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At every turn, at every step. In interviews, in races, on a podium. Oscar was always watching him, his brown eyes following his presence. Sometimes, he couldn’t even believe he was Lando Norris’s teammate. The way the young man smiled, how his green irises seemed truly excited, his curly hair—each curl resembling spirals, seemingly having a life of their own, moving freely. The Australian felt so small next to him, as if Lando was the most incredible and wonderful person in the world, and, honestly, he truly believed that.
Oscar knew he wasn’t Lando’s first teammate, nor would he be his favorite, because he was well aware of how much the Brit admired Carlos Sainz. Piastri even liked the Spaniard, and he wasn’t blind—Carlos was really handsome, so he didn’t blame Norris for admiring him.
However, just as he observed the emerald-eyed driver, he wished it were mutual. Oscar knew he wasn’t as experienced, not as handsome, nor did he have soft hair like Sainz. But he wanted so badly for Lando to look at him. Sometimes, he thought he wasn’t hiding it well enough—he had read countless comments saying that what they had didn’t seem like just friendship, that the way he looked at the older driver wasn’t exactly normal. If even his fans could notice it, why couldn’t the brunette?
The Australian felt frustrated; keeping this feeling bottled up was eating him alive. Maybe it was because he didn’t show his emotions much, always keeping a faint and false smile on his face. But he didn’t know how to be different, and just being with Lando was enough. Being able to touch him without fear of scaring him away, joking around with him, hearing his exaggerated laughter—his heart always felt so warm when he was near. He didn’t know how to be any other way; he didn’t know how to express himself like Lando did.
Oscar also hated feeling jealous. At the last Grand Prix, Lando and Carlos met again. And they always found a way to touch, to joke with each other. Piastri stood a step away, watching with crossed arms, a sharp pang of discomfort in his chest. He wanted to go up to them and rip the Spaniard’s hair out. Not that he disliked him—Oscar had a lot of respect for him, especially for his talent as a driver. But seeing that man touch Lando, even in the smallest playful way, made him completely hostile.
However, he knew he had no right to feel that way because Lando wasn’t his. At the end of the day, Norris could kiss him as much as he wanted, and he’d have nothing to do with it. When that podium ended, and they took their trophies home, he was happy. Seeing Lando, even in his anger at the team, behaving like his teammate, being cheerful—he was overjoyed.
When Lando hugged him and congratulated him, Oscar’s heart pounded so hard he could hear it. His entire body froze, his skin tingling as he felt warmth radiate inside and out.
Oscar didn’t know how to hide it anymore. It was getting harder not to show it, and that wasn’t something he was used to. Piastri was starting to feel exhausted, and everything got worse when Carlos approached again, and Lando once more stepped away. He always left. And the light-brown-haired boy was left standing there, frozen. He was exhausted from feeling all this, his heart felt like it would burst, yearning for the older driver—he needed him.
His eyes flashed with frustration, and his hand extended toward Lando, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. And before he knew it, he had done something his mind had only imagined—he had been impulsive.
His brown eyes widened when he saw the shocked expressions on both men’s faces. Piastri took two steps back, his heart racing even faster than before. Carlos and Lando stared at him, confused, and even more so because his action had seemed possessive.
“I… I should go. I think someone wanted to talk to me,” Piastri stammered nervously, stepping away.
“Oscar, what—”
Before Lando could respond, he was already running in the opposite direction. He felt like such an idiot. He had let everything spill out. Now his teammate would hate him, Carlos would go around telling everyone how ridiculous he was for being jealous over someone who wasn’t even his boyfriend.
He didn’t even realize tears were falling from his eyes. His chest was tight, his mind was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t think straight. Damn, he was a complete crybaby.
Reaching his room, he locked himself in, letting his body collapse onto the bed. Hugging the pillow, he buried his face in the fabric. As his shame and self-loathing poured out in the form of tears, his throat tightened, and he squeezed the soft cushion with trembling hands.
“Oscar! Oscar, open the door, please.”
He heard Lando calling, trying to open it, knocking urgently. But Piastri didn’t want to get up.
“Go away, Lando. Please, I’m an idiot, it’s already clear, you don’t need to say it,” he choked out, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Osc, you’re not an idiot. Open up, let’s talk,” Lando tried, his tone gentle, pressing a hand against the door. He needed to understand his teammate’s actions.
Oscar sighed, wiping his face with his arm. His eyes were probably red, but what else did he have to hide? He walked to the door, unlocked it, and before he could even look into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, he felt Lando’s strong arms wrapping around him.
Piastri felt like he was dreaming the moment the Brit held him tight, letting out a relieved sigh. Lando wasn’t mad? The brown-haired boy blushed, nerves taking over as he slowly returned the embrace, his heart gradually emptying of worry.
“Wait, Lando…” He gently pushed him back and looked into his eyes. The curly-haired driver seemed genuinely concerned. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you? You didn’t do anything wrong. But… I don’t understand why you acted that way. Even Carlos was worried… You seemed off since he arrived. Is your problem with him?”
