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The McLaren media admin did not, at any point, anticipate the level of chaos they were about to unleash. It started simply enough, an idea tossed out in a meeting, something light and fun.
“We should get the boys to do a tiktok dance.” someone had said. Engagement, relatability and all that. And somehow, that idea had evolved into Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a phone, watching the same twenty second video on loop.
Lando squinted at the screen. “There’s… a lot happening.”
Oscar, on the other hand, looked almost thoughtful, focused. “It’s not that bad.”
Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Mate, there is definitely ass-shaking involved.”
Oscar shrugged, like that was a completely neutral, unremarkable statement. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Lando echoed, scandalised. “I don’t shake ass.”
The admin, who had been hovering just long enough to confirm they’d understood the assignment, clapped their hands once. “Great! You’ve got the video, you’ve got the space. We’ll leave you to rehearse. Call me when you’re ready to film.”
And just like that, they were alone.
Lando turned slowly to OScar. “You’re not actually serious about this, right?”
Oscar tilted his head, considering him. “It’s just movement.”
“That’s not just movement,” Lando said, pointing accusingly at the video where the dancer very clearly was, in fact, doing exactly what Lando feared. “That’s… coordination. And hips. I don’t do hips.”
Oscar’s lips twitched, just barely. “You drive a Formula 1 car.”
“That’s completely different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” Lando said firmly. “The car does the shaking, not me.”
Oscar hummed like he didn’t quite agree, then stepped forward, tapping the screen to replay the video. He watched it again, eyes tracking each beat, each transition, each movement, like he was mentally mapping it out. Lando watched him instead. There was something deeply unfair about how naturally Oscar seemed to absorb things, Like he wasn’t even trying, just… understanding. It made Lando feel like he’d already lost before they even started.
“Okay,” Oscar said finally, turning around. “It’s mostly timing and weight shifts.”
Lando blinked. “Weight shifts.”
“Yeah.” Oscar stepped closer, positioning himself in front of Lando. “Or as you call it, ass shakes.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Stop overthinking it.” Oscar let out a small laugh. “Just watch.”
And then… Oh.
Lando’s brain stalled because Oscar didn’t just explain it. He showed it. It started small, a shift from one foot to the other, contolled and deliberate, like he was grounding himself to the rhythm. His shoulders stayed relaxed, his posture loose in a way that looked effortless but clearly wasn’t. Then his hips moved. Not exaggerated, not awkward, just precise. Smooth and painfully slow.There was a fluidity to it, a kind of contolled looseness that didn’t feel forced or clumsy. It matched the beat perfectly, each movement landing exactly where it should, like he’d done this a hundred times before. His balance never wavered, weight transferring seamlessly as his body followed through, like everything was connected, like every part of him knew exactly what it was doing. Lando forgot how to blink.
“See?” Oscar said, glancing up mid motion, completely unaware of the absolute crisis he was causing. “You just have to-”
Lando made a noise. Not a word, just… a sound. Something between a moan and a whine.
Oscar stopped. “What?”
“Nothing,” Lando said immediately, too quickly snapping his eyes from Oscar’s waist to his face. “Nothing. That’s… yeah. Totally normal. Very normal demonstration. Good teaching.”
Oscar frowned slightly. “You were staring.”
“I was not staring.”
“You were,” Oscar said, but there was no real bite to it, just mild confusion. “Do you want to try or not?”
Lando swallowed. This was a mistake. A massive, catastrophic mistake. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands once, mostly to give himself something to do. “Yeah, sure, I’ll… try.”
Oscar nodded, stepping behind him this time. “Okay, just follow the beat first.”
That was easier said then done because Lando was suddenly hyper aware of everything. The music, looping again in the background. The space between them, smaller now. Oscar’s presence just behind him, close enough that Lando could feel it without actually touching. It made it very difficult to focus on anything else.
“Relax.” Oscar said, sensing how tense Lando was.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re not,” Oscar replied, and then, before Lando could protest, his hands settled lightly on Lando’s hips. Lando short circuited, not dramatically, not outwardly. But internally? Absolute system failure.
