Chapter Text
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
Oscar shut his eyes.
He felt the wind brushing his hair across his forehead, rustling the leaves on the trees behind him. He was up on a hill, about ten meters from the house.
He could smell the dirt, the grass, and that crispness the air always had in late December. There was the faint tang of chlorine from a pool, and the slow bubbling of a hot tub left on without a care for electricity bills.
He listened to the crickets, the odd wing flap of a bat, the hoot of an owl.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
When he opened his eyes again, his heartbeat had calmed, his hands were as steady as a marble statue, and there was zero remorse to be found anywhere in his body, anywhere in a ten foot radius of himself.
He lifted his rifle up so the recoil pad was securely between his bicep and his pec. He clicked the safety off and looked through the scope.
He watched through floor to ceiling windows as his mark paced back and forth in her kitchen. Some too rich political arse who was getting too comfy with another Mafia. Stella told him to take her out. He only usually got marks from the Italian, never really from Zak. Zak was more about keeping the front to their business - their club - lively, busy, and unassuming.
When his mark stopped pacing after angrily hanging up, she was perfectly in line with her back to the window, and Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly in delight. This was going to be ridiculously quick and easy. Oscar’s finger hovered over the trigger. He double checked his aim by closing his left eye and staring down the scope with his right.
He hesitated merely a millisecond, just enough to breathe in in anticipation of the recoil, before pulling the trigger.
He watched the bullet pierce the glass, it immediately shattered around the deadly metal, only a small hole with hairline fractures exploding out from it like lightning.
Oscar watched his mark collapse, phone clattering from her hand. He felt the wave of grim satisfaction at a job cleanly executed, perfectly done. He would even go so far as to describe it as clinical. He let himself revel in it for a few moments, sue him - he did this as a job, he couldn’t not enjoy it a little bit. He watched the blood pool around her head, marvelling at how disgusting it would feel in her hair, but then again, she was dead so she wouldn’t care.
After a few more moments, he began dismantling his rifle. He let his mind drift to the money. He’d had his first half - ten-k - and would get the rest later. All he had to do was take a picture and send it to Stella.
He lifted his camera, some piece of too expensive technology Oscar would never understand besides the basic ‘look through the lens, focus, take the picture’ spiel he’d had to teach himself.
He sighed as if he’d just worked for ten hours straight without a break and took the picture. He lowered the camera to briefly admire his photography, pursing his lips and furrowing his eyebrows. He’d done worse, but he could do better. He lifted the camera again, taking another photo. He examined this one, eyes flicking over the image. He hummed in acceptance. It wasn’t that much better than the first one, but oh well.
He’d done his job, he’d killed her.
Now, he could go home and collapse in the apartment he shared with his best friend Logan before getting up and having to put the picture on his USB with his fifty (give or take) other victims and giving it back to Stella.
Merry fucking Christmas.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Given how much time Oscar Piastri spends beneath an incredibly popular club, one would be surprised to find out how much he hated them.
He didn’t like the lights, the music you couldn’t really decipher that was loud enough to deafen the elderly or young babies (house music was different, Logan disagreed but Oscar was right), the stench of sweat, alcohol, weed, cigarettes, vapes… he could probably go on.
Moral of the story, he didn’t like clubs very much.
But, if it was for a friend’s birthday - like it was right now - he’d suck it up and endure. Logan Sargeant. It was his flatmate and best friend’s birthday that they were celebrating, which also dubbed as a New Years Eve do because it was his birthday on December thirty-first.
If he was being real, clubs weren’t that bad. Oscar was just quite passionate about the things he disliked even the slightest. If that was the case with something? Whoever he was with would know all about it. He found, with his friends anyway, that complaining was the best conversation starter.
Since it was Logan’s birthday, and he was in uni he was looking for a cheap night out for him and their friends. Obviously, Oscar suggested the one place he could go for two reasons. One; he’d be able to get them discounted drinks the whole night because, well, because he worked there. And two; he’d be shot on sight if he tried to set foot in any other club in Monaco.
Okay, maybe a little brash. They wouldn’t make his death that public. They’d kidnap him, maybe torture him a little to try and get some information out of him, maybe hold him for ransom for a while, then they’d kill him. Or he’d get poisoned by the bartender.
Dramatic? Yeah. That’s Mafias for you.
As they approached the club - a group of a few of Logan’s uni friends that Oscar had also befriended by-proxy, Logan, and Oscar - he nodded to the bouncer, skipping the queue, getting VIP wristbands and heading straight inside.
“Jesus, mate, how’d you convince your boss for discounted drinks and VIP on New Year’s?” Logan asked, bewildered as they beelined for the bar. Oscar just grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the bartop.
