Work Text:
I KNOW
Do I know he likes me?
Of course I do.
For a while.
Not too much, to be honest, but at a certain point it was hard not to understand even for someone as stunned as me.
Not that he's one to show his feelings, in fact he's pretty good at hiding everything, but if you look at him and try to figure out who the fuck he likes, at a certain point you understand.
I mean, after I caught him jerking off and it turned out he liked someone and wouldn't tell me who, I started observing him to figure out who it was and after ruling everyone out, I was left; there to figure out if it was absurd or true, I studied him with this perspective and realized that he likes me.
It's just that I'm a huge asshole and instead of making things easier for him to help him to live well this situation, I tease him.
Because I'm a huge asshole, precisely, and I want to see how long he lasts before jump on me and coming out in the open.
Not that I do anything special. Maybe I touch his ass every time we shake hands and congratulate each other on races or qualifying, or I walk around naked in our shared areas, I go into the bathroom when I know he's there, I get out of the shower and go to his room because I forgot my towel or something that's actually in my room.
I mean, there are many ways to torment and tease, but if I get my mind set on something I don't let go unless it's serious. Serious things drive me crazy and I only cause harm. Like when I race with the obsession of not making any mistakes and instead I do because I'm an idiot.
Or when I can't handle the pressure on my shoulders, the pressure of being theoretically the driver that everyone's banking on this year and therefore not as perfect as I should be or as Oscar is.
I envy his nerves of steel: he's young, he's been racing in F1 for less than me, but he's like a veteran. He's not fazed by anything.
Even that time I caught him jerking off, yes, he was embarrassed and it was the first time I'd seen him like that, but overall he was very calm if you think about it. He didn't make a scene and even came to lunch with me; he could have avoided talking about it, but instead he did saying he was impressed that I wasn't impressed by what I'd seen.
I envy him, but in a good way.
Realizing he liked me wasn't easy, I only managed it because I knew what I was looking for otherwise, I would never have gotten there.
It's not what he does, because he never does anything, on the contrary. It's how he looks at me and the banal fact that he laughs a lot only with me. In fact, he's very rigid in general, he doesn't flinch at anything or anyone, especially when there are moments of high tension. He holds a lot, but with me he's relaxed, laughs and jokes a lot, by his standards. He's fine with me, the way he’s with me he’s with no one else, but it's not just that. That's just one of the things.
Actually, it's how he gets lost looking at me.
He doesn't get caught by me often, but it happens every now and then. We exchange glances, maybe when we're talking or doing something together, but he's quite controlled. It's when he thinks I'm not looking at him that's revealing. The only time.
In fact to find out, I looked back at the videos and photos of us that are circulating, especially those taken by McLaren.
It's something I hate doing, I don't care, but for this investigation I did it and it was like a slap in the face.
I certainly didn't mind because he tried to hide it; we were talking about it that day.
Being closed and reserved is sometimes a flaw because you can't throw yourself into the person you like; that's what he said that time. When I realized that I was that person, I realized what he meant and I felt sorry. When I like someone I just go for it and try without any qualms. Most of the time, it's a good fit and I'm happy with it, other times, not so much, but I don't take it personally. But honestly, if I liked someone and didn't have the courage to try, I think I'd miss out on a lot of wonderful experiences; I think back on the ones I've had and I think, yes, I'd be sorry I hadn't had them all.
And him? Has he had any? The kind you want to experience at all costs, but don't have the courage?
Given the fact that he's never even vaguely tried with me, I definitely don't think so and I know he's sorry. I'm sorry too. He's a lovely person and a nice guy, very sweet.
I think back to the constant compliments he gives me, the nice things he says about me and it really makes me feel tender. It's true that being so rigid and closed doesn't make things easy for you emotionally, but it allows him to achieve a lot of precious things and satisfactions that many only dream of, especially in F1.
I envy him this perfect management of his nerves and situations, never loses his head, always does the right thing. It's something you either have or you don't have, I don't know if you can learn it. I'm trying, but sometimes I think it's like the search for the Holy Grail. A search impossible.
Especially because then I see how easily he does it and I think damn, I'll never get to that level.
When I realized he liked me, I felt incredibly warm and I thought that when he loves someone who loves him back, they'll both be lucky and that Oscar deserves it. He deserves someone who loves him back, who feels the same way he does.
He had a crush on the wrong person, ultimately I'm just an asshole, a flash in the pan.
