1 - Max

The first time Lando had that feeling, he was 14 and barely reached Max’s shoulder height.

He had no idea what was going on. Not an inkling.

But he felt Max’s arm around his back, warm and firm, and something in the back of his mind tingled as he looked up and those fiery blue eyes met his.

Lando felt nothing but admiration for Max, for how he raced, for how he fought, for how confident he looked doing it. When he talked about racing, Lando listened avidly and couldn’t look away.

The explanation didn’t occur to him until years later. In the meantime, they became friends, first and foremost, even though they had been rivals for all of their lifes. He chatted with Max every chance he got, raced with him online, bickered with him over Twitch. No, the explanation didn’t occur to him until he was swallowing that wave of unprecedented disappointment when Max brought his then-girlfriend to a race for the first time.

And then, Lando also looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. Saw him smiling and grinning at her in a way he never had at Lando.

His heart raced at the realization that yes, indeed — he may have had a crush on Max Verstappen, back then. But nothing was going to come of it anyway.

Lando was over Max before he really knew he was into him.

2 - Charles

The second time it happened — and Lando couldn’t pin this down on a single point in time if his life depended on it — he was probably, most likely, crushing on Charles.

Charles, with his unruly mop of dark hair and the greenest eyes Lando had ever seen. With lips more beautiful than any model’s, male or female. With his french accent and his broad shoulders and his smirk that ran like a pleasant shiver down Lando’s back and pooled enticingly in his belly, even when it wasn’t directed at him.

Charles was hot.

And Lando had never thought like that about another man, but he very definitely thought like that about Charles. Thought a lot about kissing him, and being with him, and getting his hands on him. Charles of all people, whom he had known and raced for years, whom he’d respected on the track, always, but who had also taken his time out-growing his teenaged face and the emo hair. And when he had? Oh boy.

Charles was also completely out of Lando’s league, but hey, it didn’t hurt to accept a fact for a fact.

3 - Carlos

The thing with Carlos was that he was both hot and funny. And a good driver. And he had the most naturally fluffy hair that just begged to have fingers run through it.

He also ate sushi like it wasn’t a stomach bug waiting to happen, told Lando to grow up and try some, which, hell no. One, anything near a fish, Lando was out, and two, he did not need to grow up, he was happy where he was, thank you very much.

Which may or may not apply to his teenage-level crush on him, but it was what it was.

And Carlos even had the audacity to laugh at Lando, not maliciously so, just genuinely amused.

Not a bad bone in his body.

He was the best teammate Lando could've wished for in his rookie season. Compassionate, lovely, taught him Spanish even though Lando was a lost cause from the beginning, laughed with him, sat with him after Sochi, shouted his name all the way down the pit lane in Spielberg.

Hugged him tight, even though it was 2020.

Because Lando had just made it onto the podium for the first time since he joined F1.

He had many firsts with Carlos, but not the one big first he wanted to have. Didn't stop him from fantasizing about how those lips would taste, though.

Sometimes, Lando wondered if he should ever tell him, even if Carlos was in a relationship. Because Carlos would not only be the type of person who would keep his secret, but also someone who’d let him down easy, who'd console him as a friend. Who'd hug him and tell him that's not something you can control. It wasn’t like Lando had ever told anyone about his… revelations. Not even his mum or his sisters. Not a soul.

He trusted Carlos, and he could tell Carlos.

But Lando didn't.

Nothing would come of this one either, he knew that, and then Carlos moved to Ferrari anyway.

4 - Daniel

Daniel showed him other sides of his own personality. Sides that Lando didn’t know he had.

Lando tried to convince himself he didn't have a crush on Daniel, not really. Not like he had on the others before him. He told himself he shouldn't. He had had his heart broken one too many times, and he knew that there was no way he'd find a partner in one of the other drivers, ever. Certainly not in Daniel, either.

It was madness, it was unrealistic, it was dumb. Plain and simple.

Daniel didn't make it easy for him, though.

Daniel and his huge, gummy smile, his joyous attitude, his ability to always find a silver lining, his experience, the way his eyes would crinkle and his nose would scrunch before he grabbed Lando to manhandle him wherever he wanted him.

Because Daniel was a handsy one.

And afterwards, Lando was breathless and maybe, slightly, aroused.

Daniel touched Lando whenever he could get away with it, naturally so, and Lando kind of loved it. Just, no second-guessing, no hesitation. Just hugs and arms over shoulders and a hand on the small of his back and a slow dance on stage in front of the entire fan zone.

