Work Text:
Here's the muffin recipe Btw guys :) -> ts makes 8-10 muffins btw
Ingredients:
- 2 Large eggs - 2 bowls
- 60ml veggie oil - mixing tool
- 120ml milk - Cupcake tray
- 1tsp Vanilla Essence (not rlly neccessary)
- 250 self raising flour/ 250g normal flour w/ baking soda
- 150g Sugar (adjust to your taste)
- Whatever toppings you want!!
Recipe:
(Pre-Heat ur oven to 200C)
First, mix the Wet ingredients together -> eggs, oil, milk and Vanilla
Then Mix together the Dry ingredients in a separate bowl -> flour (+baking soda), sugar
After that, pour the Wet ingredients into the Dry and mix GENTLYYY
Add the toppings you want
Put them into your cupcake tray, around 3/4 to the top, again sprinkle the toppings
Bake for 200C for 7 min THEN 170C for 13 mins
ENJOY MY LOVES!!
The calendar invite had arrived at exactly 08:00 on Monday morning. It didn't come from McLaren, and it certainly hadn’t gone through their PR people. It came directly from a personal Outlook account, bearing the subject line: SURPRISE_ALBON_B_DAY_2026: Briefing.
Oscar had accepted it immediately, assuming it was a joke or a prank. Lando had ignored it entirely until a second, high-priority notification pinged on his phone, followed by a flood of WhatsApp messages from George Russell consisting entirely of a clipboard emoji and a siren emoji.
Now, they were sitting in Lando’s living room, watching George pace back and forth in front of the television screen. George had somehow managed to mirror his iPad to Lando’s TV, and the opening slide of a bigass PowerPoint presentation was currently glowing in corporate blue text:
Maximising Joy, minimizing mistakes: The best approach to Alexander Albon’s 30th Birthday.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, gays and gents," George said, his serious tone perfectly matching the crispness of his ironed linen shirt. He tapped a sleek presenter clicker. "As you know, my Alex’s birthday is this weekend. Because we are currently in a triple-header, logistics are tight. I’ve spent the last three flights charting out optimization metrics for the evening, and I think we have a small window of opportunity."
Lando groaned, sinking deeper into his sofa cushions and pulling a blanket up to his chin. "George, mate, it’s just a bloody birthday party. You buy a couple of balloons, you get some Colin the Caterpillar cakes from M&S, and you open some drinks. Why is there a Venn diagram on my TV?"
"Because, Lando," George said, fixing him with a look of intense, devastating disappointment, "Colin the Caterpillar represents low-effort, half hearted work. This is a milestone. We require peak sentimental value. Slide four, please."
He clicked the button. A timeline appeared, color-coded by sector.
"I initially trusted the dessert sector to Charles," George explained, rubbing his temples. "An error in judgment. He tried to bake a traditional Monégasque tart, got distracted looking at Ferrari updates, and nearly burnt his apartment complex down, an 'inchident' if I say so myself. The smoke alarm alone caused a disaster. I then approached Max."
Oscar, who had been quietly tracking the slides with the focus of a race engineer, raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. He flat out refused?"
"He told me that if the dessert wasn't a stroopwafel, he wasn't interested, and then he logged into an Sim Racing lobby," George sighed. He clicked the presenter tool again. The slide shifted to reveal two large, high-definition headshots of Lando and Oscar, framed by a neon McLaren papaya border. "Which brings us to our last chance. You two."
Lando blinked, pointing a finger at his own chest. "Us? George, I haven't baked a thing in my life that didn't come out of a microwave. And Oscar's Australian, they just eat Vegemite on toast."
"Hey," Oscar interjected calmly. "I can follow structural instructions perfectly fine, thank you. If there’s a manual, I can build it, Lando remember when I made that Ikea furniture without the manual for our apartment." (prolly no1 flex there is)
"Exactly! That is precisely why you’re the perfect team for this," George beamed, pointing his clicker at Oscar like a proud head of mechanics. "Oscar provides the necessary discipline. Lando provides the... well, you provide the kitchen, Lando. I’ve allocated a specific three-hour window on Friday afternoon for baking. I require homemade muffins. Great texture, aroma, amazing taste, and optimally decorated."