“Just shift your weight.” Oscar continued, like this was completely normal, like he didn’t just casually destroy Lando’s ability to think in full sentences. “Left, then right.”
Lando tried, really tried. But it was hard to concentrate when his brain kept shuting down, when every tiny adjustment Oscar made, subtle pressure guiding him into the right motion, felt maginified.
“This is ridiculous.” Lando muttered.
“It’s really not.” Oscar said. “You’re just stiff.”
“I am not stiff.”
“...Do you want to try it by yourself?” Oscar questioned, a smug smile on his lips.
“No!” Lando said immediately, then coughed. “I mean… it’s fine. It’s helpful, very helpful.”
Oscar hummed, unconvinced but continuing anyway. And slowly, painfully slowly, Lando started to get it. Not perfectly, not even close. But enough that Oscar stepped back after a moment, nodding. “Better.”
Lando exhaled like he’d just run a marathon. “That was traumatic.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Oscar huffed a breath of air, amused by his teammate.
“I am not-”
“Again.” OScar cut him off, already resetting the sound.
They practiced like that for a while. Lando stumbling, complaining, ocasionally getting it right by accident. Oscar correcting him with quiet patience, demonstrating again when needed. Which, unfortunatelly for Lando’s sanity, happened often.
By the time they were actually ready to film, Lando felt like his brain had been rewired. Rewired with Oscar’s hip movements mostly.
“Okay,” he said rolling his shoulders. “We do this once. Maybe twice. Then we never speak of it again.”
Oscar glanced at him. “It’s going on TikTok.”
“Right. Fine. We never speak of it privately again.”
Oscar almost smiled just as admin walked in. The camera started recording and somehow, they pulled it off, not perfectly. There were definitely moments where Lando lagged half a beat behind, where he visibly hesistated before committing to a move. But overall? It worked. Oscar was, predictably, annoyingly flawless, while Lando barely survived.
“Got it!” the admin called across the room. “That was great!”
Lando collapsed onto nearest chair from across the room. “I’m never doing that again.”
Oscar sat next to him, completely unbothered. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Lando turned his head slowly and there it was again. That same, neutral expression, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just done… all that. Lando groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “You’re unbeliveable, you know that?”
Oscar blinked. “Why?”
Lando dropped his hands, staring at them. “You can’t just be that good at random things.”
Oscar shrugged. “It’s not random.”
“Oh yeah? Since when do you do…” Lando gestued vaguely, “that?”
Oscar hesitated, just for a second. “I used to do some dance training.”
Lando sat up. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
And Lando… Lando was in trouble. Because now he knew, and knowing made it worse. Because every time he closed his eyes, his brain very helpfully supplied the image again. Perfectly timed, perfectly contolled, completely unfair.
“Next time,” Oscar said, standing up, “you won’t complain as much.”
“Next time?” he echoed weakly.
Oscar glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. Lando dropped his head back against the chair. Yeah, he was absolutely not surviving the next time.
The first time it happends, Lando think it’s just a coincidence. They’re in the paddock, somewhere between meetings and media, the usual controlled chaos around them. Someone nearby has music playing, low, background noise, nothing he’s really paying attention. Until… that song. Lando freezes mid sentence. He doesn’t even register what he was doing, his brain just clicks. Recognition hitting instantly, muscle memory from hours of rehearsal dragging the melody to the front of his mind. And, unfortunatelly, dragging something else with it, a picture deeply engraved in his memory. He doesn’t have to look, he knows he shouldn’t, but against his better judgement, Lando glances sideways. Oscar’s already looking at him. There’s something in his expression, subtle, almost too quick to catch. Not quite a smile but not quite innocent either.
“Oh no.” Lando mutters.
Oscar raises an eyebrow. “What?”