“I am a favourite employee.” He said vaguely. That didn’t even begin to cover Stella’s favouritism for him, something Oscar graciously ignored. “Great at washing cups and selling drinks.” He joked. They never put him front of house. When he wasn’t out assassinating annoyingly nosy, stuck up, pretentious politicians, he was working logistics in the basement with Andrea, Zak, and sometimes Max, Mark, Lewis, Fernando, or Jenson. Him and Max were the only ones of that group that didn’t have the side-hustle as a bartender or security guard because they were out in the field the most often.
“Well, we thank you.” Fred said, clapping Oscar on the shoulder with a bright grin.
“It’s no problem.” Oscar shrugged nonchalantly. He turned to the group. “This round’s on me so, what do you guys want?” He asked, looking between his friends and the bartender who’d sidled up in front of him.
Everyone told Isack their orders, the young Frenchman nodding. He worked with Oscar, but he was a rookie so he had to still work his way up the ranks and one way he was doing that was by bartending with Alex.
“And for you, Oscar?” He asked, looking up from his notepad.
Oscar hummed, scanning the racks behind the bar. “I’ll have an Australian whiskey, please Isack.” He smiled, getting a wide, cheeky grin in response.
“Right away.” He said, winking. Oscar rolled his eyes with an amused smile.
As he did so, his eyes caught on the dancer that was currently on stage and his breath caught in his throat. He turned almost his whole body towards the back of the club.
This man was gorgeous.
His tan skin glistened under the club lights, maybe with some glitter, Oscar couldn’t tell from this far away. He had a mop of dark brown curls cut into some kind of mullet that was almost as long at the sides as it was at the back.
His back muscles moved gracefully under his skin, showcasing his strength while he still remained lithe. When he turned it was like all the oxygen had been forcefully removed from his lungs.
His chest definitely had glitter on it, nobody was naturally that shiny. His torso was like it was sculpted by an ancient Greek artist. Oscar followed the contours of the dancer’s muscles down to a tapered waist with shorts that were lethally small and incredibly low waisted.
They sat on his hipbones.
This man had more trust in those things than Oscar had in his rifle. And that was a lot of trust, the thing was like an extra arm.
He moved his body to the music with such grace and fluidity Oscar could only dream to have.
It took Oscar probably way too long to notice there was another dancer on stage, he only noticed when the taller brunet came up to the first guy and placed his hands on his hips. Oscar felt this weird… irrational jealousy flare up in his lower stomach that he knew was completely unreasonable as he watched the second dancer press his chest to Oscar’s dancer’s back. His hands were resting on his hips and Oscar had to dig his nails into his palms to get a grip on reality again.
Isack loudly placed Oscar’s whiskey on the bar top, making him jump. The Parisian chuckled before following his line of sight.
“Ahh, Charles and Lando.” He sighed, almost wistfully. “They are one of the most popular pairs.” He told Oscar. “Charles and Pierre are also very popular, Lando and Daniel were too before Daniel disappeared.”
Oscar’s brows pinched slightly but he brushed it off. Andrea and Zak didn’t look into it, so it must’ve been something completely out of their control. “Which one is Lando?” He asked instead.
“Lando? Ah, the, uh, the littler one.” Isack said as they watched him grind on Charles.
Charles. A stripper. Who worked in a club. “Is Charles Monégasque?” Oscar queried, brows furrowed as he pieced things together.
“Uh, yes? I think so.” Isack chuckled, drying a glass he’d got from somewhere.
“Huh.” Oscar hummed. “Cheers, mate." He suddenly remembered another thing. Shouldn't Yuki be working tonight? "Hey, Isack." He called the young bartender back. "You seen Yuki?"
"Yeah. He went to the restroom. With Pierre." The Parisian deadpanned, one eyebrow raised as he grimaced.
Oscar just laughed. "Thanks again, mate, good luck. See you later.” He lifted his glass to him and Alex who nodded at him, Isack offering him a slightly confused, but completely friendly smile as Oscar walked off towards his group who’d been nervously shifting towards the VIP entrance. Anyway, Oscar had made an educated guess and he believed (seventy-six per cent knew for sure) that the Charles on stage was Charles Leclerc, none other than Max Verstappen’s boyfriend.
“Oscar!” And Arthur Leclerc’s brother. “Why did you suggest this club? This is the one my brother works!” He whined when he saw Oscar, their friends laughing at his disdain. His theory was correct. Same Charles.
“Just don’t watch.” He shrugged cheekily.
“Ha, you are very funny, Oscar.” Arthur deadpanned, his face pinched in annoyance. Oscar just clapped a hand on his shoulder, chancing a glance back at the stage. Now closer, he saw Lando and Charles dancing basically nip-to-nip, somehow rolling their bodies from their chests to their hips in time with each other and the music. Their hands were wandering over the other’s body with familiarity, and practiced-to-perfection ease.
Oscar shook his head. “Sorry you’re looking at your brother in what is basically just boxers and glitter.” He apologised, not sounding even remotely sorry and instead like he was finding this very hilarious. Which he was.