"Muffins?" Lando sat up, a sudden spark of competitiveness hitting him. "Wait. Hold on. I actually have a muffin recipe. A genuinely brilliant one. Max F sent it to me, and it’s fool proof."
George narrowed his eyes, instantly sceptical. "Does this recipe have proven, repeatable results?" (sounds like my science teacher smh)
"It’s elite, George. Trust me," Lando insisted, already pulling out his phone to scroll through his saved notes. "It’s got a two-bowl system. It’s highly tactical. It shifts temperatures mid-bake. It’s basically a Quali strategy but for carbs."
Oscar leaned over Lando’s shoulder, his eyes skimming the screen of Lando's phone. He read a few lines out loud in a deadpan murmur. "‘Mix GENTLYYY with three Ys’... ‘Vanilla Essence, not really necessary’... ‘ENJOY MY LOVES’... Lando, this reads less like a technical regulation manual and more like a chaotic text from a frantic Italian grandmother."
"It works, Oscar! I'm telling you, it’s the best recipe of all time," Lando defended, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
George cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to the PowerPoint screen, which now displayed a massive countdown timer set for Friday afternoon. "I do not give a flying fuck about the creative language of the text, Lando. I care about the output. I am registering this as an official team directive. If Alex arrives at the venue and there are no muffins, or if the muffins suffer from mid-tray collapse, I will know exactly who to blame."
George packed his iPad into a perfectly fitted leather sleeve, gave them both a strict, double-tap nod of his head, and headed for the door. "Friday at 14:00. Do not let the team down."
As the front door clicked shut, Lando dropped back against the sofa, looking at Oscar. Oscar just looked back at him, pulling up the copy of the recipe Lando had just forwarded to him.
"Well," Oscar said, his lips twitching into a tiny, amused smile. "We have our technical regulations. Let's see if your engineering holds up, Landito."
The baking sector of Operation: Surprise Albon began with an unscheduled pit stop at Waitrose, a high-end supermarket in West London. Lando was currently steering a trolley with a loose front wheel, drifting it around the end of the baking aisle, while Oscar followed behind with the recipe open on his phone.
"We need two large eggs, vegetable oil, milk, and flour," Oscar read, his voice flat as he ducked out of the way of Lando's trajectory. "And sugar. My love, please don't hit the display of luxury olive oils. George will have our heads and our money for the damages before we leave the store."
"Relax, Osc," Lando laughed, spinning the trolley into the dairy section. He grabbed a carton of milk and tossed it in. "Right. Toppings. I was thinking we just dump an entire tub of rainbow sprinkles in. Make it look like a festival."
"Oh absolutely not," a voice suddenly interjected from behind a pyramid of organic sourdough.
A familiar small Japanese man stepped out from the adjacent aisle, holding a bunch of organic bananas like he was judging their aerodynamic properties. Right behind him was Pierre Gasly, looking effortlessly stylish in an oversized designer coat, pushing a trolley that was entirely organized by food groups.
"Sprinkles are for babies Lando," Yuki scolded, crossing his arms and looking up at the McLaren duo with deep culinary disapproval. "Alex is turning thirty. He deserves a proper profile of flavour. What is the base of the batter?"
"Uh..." Lando checked his phone nervously. "It’s a two-bowl system. Sugar, flour, oil, milk, eggs. And vanilla essence, but the manual says it's not really necessary."
Yuki gasped, a sound of pure physical pain. "Not necessary? Vanilla is the soul of the bake! Pierre, look at them, these absolute clowns. They are going to ruin Alex’s birthday. We cannot let this happen."
Pierre chuckled warmly, leaning against his trolley and wrapping an arm around his husband’s shoulders. "Calm down, mon cœur. They are trying their best. Though, Lando, he is right. If you serve George Russell a low-tier muffin, he will send you a strongly worded email with a feedback form attached."
"We are open to any suggestions, we're basically useless in the baking department" Oscar admitted, stepping forward. "What do you recommend, Chef Yuki?"