Yes, I make people laugh and others are happy with me, but that's all. There's nothing underneath, there's no substance, there's no depth, I'm not mature, I don't know how to handle myself, I have no particular talents.
I play with him to push him to try and it's a game I consider innocent, but in reality I'm just an asshole and it's definitely better if we just stay friends. If he were to actually make a move, at the end of my maneuvers, I might even regret having pushed him to that point.
What should I do if he ever actually tries? Rationally I think it would be better not to go beyond friendship. Selfishly I'd like to experience what it's like to be with someone so pure and sweet. Someone so perfect. Perfect in a way I'll never be.
That doesn't mean I stop teasing him, because the feature that stands out in me is my idiocy and in the end I can reflect and get to things as much as I want, but I don't go any further. I can't give substance to what my brain produces, because I'm an asshole.
But the truth is I like pleasing him. It makes me want to be better, more deserving of his special affection. Because now I think I don't deserve him, that he's obsessed on smoke, on something only seemingly beautiful.
I think back to the me before Oscar and what I am now, or what I feel.
Before, I just kept going without a second thought. I wasn't thinking about anything, I just wanted to have fun, it was just instinct, I latched onto all the fun people who made me happy and who I felt similar to me in some way, who made me feel high and cheerful. People like Carlos and Daniel, for example. Because with them I could be the crazy, out-of-line type, do and say whatever I wanted and I was immature, but it was okay because we all laughed together, we had a good time, I had no worries and none of them gave me any or made me feel the need to have any.
Whereas now with Oscar it's different, I've never felt like this. It's as if he's so mature, even though he's younger and arrived later, he highlights my immaturity. I know he doesn't do it on purpose and he doesn't care, especially if he likes me.
He's probably attracted to the side of me that he lacks, or rather the one where he's weak, and maybe for me it's something similar.
He makes me feel different from how anyone else before him has ever made me feel.
He makes me think, he makes me want to be better, more like him, he makes me seek that maturity that I've always lacked and that I've never wanted or had.
I knew I was an idiot and I was fine with that, but now I'm not fine with that anymore because I feel like an abyss compared to him. An abyss of idiocy. I feel behind, as if he were starting from pole while I'm starting from last.
And damn, I don't like being so far behind, being at the back of the grid sucks.
Oscar has all the qualities I lack, I never wanted them, but now suddenly I want them; it’s just that wanting them isn't enough. You have to be able to achieve certain characteristics. It's not that you decide to grow and mature and then you do it.
What does growing and maturing mean? Working seriously towards goals and achieving them?
If I think Oscar is mature and I should take him as an example, I think that's it, but I don't know.
I work on my goals too. I'm a driver and I want to win and I work for that. I don't think he works harder. It's not a question of how much you work or even how.
It's more of a way of being, the way you approach the things you do and the things that happen to you.
The way I work, the way I run, the way I experience victories, successes and defeats, but above all, mistakes.
Maybe that's it.
For now, I'm only able to see my mistakes and understand why I failed, when they happen. But when I win and do well, I don't stop to think about why I succeeded; I don't try to understand the difference between the winning Lando and the losing one, because when I win everything is fine. I don't have to think about it, but maybe I should to understand what I do differently, or rather how I do it.
But this is trying to improve.
What is maturing, on the other hand?
- Have you ever wondered what maturing is?
My voice comes out on its own in yet another demonstration of how I don't think before I act and how, in fact, I act without thinking.
I'm trying to think first and act later, but I can't to do it for shit, it seems.
Oscar looks at me in amazement at the question I ask him as we walk together from the media area to the McLaren’s for the final briefing with everyone for tomorrow's race.
It's because of something I said to the journalists about the reason for my anonymous qualifying despite driving the fastest car on the circuit.
It got out of hand, obviously, and I didn't even know I was thinking it, but it's true.
My problem is inside here, I said pointing to my head.
But how the fuck do I get over it? Knowing what it is doesn't help me at all.
I waited for Oscar to finish before moving towards the garage because we all have to be together for the final briefing on Saturday evening, because they're discussing race strategies.
Oscar, who today posted the fastest time of all and is in pole position, has, as always, the power to make me think. I've never thought so much in my life as I have since I've been his teammate, but not because he gives me who knows what kind of speeches. He simply has this effect on me and it seems like he has all the answers.
But it's only because I simply wish I were more like him and it comes so naturally to him, while I don't, I can't.
