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Summary
"Not tonight," Oscar said simply, flatly, his grip tightening on him just a bit.
Lando's eyes darted around Oscar's face like he was trying to tell if he was joking or not. He almost looked panicked, which Oscar found faintly amusing, as if the concept of not getting laid was some world-ending tragedy.
"What? Why? Please?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse from what was probably a mix of both the exertion of how long they'd been making out and how clearly desperate he already was.
"What time did you leave the hotel last night with those girls? Four in the morning?" Oscar paused, glancing down to Lando's lips for just a second. His stomach twisted in jealousy at even just reminding himself of the paparazzi photos. He knew perfectly well that he didn't have any claim over Lando; their arrangement was crystal clear. Always had been. But, fuck, it still stung nonetheless. "If you wanna get laid so bad, maybe just call one of them. I'm sure it was just as good as this, yeah?"