Yuki’s expression immediately shifted into intense, professional focus of a man who had spent more than half his life in the kitchen. He marched past Lando, grabbed their trolley, and inspected the self-raising flour Lando had picked out. "Good. Flour is fine. But for toppings, you need contrast. You need acidity to balance the sugar, and high-quality fat for texture. Come."
The McLaren boys followed Yuki like eager rookies listening to a team principal. Pierre trailed behind them, giving Oscar a sympathetic, amused look. "He takes hospitality very seriously," Pierre whispered. "Last week he spent three hours explaining the chemical difference between types of salt to Logan."
Yuki stopped dead in front of the fresh produce display. He hovered his hand over the berries before decisively picking up two packs of plump, glossy raspberries.
"Raspberries," Yuki declared, dropping them into Lando’s trolley. "They bring tartness. Then, you go to the confectionery aisle, and you get high-quality white chocolate blocks, Lindt is prolly your best bet. Do not buy the pre-chopped chips. They have stabilizers. You must chop the blocks yourselves so the chocolate melts into uneven, luxurious pockets. It creates a superior mouthfeel."
"Uneven pockets," Lando repeated, nodding solemnly. "Like a mixed-conditions track. Got it."
"Exactly," Yuki nodded, finally looking satisfied. "And buy the vanilla essence. Don't be cheap, you guys are multi-millionares."
"Thank you, Yuki," Oscar said, genuinely impressed by the strategy. "We’ll implement the upgrade package immediately."
"If it goes wrong, do not tell anyone I assisted you," Yuki warned, though a small, proud smile broke through his stern face. "Pierre, come on. We need to find the specific truffle paste for the carbonara we're making tonight."
"Good luck, boys!" Pierre called back, waving as Yuki marched him toward the gourmet section. "Don't burn the kitchen down!"
Ten minutes later, Lando and Oscar were back in Lando’s kitchen. The counter was a neat grid of bowls, measuring cylinders, and their freshly acquired ingredients. Oscar had laid out two separate glass bowls and a wooden mixing tool, alongside a clean cupcake tray.
"Alright," Lando said, rubbing his hands together and looking at the recipe on his phone. "Phase one. We mix the wet ingredients together. Eggs, oil, milk, and the mandatory Tsunoda-approved vanilla."
"I’ll handle the liquid measurements," Oscar said, reaching for the 120ml of milk and 60ml of vegetable oil. "You handle the cracking. Try not to put in any eggshells this time, I don't want anyone getting salmonella and sueing us."
"I am an elite egg-cracker, Piastri," Lando scoffed, grabbing the two large eggs. He tapped the first one against the rim of the bowl with a dramatic flourish.
It split perfectly, dropping cleanly into the bowl. Lando beamed. "See?"
He tried the same high-speed crack with the second egg. This time, his thumb pushed a bit too hard, and the shell shattered, dropping a massive, jagged triangle of white calcium right into the center of the egg yolk.
Lando froze. "Uh. no one else saw that right..."
Oscar sighed, but his lips curved into a soft smile. He stepped into Lando’s space, his chest brushing against Lando’s shoulder as he leaned over the bowl. "Move over, Lan. Let the steady hands handle the crimscene."
Oscar took a larger piece of the eggshell, using it like a tiny spoon to cleanly scoop out the rogue fragment. His knuckles brushed against Lando's hand, lingering for a second longer than strictly necessary. Lando caught his breath, suddenly very aware of how close Oscar was standing, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with the sweet aroma of the vanilla essence.
Oscar looked up, his dark eyes catching Lando’s. "There. Add the vanilla."
"Right. Yeah. Vanilla," Lando mumbled, his cheeks flushing a faint papaya pink as he grabbed the bottle.
With the wet ingredients successfully combined in bowl one, Oscar poured 250g of flour and 150g of sugar into the second bowl. He gave it a quick stir with a fork to ensure a homogeneous mixture.
(yk that guy who says mix homogeneously when making the monster energy + pasta mix??? no?? ok :( )
"Dry bowl is prepared," Oscar announced, tapping the fork against the rim. He looked at Lando, then at the two separate bowls sitting side by side on the marble counter. "We have achieved the two-bowl baseline. Now comes the dangerous part."
