Archive of Our Own

One-Shot: Cherries.

Oscar remembers clearly the day he first saw Lando.

It wasn’t in an extraordinary situation, nor did it involve spotlights or cameras, but it stayed in his memory as if it had. They were in a small paddock, in the middle of the pre-race chaos of Formula 2, and Lando—already with his easy charm and effortless gaze—was laughing with someone from the team, eyes gleaming at some inside joke Oscar never got to hear.

In that moment, Oscar only knew one thing: he wanted to hear that laugh again.

It wasn’t exactly love at first sight. It was more subtle. A quiet curiosity, a discreet pull. Oscar, with his cautious and reserved nature, took his time to approach. But he always watched. How Lando moved, how he handled the pressure, how he somehow never stopped being himself, even when the whole world expected greatness.

And then came the years. Time passed, categories changed, the colors of their race suits too. Opportunities, achievements. Until the day they were finally announced as Formula 1 teammates.

Teammates.

They would share the garage, the briefings, the time. And, without realizing it, they would also share their fate. Oscar never knew exactly when the fixation began. Maybe during a media day, or in a quick conversation at the motorhome. But at some point, he started noticing Lando’s mouth.

Maybe because it was always… perfect.

Hydrated, lit up. Glossy. As if Lando carried a secret in the pocket of his race suit, a ritual he followed religiously before appearing in public. Oscar couldn’t help staring. Sometimes he looked away quickly, embarrassed. Other times, he lingered too long, hypnotized by the way the light caught on those pink lips.

And when Lando smiled—and he always smiled—it only got worse. The shine would gather at the corners of his mouth, spreading lightly across his lower lip, and Oscar would feel a strange heat crawl up from his neck to his ears. It was ridiculous. Just a lip balm. But it was also the start of an obsession.

Lando noticed. He always noticed.

At first, he thought it was funny. Then, he started feeling something else. A quiet pleasure in teasing Oscar without saying a word. He carried on with his little gestures—reapplying the balm before press conferences, slowly wiping smudges away with the tip of his finger, gently biting his lip while thinking during interviews. And he would wait. Wait for Oscar’s fixed, almost reverent stare.

And it always came. But Lando never mentioned it. He only smiled to himself, satisfied. He knew he wasn’t the only one feeling something there. Their bond grew without hurry. Glances in the briefings, whispers on flights, confidences between races. Oscar laughed more with Lando than with anyone else. And Lando, in turn, looked at Oscar like someone looks at home after weeks on the road.

There was something comfortable between them. Something genuine. And as time went on, it became inevitable. A touch on the arm during interviews. Lingering stares at team parties. Jokes laced with double meanings. Silences heavy with meaning.

Lando realized he was falling in love one night in Suzuka, after a frustrating race. Oscar had crashed. He was upset, exhausted, race suit dirty, expression closed. Lando found him sitting alone on the steps of the motorhome. He didn’t say anything. Just sat beside him, handed him a bottle of water, and stayed there. Close.

Oscar leaned his head on his shoulder without thinking.

And in that moment, Lando understood. It wasn’t about glances anymore. Nor about teasing. It was about being. Feeling. Wanting.

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The decisive moment came without warning.

It was just another media day. One of the many. Oscar walked into the drivers’ lounge, looking for something he had forgotten. And there was Lando, alone, standing in front of the mirror, calmly applying a lip gloss. The tube was small, the cap red. Oscar knew the second the sweet scent filled the air: cherry.

Time seemed to slow down.

Lando dragged his finger across his lower lip, spreading the gloss with care. Then, with his thumb, wiped the excess from the corner of his mouth. A small gesture. But Oscar froze. His gaze locked, his breathing faintly uneven. His hands started trembling, almost imperceptibly.

Lando caught his reflection in the mirror and didn’t bother to hide his smile.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto Oscar’s. And then came the question,n, soft, laced with something between provocation and truth:

"Do you want to know what my lips taste like?"

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He swallowed hard, pulse hammering at his throat. He was standing, but it felt like he might collapse.

Then, with one hesitant step, he moved closer.

Lando didn’t back away.

And when Oscar finally pressed his lips against his, the world seemed to stop again. There was no paddock, no press, no cameras. Just the sweet, familiar taste. Just the warmth of Lando’s mouth against his. Just the muffled sound of a heart pounding too loudly inside his chest.

It was cherry. But it was also everything Oscar had ever wanted.

And the shine on Lando’s lips never disappeared after that.
Not from his mouth. Not from his memory.

