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The chequered flag often came as a relief, for Oscar.
In Monaco, he could finally relax his tensed mind that screamed ‘don’t crush don’t crush don’t crush’ in each turn, each lap. In Hungary, he was so thankful for being done with whatever shit-show of a Grand Prix it was. In Baku, he only stopped feeling Charles’ breath on the back of his neck when he saw the wave of the flag.
Now, in Singapore, as he could jump out of the cockpit that was so scorchingly hot. He didn’t think he would last there for any longer than he already did. The hot and humid night wasn’t much help, but at least he could see his saving grace just a couple metres in front of him. A bottle of water. Not boiling water, at that. True heaven, if you ask Oscar.
The weighing procedure felt as if it dragged on for hours, and hours, and hours. He could see Max out of the corner of his eye, who seemed way too happy for a man that drove the same 62 laps that Oscar did, in the same conditions, and lost by over 20 seconds while he was at it. But, each to their own. He himself was literally smiling at the thought of being able to drink water. Who was he to judge Max’s happiness?
When his lips finally met the amazingly cold surface of the plastic water bottle that FIA provided them with, he closed his eyes in pleasure. He can think about the fact he managed to turn that disappointing grid position, that he earned himself into a podium – in Singapore with no safety car! – later. Just as he was sipping on his awaited prize, his throat suddenly locked up, and he almost choked on his drink.
Lando .
He forced himself to swallow the water, and, with shaky hands, set it down on the box with number 3 plastered onto it. He was sure fans would point out his staring at Lando on social media for the entire month before Austin, where he would inevitably pull a simillar stunt again. No matter how much Oscar tried to compose himself from eating Lando alive with his stare, somehow he always lost his self-restraint when his boyfriend appeared in front of his eyes.
In his defence, how could he compose himself when Lando was looking like this?
Oscar allowed himself a moment of shameless checking Lando out. He was just a man, leave him alone. The special edition Singapore suit, sadly, did nothing for Lando’s silhouette. He could live with it, though. More for his eyes only.
Oscar’s eyes wandered higher, to Lando’s abnormally huge, tanned hands gripping the water bottle as if his life depended on it. It probably did, considering the amount of work he put in today, anyway. Unaware of Oscar’s gaze, he brought it up to his lips, gulping the drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. He looked angelic.
The drips of sweat running down his face, his flushed cheeks, unfocused eyes. There never would be, in Oscar’s expert opinion, a hotter version of Lando than post win, ego and confidence through the rooftops, Lando. The sight of him was angelic, but the things Oscar wanted to do to him certainly weren’t.
Maybe he would suck Lando off. As a little gift. Watch Lando huff and squirm, eager for more stimulation. Oscar would look into his desperate eyes as he came, not allowing him to pull out, swallowing it all. As a gift. Little gift. Then they could take it slow. Oscar was brutally aware of Lando’s shameless praise kink. He would take his sweet, sweet time with everything. He would trail his fingers over the sharp edges of Lando’s abs, biceps, thighs, whisper sweet nothing's into his ear, listen to his cute whines and moans just from their foreplay. He would mark Lando up, all over his body. There was no race for a month, no need for him to hold back. Maybe he would make Lando stretch himself, put on a little show. Watch as he is eager for it to be faster, faster, faster. Then again, he would slowly fuck his beautiful boyfriend, edging him for as long as he could. Then-
As if aware of Oscar’s unholy thoughts, Lando brought up the water bottle even higher, pouring it over his face, hair, inside his fireproofs. Oscar bit his lip, feeling his breathing coming to a halt. Was Lando even aware of what he was doing to Oscar right now?
Maybe they would have a quick number before the press conference and other media duties. He would ask Lando to be quiet, but of course, he wouldn’t comply. Oscar knew this scenario way too well. Lando, being the absolute-spoiled brat he was, loved whining until Oscar had enough and pulled his hand over Lando’s mouth. He tried to look offended, but if his hardening erection each time it happened was anything to go by, Lando just loved being a little manhandled, from time to time. And who was Oscar to deny him that?