"Right," Lando said, hovering the wet bowl over the dry bowl like he was holding a fragile animal. "The moment of truth. We pour the wet into the dry. Are you ready, Osc?"
Oscar looked up from the recipe on his phone, his thumb lazily tracing the edge of Lando’s hip where they stood side by side against the marble kitchen counter. They had been officially together for six months now, and while the paddock was used to their synchronized teamwork on track, their domestic coordination was still highly experimental.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Oscar said softly, leaning over to press a quick, reassuring kiss to the side of Lando’s jaw. "But remember the prompt, Lan. Read the technical part carefully."
Lando glanced at his phone screen. Below the instructions to combine the bowls, the text read in aggressive capital letters: mix GENTLYYY.
"Yeah, yeah. Gently. I know how to do gentle," Lando insisted. He tipped the glass bowl, letting the pale yellow liquid cascade down over the mound of flour and sugar. The moment the last drop hit, Lando grabbed the wooden mixing tool and began to aggressively whip the batter in high-speed, clockwise circles, trying to clear the flour pockets as fast as humanly possible.
Oscar’s eyes widened. "Lando, stop! You’re over-working the gluten structure!"
"I'm panicking!" Lando gasped, his hair flopping into his eyes as he stirred frantically. "Look at the lumps, Oscar! We have to eliminate the lumps! We gotta murder them all"
"You're going to turn Alex's birthday dessert into a literal brick," Oscar said. Before Lando could protest, Oscar stepped right up behind him, chest pressing firmly against Lando's back. He wrapped his longer arms around Lando's sides, placing his hands directly over Lando's on the handle of the wooden spoon.
Lando instantly stopped stirring. His breath hitched, his heart doing a sudden, violent downshift against his ribs. No matter how long they had been together, the sheer physical reality of Oscar, calm, solid, and utterly enveloping, completely short-circuited his brain.
"Like this Lan," Oscar murmured against Lando’s ear, his breath warm against Lando's skin.
Oscar’s hands guided Lando’s in a slow, sweeping motion. They brought the spoon down through the centre, scraped the bottom of the bowl, and folded the flour gently over the top. It was a fluid, rhythmic cadence.
"Down, scrape, fold, repeat" Oscar coached quietly, his chin resting lightly on Lando's shoulder. "See? Three Ys. GENTLYYY. If you rush it, you introduce too much air, the structural integrity fails in the oven, and George files a formal complaint with the FIA." (holy shit I feel so single after writing this)
"Right. Yeah. No air or something," Lando breathed, completely hypnotized by the feeling of Oscar’s hands moving over his. He tilted his head back slightly, catching Oscar’s warm gaze. "You’re really good at this, you know. Have you been moonlighting as a baker?"
"No," Oscar smiled, his eyes dropping to Lando's lips for a brief second before focusing back on the batter. "I just know how to read instructions. And I know how to handle you when you get into panic mode."
"Shut up," Lando laughed, but he didn't push Oscar away. In fact, he leaned back into him even more, letting Oscar guide them through the final few folds until the batter was perfectly combined, thick, glossy, and beautifully smooth.
"Now for the Tsunoda upgrade package," Oscar said, reluctantly releasing Lando's hands to grab the white chocolate blocks and a chef's knife.
While Oscar began chopping the chocolate into the thick, uneven chunks Yuki had demanded, Lando reached for the raspberries. He picked up a plump berry, turned around, and held it up to Oscar's mouth.
"Quality control," Lando demanded.
Oscar stopped cutting, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he leaned forward and bit the raspberry right from Lando’s fingers, slyly trying to lick his index finger in the process. He chewed thoughtfully, nodding. "Oh that's good, I kind of see why we spent fifteen pounds on these."
"Excellent." Lando took another raspberry and popped it into his own mouth, then took a handful of the roughly chopped white chocolate Oscar had cleared from the cutting board. Together, they folded the berries and the chocolate into the batter, leaving a few pieces aside.