“They are leather, Oscar, that is worse. I should not know what my brother’s ass looks like in leather.” Arthur grumbled, making Oscar laugh again.
Once they’d had a few drinks, they went back out into the main bit of the club.
They headed for the dance floor, much to Oscar’s dismay, and assumed the role of loud uni kids from different countries. Oscar stayed to the edge of their mass of young adults, nodding his head.
A couple songs in and they’d slowly been pushed closer to one of the smaller stages. There were three in total, the big main one where Charles and Lando had been around an hour earlier, then two smaller stages with enough space for one person to dance comfortably on that were equidistant from the main stage.
As the song changed, so did the lights, only slightly. Only enough to be visible to anyone still sober enough to pay attention to something so mundane as how lighting changed.
Like Oscar.
There were now subtle spotlights on the stages and, because Oscar is the luckiest guy in the world (not sarcastic), Lando walks - no, struts onto the stage closest to them like he’s walking onto a podium to claim first place.
His aura somehow fills the space but isn’t suffocating. He… he takes up space but leaves enough for everyone else. Like he’s comfortable enough with his self worth and knows he doesn’t need anyone else to tell him how gorgeous he is because he knows he is. Now, Lando could be the most insecure person in the world in reality, Oscar is likely to never know. But he lets himself indulge anyway.
His mouth is wide open, he knows it is, but he just can’t bring himself to care. Not when Lando locks eyes with him, half-lidded and sparkling with a seductive cheekiness that is more addictive than any drug.
He knows he looks stupid, gawking at this gorgeous, godly man, but he just doesn’t care because Lando is looking at him. His eyes found Oscar’s in a club where there are so many other people, more interesting people, but no. Lando’s looking at him.
He sees the dancer’s smirk widen slightly into something more akin to a smile at Oscar’s blatant ogling, and that just does it for him and Oscar’s brain short-circuits and all he can think about is tanned, glitter covered skin.
He can’t feel the pulse of the too-loud music, can’t smell the sweat, and the booze, and the vapes, can’t feel the too many bodies bumping into him as he’s stopped trying to move with the music so he can properly watch Lando.
Christ, the man was breathtaking. Oscar was captivated. That was the only way to describe this… fixation. Infatuation, maybe.
When Lando looked away, he turned his head first, keeping his eyes locked with Oscar’s who felt a stupid flutter in his stomach. Traitorous butterflies. His heart supplied his brain with ‘he didn’t want to break eye contact’, and his brain went to smack his heart with ‘it could be a marketing strategy, he has to flirt with people to get paid’.
Oscar was momentarily terrified by the fact he wouldn’t mind paying Lando to flirt with him.
“Oscar, bro!” Came Logan’s obnoxious, yet comforting, American drawl, paired with a boisterous alcohol-fuelled cackle. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed!”
“Yeah, yeah, point and laugh.” Oscar muttered, rolling his eyes because Logan was actually pointing and laughing.
“Oscar!” Fred cackled. “You think he’s pretty! You like him!”
Like? Lando didn’t deserve such a weak word. He deserved someone who didn’t just like him, he deserved someone who was completely and utterly devoted to him.
“Shut up!” Oscar said instead, burying his face in his hands as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He chanced a glance up towards Lando and immediately regretted it because the man was squatted down in a crouch with his knees further apart than should be humanly possible. He had his head thrown back, exposing the delicate line of his throat. Oscar had the briefest, most vivid picture of Lando lying beneath him, back arched, head thrown back, neck on display just like it was right now, and he was licking a line from Lando’s navel to lips.
Oscar groaned at his own weakness. And his dirty mind.
Christ, this was the man’s job and he was lusting after him like some horny teenager or a creepy old man.
He mentally shook himself, told his heart to get a fucking grip! then tuned back into his surroundings.
Before he knew it though, his friends were bumbling off the dance floor and back towards the bar. Oscar, obviously, followed. Albeit incredibly reluctantly.
He looked back at Lando again only to lock eyes with him again. Oscar glanced at his friends and then looked at Lando once more. Oscar felt his lips part in a silent, desperate explanation, trying to get him to understand that he didn’t want to stop watching.
He watched the dancer’s eyes dip slightly, his glossy, parted lips tugging up a little at the corners and Oscar knew he was seen. The expression sat on Lando’s face appeared almost teasing, like he was trying not to giggle at Oscar’s dilemma.
Before he could though, Oscar felt a tug on his shirt sleeve. Logan was hauling him out of the crowd and over to the bar where their friends were being served by Alex.
“Hey, mate.” He greeted the way too tall man.
“Oscar! Never thought I’d see you in here out of hours.” Alex laughed.
“Well, Albono, I happen to like my friends enough to put up with this place more than I have to.” Oscar chuckled, smiling a softly exasperated look at Logan.