The beat drops. So do Lando’s eyes, even though he knows they shouldn’t. And Oscar… Oscar shifts his weight, just slightly. Barely anything, really. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t think twice about it. Just a natural movement, adjusting the stance. But Lando knows. He’s seen it broken down, practiced it, burned it into his brain against his will. It’s the same motion, the same controlled, effortless roll of his hips.
“Don’t.” Lando says immediately, voice tight.
Oscar tilts his head. “Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
“I don’t.” Oscar replies far too calmly, a faint smug smile settling on his lips.
The music continues. Another beat, another shift. This one a little more obvious. Lando stops breathing. “Mate,” he says, staring straight ahead now, refusing to look again. “I swear to God-”
“What?” Oscar asks, stepping just a fraction closer. “It’s just a song.”
“It’s not just a song.” Lando snaps, then immediately lowers his voice when someone walks past. “You’ve ruined it.”
“I’ve ruined it?”
“Yes.”
Oscar hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a you problem.”
Lando risks another glance. Big mistake. Because Oscar does it again. This time on purpose, there’s no way it’s not on purpose. The movement is cleaner, sharper, still subtle, still controlled, but deliberate in a way that makes Lando’s brain short circuit all over again.
“Stop doing that.” Lando hisses.
Oscar’s lips twitch. He doesn’t stop.
The next time, it’s in the garage. The song comes over someone’s speaker, faint, buried under conversation and the low hum of equipment, but still recogniseable. Lando hears maybe half a second of it before going absolutely rigid. “No.” he says immediately, not even looking up from where he’s pretending to focus on literally anything else. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this again.”
He expects, hopes for, distance. For Oscar to stay where he is, across the room, out of range. Instead, he hears footsteps.
“Doing what?”
Lando closes his eyes. “Piastri.”
“Lando.” There’s something about the way Oscar says it, too calm, too neutral, it sets off alarm bells immediately.
Lando exhales slowly. “Don’t.”
No response, just a faint shift of air behind him, the subtle awareness of someone stepping into his space. Too close, way too close. Lando straightens instinctively, hyper aware of the space, or lack of it, between them. His head turns slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. And that was his first mistake. Because Oscar is right there, close enough that Lando doesn’t even have to lean back to feel it, close enough that this is no longer accidental proximity, no longer just passing by. Oscar’s hands land on his hips, not rough, not hesitant either, just certain. Like this is exactly where they’re meant to go.
“Oh you’re…” Lando cuts himself off, eyes narrowing. “Doing something.”
Oscar’s expression is unreadable. “Am I?”
"I am not-” he starts, and then completely loses track of the sentence when Oscar’s grip adjusts, firmer ths time, grounding. The beat of thw song kicks in and Oscar moves him. Not forcefully, not exaggerated, just enough. A controlled shift, left then right, the exact same rhythm, the exact same movement they practiced. Except this time, Lando isn’t trying to learn it, he’s just trapped in it.
“See?” Oscar continues, like this is perfectly normal teaching moment and not a psychological warfare. “You already know it. You just don’t let yourself…”
Another shift, smoother this time because Oscar is guiding it. Because Lando’s body, traitor that it is, remembers. “Stop-” Lando breathes, but there’s no real resistance behind it. Not when his brain is busy not functioning, not when every single nerve ending feels like it’s suddenly aware of where Oscar’s hands are, how close he is, how intentional it is.
“You’re doing it.” Oscar says quietly.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You are,” Oscar replies, almost thoughful. “You just refuse to notice.”
Lando lets out a strangeled laugh. “Oh, I notice. I notice everything, actually, I- this is insane.”
Oscar doesn’t let go. If anything he steps an inch closer, his thumbs pressing just slightly as he corrects the motion again. “Focus on the timing.” he whispers.
“Timing?” Lando echoes, borderline hysterical. “You think timing is the issue right now?”
Another beat, another guided movement. This one slower, more deliberate. Lando’s head drops forward for a second, like he’s physically trying to escape his own thoughts. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
A pause. “…Maybe.” Then he lets go, just like that. Steps back like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just completely dismantle Lando’s ability to function.
