Work Text:
Oscar doesn’t remember the last time he felt this rattled.
It was unlike him. He normally prided himself on being the most rational, the most mature, the most collected. But something in him snapped today. It was the knowing. The knowing that the win was within his grasp, the car was capable, he was capable, and he bottled it with a penalized maneuver he still didn’t fully understand. Every grand prix, the stakes were raised. Momentum was lost or gained. The margins for error grew slimmer until the smallest of mistakes caused the biggest of disadvantages. Oscar knows pressure comes with the territory. He knows victors aren’t just handed trophies. They win. It’s been too long since Oscar had won, and the only other person who feels the crushing weight of the WDC is Lando Norris.
Lando had won today. His home race. Home crowd. Silverstone Track. British Grand Prix.
God, if only Oscar could make sense of his conflicting feelings right now maybe he wouldn’t act like such an ass. He never congratulated Lando. He gave tight-lipped interviews and threw out snarky remarks. He sulked. And now he found himself in his driver’s room, pacing, kicking bed posters, clenching fists. The worst part was that he actually truly cared about how Lando felt. He was proud of him, even. But that only made Oscar feel like a weaker competitor. And maybe a worse friend for not being there for him. He sat down on the edge of his bed a ran his fingers through his helmet hair.
Suddenly, Lando bursts into Oscar’s driver’s room without knocking, a mechanic tugging at his elbow. With one hand clutching the bridge of his nose, he shrugs the mechanic off, then mumbles something about needing space before shoving himself through the doorway and forcing the door shut behind him. Without acknowledging Oscar, he plops himself down on the mini couch and lets out a heavy sigh. Well this is just great. Exactly who Oscar didn’t want interfering with his thoughts right now. But the annoyance dies quickly when he notices the injury.
“Jesus Lando, what happened?”
A breathy chuckle escapes Lando’s lips. “I’ve just gone and injured myself.” His hand is still covering his nose, but a thin trail of blood has started dripping down his hand. He removes his hand to look at it for a second, before smearing it against his black shirt.
“Stop that, you’re going to get blood all over my couch.” Oscar peels himself of the edge of the bed where he had been perching to go stand in front of Lando, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, while he examined the cut across the bridge of Lando’s nose. Lando stared up at him silently, submitting himself under Oscar’s assessing gaze.
“Well it’s not broken”
“no.”
“Just a cut then?” Lando nods in response to Oscar’s question. Just then Oscar shifts his body in response to a tapping on the door, and Lando averts his gaze. “Come in.”
It’s Zak Brown, who comes bearing fistfuls of gauze and an ice pack.
“Oh good, the mechanics said you’d be in here. Oscar, Lando, I got these from the team doctor. Do not try to go out again without seeing them first, Lando. We need to get that sorted before press. But don’t worry, I’ll give you some space. Call if you need me.” He places the items on the end table, and Lando mumbles his gratitude before Zak backs off and shuts the door behind him. Oscar stands silently for a minute before sighing and joining Lando on the couch. He reaches across Lando’s body to pick up some gauze on the end table before staring at him asessingly again.
Lando is staring across the room into a void, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, thoughts wandering. The emotions of the day were finally starting to overwhelm him, so he went to where he usually finds solace, which is Oscar. He needed to back off from the crowds for a moment, from the raucous celebrations of his team to just sit and process. The cut on his nose was just the icing on the cake. He was happy, but he knew Oscar was sulking. Knew he was tired of accusatory interview questions. Tired of what if(?) scenarios. Tired of… maybe celebrating Lando’s success knowing it meant his own demise. But if there’s one thing Lando has never been able to do it’s give Oscar space. He’ll worm his way into Oscar’s life like a cancer. His personality is all consuming, until Oscar doesn’t know what it’s like to live without him. Until all Oscar knows is Lando’s constant presence, haunting his narrative on the race track and in his personal life. Does Lando know how much Oscar is thinking of him?
“Turn your head.” Oscar interrupts both of their thinking with his gentle command. Lando complies, and Oscar gently presses gauze to the angry cut. Lando winces in pain. Oscar grimaces. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s not even my first time.” Lando jokes.
Oscar scoffs. “Did you cut your face on a champagne bottle?”
“Nope. I think it was a camera this time, had to catch my best angle.” He grins at Oscar while he rolls his eyes in response. With a final dab, Oscar leans back to check his handiwork.
“Well I don’t think it’s bleeding anymore. Just don’t… move your face?” The last part came out like a question.
“Ah yes. I have an excellent poker face.”
“Riiigght. Sure you do.”
