pulling off his pants and underwear, the sound of his erection slapping against his stomach echoes in the otherwise silent room. Oscar licks his lips like he wants to get his mouth on it. Instead, he pulls Lando’s arms above his head, clicking one end of the handcuffs around his wrist, looping it through the slats in the headboard, then fastening the opposite end around Lando’s other wrist.

Lando gives it a soft tug, just to test that he’s truly bound to the bed, whining at the confirmation that he’s left to Oscar’s devices.

“All good?” Oscar asks, sweet as ever.

“Never been better,” Lando gets out, voice small yet full of honesty.

Oscar winks at him, getting off the bed to undress himself. He’s quick with it, discarding his clothes onto the pile of Lando’s.

Lando is so far gone that just seeing Oscar’s things mixed up with his is enough for his desperation to grow. He spreads his legs open, urging Oscar to get back between them. “Are you going to fuck me?” he asks.

In all of his fantasies, it’s always been Lando that’s doing the fucking. Although he hasn’t bottomed before, he finds that he wouldn’t mind it if it’s Oscar being the one pushing into him.

Oscar shakes his head. “Not quite.” He gets back onto the bed, but instead of leaning forward over Lando, he’s turning around, getting on his hands and knees.

That’s when Lando spots it, the plastic base of a buttplug nestled between his two cheeks. “Oh fuck,” Lando moans. Ever since Lando became aware that Oscar was in possession of a buttplug, it’s popped up in more than one of his midnight fantasies.

“Put this in just for you,” Oscar mumbles, a hand reaching behind himself to toy at it, nudging the widest bit in and out of himself. Lando whimpers at the image of Oscar fingering himself open before leaving for the club, thinking of Lando while he touches himself.

He pulls it all the way out, Lando watching as his hole blooms open and then winks back shut.

When Oscar turns back around, plug in hand, Lando shouts “wait!” before Oscar tosses it to the side. Raising an eyebrow in question, Lando opens his mouth as wide as it will go, silently asking for a taste. In any other situation, he would be too embarrassed to ask for it. Now, he’s already cuffed to the bed and at mercy to Oscar’s every whim.

“I knew it,” Oscar teases, smug. He slips the plug into Lando’s mouth.

The taste of it isn’t necessarily good, a combination of lube and rubber. Lando’s eyes still flutter shut at the feeling of his lips stretched wide around an object that’s still warm from several hours inside of Oscar. 

It gets pulled out way too soon, Lando’s tongue embarrassingly chasing after it. Oscar grabs a bottle of lube out of his bedside table, pouring some into his hand, wrapping it around Lando’s cock and spreading it from base to tip.

The first touch to Lando’s dick makes his hips buck, moaning way too loud for a slight handjob. Oscar clearly doesn’t want him moving around too much, pushing his legs together and sitting atop his thighs to prevent him from squirming.

“Settle down, Lan,” Oscar soothes. “I got you.”

Lando melts into the mattress as Oscar lifts his hips up, guiding the head of Lando’s cock to his entrance. He sinks down slowly, the head popping through the ring of muscle, the pair of them breathing through it as Oscar’s ass lowers down until he’s flush against Lando’s hips.

The feeling of them finally being fully connected gets the fog to clear, Lando shocked back into his body. It’s like everything clicks into place. The person that he’s spent so much time infatuated by the idea of, he’s right here. He’s on top of Lando, rocking back and forth.

He’s also everything Lando has ever imagined him to be. Tight, warm, a little bit mean while still being gentle about it.

His hands move to hold him by the waist, completely forgetting that he’s not able to. The cuffs pull and he’s choking out an “Oscar, please,” not really sure what he’s asking for. His hips are twitching, fighting the need to buck up, unable to with Oscar’s legs tightly bordering his.

Oscar smooths his hands up Lando’s biceps, holding him down even though there’s nowhere he can go. He leans down to nip kisses along his neck, still just grinding down onto Lando, not really riding him.

“You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to,” Oscar whispers into his ear.

“I’d never come again if you told me to,” automatically comes out of Lando’s mouth.