The kiss began hesitantly.

Oscar didn’t know exactly how he moved, only that he needed to. That his feet carried him there, that his hands trembled when they gripped lightly at the side of Lando’s shirt, that his heart beat so hard he could barely hear anything else.

But then his lips touched Lando’s, and the world fell silent.

The taste came immediately—sweet, warm, with that gentle cherry note he had imagined for so long. But what Oscar hadn’t expected was the reaction. The way Lando leaned in closer, fingers pressing firmly into his waist, and most of all…

That moan.

Soft, low, muffled against his lips. A short sound, but full of everything. Desire. Relief. Hunger. The kind of sound that seemed to slip from Lando without permission, as if he himself was startled by the intensity of what he was feeling.

Oscar felt that sound reverberate through his entire body. His fingers clenched tighter in Lando’s shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss, once calm, almost reverent, deepened with a silent urgency, one that had been building for far too long.

Lando parted his lips, granting space, and Oscar explored carefully. Everything about him was warm, urgent, yet still tender. Lando’s mouth was as soft as it looked, and now the gloss was between them, mixing its taste with the heavy breaths they shared.

When Oscar broke the kiss for just a second, only to breathe, Lando smiled against his mouth. His eyes half-lidded, his face still too close. And then, as if confessing something precious, he murmured:

"You had no idea how much I wanted you to kiss me like that."

Oscar laughed softly, nervous, his forehead resting against Lando’s. He could still taste the cherry, still hear the echo of that moan in his ears. This wasn’t a casual kiss. It couldn’t be.

"I’ve thought about this moment for so long…" he admitted, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper.

Lando slid his fingers to the back of his neck, brushing lightly, and sealed their lips again—this time slower, gentler. A second kiss, more intimate, more tender, as if saying: I’m here, and I’m staying.

And Oscar knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t alone in his fixation anymore.

Lando had fallen too. Slowly. Willingly. And maybe long before he ever let it show.

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The press conference felt like one of those routine tasks—the room full of flashes, the low murmur of journalists settling in, the backdrop decorated with the team logo and sponsors. Nothing about it was new. Nothing about it screamed special.

But Oscar knew. Lando knew.

They had walked out of the lounge only minutes before, lips still faintly red—not just from the balm anymore, but from the long kiss, marked by sighs and muffled moans that still clung to their skin. And now they were here, sitting side by side, uniforms pristine, trying to look normal.

Oscar was failing miserably.

He avoided looking at Lando. And when he did… it was worse. Because Lando was smiling. That small, crooked smile, the kind that carried a delicious little secret on the tongue, savoring it in silence.

And of course, the damn lip gloss was still there. Shining. Teasing. Provoking.

Oscar cleared his throat, trying to focus on the question a French journalist had just asked.

"Oscar, how are you feeling about the team’s performance at this stage of the championship? You seem more confident in the last few races…"

“Ah… yes. Yes, of course,” he replied, pulling the microphone closer with one hand and hiding the other on his lap, curled into a fist. “I think we’re making a lot of progress, learning more about the car and… and it’s always good to have someone like Lando by my side. He constantly pushes me to grow.”

Lando turned his head toward him instantly.

Oscar felt it.

But he didn’t dare meet his eyes. He knew that if he did—if he looked at his lips again—he’d give in to the smile and let more slip than he should.

“You’re doing really well,” Lando replied, speaking directly into the microphone. But his voice wasn’t for the room. It was for him. Different. Personal. “And not just in the races.”

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut for a second. His lips parted just a little, and a shiver ran down his spine.

Another question. Another flash.

"Lando, your relationship with Oscar seems great. Do you two get along off-track as well? What do you do in your free time?"

Oscar held his breath.

Lando chuckled.

“We understand each other well. Very well. Sometimes we don’t even need words.”

The room laughed. Light chuckles, brushing it off as just a joke.

But Oscar knew. He felt the quick sideways glance Lando shot him. Their eyes locked for less than a second, but it was enough. A silent confirmation of everything they had shared minutes before. The cherry taste still lingering. The muffled moan against his mouth.

Oscar wanted to smile. And he did. Even as he tried to hide it.

Lando saw. He always saw.

When the conference ended and they both stood up, Oscar felt Lando’s fingers brush lightly across his back as they walked out of the room.

A brief touch.

A reminder.

And as they walked down the hallway side by side, hearing the footsteps of their press officers and the voices fading behind them, Lando leaned just close enough for only Oscar to hear:

"I can still taste you. And I loved it."

