Chapter Text
Oscar was not one to be ashamed of his Omegan status.
After all, as the times change, there were less expectations on how an Omega should act. They were no longer restricted to just jobs limited to keeping care of a house, or being required to submit to an Alpha just to have some sort of freedom— Omegas were equal in the eyes of the law, and the people. It was a benefit for Omegas like Oscar, who didn't exactly fit the bill for what an Omega should be like; Stoic, broad shouldered, and working in a high-risk field such as motorsports as an F1 driver.
Despite not being someone who looked like an Omega, he never tried to pretend that he wasn't one. There was little reason to— pretending to be an Alpha or a Beta would just be a hindrance, and F1 had long since been accepting of Omegas anyway, with their usual body types being well suited for the sport. Lewis Hamilton was a good example— the sport's winningest driver, and an Omega.
However, despite that, there was one thing about Oscar that characterized him as undeniably Omega.
His preheat.
No, not his heat. Even that part of him was not normal; His heats were shorter than average, and he usually had no need for a heat partner— only needing a knotted toy and pre-prepared meals to survive. No, his preheat was the worst part of it all.
It made him unbearably needy and clingy.
During his preheat, his omega almost always whined for his pack, or for company. When he still lived with his family, he would plaster himself onto them for its duration, seeking constant contact and the comfort of their scent. That was another thing— he loved to get drunk off of the scent of the people he trusts, grabbing clothes and objects with their scent on it and putting it into his nest, where he'd often curl up if he wasn't in the company of others. And if he was, he'd always try to bring them into the nest.
It made moving to another continent very inconvenient. While his family could always send articles of clothing with their scents on it— albeit not as saturated with their scent as Oscar would have liked— his main problem was touch. He was so incredibly clingy to the point it turned people away, which made his teammates in Prema a godsend. They were always willing and even enthusiastic about letting him cling to them, sometimes even squabbling about who would get to have him.
Even so, Oscar would always end up incredibly embarassed about his neediness, even when others would assure him there was no problem. He just wished that he could be less intense during preheat, even when he knew he was just a slave to his instincts. Sometimes, he can't help but think it must be overcompensation for the fact he wasn't very Omega in any other aspect of his life. Which was illogical.
Anyway, all of that is to say—
Oscar isn't coping well.
It's a race weekend, and he's in preheat.
Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. It's not the first time he's had to race while in preheat—because while he's a lot more tactile, he can still drive— though it is his first time doing so in F1. No, the difference is—
He's not expecting it.
Normally, if he were to drive in preheat, it's a premeditated thing. Usually due to having to wean off of supressants for a check up, or for other reasons along the same vein. When that happened, he was usually able to call his family to the race for assistance, and if they weren't available, he'd always had Logan and his other teammates with him.
Right now, though?
He had no one.
Because of how sudden it arrived, Oscar has had no time to call his parents. No one at McLaren knew about his needs because there wasn't a real need for them to know. It's not like there was a form he had to fill out to let them know that he became insanely clingy during his preheat. His heats were supposed to be scheduled, after all, and it's not like he's ever had history of having stress heats before.
Which is what this was— a stress heat. He knew.
It wasn't exactly surprising. Oscar had had a feeling it was coming, but he really did not want it to be true. The horrible start to his season just after having the driver's championship slip through his fingers weighed on him heavily, and the high of his podiums weren't enough to offset the growing stress from the results he has had this season. It was only a matter of when and not if he'd have a stress heat.
Unlike last year, however, he's not lucky enough to have his stress heat arrive outside of a race week.
It's not a good situation to be in. Having to deal with your preheat during a race week—where the paddock would be crawling with people vying for his attention— isn't ideal, especially without any of his packmates. And he doesn't know if his preheat will affect his driving, unlike in the lower Formula series. Yet if there was one thing about him that would always be true, it's the fact he is stubborn. What does it matter if he isn't prepared, and he isn't willing to ask anyone for help? He can survive weekend.
Can he?
Oscar wakes up on Thursday feeling like absolute shit.
The bedding is soaked with his sweat and slick. There's a distinct heat in the air that Oscar knows isn't just from the weather. He can smell his scent in the air; orange and dark chocolate with the notes of vanilla quickly getting smothered by a sickly sweet smell. When the realization of what's happening hits, he only groans.
All Oscar wants to do is to curl up and die, but he can't exactly do that when he knows he has media. His alarm that he's been ignoring ever since he woke up continues to let out a shrill cry, and probably has been since before he woke up. Any moment now, someone will come to escort him to the paddock, but he just can't find it in himself to get up.
He sighs against his pillow, nudging his nose against the scentless fabric. He feels a mournful whine escape his throat, and Oscar sighs again, knowing what he should do.