“Take that as high praise, mate, you must be special.” Alex raised his brows, scoffing. “He hates being anywhere but in the back. Any and every chance he gets he’s doing stock.”
“Okay,” Oscar laughed breathily. “Stop exposing me.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well. Drinks?” Arthur suggested with raised eyebrows, his signature Leclerc grin on his lips.
“Of course, what can I get you guys?” Alexander asked, palms on the bar top with a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Oscar wants that dancer!” Fred slurred, draping himself over Oscar’s shoulders and pointing over his shoulder at Lando. Oscar went bright red as Alex cackled.
“Lando?” He asked incredulously and Oscar bristled.
“You know what, yeah. And what about it?”
“Andrea will kill you.” Alex told him bluntly. To other ears, it would seem like a joke. Just something that was exaggerated. To Oscar? It was likely the truth.
“What? He’s got a thing against staff getting together?” Oscar asked huffily, pouting. What he really meant was ‘he’s got a thing against his real work and his cover story mixing?’ and ‘you can’t say a thing.’
“Yeah.” Alex nodded, brows raised and eyes wide.
“Oh. So…”
“No.”
‘So’ being neither Zak nor Andrea knowing about Alex and George or Max and Charles. Oscar already knew Mark and Fernando kept it secret, the two assassins had been together long before Mark retired after training Oscar. Fernando was still going strong.
“Well, shit, man.” Oscar mumbled, Alex huffing another ‘yeah’. “On that happy note, cheers for these.” He nodded towards the drinks in his friends’ hands, smiling and waving as they walked to a table (regrettably not in the VIP area). Alex waved back, though his eyes held a clear warning that Oscar was going to completely ignore. Ignorantly, blissfully, and happily.
They sat down, all boisterous testosterone and booze. They complained about not being able to go home for Christmas because of work commitments, and then they checked the time to see it was nearly midnight and they had another forty minutes. They were halfway into the tennis talk that Oscar had zoned out of, something about Alcaraz and a Sinner? Well, whatever it was, he started paying less attention when he saw Lando walking around towards him. He’d thrown on a hoodie that… looked like Max’s but his legs were still bare which suggested it was thrown on in great haste. Maybe Lando just has the same hoodie, or he stole it from Charles who stole it from Max. Lando’s eyes met Oscar’s for the umpteenth time that night and it’s like he suddenly had a purpose.
His stride speeds up and he looks like he’s on a mission. Oscar feels those devious, dishonourable, disloyal, cheating, sneaky butterflies worm their way back into his lower stomach.
Lando’s within touching distance, okay, well, no, but if they were in public Oscar would be able to say ‘hey,’ at a normal conversational level and be heard. Anyway, Lando was close enough for Oscar to see how the light reflected high on his cheekbones when Andrea fucking Stella intercepted him.
Oscar ignored the way he straightened with furrowed brows, eyes watching their interaction as something protective swirled and grew in his chest like a tornado.
Stella had grabbed Lando by the arm and the latter had jumped out of his skin, looking up at the Italian man with wide eyes. His brow creased further as Stella continued talking before Oscar watched him deflate in real time. Andrea held his hand out as Lando peeled the hoodie off, placing it in the other man’s hand like a scolded child. He looked like a kicked puppy, his head tipped downward as Stella continued to mutter to him as he moved his grip to the back of Lando’s neck. He then swept the arm with the hoodie out towards where Oscar knew the private rooms for the clients who paid for dances were.
His eyes followed the way Lando turned and Stella’s hand trailed down Lando’s back as he walked away. If he hadn’t been watching the interaction so closely, he would’ve missed the way Lando tensed as Andrea’s fingers ghosted over his skin.
He was about to get up and go after him before Andrea turned and immediately stared into Oscar’s soul.
Andrea floated through the club as if he were a ghost that the crowds parted for, making a beeline for Oscar who had only five seconds to contemplate what his boss would want.
“Hello boys, may I please steal Oscar?” Andrea asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, his salt-and-pepper hair appearing almost black in the club darkness. “It will be only for a moment.” He reassured, his Italian drawl more pronounced as he laid it on thick, topped with a charming smile.
“Guys, this is my boss.” Oscar introduced, face a perfect mask of friendly indifference, as if he hadn’t just wanted to rip out his boss’ fingernails one by one for making Lando uncomfortable. “I’ll be right back.” He winked at his friends, a warm smile taking its usual place on his face.
“Oh, yeah, no worries, Osc.” They chorused. Oscar turned away, the smile dropping into a scowl the second his back was turned. He had the absurd urge to shoulder check Andrea as he walked past. Instead, he maturely showed incredible superhuman restraint and didn’t.
Andrea overtook him, leading the way behind the bar towards the storage room. He ignored Alex’s knowing look as they passed the bar, keeping his gaze flat.