Oscar laughed, his face burning.

Because in that moment, he knew—it wasn’t just a kiss. Not just teasing.

It was the beginning of something neither of them was willing to hide anymore.

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The apartment was small, but cozy. Nestled in the heart of Monaco, it had large windows that let the late afternoon light turn everything golden—the white-painted walls, the plants Lando often forgot to water, and the vanity tucked into the corner of the bedroom, originally bought as a “decorative” piece.

Today, it was sacred ground.

Oscar knew it as such. Sacred. Because it was there that, every morning before interviews, races, or trips, Lando would sit, legs crossed, body leaning slightly forward, and perform his lip gloss ritual. A moment just for him, quiet and methodical, as if preparing himself to face the world—and Oscar never tired of watching.

They had been together for months now.

Not just in the public or physical sense, but in every way that mattered. In the improvised late-night meals, the naps taken tangled together on the couch, the trips where they shared headphones and comfortable silences. In the habit of waking up wrapped around each other, unable to tell where one ended and the other began.

It wasn’t just desire anymore. Not only kisses.

It was love.

And still, or perhaps because of it, Oscar remained completely obsessed with Lando’s lips.

Sometimes he woke up first just to see him sleeping with his mouth slightly open, the faint sheen of last night’s balm still there, mixed with the warmth of morning breath. Other times, he pretended to scroll on his phone just to watch Lando apply gloss with meticulous care, the way he was doing now.

It was a quiet afternoon. They had no commitments. Only the low hum of the fan and the soft playlist playing from the speaker in the corner of the room.

Lando sat, as always, in front of the vanity mirror, holding a small tube of clear gloss with a watermelon scent. His hair was still damp from the shower, a loose shirt slipping from his shoulder, his eyes half-lidded in concentration as he guided the applicator with precision.

Oscar, lying on the bed with his head resting on his crossed arms, just watched.

And then came the detail that warmed his chest: Lando slipped. A tiny smudge at the corner of his lower lip. Small, almost unnoticeable. But Oscar saw. He always saw.

Without saying anything, he stood and walked over. Stopped behind the chair, looking at his boyfriend’s reflection over his shoulder. Lando was already smiling before Oscar even touched him.

"I messed it up again, didn’t I?" Lando murmured, calm, eyes still fixed on his own lips.

Oscar smiled too. That silly, love-struck smile he only wore for Lando.

"You always do it on purpose." he whispered, leaning in.

With his thumb, he slowly wiped away the smudge, fingers brushing against the warm skin of Lando’s cheek. When he was done, he stayed there, face too close, eyes fixed on the glossy curve of lips he knew so well.

Lando tilted his head, noses brushing, and laughed softly.

"Maybe I just like when you come fix it."

Oscar didn’t answer. He just leaned down and kissed him—a damp, fleeting peck, just enough to taste. Not urgent. A kiss from someone who had all the time in the world. From someone who had known that flavor for months and was still surprised by its intensity.

"You still taste like cherry sometimes," Oscar murmured afterward, resting his forehead against Lando’s.

"Today’s watermelon."

"I know." he smiled. "But my memory insists."

Lando turned in his chair, pulling Oscar by the waist until he was sitting on his lap with the ease of routine. Because it was routine. He kissed his collarbone, then his neck, then his chin.

"And you still look at me the same way as before," Lando said against his skin, with that smile that always came right before he left Oscar breathless.

Oscar sighed, his fingers slipping into Lando’s damp hair.

"Because nothing’s changed," he replied with his eyes closed. "It’s only become more real."

There, between lip glosses, small imperfections, and daily kisses, they had found something rare. Something that didn’t need to be loud. Something that lived in the details—like the discreet shine of a gloss. Like a simple gesture in front of the mirror. Like a love born in silence, growing unnoticed until it became impossible to hide.

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The day was calm in the apartment. The open windows let in a lazy breeze, and the smell of coffee still lingered in the air. It was a Sunday without races, without obligations. Just the two of them—Lando in a baggy hoodie with messy hair, and Oscar in his boyfriend’s favorite t-shirt, chuckling softly at the random ideas Lando threw into the air while scrolling TikTok on the couch.

“Look at this trend,” Lando said excitedly, showing his phone with a video that barely lasted 15 seconds. “I put on red gloss, cover your face with kisses, then reapply in front of the mirror, and you come clean up the smudge… and kiss me back.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, already smiling.