He tried to bring himself back down to earth. Not now. Now he had David Coulthard, of all people, waiting to interview him. He had to focus, like, right now. He would start mumbling horny nonsense mid-interview if he didn’t. That would be it from trying to appear as a thoughtful, intelligent person. Some heat and his hot boyfriend, and he was thinking with his dick.
No, no dick. Focus. Thinking. Podium. Race car. Vroom, vroom.
Breathe in, and out. Slowly. He was a grown up man, not some moody teenager. One foot in front of the other, he slowly approached the interview set up. He could blame it on the heat, the humidity. He registered a microphone being pushed into his hands, just as he was passing Max. He mentally patted himself on the back for not fainting as he walked past Lando.
After going through his interview, Oscar could already tell some heat-induced (and Lando-induced) fog was cleared from his mind. He could think much straighter now. All he had to do now was get through the podium, media and all the stuff McLaren would ask of them. Easy enough.
Or so he thought.
He didn’t even register that he and Lando were crossing paths. Not until he felt a firm grab on his waist, coming from across him. Snapped out of his thoughts, he looked to his side, gasping quietly as he saw Lando’s face up close. No one should be allowed to look this good, like, ever. And especially not after such physically challenging two hours of athletic ventures. Still, Lando did look this good. And his hand was on Oscar’s waist. And his eyes were crinkling in the corners due to the sincere smile Lando sent him. And it was hot, and loud, and bright, and glowing, and-
He was so far gone, he thought to himself. Past the point of return.
The touch was gone as soon as it appeared. The spot where Lando’s hand was just a moment ago felt so empty, unrealistically cold in the Singaporean heat. With a much quicker step he disappeared into the cooldown room. If Oscar had to be honest, lying down on the floor like he did in Qatar was tempting as hell. But, he could be a bigger person today. If he couldn’t keep himself as cool, calm and collected as people expected him to be, he could at least pretend that he is keeping himself cool, calm, and collected.
The short moment without Lando anywhere in his sight, while he was still being interviewed, did wonders for his racing mind. He could joke with Max for a second, no longer having to physically restrain himself from saying deeply inappropriate stuff.
Everything from then on, all up until they could finally leave the paddock, went much smoother. Turns out doing your job is so much easier when you actually focus on doing it instead of being horny on main while also severely dehydrated and heat-struck.
For the podium, then the moment he was separated with Lando for solo interviews, and then when they rejoined for McLaren-related duties, he was able to return to his usual behaviour. Not normal. But usual.
Normal would be cracking a joke here and there, laughing when Lando did the same. Maybe a supportive handshake, or a quick hug. If they felt like really testing the waters, then a few words of praise. That would be normal teammates stuff.
Oscar was past normal teammates stuff for a long time now. Way before they started dating. Even before the dreaded summer games video from last year. If he really thinks about it, he is quite sure he never really was normal about Lando in the first place.
So instead he does his usual.
He doesn’t tear his eyes from Lando for any more time than he has to. He is focused on his boyfriend as if his life depended on it. Only for a second, during the podium celebrations, he gets the brilliant idea to look away from Lando and spray Max with champagne, too. Just so he doesn’t appear too suspicious. Other than that, for the entire time, Oscar watches, analyses, and he is almost sure that he falls in love with Lando more and more with each passing second, if it’s even possible. He just cannot get over the sight of this beautiful, beautiful human being.
He giggles at every word that comes out of Lando’s mouth, being the true love struck teenager that he is inside his heart. He’s sure nothing that Lando says now deserves this kind of reaction – a heartfelt laugh, throwing his head back, even covering his mouth with his hand. Still, Oscar makes it his top priority to chuckle every time Lando finishes a sentence.
