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In Oscar’s defense, he doesn’t mean to slam the door to Lando’s hotel room so loudly.
It’s just that the buildup of stress for the upcoming season and more media duties than he’d frankly like after two early morning testing sessions—early by his standards, anyway—have taken its toll on him. He winces and hopes his boyfriend wasn’t asleep before he so rudely barged in.
Fortunately, for him, Lando isn’t asleep at all. He is, however, tucked under the heavy duvet and a little flushed from his shower, if the dampness of his curls is any indication, and he looks so soft and inviting in his stolen OP81 Home Race hoodie that Oscar suddenly feels some of his stress evaporate. The throbbing in his head subsides too.
He really hates media duties.
“You must really hate media duties,” Lando remarks, setting his phone down on the nightstand and stretching languidly. Oscar can only stand there in the doorway like an idiot and watch, helpless, as his boyfriend’s eyes squeeze shut and the tiniest sound escapes him while he lifts his arms above his head. And then Lando is looking at him incredulously. “Well? Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to frickin’ cuddle me?”
“You’ve showered, though,” Oscar mumbles. “I just spent hours in the car.”
Lando rolls his eyes. “Pfft. Like that’s stopped you before.” He gestures to Oscar, who quickly sheds his jacket and inserts himself in the crook of his boyfriend’s body, quickly getting both arms around his waist. Familiar fingers begin massaging at his temples, occasionally playing with strands of his hair. “There, there, baby.”
Despite his face being smushed into Lando’s chest, Oscar still manages to say, “Don’t make fun of me.”
He squeezes Lando’s waist for good measure, smiling at the yelp that reaches his ears, and he grunts when Lando wraps his legs around him in retaliation. It’s not the worst place to be, bracketed by his boyfriend’s pretty thighs, which are tantalizingly bare.
Oscar doesn’t think he has the energy to do anything about it, much to his own dismay. All he thinks he can muster is a lazy swipe of a fingertip over the seam where Lando’s underwear meets his warm skin, light enough that Lando giggles and involuntarily tightens his thighs around him.
“I showered already,” he reprimands.
“Don’t worry. I’m not in the mood for-” Oscar cuts off to yawn, “-sex. I just like you so much.”
He’s not great with words, hence his vehement dislike for media duties, but he feels laid bare whenever he’s with Lando, in a comfortable way that lets him be completely honest with him. Yawning again, Oscar rubs his cheek against the front of Lando’s hoodie.
It’s entirely possible for him to fall asleep right this second.
“Are you falling asleep on me?”
“Mmph.”
Lando cups Oscar’s face with both hands and squishes it. “You’re like a cute weighted blanket.”
“Mmph.”
“We’re going to do great this season,” he continues, voice soft. “For once, I have confidence in the car. In myself.”
Fuck, Oscar loves him so much. If he tries hard enough, he might be able to climb into Lando’s chest cavity and stay right by his heart. But he’ll settle for listening to the steady rhythm of it instead.
“I have confidence in you too.”
Oscar inches upward to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s collarbone. “Yeah?”
“Yup.”
Chancing a glance up at Lando’s face, Oscar practically melts into a puddle at the glimmer in his eyes. Lando pinches the back of his neck as he turns pink under Oscar’s heavy gaze.
“Did you just try to scruff me like a kitten?” Oscar asks, surprised he’s able to put together a whole sentence.
“Don’t fall asleep on me yet. You actually do stink, babe,” Lando retorts. He pushes at Oscar’s shoulder, huffing when he refuses to budge. “Come on. The quicker you take a shower, the quicker you can cuddle me again.”
Oscar whines low in his throat, even rubbing Lando’s upper thigh in hopes that he relents and lets him sleep with him in his day-old clothes. Unfortunately for him, all he gets is another insistent nudge for his troubles.
“I’ll even hop in the shower with you,” Lando wheedles, even as he shifts his leg to press further into Oscar’s grasp. “Oscar.”
With a sigh that seems to expel itself from the deepest part of his body, Oscar drags himself out of bed, taking his boyfriend with him as he stands up. Lando squeaks in surprise, hurriedly clinging onto him with all four limbs in order to prevent Oscar from dropping him.
“Osc!”
“Didn’t want to let go of you,” Oscar mumbles. He can’t really see where he’s going, but he knows his way around Lando’s hotel room just fine.
Lando bends to kiss his forehead. “That’s sweet.”
Reluctantly, Oscar sets him down on the bathroom counter, sweeping Lando’s hoard of hair products aside to make room for his butt. Lando doesn’t even complain about it, too preoccupied with untangling himself from his hoodie. Oscar’s hoodie. It’s got his name emblazoned on the front, so.
That means Lando is his too.
At last, Lando emerges victorious from his battle against the hoodie, flushed and panting after struggling as much as he did. Oscar feels equally as flushed, unable to stop his eyes from roving all over Lando’s chest before they settle at the curve of his waist.
Oscar’s dick makes a valiant effort when Lando hops down and peels his boxer-briefs off too. He can’t help it, not when his cute boyfriend is strutting around the bathroom fully naked, fiddling with the shower’s controls and bending over for whatever reason.
To not take the opportunity to ogle Lando’s arse appreciatively would be a crime, in Oscar’s humble opinion.
The steam is kind of getting to him, if he’s being honest.
“In the shower you go,” Lando says, herding him under the spray once all his clothes are off. Dazedly, Oscar can only do what he’s told.
He immediately slumps forward against Lando, pressing him to the tiled wall, and buries his face in the crook of his neck to inhale deeply. His arms are immediately back at their rightful place—around Lando’s waist.
“Aww,” Lando coos, reaching up to run his fingers through Oscar’s wet hair, “you’re not normally this clingy, Osc.”
The entire lengths of their bodies are pressed together, and Oscar only wishes he could somehow get closer. He extracts himself momentarily to gaze at Lando, hoping he doesn’t need words to communicate just how strong his feelings are.
Lando smiles, a pretty little thing that curves his eyes into crescents and sets dimples in his cheeks.
Oscar kisses him under the spray, and all the tension leaves him as he sighs against his boyfriend’s soft lips. He keeps the kiss sweet, losing himself to the sweet glide of Lando’s mouth against his own, the shape of his nose pressed to his cheek.
When Oscar slips his tongue between parted lips, the sound that Lando lets out is sweeter than anything he’s ever heard before.
Lando’s smile widens when Oscar pulls away to take a couple gasping breaths. He lost all his athleticism down Lando’s throat and attempted to fish it out with his tongue.
“You know.”
The hands in Oscar’s hair disappear, which he mourns the loss of, only to reappear with shampoo.
“Hm.”
“Last night, I dreamt that I crashed into Charles. Took out Lewis along the way, just so you could win your home race.”
Oscar muffles his snicker against Lando’s skin. “Please don’t do that. If I’m winning my home race, you’d better be on the podium too.”
Lando coaxes him back under the spray, running his fingers through his hair to rinse all the shampoo out. The rhythmic motions and the steam curling from the shower nearly put Oscar right to sleep.
“So what I’m hearing is that they’re more than welcome to take each other out,” Lando chirps.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Mint!”
“Can’t let the FIA know about this conversation, though. We can’t start the season with negative points.”
It’s silly, just how much lighter Oscar feels when Lando giggles, loud and bright, at quite possibly the stupidest thing he’s said.
He blames it on his exhaustion when he softly murmurs, “I love you.”
Lando hiccups in surprise.
“Uh-huh, you better love me, you muppet. I don’t just wash anybody’s hair-”
“Lando.”
“I love you, Osc. Thought you knew that already.”
Still, sometimes words are necessary.