Oscar giggles into his ear. “Yeah, right.” He seemingly takes it as a challenge to make Lando come. He sits up and moves his hips with more intent, still going slow. His hands roam all over Lando’s body, staring down at him with fascination.

“I’ve always thought about what this would be like,” Oscar says, much too conversationally for bouncing on his dick.

“Me too,” Lando signs, trying to remain calm. He fucking knew it. Maybe he’s not as delusional as he thought he was.

“Really?” Oscar questions. “What did you think about?”

I thought about owning you.

Lando opts for a much more normal answer. “Just like this. In your bed, taking you in whichever way you’ll have me.” He’s pretty impressed with himself for keeping his composure on that one.

Oscar’s eyebrows raise, smirking at him while his hole clenches around him. “Oh, yeah? Seems like you got a thing for this bed.” The accusation makes Lando freeze, Oscar can definitely feel it under him. A hand skims up his neck, gripping Lando’s jaw and forcing eye contact. “Come on, Lando. Tell me what you’ve done.”

His face is shockingly hard, challenging. Lando shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“That’s the thing, babe.” His hand tightens, “I really do want to know.” Oscar waits until Lando looks at him again, leaning down to kiss him, letting him relax into it before delivering the final blow. “I know you’ve been in here. Multiple times.”

Oscar leans down to kiss him once more time, then he’s lifting up and looking at Lando expectantly.

“Yeah,” Lando mumbles, “I’ve done more than just been in here.”

Oscar rewards his honesty by fucking down onto him harder. “Tell me.” He’s finally starting to look affected by the feeling of sitting on Lando’s cock. “Start from the beginning.”

There’s nothing left to do. If Oscar wants the truth, then so be it. He allows himself to get lost in the hot drag of Oscar around him, gawking up at him like he’s a god while the truth tumbles out of his mouth.

Starting from the beginning, “I stole your dirty underwear from your place in Woking when you asked me to water your plants.” Oscar squeezes tight around him. “I sniffed them, jerked off into them.” Oscar softly moans. “I still have them.”

“What else?” Oscar presses.

“When you asked me to sign for your boxes and look through them, I found your black bag.” Oscar doesn't seem surprised by this, somehow already knowing about that. “I sucked on your dildo and touched myself on your chair.”

“Holy shit,” Oscar clenches so hard around him it makes him see stars. “That’s so fucking hot, Lan.”

Oscar seems to be turned on by Lando's deepest secrets being revealed, so he continues to ramble on.

“When you kissed me in Monaco, it was everything I could’ve hoped for. But then you passed out and I laid in bed with my boner pressed against you all night.” Oscar’s fingertips dig in at the mention of the kissing incident. “I felt so guilty about it after. That’s why I freaked out in Abu Dhabi. I didn’t want you to find out what I’ve done.”

“You really hurt me,” Oscars hips still, the skin underneath his eyes turning pink. “And I wouldn’t have cared.”

“I’m not done,” Lando cautions. “After Monaco, I was consistently coming into your apartment for months. Not only did I touch myself in your bed, I kinda made myself at home. Slept here, showered here.”

Oscar’s clearly shocked, his body jolting into action. He likes it. “That’s so fucking weird, Lando,” he moans, picking up speed and riding Lando properly.

“When I saw you with that guy, the shit he fucking said about you, I almost killed him,” Lando grits. Oscar’s hand wraps around his throat, slamming his hips down hard and groaning. “When I heard you kissed some random bloke, I almost lost it.”

Oscar laughs at that, throwing his head back. Lando wants to touch him so bad.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?”

And that’s just what it is, in short. Lando Norris is obsessed with Oscar Piastri.

Lando braces his feet against the mattress, fucking up into Oscar with so much force he almost dislodges him. Oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, he bites his lip and then he’s unlocking Lando from the cuffs. “You can’t come,” he warns.

With his hands now free, Lando is quick to grab Oscar by the middle and flip them over. He feels released; from the confines of the handcuffs and the weight of his confessions.