Ideally, by now, he should be showering. He's late. But Oscar knows himself, and in turn knows that it would be an impossible feat right now. At least, not if he doesn't indulge himself a little bit.
Dragging himself over to his luggage, he grabs one of the containers and opens it up. Inside, there are a number of clothes in varying sizes, all of which were saturated with the scent of his family and his pack. Oscar takes the container and just dumps it onto the bed, uncaring of the mess, and immediately burrows himself into the pile. He has no time to make into a proper nest, so instead, he lets himself be covered in the scents to prepare for the day ahead.
However, it's as he's busying himself by burying in the scents that he misses the series of knocks on his door. It's only when the door suddenly slams open that he's startled out of his reverie.
There, standing in the doorway, was his manager— Mark Webber.
They stare at each other for a few long moments. Suddenly, the beta lifts his head and sniffs the air. Oscar watches with bated breath as Mark's eyes go wide when he smells the sickeningly sweet scent. The moment the realization hits, he slams the door shut and locks it behind him, already beginning to take off the coat he had on. Oscar snatches it the moment his arm is free, positioning it neatly onto the pile of clothes as he eagerly accepts the beta's watch as well, sliding it onto his wrist and over his scent gland.
When Oscar settles down, Mark sits just outside his nest and slides a hand into his hair. At that moment, Oscar feels himself begin to purr— the rumble in his chest growing louder when the beta chuffs at him and leans in to nuzzle his cheek, scenting him.
After few minutes of just sitting there and basking in the scents and touch, Mark speaks up.
"Oscar." Mark nudges him.
"Mmm." Oscar nudges him back.
"Oscar," He tries again, "Come on, pup."
"What, Mark." The Omega snarks, opening an eye from where he has his face buried into the clothes.
"Look, pup, I know you want to do anything but get out of your… nest, But you still have to do media and meet with your engineers at McLaren." When Oscar only looks at him blankly, Mark continues. "We can leave immediately after and let everyone else wrap up. Or, if I can convince Andrea or Zak, we can get you out even earlier. You just have to do some media, then you can relax, okay?"
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, but the moment it does, Oscar abruptly sits up.
"Oh my god, you're right." The brunette frantically pushes the clothes in his nest into a corner of the bed and stands, pushing past the older man to pace around the room, rushing to get ready. "I'm so sorry Mark, I got distracted and woke up so late—"
"Oscar."
"—and now I made us take so much longer, so now I need to hurry—"
"Oscar."
"—so I'd really appreciate if you left for now so I can get ready—"
"Oscar!"
The shout immediately shuts Oscar up and freezes him in place from where he was hurriedly grabbing his clothes. Mark only sighs and walks over to scent him again, squeezing the Omega's nape and feeling him melt against his side.
"Relax, pup. We have time. Nobody will mind it too much if you're a little late." The Beta detaches himself from Oscar and pats his back. "And even if they do, I'll deal with it. I'll be waiting for you outside, okay?"
"Okay," Oscar nervously breathes out, "Thank you, really. And… sorry for freaking out."
"No need to apologize. Just take it steady, okay? You know how you can get while in preheat." Mark pauses for a moment. "And Don't forget to put on a scent patch. Gently."
"Yeah, I know, Mark. Just go, will you?" Oscar snarks, but smiles anyway, flushing under the fond gaze he recieves in return.
Despite Mark telling him to take his time, Oscar speeds through the process of getting ready anyway. He takes just over 15 minutes to finish, and after hurriedly stuffing his bag with as much of his family and pack's clothes as possible, he leaves his room and beelines his way towards his manager.
Mark immediately goes to wrap his arms around Oscar and scents him the moment he's within reach. His omega immediately croons at the attention, but Oscar can feel himself flushing from just how much he's enjoying it, so he tries to shut down the noise. It's impossible though, when Mark pulls him flush against him as they take the elevator down, and he can't help but melt against the touch in the brief moment they're alone.
He tries to act relatively normal when they pass through the lobby, waving at some fans who catch sight of them and smiling the best that he can before they get into the van waiting for them. The moment Mark gets into the seat beside him, Oscar practically plasters himself onto the beta— or at least, the best that he can in the space available. It's how he ends up half in Mark's lap, soaking up the warmth from where their skin touch.
Oscar would try to find it in himself to be more embarassed by how clingy he is, but it's hard to think when the haze of preheat descends on him again in this brief moment where they're alone. Briefly, he did have half a mind to try and squirm away, but the tightening of Mark's arms around him killed the idea instantly. Besides, with Mark being the closest thing he had to a pack in the paddock, it would make it easier for him to last the day without the Beta constantly having to be around if he just let the older man smother him with his scent. He seems happy enough to do it, with the way he noses at Oscar's scent glands.