“Not exactly.” He looked away, completely embarrassed, sitting on the bed.
“Then explain it to me properly.” Lando sat beside him, offering a small, reassuring smile.
“I just… I don’t even know how to say this.” Oscar ran a hand through his hair, nervous. How could he confess that he was completely in love with him and had just been jealous?
“Just be honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you, Oscar.”
Oscar took a deep breath, his hands sweating, his body warmer than usual. He was so red. It felt strange, like he might pass out—he was embarrassed, anxious, unable to meet Lando’s gaze. Finally, he forced himself to speak.
“I like you. And seeing you with Carlos was messing with me. I didn’t know how to handle it; it was consuming me completely. The only thing I could think about was getting you away from him. But I was too impulsive, and I actually did it.”
Lando looked surprised. As if it wasn’t obvious—it was so obvious. Everyone saw it except for Norris.
“Oscar, you could have told me before.”
“I didn’t even know if it was mutual. How could I say anything?”
Lando stared at him, his green eyes wide. His freckles were scattered across his face, his lips were so red, his perfect teeth, his curls—Piastri wanted to touch them so badly.
“Why are you staring at me?” the brunette asked shyly, with an anxious smile.
“Because you’re just as oblivious, Osc.” Lando laughed, cupping Oscar’s cheek, brushing his thumb against his warm skin.
Piastri swallowed hard, shrinking away from the touch as his head tilted to the side, feeling his skin prickle once again. His heart raced, and he became aware of a weight pressing against his stomach. Lando smiled at him, his green eyes like emeralds—so beautiful, so inviting—just like his rosy, slightly red lips that he kept wetting. To Oscar’s surprise, Lando was nervous too.
Norris moved closer, slowly, their faces nearly touching, their noses brushing lightly. Their pupils were dilated—both of them.
"Lando, I don’t… don’t you like Carlos?"
"Who cares about Carlos right now, Oscar?"
The brunette grabbed Oscar by the nape of his neck, not too forcefully, and kissed him deeply. The younger boy froze, so shocked that his eyes went wide open. His heart, already pounding, began racing even faster, his whole body heating up. His eyelids fluttered shut little by little as he surrendered to the intensity of the kiss the Brit had given him.
Oscar placed a trembling hand on Lando’s shoulder as he deepened the kiss, feeling as if they were even closer. Their tongues met, and their hearts beat in sync. A tingling sensation spread through his body, and the longing to press even closer to the person he had always desired held him captive.
Lando felt fulfilled. He was kissing the boy who was always smiling at him, the one who constantly congratulated him and celebrated his victories—even when he resented the team for never recognizing his talent. But despite everything, Oscar had always been there, patiently waiting to hug him, shake his hand, and be proud of him.
As they slowly pulled apart, their eyes gleamed as they gazed at each other. It was funny, really. Norris always had an upbeat air about him, which helped ease Piastri’s nerves—especially now that they had to talk about this. Was it just a kiss? Or something more? He didn’t want it to be something simple.
"Lando…"
"Oscar, I don’t like Carlos. I won’t lie to you—I was in love with him once. But that was a long time ago. There’s nothing between us anymore."
He took Oscar’s cold, sweaty hands and smiled, intertwining their fingers without a care.
"But now, I want you. Only you."
"Promise?" Oscar murmured, squeezing his hands tightly.
"I promise, Osc." Lando chuckled softly, kissing his cheek before resting his head against his. And so they stayed like that.
"I love you, Lando," Oscar whispered, wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing their foreheads together, and rubbing their noses.
"I love you too, Oscarino," Lando teased, playing with the nickname on his lips. Then he laid Oscar down, covering his face in kisses, eliciting the most beautiful and melodic laughter he adored.
Oscar sighed, finally feeling content and happy. He embraced Lando’s body, receiving kisses, caresses, and sweet murmurs in his ear. Then Norris kissed him again—slowly, lovingly—his hands gripping Oscar’s waist. Their noses touched, and the brunette was now between his legs.
The kiss grew more intense, with Piastri’s agile fingers playing with Lando’s dark, curly locks. They were close, pressed together, inseparable. Lando could kiss him for the rest of his life. And Oscar would stay with him forever—that was what he wanted.
The British driver finally let go, smiling before lying beside him and wrapping his arms around him from behind in a spooning embrace. The light-haired boy smiled, snuggling into the pillow as he placed his hand over Lando’s, which was securely wrapped around his waist. He closed his eyes, sighing as he felt Lando’s head rest on his shoulder.
They fell asleep just like that, in a warm embrace, as the evening set in.
A few minutes later, Carlos opened the door, worried about what had happened. He smiled when he saw them cuddled up together. Alex, standing behind him, raised an eyebrow, and the two chuckled quietly.
"Looks like I was really interrupting something."
"Carlos Sainz effect."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, nothing," Albon snickered, pulling Carlos away.
The truth was, anyone would be jealous of Carlos Sainz. After all, he was Carlos Sainz.