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Summary
“You enjoy being like this,” he whispered. “When I back you up like this.”
Oscar shifted, knuckles white on the workbench. “You’re insufferable,” he managed, but it lacked conviction even to his own ears.
“That’s not an answer, Osc,” Lando’s fingers brushed the edge of Oscar’s suited thigh just as he said his nickname, a deliberate ghost of a touch that made Oscar flinch. “Do you feel good when I’m this close to you, hm? You want to make a move or are you gonna let me do all the work by myself?” Oscar could feel Lando’s fingers drawing little circles on his thigh. He was so utterly fucked. “Cat got your tongue, Piastri?”
Or: Lando wants that cookie so bad that they fuck in their motorhome room.