“That’s just an excuse to kiss me until I’m covered, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Lando said, flashing that mischievous grin as he got up. “But it’ll be cute. And you’ll look gorgeous covered in lip marks.”

Oscar didn’t resist. He never did.

They sat on the bedroom floor, with the ring light already set up—left over from Lando’s livestreams—and the phone in place. Lando sat facing the vanity mirror, just like he always did, but this time with a shimmering red lip gloss in hand.

“Ready?” he asked, already opening it.

Oscar nodded, half laughing.

Lando applied it slowly, his lips turning shiny and red within seconds. It was bold, more daring than what he usually wore, but it suited his warm skin and bright eyes perfectly. When he finished, he turned to Oscar, mischief glowing in his gaze.

“Time for the sacrifice, love,” he said before covering Oscar’s face with kisses.

Oscar laughed the whole time, trying to dodge, but Lando held his face gently, planting wet smooches on his cheeks, forehead, chin—even the tip of his nose.

“You’re making me look like a painting,” Oscar muttered, his face now covered in sparkling red marks.

“You look like mine,” Lando whispered.

Oscar froze for a second. His heart raced. But he smiled—just as genuinely as the feelings he held for the boy with the red lips and sunshine smile.

They filmed the next part. Lando reapplying the gloss in front of the mirror, smudging it on purpose at the corner of his mouth. And, as always, Oscar came up behind him, eyes soft and full of tenderness—the same look as before it all started—and wiped the smudge away with his thumb.

Lando turned, his eyes shining.

Oscar kissed him.

Not a staged kiss. A real one. Slow. Warm. Full of affection. Sweet, like the taste of Lando’s lips.

The video ended there. But the feeling didn’t.

Lando replayed it on his phone, sitting at the foot of the bed, cheeks flushed and a goofy grin plastered on his face. He watched it on loop, nibbling his lip, until he finally looked up at Oscar—now lying on his side, chin resting on his hand, watching him.

“Can I post it?”

Oscar blinked. Not because the question surprised him. But because it… meant something.

They’d been together for months. Everyone close to them knew—their friends, the team, their families. But the public didn’t. They had never spelled it out. Never shown it so openly. This was a step. Maybe even a leap.

But Oscar felt ready.

“You can,” he said firmly, calmly. “I want them to see what I see every day.”

Lando smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when he was truly happy.

Before he could hit “post,” Oscar got up and went to the closet. He opened the door and pulled out a small gift bag he’d been hiding for days. Coming back, he handed it to Lando with a shy yet knowing look.

“For you. It’s just… a silly gift. But it reminded me of you.”

Lando frowned curiously, carefully peeling away the tissue paper.

Inside was a lip gloss. A rich nude shade, elegant and understated, in a delicate tube with a label written in Portuguese. He opened it, and the scent hit instantly.

Chocolate. Sweet and comforting.

“It’s from a Brazilian brand,” Oscar explained, sitting beside him. “I ordered it. I saw it and thought of you. I thought it’d be nice to have something that smells like what we eat when we’re home. Something more… ours.”

Lando held the tube in his hands for a few seconds, as if it were more precious than any trophy he’d ever won.

“This is so… sweet. You’re sweet,” he murmured, his voice low, loaded with something deeper. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

Oscar smiled.

“You’re still asking?”

Lando turned, eyes a little too shiny for the moment, but he didn’t care. He hugged Oscar around the waist and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Then the world’s going to know now,” he said, already typing the video’s caption. “That the one leaving kisses all over your face… is me.”

Oscar kissed the top of his head.

“And I’m all yours.”

That night, when the video went up, TikTok exploded within seconds. Floods of heart emojis, cherry emojis, fans screaming in the comments, edits and gifs everywhere. But none of that mattered more than what they already had, right there between them.

The shine of gloss, the taste of a kiss, and the love in a gaze that hadn’t changed since the beginning—only grown steadier, sweeter, more real.

And now, it smelled like chocolate.

Night came slowly.

The apartment lights were off, except for the bedroom’s soft lamp and the TV playing some random muted documentary that neither of them was watching. Lando’s phone buzzed nonstop—mentions, reposts, gushing comments, gifs, edits. The outside world was exploding over the trend.

But the world inside… was quieter. Warmer.

Oscar lay on the couch, one leg bent, wearing only a loose t-shirt and a relaxed, almost sleepy expression. His face still carried the remnants of earlier kisses—faint red marks on his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and one along his jaw, like a little signature Lando had left behind.

And he hadn’t wiped off a single one.