“See, I’m doing it right now.” Lando fully turns towards Oscar to stare at him with his best poker face. Oscar does it back. They stare at each other for about 5 seconds before it’s clear that Lando is fighting a smile and bursts out laughing. Oscar can’t help but smile back at the silliness of it all. It felt like a couple of school boys who just got caught by their teacher and are trying not to laugh. Oscar lets himself get caught up in the lighthearted moment, eyes crinkling with his soft chuckles. He finally zones in on Lando’s cut and exclaims “Lando! You idiot, now you’re bleeding again!” He hadn’t meant it to be funny, but now Lando is howling with laughter and Oscar can’t contain his own anymore. For a real minute, Oscar forgot all about the penalties and the jealousy and the tension of it all. Now he was giggling like a fool with his fiercest rival, who felt like the only person who knew what Oscar was feeling in that moment. He wanted to embrace the distraction, but he was beginning to feel guilty about how he’d acted towards Lando earlier. Suddenly the light mood takes a nose dive, and the laughter dies down.
“Lando.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.” Oscar admits quietly.
“I know.” Lando gives Oscar a soft smile. “And I understand.”
Maybe that’s what was so compelling about Lando. The understanding. The knowing that no one else more intimately understands the situation they are in more than the two of them. The common goal. The winning. The pressure. The failure.
Lando leans forward to give Oscar a hug, but Oscar stops him with a hand on his chest. Lando looks confused and rejected before Oscar elaborates “The blood, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Whoops.” Lando grabs a clean piece of gauze to dab at his own cut but Oscar intercepts him to do it himself.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
They sit in comfortable silence while Oscar dresses Lando’s cut, doing so with gentle, deliberate motions. Lando thinks Oscar looks cute like that, with subtle concern and affection written all over his features. He finds himself staring into Oscar’s warm brown eyes while he stares in concentration at Lando’s cut. When he finally shifts his gaze to meet Lando’s his breath gets caught in his throat. Their faces are mere inches apart. Oscar can make out the tiny freckles dotted across his face, the softness of his slightly parted lips, the expectancy in his green eyes. He forces himself to put distance between them. He can’t just yet. He’s scared Lando doesn’t know what he’s getting into.
Oscar clears his throat. “Do you want the Ice pack?” It takes Lando a moment to come back down to earth and comprehend what Oscar just said.
“No… no, I think i’m alright.” He tries his best to hide his disappointment and his self loathing. Pretend like he didn’t just miss read the moment. Lando was being unfair, Oscar was having an emotional day and was doing his best to be kind. Nothing more.
He pushes himself up from the couch quickly and forces a smile. “See you around, Osc.”
“Wait…” Oscar catches Lando’s hand and Lando turns to face him, this time being the one standing over him. Oscar pauses and tries to find his words. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want you to leave me alone in here.” Lando stays quiet, waiting for Oscar to articulate his thoughts. “I just keep thinking… you’re the only person in the world who knows how this feels. and I’m scared. I’m scared i’m going to lose the championship. But i’m more scared i’m going to lose you.” Oscar’s confession is so raw, so earnest, that it makes Lando’s heart squeeze in his chest.
“You won’t lose me, Osc.” He reassures him. He sits back down on the couch and pulls Oscar into his side with an arm slung over his shoulders. Oscar slouches into him and allows his head to rest on Lando’s shoulder. They sit like that for a while until a woman from PR says through the door that they are needed in a few minutes.
Oscar sighs. “I’d rather not get up.” He tilts his head up to meet Lando’s eyes, but then his gaze flicks to the cut on Lando’s nose. “But you should get that looked at.” As if testing it, Lando scrunches his nose.
“Doesn’t even hurt anymore. You already took care of me.” He smiles softly. Oscar’s eyes have grown hazy, and he reaches out and gently traces the line of Lando’s nose with a finger. He traces down the side of Lando’s face until he’s cupping his cheek with his hand, holding Lando’s gaze with dark, yearning eyes. As if reading Oscar’s mind, “I want you to.” Lando whispers, barely perceptible. But it’s all the permission Oscar needs to close the gap half way, and Lando meets him there.
It starts off agonizingly sweet, and agonizingly gentle. Lando can feel Oscar hesitate because of his injury, but Lando wants to leave no doubt in Oscar’s mind that he wants this. He wants Oscar. So he lets his hands wander into Oscar’s hair and kisses him deeper, sweeping his tongue along his bottom lip. Oscar melts into Lando, shifting his body to get a better angle. He makes a small pleased noise at Lando’s hands gently tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. They kiss until an abrupt knock on the door startles them apart, and Oscar pulls back with his cheeks flushed from embarrassment and lips kiss-swollen. Luckily the door doesn’t open, and Lando admires the view.
It’s Zak again, yelling at Lando through the door that he needs to get his nose checked so that the two drivers could go to press. “Coming!” Lando calls out. When it appears that Zak has left he turns back to Oscar and absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair. “We’ll uh… talk later then, yeah?” Lando had a stupid grin on his face that Oscar mirrors.
“ ‘Course mate. See you in press.” Oscar replies. With that, Lando presses one final peck to Oscar’s lips before standing up and leaving Oscar alone in his driver’s room. God help him, he’s absolutely whipped for Lando Norris.