Still, he can't help but ask…
"Mark, won't people find it weird if I walked into the paddock reeking of your scent?"
That gets the beta to stop for moment. It's almost relieving, until he sees the other leveling him with an unimpressed look.
"Oscar, I don't think you should be worrying about what people think when you're in preheat. The priority is to make sure you won't suddenly drop when I'm not around." Mark goes back to nosing at the omega's scent glands, and Oscar slumps against him again. "Besides, nobody would be particularly shocked. You're practically my pup, aren't you?"
The moment Oscar hears those words, his face erupts into flames.
"Oh my god, Mark."
The beta only laughs in his face, laughing harder when the omega lets out a whine and buries his face into his neck.
"Shh. Don't be too embarassed. It just makes it easier for us, doesn't it?"
Oscar doesn't dignify that with a response.
When they arrive at the paddock, they immediately go their separate ways. Oscar only had a few minutes to spare for himself, and Mark had other things to do. The beta did promise to meet up again later in the day, even briefly, in order to rescent him, but Oscar just waved him off and told him to take his time. It probably barely even registered to Mark as he was already well on his way, but oh well.
On the way to the Motorhome, Oscar could distinctly feel the many eyes that glanced his way. He pushed through, but he couldn't help the blush that was blooming high on his cheeks. Mark's scent on him was obvious; a firm claim that wafted off of him and caught people's attention, even when they didn't know exactly who had scented Oscar. It's easy enough to infer who it is, though, the obviously beta scent and the prescence of Mark in the paddock being obvious enough clues.
Thankfully, nobody stops him to ask about it. He simply pushes through the crowd and goes into the McLaren motorhome, letting out a sigh of relief when he feels the cool air surround his body. As he takes off his backpack, he rushes to get to his driver's room; trying and failing to avoid people. Oscar can only muster up a weak smile and nod whenever someone greets him.
When he finally closes the door to his drivers room, Oscar lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes, briefly leaning on the door.
After a moment, he checks his watch. Fuck.
"Get a hold of yourself, Piastri." Oscar sighs again.
He opens his bag and dumps the contents of it onto the deep orange couch. The clothes scatter everywhere; most onto the couch, some tumbling to the floor. Oscar only stares.
Something itches beneath his skin.
Oscar's instincts insist that he arrange the clothes into, at the very least, a decent looking nest. Or pick up the things that ended up on the floor. His brain yells at him and tells him to get a move on, because he should really stick to the schedule assigned to him. And, well, he knows himself— if he goes to make a nest now, he's really going to be late; the phrase decent looking nest isn't in his vocabulary, because it needs to be perfect.
In the end though, his mind knows it was a losing battle from the start. He was in preheat. It would be fine to indulge in his instincts, just for a bit.
With that excuse, he takes his time to build up his nest.
Oscar wouldn't say he's the best at making nests. That title belongs to his mother Nicole, who, despite being a beta, was the one to teach him how to make them in the first place. She taught him how to arrange whatever pillows and cushions he had into a comfortable frame, and how to tuck the blankets just right so they wouldn't be dislodged nor be too stiff. She guided him the first time he placed other people's clothes into his nest, letting him figure out how to layer the clothes to allow for the scents to mix without overpowering each other. When people asked how his nests were so nice, he'd only flush and credit it to her.
Of course, that isn't to say he didn't have his own quirks in nest making. Most notable of which being that he enjoyed gathering the clothes with the most saturated scents of each pack member into one place. Most omegas would prefer them scatered as to not overwhelm their naturally sensitive noses, but Oscar enjoyed the feeling of too much when it came to scents. Lets the unruly combination of scents sting his nose and smother him all over.
It's what he's doing now, as he places the final pieces of clothing onto the couch. It's cramped, the couch not being too big, but it works well enough. The most saturated clothes are bundled together, and Oscar takes a moment to climb into the couch to nose at the clothes. He's late already, it wouldn't hurt to be more late.
However, the moment his body relaxes, the door to his room is burst open. Again.
"Uh, I did not mean to open that so hard. Sorry. Oscar?" Lando calls for him, rolling the r at the end of Oscar. In response, Oscar only groans, turning his face to bury further into the clothes. The noise catches the Alpha's attention, who turns towards him.
"Oscar! Are you—" He stops in front of the nest and looks down at the Omega curled up in it. "Uh. Are you okay? You're late, you know."
"I know, Lando. Thanks." Oscar snaps at him, the upset in his voice obvious even while muffled.
"Jeez, who got you so upset?" Lando mumbles, voice steady, but Oscar can smell hints of something bitter in his scent even through his scent patch. It makes his omega ache. "I just wanted to call you in case you forgot or something. They've been trying to reach you for ages."