Not with a tissue. Not with the towel Lando had offered after filming. Nothing. He had simply left them there. Proud, maybe. Or just too comfortable to care.

Lando sat beside him, body turned toward Oscar, one knee propped up on the couch as his fingers idly played with the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“You’re still wearing the marks…” he whispered, almost in awe.

Oscar opened his eyes lazily, lips curving into a soft smile.

“So what?”

“So what? You didn’t even try to hide them.” Lando reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against one of the smudges on Oscar’s cheek. “This is literally my kiss. On your face. Literally.”

Oscar caught his hand and pressed it against his cheek.

“Yeah. And it’s staying there,” he said with the kind of sincerity that always melted Lando inside.

Lando’s chest tightened, as if he were falling in love all over again, right there, in that quiet, silly moment. He leaned forward, lying down gently on top of Oscar, careful not to break anything—not the silence, not the moment.

Oscar welcomed him, pulling him closer by the waist, just like he always did. Their bodies fit together naturally. Warm skin against skin. Breaths mingling.

Lando stared, faces only millimeters apart. His gaze flickered to the kiss marks on Oscar’s skin, then back to Oscar’s eyes—the eyes that looked at him like he was everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lando murmured, like confessing an old secret.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

Oscar smiled.

Lando lowered his lips, kissing the same mark that was already there. As if to reinforce it. As if to say: mine. Then another. And another. Slow. Gentle. The kind of tenderness that didn’t rush, that wanted nothing more than to simply exist.

“I’m yours, you know?” Lando whispered against his skin.

“I know,” Oscar replied, his fingers threading through Lando’s damp hair. “And I’m yours too.”

Lando nestled between Oscar’s legs, resting his face against his chest like a cat finding the perfect spot to sleep. The sound of Oscar’s heartbeat was calm. Steady. A reminder that they were here. Together. Real.

“Do you think the video was too much?” Lando asked after a while, not lifting his head. “Maybe it’s too much to show that much?”

Oscar chuckled softly, kissing his forehead.

“Lando… you literally covered me in red gloss and kissed me everywhere. And I let you. Because I love every part of it. You don’t have to hide what you love.”

Lando closed his eyes, smiling.

“It’s just… I’m so happy. Like, ridiculously happy. And you make me that way,” he murmured. “So when you’re lying here still marked by my kisses and you don’t care… I just feel like I don’t need anything else.”

Oscar tightened his arms around him, pulling him closer.

“You don’t. You already have everything right here.”

Lando sighed, burrowing deeper into the embrace.

And that night, between the scent of gloss, kiss marks, and whispered confessions in the dark, their love was no longer just a sweet secret.

It was a comfortable truth. Visible. Shining on Oscar’s face—and in Lando’s heart.

And, like his favorite gloss, it felt like it would never fade away.

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

Oscar woke up before the alarm. He was lying on his side, hair messy, arms wrapped around a deeply asleep Lando, whose mouth was slightly open, breath slow and calm. The room was still dim, sunlight filtering faintly through the curtains.

He didn’t move right away.

He just stayed there, watching.

Lando’s face still carried faint traces of the gloss from the night before, especially at the corner of his mouth. Oscar smiled and, with the lightest touch of his finger, brushed against the smudged red stain—without trying to wipe it away. It was too sweet a memory to erase so soon.

When he finally reached for his phone, he noticed the flood of notifications.

The trend had gone viral.

Millions of views. Thousands of comments. “MY SHIP,” “they love each other so much,” “who allowed these two to be this perfect?” “Oscar covered in kisses and not even caring 😭.” Edits were already popping up. Gifs. Montages with love songs.

And there, among it all, Oscar saw the video posted officially on Lando’s account.

No cryptic captions. No cheeky, ambiguous jokes.

Just:

“my love”
💋🍒

Warmth spread through his chest all over again.

"They’re already finding out you slept with my marks on your face, huh…" came Lando’s husky voice, eyes still half-closed.

Oscar looked at him with a lazy smile.

"I was gonna clean it off… but then you were holding me like that. I couldn’t be bothered. And… I like feeling you on me."

Lando let out a muffled laugh, hiding his face against the curve of Oscar’s neck.

"You’re gonna kill me, Piastri…"

Oscar pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Maybe after coffee."

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The bathroom was filled with hot steam, the smell of soap, and soft music playing from the phone resting on the counter. Lando stood in front of the vanity—already “claimed” by both of them—reapplying the new gloss, the gift Oscar had given him the night before.

The sweet scent of chocolate lingered in the air.