Daniel made it so easy for Lando to love him. This one was more grown-up, a bromance kind-of crush, a self-aware crush.

So easy that Lando let it happen, enjoyed the time they had, and realised just how comfortable he’d become with touching and hugging and winking at other drivers.

He missed Daniel dearly after he left — his laughter, his silliness, even the shoey he made everyone do on the podium. So they kept that tradition alive, in memory of Danny Ricc.

At least Lando didn’t get his heart broken this time.

5 - Lewis

Lewis was… Lewis.

The man, the myth, the legend.

Objectively the most stunningly handsome dude on the grid.

But Lando didn't have those kinds of feelings and tingles for Lewis. It was Lewis, after all. Sure, he was older, and that was not something that would bother Lando, but Lewis was also another generation, another caliber of driver altogether. If it was a crush, it was a competence crush, an admiration crush.

Much like Seb, but never quite like Seb, either. Seb never had had that knowing glance in his eye whenever he saw Lando giggle with the others or noticed his eyes linger on Max’ lips for a moment too long, or when Lando subtly – or what he hoped was subtly – checked out Carlos in his new Ferrari gear. Seb’s allyship was just as loud and fierce, but different.

Different than Lewis’, who didn’t have a girlfriend or a wife or kids, only his dog, Roscoe, and a career. Who openly stated that he’d focus on what limited time he had in this sport he loved so much, and all the other stuff would come later. Relationships, happiness.

Lando had no idea how he did it. Where he took his strength from. He wasn't brave enough to ask.

Because Lando felt lonely on the best of days. After yet another relationship failed, after all the pressure and the travelling and his ex refusing to become just arm candy for him. Her words, not his. After coming home to Monte Carlo, yet again, to an empty apartment and his computer and not much else.

And then there was Lewis, showing up with the rainbow flag on his helmet, and Lando swallowed when he noticed. He knew what went into the design of a helmet. Knew that it was put there because Lewis asked for it. Knew it was here to stay for the season because Lewis had wanted it that way.

Lewis, who openly talked to the press about how important diversity and allyship and visibility were, about the pressure drivers had to work with, about the fact that there’s drivers who were part of the LGBTQ+ community. Lewis, who took the shit he got for that and smiled it off, because he was Sir Lewis Hamilton and he couldn't be bothered to give a fuck about what people said, he would always stand for what he’d stand for.

Lewis, who was so brave, braver than Lando would and could ever be.

Lewis, whom Lando could hide behind and could tell everybody that he agreed with whatever he’d said.

Lewis, who made Lando wonder if he was really just an ally, just a very, very skilled spectator around the grid and during driver dinners or whether he had some kind of secret himself.

The little smiles he would sometimes give Lando in certain situations were unreadable. Like only Lewis and Lando were in the know about something that no one else got.

Lewis, for whom he had way too much respect to talk to him about something so personal and trivial. Who had his life so under control.

Lewis, to whom he was eternally grateful, simply for being seen, for once.

And Lando felt almost lucky that Lewis wasn't just out of Lando's league, Lewis was out of Lando's universe.

+1 - Oscar

When Lando took Oscar under his wing the way Carlos had taken him under his, Lando swore to himself that this time, he wouldn’t let it happen.

He would not get infatuated with a straight guy again. No more pointless crushes.

And Oscar was, for all intents and purposes, very much straight and very much taken by a beautiful girlfriend that Lando even met the first time he was introduced to Oscar.

He considered himself warned, had learned his lesson, and with Oscar, it had to be different. It just had to, because something told Lando, the two of them being teammates? Yeah, that would be a long-term kinda deal, and he actually looked forward to it.

For the first time, Lando was the veteran, guiding a younger driver through the hurdles; for the first time, he was the one who had to lead by example.

And Oscar looked up to him and respected him, but also joked with him, sat next to him during Monday morning team meetings and late-night post-race debriefs.

With Oscar, it was easy to keep himself in check.

Not because Oscar wasn’t handsome — he was. Maybe not in the way George was stunningly beautiful, but he was cute.

Oscar’s hair was fluffy, even if it couldn’t compare to Carlos’. His little twirly tuft of hair constantly asked to get tamed and came out of a balaclava like a menace.

His lips were nice, but neither as plump as Max’ nor as sinful as Charles’. They were still tempting, but Lando was a grown-up, he could resist.

Oscar's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm the way every rookie’s did, but also with the wisdom of the F1 nerd he was, like Seb or Fernando, the ones with 200+ races under their belt.

And he was whip-smart; sometimes, too smart for his own good. He had a sense for racing, the way Nico had, and that Lando had admired from day one.