They walked into the storage room, taking the door to the immediate left which opened into a stairwell leading down that Stella unlocked with a set of keys. They walked down two flights of stairs, far enough that they couldn’t hear the bass of the music or the many feet jumping, dancing, and stomping on the floor. The stairwell was dark grey with orange lights on the walls, bathing it in some kind of seventies-esque hue. The walls were surprisingly free of damp, though it did smell rather dry and dusty, slightly earthy if you wanted to stretch it that far. But most of all, it smelt like gunpowder, paper, and dirty money.
They got to the bottom of the stairs and he got out another set of keys, unlocking that door, too (three different locks, just like the upstairs door just with one biometric this time), and they were into the base. They walked another hundred odd meters down winding, branching corridors before getting to what Oscar knew was the boss’ office. Both Zak and Andrea shared a room. All this money, you’d think they’d splash out a little on getting their own offices, but maybe not. Maybe they got lonely.
“Sit, Oscar.” Andrea motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Oscar begrudgingly stayed standing. It’s the little petty things in life he loves. Andrea just sighed in exasperation, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose before accepting it.
Oscar’s eyes tracked his movements as the man reached into a side drawer and brought out two envelopes. One was thick, slightly off white and Oscar knew that was his money from his last job on Christmas eve. The other was thin and something closer to a brown than a white, some sort of mid cream or a beige.
Andrea pushed the envelopes across the table. “You have two weeks.” He mumbled, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him.
Oscar grabbed the envelope with his money, putting it into his knife holster that was on his chest beneath his shirt. It was an incredibly discreet, fifty shades of grey style harness that was very useful and secure. In their line of work, it was safer to carry something just in case.
He picked up the second envelope and opened it. Even after all these years, he was still obscenely terrible at opening them. After a painful ten seconds of him struggling with the seal, he finally got it open with a huff. “Maybe you should just give it to me unsealed.” He grumbled, taking the photo out. He didn’t know of them, which was good because it wouldn’t get too much news coverage.
The photo was of a man walking along Monaco harbour. He was old looking, pudgy, likely in his late fifties, probably a smoker from what Oscar could see of his teeth. His ears were too long, remnant of some old teenage piercing done by a friend or something stupid and ‘edgy’ like that. He was in a ratty suit that was at least a size too small for him if the way his stomach hung over his trousers was any indication, he also very clearly couldn’t do up his suit jacket and the buttons on his shirt were straining and struggling not to pop off in any and every direction.
Long story short, this man didn’t look like he belonged in Monaco.
No Richard Mille, no jewellery, greasy hair and greasier skin… the guy was a mess.
“Why?” Oscar queried, not looking up from scanning the glossy print. He always liked to know why Stella and Brown wanted to kill someone.
“Owes me around ten thousand in produce,” produce was code for drugs, “and he’s already had a year to pay it back and hasn’t.” Oscar finally looked up at his boss with a raised eyebrow, a year was incredibly generous. “I know, I know. But he was a friend of a friend of a friend of Zak’s or something.” He waved his hand around with a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, Zak’s finally agreed to just killing him because we are not getting our money back either way.
“He’s a frequent at this club, is a big fan of a couple of our dancers so we’ve probably used the money he owed us to pay them.” He huffed. “You have two weeks.” Stella repeated. “Twenty-five-k. If you want it. Five-k right now.”
Oscar weighed it up. Pros? Great money, easy to figure out his patterns if he was a frequent of the club. Cons? Oscar couldn’t see any. Which is why he’s suspicious. He guessed that being distant friends with Zak could make the job conflicting, and slightly personal, but… there had to be another thing.
“He’s also quite unsavory.” Andrea tacked on slyly, looking at his nails as if telling Oscar this information was an afterthought, as if he knew that Oscar would take the job immediately after hearing it. “History of being an abuser, a few sexual assault cases. One case was a young man with dark curly hair.”
Oscar’s eyes snapped up so quickly to see the grey haired man’s face set like an angry marble statue.
“Leave the dancer be, Piastri. You wouldn’t want to drag him into this world, now, would you?”
Oscar had to grit his teeth. There was no way he was saying no to this, not now. He took a second to gather his composure, straightening slightly, lifting his chin almost imperceptibly as the mask of unshakeable calm, the look he usually wore when talking to Stella, overtook his face.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
Oscar had never been upstairs in the club so often. It was basically every night the club was open and he was sick of it now. The whole two weeks he’d been working he had switched between bartending and being a security guard. He’d finally - finally - had his time as a bartender. Easy to keep an eye on clients and fun when he was working with Liam, or Jack, or Isack, or Alex. Alex was the only one of them that was actually a bartender, no second job. But he knew everything, had found out by accident. Zak said they should keep him alive because he could help their cover, train up the younger assassins so they had a decent side-hustle for when they weren’t working working.