Lando lined the cupcake tray with paper liners. Working with surprising precision, Oscar used a spoon to fill each pocket exactly three-quarters of the way to the top, leaving just enough room for the muffins to rise.
"Lookin' good," Lando said, admiration clear in his voice as he looked at the neat rows. He grabbed the remaining raspberries and chocolate chunks. "Now, the final touch before we chuck them in the oven."
He carefully sprinkled the leftover toppings onto the surface of each muffin, ensuring every single one had an equal distribution of white chocolate and red berries.
"Pre-bake inspection complete," Oscar announced, checking the kitchen clock. "The oven is preheated to 200°C. It's go time baby."
The oven beeped, a sharp, electronic tone signaling that the chamber had reached exactly 200°C.
"Right. Green light, quicker Osc c'mon" Lando announced. He carefully picked up the filled cupcake tray, sliding it onto the center rack of the oven. He shut the door with a firm click and immediately pulled up the stopwatch on his phone. "Starting the seven-minute countdown. Now."
"I've set a secondary timer on my watch just in case," Oscar said, checking his wrist. "We cannot afford an error here. A seven-minute stint at two hundred, then a hard drop to one hundred and seventy for thirteen. The thermal degradation curve on these muffins is incredibly precise."
"I still can't believe this recipe actually calls for a mid-bake temperature shift," Lando muttered, shaking his head. He leaned his back against the lower kitchen cabinets and slowly slid down until he was sitting flat on the hardwood floor, his knees bent up against his chest. "It’s so dramatic. It’s like switching from soft tires to mediums halfway through a qualifying lap."
Oscar looked down at him, an affectionate smile breaking across his face. He walked over, sinking down right next to Lando. The kitchen was already starting to fill with the warm, rich scent of baking sugar, toasted vanilla, and the slight caramelization of white chocolate.
Oscar stretched his long legs out ahead of him, shifting his weight until his shoulder was pressed firmly against Lando's. He reached out, his fingers slipping easily between Lando's, intertwining their hands on the floor between them. "Comfortable down there, Lan?" Oscar murmured, bumping his shoulder against Lando's.
"Perfect," Lando sighed, resting his head back against the cabinet door. He turned his face toward Oscar, looking at the soft profile of his boyfriend’s face in the dim light of the kitchen. "Thanks for helping me with this. I know George’s PowerPoint presentations can be... a lot. You didn't have to let him drag you into it."
"Are you kidding?" Oscar turned his head, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Watching you try to aggressively whip gluten into submission is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week. Besides, I like being your teammate. Even in the kitchen."
Lando squeezed Oscar’s hand, a warm, goofy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? Even when I get eggshell in the mix?"
"Even then," Oscar softly laughed. He leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the crown of Lando's head, his lips brushing against the messy curls. "Though next time, I’m leading the technical briefing on ingredient assembly."
They sat in a cozy, comfortable silence for a few minutes, just listening to the faint hum of the oven fan. The scent of the raspberries was growing stronger, sweet and slightly tart. Lando shifted closer, resting his head entirely on Oscar's shoulder, his eyes fixed on the illuminated glass of the oven like a child looking into the window of a candy store.
"Three, two, one," Oscar’s watch gave a soft, rhythmic chime. "Seven minutes completed. Hit the thermal shift, Lando."
Lando scrambled up onto his knees, reaching for the oven’s digital control panel. With a dramatic flair, he dialed the temperature setting down from 200°C to 170°C.
"I've set it to 170C right about.. now," Lando reported, leaning back down next to Oscar and immediately reclaiming his hand. "Thirteen minutes left on the clock. The final stint."
"Excellent job," Oscar murmured, pulling Lando back against his side. "The muffins are already showing a significant vertical rise. Optimal structural integrity achieved."
"You really talk about baking like it's a post-race debrief, don't you?" Lando teased, looking up at him with a laugh.
"Every process can be optimized, Norris," Oscar said smoothly. He leaned down, capturing Lando's laughing mouth in a sweet, slow kiss. Lando melted into it, like the white chocolate, his free hand reaching up to rest against Oscar’s jaw, completely forgetting about the countdown, the kitchen, and George Russell’s impending deadline as the sweet aroma of white chocolate and raspberries baked perfectly around them.