He does everything to keep Lando’s attention on him and him only. He feels almost angry when Lando laughs at Max’s jokes, or when he stops to chat with Andrea. He’s sure that when he looks back at it in a few days. Like the overthinker he so often tends to be, he will be embarrassed. It’s endearingly pathetic to what lengths he will go to, just for a sliver of Lando’s attention. Pretend to interview him in the cooldown room and hand him an imaginary microphone? Check. Drag his attention away from Max on the podium and during press? Check. Keep on trying to find trivial topics to keep Lando busy with talking to Oscar during their McLaren obligations? Check!
He follows Lando like a lost puppy when they emerge from their driver room’s in that same moment. He lets his eyes hang for a moment. Lando is no longer drenched in sweat, but there are a few droplets of water dripping from his curls. He is wearing a rather loose, but sheer shirt, something Oscar knows he prepared for a win celebration. He is wearing long, black, straight pants, Oscar thinks they might be linen. The only thing that would excuse this clothing choice in such heat. It’s a miracle he keeps himself up on his feet. He doesn’t even register how, but after a few minutes, he is in Lando’s car, listening to Max arguing with Charles about which club they should go to.
Dear gods, what has he agreed to?
***
Lando was almost thankful for Max’s and Charles’ inability to solve their, over a decade long, situationship. At least he could focus on how painfully annoying they were, instead of how equally painfully pretty was his boyfriend.
Honestly, how was this even possible?
When they stumbled upon each other while walking out after their showers, Lando felt as if someone punched the air out of his lungs. He just stared, zoned out.
Oscar looked so beautiful. With his hair stupidly fluffy and voluminous, doing the usual ‘swoop’ he so adored. His cheeks were flushed, Lando wondered if the reason were the – probably similar to his own – thoughts running through Oscar’s mind, or the ruthless heat surrounding them, filling the air between them. His eyes were shining bright, brighter than the fireworks and neons flashing from the outside. And don’t even get him started on the outfit choice!
Lando quite strongly prided himself in positively influencing Oscar’s sense of fashion. Oscar from a few months ago would be standing here in one of his ill-fitting maroon shirts – seriously, did Oscar enjoy the feeling of the collar choking him? – and draw-string shorts. Not under his watch, no way. Instead, he was sporting a bit oversized white graphic tee with shorts Lando couldn’t recall seeing ever before. He wasn’t complaining, though. They looked diabolical. They were shorter than needed (again, for him? It was only for the better!) and they clung to Oscar’s full, muscular thighs amazingly, making him ever so curious about the look of the curves of his hips and ass that he knew so well.
“Well, I hope there is no need for me to forcefully drag you to the club?” Lando smirked, as he finally snapped out of his thoughts. He breathed in relief – Oscar appeared to be as deep in admiration as he was. Thank god. That would be…embarrassing, otherwise.
“I–uh–yeah! Yeah,” he stuttered out, his voice deep, nonchalant, a bit hoarse. Lando felt weak in the knees. He needed his Oscar. Like, right now.
A McLaren employee - one of the mechanics on Oscar's side of the garage - passed them, and it was probably the only thing that stopped him from making out with Oscar right here, right now. Instead, he led them both to his car, where Max and Charles were already waiting for them.
Which brings them here. Oscar quiet, lost in thoughts in the passenger seat. Lando bopping his fingers nervously in a non-existent rhythm on the steering wheel, hoping the traffic would magically disappear, and he could find the nearest quiet place and kiss Oscar stupid. Max and Charles…
Right, Max and Charles.
Lando was this close to just smashing his head against the wheel. How can you be this obvious and oblivious for more than a year? Take over ten in their case! It was truly a pain to watch. Once they settle their shit out he wants a paid all-inclusive holiday on a remote island for him and Oscar from them. As a compensation.
Finally, he slotted his vehicle into a parking spot. One not in front of either Max’s or Charles’ club of choice, much to their dismay. He didn’t want to be convicted of ‘picking sides’, so he just drove them to his club of choice. Winner privileges. Well, and, their driver privileges.