The absence is almost worse. Lando stands there for a second, completely frozen, trying to process the sudden lack of contact, the way his brain is still catching up to where Oscar’s hands were. “... You’re insane.”
Oscar shrugs, already turning away. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“For helping.”
Lando lets out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “That did not help.”
Oscar glances back at him and there it is again, that almost smile. “That’s not what it looked like.”
Lando stares at him, opens his mouth and closes it again. Because there are about fifty different responses fighting to get out, and none of them feels safe to say out loud. Oscar watches him for a second longer, then turns and walks off like nothing happened.
And Lando… Lando is left standing there, completely wrecked, with the faint echo of the song still playing somewhere in the background and the very distinct realization it’s no longer accidental. This is targeted and he is absolutely, completely screwed.
The phone incident happens two days later. Which, frankly, is rude. Because two days is just enough time for Lando to start thinking maybe it’s fine. Maybe Oscar got it out of his system, maybe the whole thing was a one-off. A weird, targeted moment of psychological warfare that, sure, left a permanent damage, but at least it wasn’t ongoing.
Lando should have know better.
6:30 AM. That damn song.
Lando jerks awake like he’s been electrocuted. For one horrifying, disoriented second, his brain doesn’t process it as an alarm. No, his brain goes somewhere much worse, much faster. Oscar. Behind him. Hands-
Lando makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a swear as he scrambles upright, nearly tangling himself in the sheets. His heart racing, pulse loud in his ears and the music still playing, still…
Oh. It’s his phone. Right. He stares at it like it has personally betrayed him. The alarm label blinks up at him, completely innocent. Except it’s not. Because Lando did not set this, Lando would never set this.
“No.” he says out loud, voice hoarse. “Absolutely not.”
He silences it. Sits there for a second. Processes. Then immediately checks his other alarms. Every single one… the same song.
“Piastri.” Lando mutters darkly.
He finds him later that day, like a man on a mission. Oscar’s exactly where you’d expect him to be, calm, composed, minding his buisness like he hasn’t committed a crime.
“Did you touch me phone?” Lando asks, even though he already knows.
Oscar doesn’t even look up. “No.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It might be.”
Lando crosses his arms. “You changed my alarms.”
Oscar finally glances at him, expression neutral. “Did they wake you up?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It sounds like they worked. You showed up on time today.”
Lando stares at him. “You’re unbeliveable.”
Oscar shrugs. “You said I ruined the song. I’m just making sure it sticks.”
“Oh, it sticks.” Lando snaps. “It sticks so much that I woke up this morning ready to fight for my life.”
That gets a reaction. Small, quick, but there. Oscar’s eyes flick up properly now, something sharper slipping into his expression. “Fight for your life?”
“Yes.” Lando says, pointing at him. “Because my brain has apparently decided that every time I hear that song, I need to-” He cuts himself off abruptly.
Oscar tilts his head. “You need to what?”
Lando presses his lips together. No, he’s absolutely not finishing that sentence. “… Nothing.” he says instead.
Oscar hums, unconvinced. “Right.” And then, just to make it worse. “Every time you hear it?”
Lando narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Every time…” Oscar repeats, softer now, like he’s testing the words.
“Piastri.”
“You think about me.”
Lando chokes. “I do not!”
Oscar just looks at him. Not smug, not tesing, just looks. And somehow that’s worse.
“That’s not-” Lando starts, then stops, then drags a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”
Oscar mouth twitches, just slightly, but enough.
Lando decides, right there and then, that he needs revenge. This cannot continue. He refuses to be the only one suffering. The plan, in theory, is solid. If Oscar wants to weaponise the song, fine. Lando will just flip it. Catch him off guard. Make him deal with it for once.
The problem with Oscar isn’t that he’s good at this, it’s that he chooses his moments. Quiet corners, controlled enviroments, spaces where he can step in, do his thing and step out like nothing happened. Fine. Lando can fix that.