Oscar stays silent for a moment, trying to get his mind back into the program. But it's just so hard to do so, with the scented clothes pressed against his nose, and the scent of an Alpha still filling the room. Damn Lando and his refusal to wear scent patches unless necessary.
Unfortunately, his mind is forced to work anyway when someone knocks on the door. A beta— thankfully— reminding them that they're both late to the meeting now.
Lando only pouts at the reminder, lightly kicking the edge of the couch.
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be late if it weren't for this guy over here." Lando flashes a smile at the beta. "Tell them we'll be on the way."
As he sends the person away, Oscar takes the time to finally get up. He feels a little better now, the combination of Mark absolutely smothering him with his scent and the nest satisfying his omega, but he still doesn't feel great. Not when he wants to feel the warmth of someone's skin. But if he doesn't go do his job soon, someone will start suspecting something— If they haven't suspected anything already.
"Lando, you should go on ahead. I have to change." Oscar says as the beta turns away.
"Why? Is there something wrong with your shirt?" The alpha rakes his eyes up and down the omega's body before meeting his eyes again. "Come on, let's just go."
"There's— um," A pause, "There's a hole. I'll be quick."
Lando doesn't look convinced, opening his mouth to argue, but when Oscar motions his head towards the clock, he relents.
"Fine, fine. I'll go." The brunette brushes pats him on the back as he brushes past to leave. "Don't take too long, I can only handle Zak's complaints for so long without you"
"Yeah, Alright mate. Just go on already."
Lando only smiles lazily in response before finally walking away, his footsteps falling farther and farther away until everything finally goes quiet. When Oscar is sure that there's nobody else around, he finally lets himself relax marginally.
…There's a reason why he wanted Lando to leave.
When Oscar is sure Lando is gone, he sprints out of his driver's room and into the alpha's room next door. It is, perhaps, one of the stupidest decisions Oscar has ever made— but there's little he can do when he has to fight his hindbrain every single moment just to act normal. It's the only way he can properly manage his preheat, so…
The omega goes straight into the alpha's laundry basket, and plucks one of their team kits out of it.
Almost immediately, the alpha's scent hits him hard. Oscar would've found it unpleasant any other time, but now, it's exactly what he needs. Keeping an ear out for anybody coming, Oscar quickly changes out of his shirt and into Lando's team kit— only to immediately have to tamp down the embarassingly loud purr that rumbles in his chest the moment he puts it on.
It's a little tight around the shoulders— Lando is a lot less bulkier than the usual alphas in the sport, so it's not shocking— but stretch feels comforting, feels as though it's swallowing him whole. The scent is closer now, spreading all around him, mingling with his own sweeter scent.
Lando smells like sunshine and petrichor. It reminds him of Australia— of Home. It's exactly what he needs to keep himself together.
However, it is, in the end, a temporary solution.
Oscar knows himself. Knows that, inevitably, he'll have to find away to satisfy his need for touch. It'll be sooner rather than later, because scents weren't and would never be enough. Mark's lingering scent and Lando's overpowering are good, but he's already missing the feeling of a warm arm wrapping around his shoulders, and even just the warmth of Lando standing next to him. Having just a taste has made him want more.
And he knows he can just ask for it. If Oscar were to message Mark know, he'd drop whatever he was doing to provide for him. Lando was already a tactile person, and he'd take the opportunity to latch onto Oscar and never let go. His team members, other employees at McLaren— hell, even the other drivers— they'd do it. He's in preheat, afterall— he doesn't just want it, he needs it.
Yet, he just can't bring himself to do it.
It'd be a distraction for the team, another burden to put onto them when they're already struggling with the car. He can't willingly tell them he needs something when he's dealt with this himself countless times before. It doesn't matter that his omega is practically begging for warmth, for the comfort of his pack— he'll just find a way to keep it down.
It'll be difficult. Oscar can already feel himself long for his nest, to lay down and wait for his heat to tide over. He immediately shuts it down though, shaking his head and pressing down on his scent patch. No matter what, he can't let the team find out. He'll just have to find a way to satisfy himself and keep it hidden. Otherwise— he'll be forced to tell the team, and they would surely coddle him and tell him to rest instead.
(Oscar's omega trills at the idea. He supresses the purr rising in his chest immediately.)
Like hell.
If there's one thing about Oscar, it's that he's determined. He'll get through the day— and the rest of the week— with will, and wrangling his omega if needed. And the first step to doing that is to finally head to the meeting.
Letting out a deep sigh, Oscar feels his resolve strengthen. He won't get caught. All he has to do is to act normal, smile at the right times…
…and pray he doesn't get caught wearing Lando's shirt.