Oscar looks pleased with the change in position, mouth dropped open in a smile as his knees are pressed to his shoulders. Lando thrusts into him animalistically, pushing his face into Oscar’s neck and breathing him in.

“I am so obsessed with you,” Lando admits, nipping at Oscar’s neck. He wants to leave marks but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. “More than, actually,” he laughs self-deprecatingly. “You’re all I think about.”

“Yeah? What do you need, babe, I’ll give it to you.” Oscar’s voice gets higher in pitch the faster Lando thrusts into him.

Honesty seems to be the best policy here, so Lando rests his forehead against Oscar’s, stealing the breath from his lungs as he lets out all his nasty thoughts. “I want to own you, Osc. And I want you to own me.” Oscar’s nails scratch down his back. “Want you to need me, tell me to do things for you. I’ll do anything.”

Oscar hums, satisfied by the answer. Lando can feel Oscar’s lips skim against his as he whispers, “right now, I want you to make me come.”

At the command, Lando fucks into him at a brutal pace, spitting into his hand and wrapping it around Oscar’s cock in time with his thrusts.

He’s in a trance, eyes locked on Oscar’s flushed face. The flutter of his lashes, the clench of his hole, the sweet sounds coming from his lips. Lando has never exerted so much self-control, keeping himself from reaching his own peak.

Soon enough, Oscar’s eyes snap open, head thrown back with a cry of Lando’s name as his rim spasms around Lando and he’s coming all over his fingers. Lando continues his thrusts, unable to slow himself down.

Oscar goes boneless against the sheets, staring up at Lando with a satiated smirk. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Lando starts to fall apart on top of him.

His voice comes out high, vulnerable, when he asks, “can I please come?”

“Hmmm,” Oscar pretends to think. “Do you really think you’ve earned it?”

The question makes tears pick in Lando’s eyes again, because, after all he’s done, he’s really not sure if he deserves any of this. Even if Oscar seems to be into it. “I don’t know,” his lip quivers, one silent tear streaking down his cheek.

Oscar thumbs it away. “It’s OK, love. I can think enough for the both of us.”

It’s not really any answer, kinda feels more like an insult. “Please, Osc. I need it. Need you.” His thrusts are getting sloppy now. If he’s not allowed to come, he’s going to need to slow down. Lando wills his hips to come to a stop, shaking like a leaf over Oscar.

He’s just about to pull out, give up for the night. But then, Oscar’s feet are coming up to push at his ass, nudging him in just a bit deeper. “Come for me, Lando,” Oscar orders, plain and simple.

Lando doesn’t have much space to move, so he grinds in, once, twice, and his orgasm hits him like a ton of bricks. Overwhelmed, his tears flow freely as Oscar pets a hand through his hair to soothe him.

“Thank you,” Lando cries, collapsing onto Oscar.

They lay like that for much too long, until Lando’s cock softens and his tears dry. Eventually, he flops to the side. Lando wants to pull Oscar in and bask in his warmth, but he still doesn’t know where they stand, needing Oscar to lead.

Oscar turns on his side, caressing Lando’s face.

Lando works up the courage to break the silence. He doesn’t really want to know the answer, yet he still asks “how did you know about everything?”

Eyes crinkling, Oscar smiles softly at him. “It was kinda obvious, Lan. The lady at the front desk kept a log of how many times you came in here. She notified me every time she saw you in the lobby.”

Fuck the lady at the front desk.

Lando nods, mortified. Oscar continues. “I knew about the black bag because you put it back in the box right at the bottom. When I packed, I put it in between the piles of clothes.” Well, that explains that. “As for everything else, I didn’t have a clue about the underwear or dildo thing.”

Although Oscar seemed into it in the moment, Lando still feels filthy for all he’s done. “You must think I’m a fucking freak.” He can barely look at Oscar as he says it.

“Yeah,” Oscar laughs. Lando braces himself for rejection. It would be completely fair if Oscar used him for sex and wants to kick him out now. “That’s what I like about you.”

Lando perks up at that. “Really? You seriously don’t care?”

Oscar’s cheeks pinken, kissing Lando quickly before saying, “how could I care when I was the one baiting you the whole time?”