The plan was just perfet. Media day, cameras, people, noise. No room for Oscar to play his usual game without consequences. They’re halfaway through filming something already, some harmless McLaren segment, quickfire questions or reactions or whatever, Lando isn’t really paying attention. He’s waiting. And then, from somewhere acros the room, faint but unmistakeable… that song.
Lando stills just for a second, old instinct, old damage, but this time he smiles. “Oh,” he says loud enough to cut through the chatter. “No way.”
Oscar, standing next to him, glances over. “What?”
Lando turns, already halfway into it. “You know this one.”
Oscar’s expression doesn’t change. “I know a lot of songs.”
“This one specifically,” Lando insists, nodding towards the speaker. “Go on.”
There’s a pause, the crew looks between them, mildly curious now.
Oscar tilts his head. “Go on… what?”
Lando grins, this is it. “Show them.”
Another second. “…Show them what?”
Lando gestures vaguely, like it’s obvious. “The dance.You’re good at it, remember? Proper tehnique and everything.”
There’s a shift in the air, subtle but there. Because now people are listening. Oscar looks at him for a second longer, measuring, calculating. “You want me to dance.” he says flatly.
“Yes.” Lando says, completely unashamed. “Go on.”
Oscar huffs a quiet breath, glancing over toward the crew. There’s interest now, a few smiles. Someone mutters something about TikTok. It’s working, Lando can feel it. This shift away from Oscar’s control into something messier, louder, public.
“Come on.” Lando presses. “Unless you’re ashamed to do it here.”
There it is, the push. Oscar’s eyes flicker back to him, sharp. And for a second, just a second, Lando thinks he’s got him. Because that lands, that’s a challenge, the kind of thing that should make Oscar back off. Or...
Oscar steps forward. “Oh, I can do it here.” he says calmly.
Lando’s grin widens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Oscar looks at him, dark eyes, like he’s about to do something that Lando dreads. “Show me.”
Lando’s grin falters. “…What?”
“You want to see it…” Oscar says. “Show me first.”
There’s a ripple of interest from the crew now, this is better than whatever they were filming before.
Lando laughs, a little too quick. “No, no, this isn’t about me-”
“It was your idea.” Oscar points out.
“Yeah, but-”
“Go on.” Oscar says, stepping back slightly, opening the space like he’s genuinely giving Lando the floor. “You know it.”
That’s… That’s not how this was supposed to go. Lando glances around, there are people watching now. Not a full crowd, but enough to make this real. And Oscar… Oscar looks completely fine, composed, waiting.
“Oh, you are…” Lando ehales, scrubbing a hand over hisface. “You’re actually the worst.”
A few people laugh. Oscar shrugs. “You started it.”
Right, okay, fine. Lando can recover from this. He’s Lando Norris, he’s done worse on camera. “Okay.” he says, rolling his shoulders like he’s commiting. “Fine, I’ll do it once. And then you have to do it.”
Oscar nods. “Deal.”
Lando points at him. “You said that very quickly.”
“Confidence.” Oscar replies, a smirk forming.
Lando narrows his eyes. This feels like a trap. It absolutely is a trap, but he’s in it now. The music is still playing, faint but enough. Lando steps forward, adjust his stance and immediately regrets everything. Because doing it here, out in the open, with people watching, is one thing. Doing it just for Oscar to do it after him? That’s worse. Infinitely worse. Still, he tries. It’s not terrible, not great either. A little stiff, a little off beat, but recogniseable. Enough to get a few cheers, a couple of amused claps. Lando finishes quickly, stepping back with a dramatic bow. “There. Done. Your turn.”
Oscar doesn’t move immediately. First he looks at Lando and then steps forward. The energy shifts instantly. Because where Lando was hesitant, a little chaotic, Oscar is controlled, deliberate. Every movement lands exactly where it should, clean and effortless in a way that makes it look easy, even though Lando knows it’s not. Oscar’s eyes locked onto Lando’s the whole time, like there was no one but them there.