Oscar appeared behind him, wrapped in a towel, wet hair dripping over his shoulders.

“You’re using it,” he said with a smile.

“Obviously. It’s my favorite now.”

Oscar leaned closer, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder, gazing at their reflection in the mirror.

“I like seeing you like this. So focused. All meticulous with that gloss.”

“Are you going to tease me?”

“Never. I just get all soft about it.”

Lando turned his head, already smiling, and Oscar stole a kiss from the corner of his mouth, smudging the freshly applied gloss a little.

“Great,” Lando grumbled. “Now I’ll have to put it on again.”

“Don’t complain. I love fixing it when you mess up.”

And, just as promised, Oscar grabbed a cotton swab from the side drawer and, with all the delicacy in the world, corrected the smudge with exaggerated care, as if he were holding something fragile and precious. His eyes never once left Lando’s in the mirror.

“There. Perfect again.”

Lando’s cheeks were flushed.

“We’re ridiculous.”

“We’re in love. That’s different.”

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

The Monaco sky was already starting to darken when the apartment settled into that comfortable pre-event silence. That moment when everything was already chosen: the outfit laid out, the cologne sprayed, the invitation accepted—and now, only the finishing touch was missing.

Oscar was ready.

He wore a light blazer, a soft shirt with two buttons undone at the collar, his hair styled in that half-natural, half-purposeful way. He was sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, a goofy smile on his face. His phone was in his hand, but his attention was entirely on Lando, as always.

Lando stood in front of the vanity, the light reflecting the subtle glow of his well-kept skin. He wore a fitted black shirt, slightly sheer at the shoulders with delicate silver details. His hair was already in place—half messy, half perfect—but what held Oscar’s gaze most was his mouth.

More precisely, the gloss.

This time, it was a soft pink shade. Gentle. Almost childish—even bought at some random pharmacy during one of their trips, in a little tube decorated with stars and scented like sweet strawberry. Lando had laughed when he saw it, but Oscar insisted:

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

And he did. He loved it.

Oscar loved it even more.

Because the taste was delicate. Because it matched Lando’s warm skin, his crooked smile, and that habit of biting his lower lip whenever he was concentrating. And because Oscar adored spoiling him with these little things.

Lando applied the last layer with the tiny applicator, then pressed his lips together, making an involuntary pout that nearly killed Oscar with affection right then and there.

“All done,” he said, spinning in the chair and opening his arms. “I am officially shining.”

Oscar stood slowly, his eyes locked on Lando’s mouth as always.

“Shining and delicious,” he murmured, kissing the corner of his lips before Lando could say anything. “Smells like strawberry, tastes like emotional chaos for me.”

Lando laughed.

“You treat me like a spoiled child.”

Oscar shrugged.

“Maybe because you are. But you’re mine.”

They held each other’s gaze for a second longer. The kind of exchange that said everything without a single word. Then they left the apartment, hands clasped in the elevator, silly smiles stuck on their faces.

The event entrance was bustling.

Journalists, cameras, other drivers. Pierre was chatting with Charles near the bar. George was greeting fans in the distance. There was a natural buzz, voices echoing in French and English, laughter, flashes. But when Oscar and Lando arrived — together, side by side, smiling openly — the air seemed to shift for a second.

People noticed. How could they not?

Lando wore the pink gloss with the same pride as someone carrying a trophy. And Oscar, with his hand resting on his boyfriend’s back, looked absolutely at ease. Safe, serene, whole in each other.

“Hey, royal couple,” Norris heard from Alex, passing by with a glass of champagne. “Is it even allowed to shine that much in public?”

Lando laughed, blowing him a kiss in the air.

“Always has been. We just let you see it now.”

Oscar squeezed his waist discreetly. They looked at each other, smiling. Everything between them was light. Simple. The presence of one another was enough.

During the night, they slow-danced to some random song. Drank little, laughed a lot. Oscar overheard compliments about Lando’s gloss and pretended not to care, but deep down he was swelling with pride — it was his. He had bought it. He had suggested it. He had chosen it for the love of his life.

By the end of the party, when the flashes had dimmed and the crowd thinned, Lando leaned toward Oscar’s ear, the sweet scent of the gloss still lingering between them:

“Kiss me before I melt under that lovesick stare of yours.”

Oscar held his face with both hands.

“I’m always lovesick. And the strawberry just makes it worse.”

He kissed him slowly. No rush. Even with people around. Even with cameras.

Because right there, in the middle of so many, Lando was his. And Oscar wanted the whole world to see it.