He found himself grabbing Oscar’s hands as soon as they entered the loud, somehow even hotter, club. Involuntarily, he couldn’t help but think back to Hungary. To how he left Oscar. Left. Him. He wouldn’t do it now. Not now, not ever. His grip on Oscar tightened up ever so slightly, the younger returning the gesture by squeezing his hand with equal strength. It managed to ground him a little.
“Congratulations, Lan” Oscar leaned over to Lando, saying it right into his ear. His breath tickled his sensitive skin, a shiver running down his neck and spine. “You were brilliant.”
“So were you. What a recovery” Lando returned the praise, letting go of Oscar, only to possessively wrap his hand around his waist. Oscar giggled quietly at the action, making Lando’s heart flutter, his insides twist pleasantly.
“Aren’t we a power couple, huh! Gotta show them how it’s done, ay?”
“Couldn’t say it better if I tried, darling” he giggled in response, already relaxed and pleasantly dizzy, the effect of Oscar’s enthusiasm rubbing off on him. Seeing his usual stoic, sparse with reactions, boyfriend being so expressive was so important to him.
“You know, I love it when you put on the gentleman act” Oscar giggled, throwing Lando off a little. An act? Excuse him! His mother raised him well. He knew his manners, thank you very much.
Before he could whine in protest, Oscar turned him around, pinning him against the nearest wall. No one paid any attention to them, courtesy of the crowd being so full and alive. Oscar was once again breathing right next to his ear, a smirk present on his face. He bit his lip, for a moment staying silent. Lando could feel his heartbeat speed up, throbbing with anticipation.
As if he could read Lando’s mind, Oscar brought himself closer, their bodies touching each other. Chest to chest, one of Oscar’s legs in between his, slightly spreading them open. One of Oscar’s hands right next to his arm, supporting his body weight against the wall, the other gripping his cheeks.
“You use your pretty words, pretty accent. Darling?” Oscar giggled, mocking a British accent. “You know I love it. Especially when I can think back to it, having you beneath me, so needy and whiny…”
“Okay cowboy, slow down, or you will be responsible for dealing with my needy and whiny boner in the middle of the dance floor” Lando mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Wow, I would never take you for such an exhibitionist. Though, maybe I should have. Considering the attention craver you are…”
“Acting as if you didn’t bow down to me earlier for me to pay attention to you” he bit back with a cheeky grin, satisfied with the fact he had been successful. Oscar blushed deeply, and looked to the side – a thing he always did when he was embarrassed or shy.
“You– noticed?”
Lando wanted to laugh. How could he not?
Of course, he was over the moon about his success today, half dead because of the weather conditions, and partially focused on restraining himself from making out with Oscar. Still. He would have to be foolish to not notice the way Oscar was acting. And he was the needy one. The audacity .
“Hey, don’t get shy on me, none of that” his tone was much calmer, softer now. “I loved it. One way to make a man feel special, you know” he winked terribly, wanting to spite Oscar at least a little. Let him have it.
“Oh shut up, Norris.”
“Make me, Piastri.”
Oscar didn’t need more encouragement. He closed the gap between their faces with one quick leap towards Lando. The kiss was rushed, hot, messy. Just as they both needed. Lando found his hands hovering around Oscar’s sides, exploring their curves as if it was his first time. As if he didn’t already spend hours and hours discovering them, mapping them out, remembering each millimetre.
As soon as they broke away, they dove into another kiss. And another. Becoming softer, slower, more careful each time. Less need and desperation, more romance and love. It felt as if centuries passed, before they finished, for good this time. Panting heavily, they kept eye contact, content smiles on their faces.
“Let’s do some pregame, and then we leave early? You know, I have a mirror above my bed…”
“You are such a freak, Lando”
“Yeah, that’s why your heart is reserved for me, lover boy.”