The crew reacts, laughs, impressed noises, someone saying “okayyy, Oscar!” from behind the camera.
And Oscar doesn’t even play it up. He just finishes, steps back, like it was nothing, like he didn’t just-
“Happy?” he asks, glancing at Lando.
Lando exhales slowly. “…No.” he says honestly.
A pause. And then, very quietly, so only Lando hears. “Did it help?”
Lando closes his eyes. This is not revenge, this has backfired catastrophically. “Get away from me.” he mutters.
Oscar’s shoulder brushes his as he steps past. “No.”
It happens again, of course it does. At this point Lando should expect it, should plan for it, but there’s something abut the unpredictability that makes it worse. Because Oscar doesn’t overdo it, he simply does it, like breathing.
This time it’s later, quieter. The garage’s mostly cleared out, the noise dialed down to something distant and manageable. It’s the kind of an inbetween moment where everything feels slower, like the day hasn’t fully ended but it’s close. Lando’s halfway through grabbing something from one of the side rooms when he hears it. Faint, from somewhere down the corridor. He freezes.
“Are you…” Lando starts, already bracing himself. “Are you serious right now?”
Oscar’s leaning against the wall a few steps away, like he’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been waiting. “I didn’t do anything yet.” he says.
That’s the problem. Lando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, you’re about to.”
Oscar doesn’t deny it, he just steps forward. The music filters through the hallway again, soft but clear enough. A beat, then another, and then that shift. Controlled and deliberate. Lando’s done, he doesn’t think about it this time, doesn’t overanalyze, doesn’t heasitate, he just moves. Fast. Two steps and he’s in Oscar’s space, hand coming up instinctively, landing flat against Oscar’s abdomen as he pushes him back to the wall he was leaning against just a few seconds prior. The push wasn’t rough, not gentle either, but enough to stop him. Oscar’s breath catches slightly.
Lando’s chest is rising too fast, pulse loud, head spinning with about ten different moments all stacked on top of each other, every look, every deliberate movement. “You really need to stop doing that.” he says, voice low, hoarse in a way that doesn’t sound like a joke anymore.
Oscar looks at him, properly, not teasing, not detached. Focused. “You don’t want me to.” he says quietly.
Lando exhales a sharp, almost breathless laugh. “That’s not-” He stops because he doesn’t actually have a good argument, because Oscar’s not wrong. And they both know it.
Neither of them move, not away, but also not closer. Just… there. “Then what is it?” Oscar asks, softer this time.
“I don’t know…” Lando admits, which might be the most honest thing he’s said this entire time. “But you can’t just… keep doing that and then act like it’s nothing.”
“I don’t.” Oscar says.
And yeah, that tracks. Because he doesn’t like it’s nothing, he acts like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Lando lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, dropping his head for a second before looking back up. “You’re impossible.”
Oscar’s lips twitch in a slight smile. “Maybe.” He doesn’t move away, doesn’t break the space. If anything, he leans slightly into it, like he’s meeting him there, in the space Lando created. His eyes flick down to Lando’s hand still firmly flat across his abdomen, then back up. “Lando.” he breathes Lando’s name.
That does it. Lando doesn’t think, he just closes the distance. It’s not careful, not planned. It’s messy and a little breathless and very much a result of everything that’s been building for far too long. Oscar responds immediately, like he was expecting it, like he’s been waiting for Lando to catch up this whole time. Lando’s hand shifts, not pushing anymore, but rather grabbing Oscar’s godforbidden hips and smashing them into his. That earns him a shocked half moan from Oscar against his lips.
When they pull back, it’s barely any distance at all. Forheads touching, breath still uneven. And for the first time since this whole thing started, Lando’s not spiraling, he’s just… there. Looking at him. “This is all your fault.”
Oscar huffs a quiet laugh, just under his breath. “Yeah, probably.” he sais quickly before connecting their lips once again. Like he’s finally gotten what he was waiting for the whole time.