Perhaps, paradoxically, he wishes he were more like me. I smile bitterly at the irony of this absurd McLaren duo.
- Mature? - he asks lost as we walk through the crowded Paddock, dodging people everywhere.
- Yeah, I... well, forget it, it's just my shitty qualifying!
- Come on, Lando, you'll see that tomorrow you'll recover immediately and have a stellar race!
His sweet, gentle voice makes me turn around as he says something he means, something I know isn't just polite, since he's saying it for me.
He smiles at me with his typical composure, but the look he gives me is sweet and understanding.
I don't deserve him to be crazy about me.
It makes me feel really weird.
I smile back embarrassed and I look away, staring at the ground. Oscar slows down surprised by the state he sees me in, because clearly I'm incredibly outgoing. It's always obvious how I feel, especially when I'm feeling like shit. I don't make anyone laugh in these cases.
- Lando... - he tries to stop me to talk about it, but I don't think he'd know what to say, or maybe he would, but in any case I feel like an idiot for showing this side of myself to him.
I should be the first driver of the team that McLaren is banking on to win the world championship. I should.
It's just that the further we go, the more I realize I'm missing something that he has.
Steady nerves.
The right mindset. Mine is defective.
He can stay focused on anything and do what he has to do, but I can't. I'm constantly losing focus, I get distracted by any bullshit, my mind is a raging river, parentheses and windows open in my brain that make me lose my way. The point is that it happens even when it shouldn't.
I pick up the pace and avoid this conversation that I don't want to have even though I provoked it, Oscar has no choice but to join me in the meeting room.
All the guys are already gathered around the long table and the computers, just waiting for us.
The applause rises unanimously for Oscar, right and deserved, and I join in smiling and giving him a pat on the ass in my usual style. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't jump around like people usually do in these situations. He likes me and I'm sure of it; I can tease him, but he doesn't flinch.
How the fuck does he do that?
Why isn't it contagious?
The meeting wasn't very long, we discussed various strategies establishing the ones we'd start with and then discussing other possible options that might arise depending on the circumstances.
In short, there weren't many doubts, but these are meetings that obviously always have to be held, sometimes they're shorter. When we get up I hope he's forgotten, even if I haven't.
How could I have asked him what it means to mature?
It's okay that we have a small age difference and that two years isn't anything, but that's not it.
I don't even know what it is. Maybe appearing so fragile and stupid.
He likes me because I'm strong and cheerful and make him laugh and loosen up, if I appear so weak and lost and serious, he doesn't like me anymore, right?
I try to speed things up by heading to the rooms where our things are kept to get changed. We'll get our things and then we can finally leave; I think I've made it and am safe, when something stops the door behind me from closing with the thud it should have.
Before turning to see who it is and hearing his worried little voice calling out to me, I roll my eyes and curse myself.
I'm such a complete asshole. Why can't my damn mouth stay quiet?
- Lando... - Oscar sneaks into my room showing off his courage. But let's see how long he can hold out.
I know exactly how to make him run away and keep him away.
I take a quick breath and when I turn to him, I'm already smiling with a happy, slap-happy face. Will I be credible?
- You were great today. You'll see, tomorrow we'll do a one-two, I'll do everything I can to...
While I'm talking mechanically, I pull down my tracksuit which I'd already opened leaving it dangling, then slip off the tight thermal shirt underneath which I'm struggling to take off because it's so soaked with sweat.
With my tracksuit around my ankles, I try to take off my shoes without untying them, but I end up tripping and so I flop onto the cot revealing the mess I am, far from being a seducer.
- Lando, be careful... - Oscar instinctively approaches but then stops immediately when he sees I'm fine.
- Close the door. - I say remaining in my boxers. Oscar does so without thinking because he's focused on getting back to the topic. I think he's worried and I don't deserve him to be worried, but I know how to stop him. I stand up and while I do so, I pull down my boxers crumpling them with my feet.
- I'll take a quick shower first.
All my clothes are scattered on the floor and he's there in the middle of my mess, staring at me with wide eyes and that beautiful, delicious complexion.
- It's so damn hot in here these days! Tomorrow we're going to die!
I speak as if there were no ghosts in the room.
One is the suspended conversation from before with my epic question, the other is Oscar staring at me in an existential crisis. I'm gloriously naked.
I don't think I'm particularly beautiful, honestly, but he likes me and that's made me feel at least a little more confident about my appearance. Evidently there is something decent in me.