Working as a security guard meant he had to deal with the less than savoury people, batting a few off Alex’s partner George, and one of the younger dancers called Kimi. Lando hadn’t worked the same night as him in a while, and of course as soon as he has to sidle up and seduce his greasy old mark, Lando’s working.
He's in the club as a customer tonight as it’s nearing the end of the two weeks. It’s tonight he has to do it because Logan goes back to uni and when he's in uni he just keeps pulling all-nighters so Oscar can’t sneak out.
Oscar would’ve liked to go to university. He would’ve studied engineering, maybe ended up in Formula One. But instead he got trapped, doing Stella’s dirty work.
His eyes caught on his target, snapping him out of his brood. He knew how he had to play it, coy, slightly submissive, fuel his ego, bat his lashes.
All he needed to do was get as ‘inebriated’ as possible (he wouldn’t get drunk, Alex never served him alcohol on the clock,) and fake it so the man brought him home and just poison him there. Perfect plan. If the man was into tall, sort of muscly, light (ish) brown haired men.
He was about to get up and approach him when he saw who’d gotten there first. Fucking Carlos?
Carlos was trying to flirt with his mark? What? Why?
Oscar narrowed his eyes slightly, sipping his drink. Lewis called it Almave. He’d manufactured the perfect recipe to make the spirit taste and smell like alcohol while having no alcohol actually in it. Perfect for cover work while in the club. Blend in while not hindering the senses. It would be rather suspicious for someone on their own to not be drinking.
His eyes tracked Carlos’ movements, a flirty touch to the shoulder, a flick of his hair, a flutter of long, dark lashes. He held Oscar’s mark’s eyes as the hand on his shoulder slid down his pudgy arm towards a wrinkly wrist. At the same time, Oscar watched as Carlos let something drop discreetly into the guy’s drink and Oscar’s chest blazed with righteousness. This was supposed to be his kill. His mark. His money.
Carlos leaned in and whispered something in the man’s ear, he nodded and got up. Carlos walked past him towards the door and sent Oscar a sly smirk, his hand entwined with their shared target’s. Oscar took a sip of his drink, suddenly wishing it was alcoholic.
He necked it back, setting it roughly on the counter with a huff.
“Hey, Liam.” He called to the rookie who was bartending with Alex that night. The Kiwi came over with an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
“What can I do for you, Oscar?” He asked, drying a cup.
“Carlos just butted in on my gig. Stole my guy. Can I have something actually alcoholic?” Oscar grumbled unhappily.
Liam snorted at his misery and Oscar shot him a withering look that the blond just ignored. “What, did Stella double book you, or something?” He laughed.
That clicked something in Oscar’s brain. It was to get back at him for how he’d acted about Lando. “Huh. Must’ve.” He hummed in agreement.
“Anyway, the usual whisky? Or…” Liam trailed off, looking past Oscar, “a certain brunet dancer?”
As if by magic, Oscar was very hyper aware of everything around him. He glanced up to see Liam looking at him through his messy blond hair. He used his eyes to motion to something, no, someone behind Oscar.
The brunet whipped around on his barstool to see Lando approaching him.
“Brown and Stella aren’t here. Away on business.” Liam said in his ear.
The dancer was wearing something different tonight, but he looked no less gorgeous. He had on sequin mini shorts and a cropped t-shirt that showed off his hipbones, v-line, abs, and quite likely his lower back, too. Yes, Oscar. That is how a crop-top works, you genius.
His hair was glittery, like he’d put some glitter spray in it and his cheekbones were shiny. His brow was glistening with a slight sweat from the heat of the lights and the exertion of dancing.
He entertained the few people that stopped him briefly to compliment him, to touch him, to ask him for a dance, to have a tiny moment of his time, but his intent was clear. It was to get to Oscar. He’d politely excuse himself each time and continue his path towards him.
“No drink, Lawson. I’m all good.” Oscar muttered distractedly, missing how Liam rolled his eyes, laughed, and moved on to flirt with a customer who Oscar later found out he was dating.
Oscar didn’t have the brain cells left to take his eyes off Lando, let alone shut his mouth.
“Hi.” His dancer smiled coyly. “You might want to shut your mouth, mate. You’ll catch flies.” Before the words even computed in Oscar’s brain, Lando had reached up with a gentle, large, hand and pushed Oscar’s mouth closed.
“Yeah, uh… sorry.” He mumbled, reaching up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck.
“Don’t be, I’m used to it.” Lando shrugged before cringing at himself. “That sounded incredibly self-centred, huh? My bad.” He chuckled and looked away, equally as awkward which was something Oscar took great relief in.
He stared at the dancer in front of him, thinking there maybe was something in all that non-alcohol he drank with how light he now felt. He snapped out of it, extending his hand with a soft, “I’m Oscar.”