There was that twang in his voice, like there used to be in Daniel’s, the one Lando had missed every day since he was gone.

Oscar was quiet in a way Carlos or Daniel never were. They were loud and outspoken and sometimes overwhelming; they just pulled Lando along with them.

With Oscar, Lando could be the introvert he was at heart. They would simply hang out in silence in the McLaren motorhome, in one of their driver's rooms or on the communal couch, Lando on his phone, Oscar with his headphones in and his tablet on his lap, working. Occasionally asking his opinion or showing him something. His humour finely dosed, but when it caught, it caught. And sometimes, they ended up in stitches, bellies hurting with laughter and eyes wet with tears.

And then Oscar looked at him, really looked at him, and solemnly said: “I like this. With you.”

And Lando knew exactly what he meant and nodded and was very afraid, because with Oscar, it was different.

Oscar caught him between press duties one Friday, in front of his driver’s room, and said out of nowhere: “She broke up with me.”

Lando didn’t ask why. Just offered Oscar a hug, and, after a second’s hesitation, he accepted it.

It was different with Oscar because Oscar wasn't afraid.

Not afraid during a wet race in Belgium.

Not afraid to follow him through a drying Eau Rouge flat-out and overtake him without DRS on the first lap.

Not afraid to follow him into their motorhome later that day.

Not afraid to look him in the eyes, their hair still sticky with champagne and what little sweat there was left, underneath, and step in real close to Lando. His warm, light-brown eyes glassy with a slight remnant of the victory buzz and a toothy, breezy grin on his lips. His arm heavy around Lando's middle, fingers pressed into his lower back with an almost possessive gesture that fed the heat simmering in the pit of Lando’s stomach, ever since the celebration on the podium.

Lando had to look up at Oscar, because the fucker was an annoying few centimeters taller than him, and met that cautious gaze.

Oscar tried to hide a smug smile and failed. “Sorry for taking P1 from you.”

“Oh, I lost that fair and square, don't worry about it,” Lando answered lightly. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you. And it's Spa, so. You deserved it and I can live with it.”

“Are you gonna say that still, after the season?”, inquired Oscar, his voice now low and slightly concerned as he tilted his head down.

“Of course,” Lando nodded and found the whole thing very endearing. “Papaya rules, right?”

“Even when one of us becomes world champion?” When, not if.

It was Lando's turn to look at him, really look at him, and not answer the question, but ask for the real reason underneath. “What are you afraid of, Osc?”

So, as it turns out, there were things that made his grip on Lando tighten. Things that Oscar Piastri was afraid of.

The tiny smirk at hearing his nickname faltered. “Losing you,” he answered, easy as you please, no hesitation whatsoever. Because Oscar wasn't just brave — sometimes, he was also downright reckless, doing all the things Lando never would’ve dared to. “Losing this,” Oscar added, pulling Lando closer. Chest against chest now, close enough for Lando to feel his breath against his cheek, to feel the warm shiver down his spine and his heart beat hard against his ribcage.

They both reeked of dried champagne and a race well raced, needed a shower and a good night's sleep, and Lando knew all that, and decided to be brave for once, too.

Fearless, reckless, flat-out through Eau Rouge.

His fingertips prickled and sparked where he carefully touched Oscar's shoulder. “What can I do to make you believe you won't?”

“Kiss me?” Oscar asked, breathless, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

So Lando tilted his head, cockily joked, “Oh, that easy?” and kissed him, slow and sweet and lingering. Met Oscar’s lips that tasted exactly how he’d never let himself imagine. Lando let himself be kissed, let himself be held, leaned back and hoped no one would see them, like this, as he opened the door with one hand and pulled Oscar into his driver’s room with the other.

Ignored how his heart was just about ready to jump out of his chest.

He’d sworn to himself he wouldn't fall for another straight guy.

Well, turns out, Oscar was a lot of things — cute, funny, a nerd, knowledgeable and skilled — but straight wasn’t one of them.

“Wanted to do that for way too long”, Oscar admitted quietly between kisses after the door had fallen shut behind him, and kissed the scars on Lando’s nose, his breath shallow. “You have no idea.”

No, Lando hadn’t. Not an inkling.

“Looks like you have to tell me all about it, then,” he said cheekily, winking at Oscar and pulling him into another kiss. Became braver, because Oscar made him brave.

Turns out, Oscar made it easy for Lando to fall in love with him. Turns out, he didn't have to worry about crushing on him after all, because Oscar had fallen in love with him first. Turns out, they loved each other anyway, effortlessly, from day one.

THE END