Oscar doesn't answer anymore, I glance at him as I enter the bathroom that connects to his room on the other side and I see him in a panic, with my enormous, sadistic satisfaction.
I don't think I need to say anything, so I turn on the shower and while it heats up, I even start pissing.
Oscar can definitely hear, but it's as if he's turned into a statue.
- I'm listening. - I then go into the stall purposely leaving it open, as soon as he pops in, probably remembering why he chased me, he stops again as soon as he sees me under the shower.
I turn to look at him, my hands caressing me as the water flows over my body. Oscar is really exhausted and I think he might have a crisis at any moment. I barely hide my mischievous smile by biting my mouth, it feels damn good to be desired to this extent, it's even therapeutic. And then the way he's lost in me is so sweet that his gaze is almost better than this shower.
I turn the shower head jet and start quickly soaping myself up, bringing the soap to my body with my hands.
- Oscar... - I then call back seeing how enchanted he's with my body and the way I'm caressing myself, especially since I'm doing it on my groin as if I hadn't washed in ten years instead of just last night.
- Huh? - he says recovering briefly, his eyebrows raised, but his eyes never leave my hands which are rubbing my cock to soap it up.
Maybe I'm doing it too much.
Or maybe the way he's eating me out with his eyes, which are more expressive than usual for the occasion, is turning me on more than I could have imagined.
But this is also one of those stupid things I get into because I never think before I do something.
Could I ever have imagined that I would like to show off in front of his gaze lost for me?
Holy shit, the way he looks at me is killing me.
My cock grows in my hand that never stops moving and this has nothing to do with washing or silencing him.
There's pure and simple pleasure here, but not in masturbating; it's the pleasure of being watched by him like this.
Fuck, Oscar, come here and join me in this damn shower.
Stick out your balls and do what I would do in your place. Jump on me. What the fuck are you waiting for?
But as I imagine him doing it I masturbate faster, never taking my eyes off his face which in turn clearly imagines himself devouring my now big and hard cock with an open mouth.
It's like a domino effect, I can't stop because he won't stop looking at me, and he can't stop looking at me because I won't stop touching myself.
In the en, I even moan out of my own control, a control I've never had.
And I come.
Inexorably.
In front of him.
He, who I now notice, is in truly terrible condition down there. The suit is open and hanging down covering him a little, but not enough to make me realize he's in terrible shape.
How I wish I could take it all down.
But I close my eyes and shake my head, letting the water cover me again and wash everything away.
We're definitely not going to talk about that damned stupid question anymore.
When I turn off the faucet and turn to leave, Oscar has run off to his room and I'm left here alone imagining a possible conversation with him in some unthinkable declaration.
"Lando, I like you."
"I know."
It would be easy and my big mouth wouldn't hold back from telling the usual truth.
"How long have you known?"
"For a while..."
"How much?"
"A bit a lot..."
My mind is spinning again. I'm left daydreaming staring at his closed bedroom door. I could open it like that day and jump in and see what he does. He's probably masturbating like that day.
Shall I?
But what if the conversation isn't as I imagined it, but “So, do you want to tell me what that question from before means?”
“Which one?”
“What does maturing mean?”
Oh no, I wouldn't like that, then.
So I turn to the mirror and start drying myself with one of the two towels I have here for us.
I've just passed a line I've never passed before.
I performed some self-eroticism in front of him, looking at him. This goes beyond teasing and provoking him and in any case, he didn't jump on me. He has extraordinary control.
You're absurd, Oscar Piastri.
Really absurd.
And I think there's something here that goes beyond the pleasure of pleasing someone, having fun at someone else's expense, passing the time, being an asshole or whatever.
I think there's something else going on here.
When, disheveled and wet and wrapped in a towel around my waist, I decide to open his door after a hasty knock, I find his room empty, his tracksuit thrown on the cot, the usual bomb of clothes and mess around and his personal belongings missing. His usual backpack, his sneakers, his phone, him.
A grimace of disappointment makes me wrinkle my nose and I turn back to my side cursing.
I'm an idiot. What if I've messed everything up between us now? What if there's a huge wall of embarrassment on his part that he won't be able to handle? What if I've reached his limit?
This was what I wanted, after all. To find his limit, his ability to handle any emotion.
Maybe he won't be able to handle this and maybe I've just ruined everything. Maybe he won't talk to me anymore, he won't even look at me.
Maybe I'm a complete idiot.