“Oscar.” Lando repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if his name were a piece of gum. “I’m Lando.” He offered his hand back which Oscar eagerly grasped. He immediately noticed the sheer size difference of their hands, the Aussie’s basically just wrapping around the brunet’s thumb.
His eyebrows ticked up minutely in recognition and a deep heat began simmering in his lower stomach.
“Nice to meet you, Lando.” Oscar said politely, as if he hadn’t been hawking over this man since the first time he saw him.
“So. You like my dancing?” Lando teased, Oscar flushing immediately with another put-out chuckle.
“Not that subtle, huh?” He looked up to see Lando grinning widely, his mouth almost a heart shape.
“Not at all.” He shook his head, beaming all the while.
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to leave the country, then. Nothing dramatic.” He sighed sarcastically.
Lando barked a laugh and Oscar straightened in pride. He made Lando laugh, he coaxed that melodic sound from the Brit’s throat.
He suddenly became bashful, dipping his head and looking up at Oscar through his lashes. “Or I could offer you a dance? Private, of course.”
Oscar’s brain bluescreened. Full beachball of doom moment. He was frozen, wide eyed. With horror, he watched as the dismay spread across Lando’s face like wildfire.
“U-unless I’ve completely read this wrong, and in that case that’s okay, I can just go.” He began backtracking, and Oscar’s brain was still short-circuiting too much to realise the other man was physically backtracking, too, putting some distance between them as he stumbled backwards. “Frickin’ Charles, telling me this was a good idea and I should go for it.” He grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, for bothering you, Oscar, I-”
“Wait!” Finally, Oscar’s brain was back online. Lando side-eyed him slightly. “I’m sorry, I just-” He stammered. God, Oscar, mate, get a grip! “Fuck, it’s- I’ve never… had a dance before.” He admitted, eyes shut and head hung low.
He genuinely, truly, whole-heartedly believed he’d royally messed this up. Like, he now had about as good a chance as he would if he showed up to a job without his sniper or his knives. He sighed, shoulders hunching. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, because if he did he was certain he’d see Lando walking away, even worse he’d see the back of Lando walking away, teasing him with that cute ass of his and his slutty little waist. Something he’d never get to have because he was just so awkward-
There was a hand on his wrist.
Correction, there was a hand engulfing his wrist.
Tan on obnoxiously pale.
Lando on Oscar.
Oscar snapped his head up to look at Lando.
“Is that a yes?” He asked hopefully, looking nervous. Oscar thought it was unnatural for someone so gorgeous to look so unsure.
“Yes.” Oscar nearly groaned in response.
Before he knew it, he was following a dark curly mullet through a darker club towards the dance rooms, his hand was hot on Oscar’s wrist, sending tingles the whole way up his arm.
It was like some kind of out of body experience, maybe a spiritual awakening and Lando was going to be the deity that he devoted his life and soul to. You know, normal feelings for someone you’ve talked to for a couple minutes. Totally.
He didn’t properly come back to himself until he was deposited on a comfy love seat and the door was slammed and locked behind them.
His heart was in his throat, his pulse jack-hammering against his skin so hard it was as if it was trying to escape his body. His cheeks warmed as Lando stalked towards him and Oscar suddenly felt like he was being hunted.
He swallowed thickly as Lando crouched in front of him. The Brit put his massive hands just above Oscar’s knees.
“Normally I wouldn’t let a client touch me, but…” He trailed off, glancing up at Oscar who was trying to appear relatively normal about this situation. It was very much not working. “You seem sweet, so as long as your hands stay above clothes, I’ll allow it.”
Oscar went rigid in surprise. “Huh?” He asked dumbly, making Lando smile.
“Just do what feels natural.” The other man shrugged nonchalantly, unintentionally making Oscar feel little and inexperienced.
“Uhm… okay?” He tried, brows raising and teeth bared in a nervous smile that ended up being more of a grimace.
Lando giggled at him and got up, connecting his phone to the room’s speaker. Oscar’s brain had been so loud and so completely offline he’d not even realised how sound-proof the room was.
Some sexy club song Oscar distantly recognised came on and Lando stalked towards him like how a predator would stalk his prey. Oscar blinked up at the approaching man, lips parted in awe.
How he’d managed to snag this man’s attention, he’d never know.
When Lando got to him, he caged Oscar in with his arms, squatting down before letting his hands land on Oscar’s thighs, running them up and down quickly before letting them rest on Oscar’s knees and spreading his legs. Fuck, Oscar thought desperately, trying to will the boner that was already forming away.
Lando stood back up after making sure Oscar knew to keep his knees parted with a stern look before turning around. He now had his back to Oscar and was bent over, shaking his ass in Oscar’s face.
He then placed his hands back on Oscar’s knees, and dropped low once, twice, three times before stepping out of Oscar’s space who immediately missed his proximity as if Lando were another limb.
Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off Lando as he walked around the back of his chair, letting his big, tan hands glide over his shoulders and down his chest.
“Fuck, you’re ripped, hm?” Lando murmured in his ear. Oscar’s composure really didn’t appreciate it. “I’ve seen you bodyguard recently…” He breathed, the warmth tickling the back of Oscar’s ear and making him shiver despite the pure lava that was his blood right now as it trickled south. “It’s hot.”
It took Oscar an embarrassing three seconds to find his voice. “Oh yeah? You like it?” He teased which earned him a pinch to his nipple. He hissed and twisted, staring up at Lando in offence.
Lando didn’t care and turned his head back to face forward by his jaw. The only thoughts that were running through Oscar’s brain at that point in time were ‘fuck’, ‘his hands are so warm’, and ‘what is he doing here’.
They were all quickly silenced as Lando came back around to the front, letting his fingers trail over Oscar’s collarbones as he went.
He nudged Oscar’s knees closed once more before sitting on his thighs and letting his palms drift the whole way down from his shoulders to his abs and back up again.
He then used his hands on Oscar’s shoulders to lift himself up slightly so he could grind on Oscar and, holy fuck, Oscar’s died and gone to heaven. His hands flew to Lando’s hips before he remembered himself and let them hover, looking questioningly up at the Brit who nodded with a sweet smile that made Oscar want to ravish him.
He let his hands settle on Lando’s hips, not hindering the movements at all, just leaving his hands there in a poor attempt to ground himself. It didn’t really work because now all Oscar could think about was how he could feel Lando’s hips beneath the sequins.
Lando got up gracefully and Oscar mourned the loss as if it was the death of his first born child even though he knew Lando was coming straight back. His heart fluttered traitorously when he settled back down, this time with his back to Oscar. He leaned forwards again, propping himself up on Oscar’s knees as he grinded his ass back on Oscar.
“Oh, fuck…” He hissed, biting his lip as Lando reached back and guided one of Oscar’s hands to him.
The Australian let one of his hands press to Lando’s bare lower back as his other went back to his hip.
“You’re so good… so pretty…” He breathed and he had zero idea where that had come from. He felt Lando stutter in his movements and panicked. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”
“It’s fine.” Came the slightly breathless response and if Oscar wasn’t already hard, then he definitely would be now.
“Lando-”
He stopped moving and Oscar wanted to cry because that wasn’t his goal. “It’s fine. Just relax, would you? I can feel how tense you are.” Lando was looking at him cheekily over his shoulder. Oscar swallowed thickly and nodded, letting Lando continue, letting him do his job because Oscar wasn’t his only client.
The thought landed bitterly in Oscar’s throat before he remembered that Lando was letting him touch him, and he normally didn’t allow that.
So, as Lando had told him to, he relaxed, letting his spine soften and his thigh muscles un-tense.
“There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?” Lando murmured and it sent a hot lightning bolt of arousal straight to his core. All Oscar could do was nod because he felt so out of his depth, which was weird because he’d hooked up with plenty of people before, but he’d never had a lapdance. It was so intimate, but so different and it messed with Oscar’s brain a little because he couldn’t be his usual ‘bed personality’ or whatever you wanted to call it, because he felt like he’d been launched carelessly into the deep end of a pool and he forgot how to swim.
He let Lando lead for the thirty-odd seconds remaining of the song and Oscar genuinely thought they were the best thirty-odd seconds of his entire life.
By the time the song had finished, Lando was facing him again, hands linked behind Oscar’s neck and he was toying absentmindedly with the hair at Oscar’s nape and he wondered if Lando even knew he was doing it.
He gave Lando’s hips a squeeze. “Jesus, mate.” He laughed breathlessly. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were good at that.”
Lando beamed down at his chest bashfully and Oscar’s eyes lingered on his face. Watching how his curls fell over his eyebrows and his eyes squinted up with his heart-shaped smile.
“Can I take you out for dinner?” Oscar blurted, feeling his heart race.
Lando’s head snapped up to look him in the eyes. “Huh?”
Oscar’s heart dropped and his earlier confidence leeched out of him. “I-I understand that you’re really busy, and this is probably a breach of some contract or other, but I just think you’re really, really fucking pretty, and I want to get to know you properly, and- mmhp-”
Lando had covered his mouth with his palm, effectively shutting Oscar up completely. His eyes flicked down to the hand on his jaw before looking up at Lando. “I’d love to.” He murmured, his cheeks were slightly flushed and he looked nervous which to Oscar was just adorable.
This gorgeous man was sitting in his lap, having just given him a lapdance and was now nervous because he’d asked him out? Safe to say, Oscar’s heart was soaring. Like, in the upper atmosphere he was so elated.
“Yeah?” He murmured once Lando had taken his hand off Oscar’s face.
“Yeah.” The Brit nodded.
“Okay.”
“Mint.”