TIME SKIP!
The drive to the venue was an exercise in precision navigation. Lando steered with intense focus while Oscar sat in the passenger seat, stabilizing the cupcake tray on his lap with the care of an engineer holding a fragile telemetry sensor. The white chocolate and raspberry muffins looked absolutely immaculate, golden, towering tops with vibrant pockets of red and melted pools of ivory chocolate.
"Ten minutes," Oscar announced, checking his watch. "George has messaged the group chat four times. He says if we fail our arrival window, he’s launching a formal investigation."
"We’re on time, Osc," Lando chuckled, pulling the car up to the private venue George had rented. "For the first time, we're perfectly on time."
The moment they walked through the back entrance into the main hall, they were hit by an absolute wall of pure, unadulterated F1 chaos. The venue was a disaster zone of party supplies.
"No, Charles! That is not a load-bearing knot!" George’s voice echoed across the room. He was standing on a chair, directing a frantic-looking Charles Leclerc who was tangled in a string of pastel-blue fairy lights. "If that banner drops below the mandatory two-meter clearance height, the aesthetic symmetry is completely ruined!"
"I am trying, George!" Charles yelled back, a silver balloon shaped like a '3' wrapped around his leg. "But the balloons, they have a mind of their own! They have no downforce!"
Over by the catering tables, Max was sitting comfortably on an upturned plastic crate, completely ignoring the decorations. He had his phone propped up against a soda bottle, actively driving in a mobile Sim-racing lobby.
"Max! Help us!" Carlos shouted from the top of a stepladder, where he was trying to tape giant cutouts of Alex's face to the wall. "You are just sitting there! Use your spatial awareness to tell me if this is straight!"
"It looks fine, Carlos," Max murmured without looking up from his screen. "Just clip it to the wall. If it falls, it falls. It’s really not that deep."
"It is that deep if it hits George on the head, Max!" Carlos grumbled, throwing a piece of tape at him.
Meanwhile, and Yuki and Pierre Gasly were having a high-stakes debate over the buffet layout. Yuki was aggressively rearranging a platter of sliders, muttering about "optimal flavor distribution," while Pierre followed behind him with a roll of ribbon, trying to calm his husband down by kissing the top of his head every time Yuki’s voice hit a high pitch.
"Lando! Oscar!" George bellowed, spotting them and stepping down from his chair like a commander approaching his lieutenants. He marched over, his eyes immediately dropping to the tray in Oscar’s hands. He produced a literal magnifying glass from his pocket, leaning in close to inspect the bakes.
The entire room went dead silent. Charles stopped wrestling with the fairy lights, and even Max looked up from his phone to watch the inspection.
George stood up straight, blinked, and tucked the magnifying glass away. "The rise is symmetrical. The topping distribution meets technical regulations. Excellent work, boys. You've actually done it."
Oscar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, shifting closer to Lando, who beamed proudly and nudged his shoulder against Oscar’s. "Told you, George. The two-bowl system never fails."
"Hide them in the back before Max eats them," Yuki yelled over from the buffet. "They actually look edible. Good job."
Lights out! Lights out!" George hissed, his voice cutting through the dark room like a team radio command. "He's just pulled up. Everyone under the tables. Max, turn your phone brightness down!"
The room plunged into an expectant, giggling silence. Lando and Oscar squeezed into the gap behind the main bar, pressed tightly against each other. In the dark, Oscar wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist from behind, pulling Lando back against his chest. Lando smiled, resting his hands over Oscar’s, his heart fluttering far more from the physical proximity than the anticipation of the surprise.
The front door clicked open. The lights flickered on.
"I'm hooome. George, why is it completely pitch black in here? I thought we were getting a quiet drink-"
"SURPRISE!"
Thirty drivers and team personnel popped out from behind furniture. Confetti cannons exploded, courtesy of a hyper-enthusiastic Charles. Alex froze in the doorway, his eyes going incredibly wide, a massive, brilliant smile slowly breaking across his face.
"Oh my god," Alex laughed, holding his chest as George immediately stepped forward to hand him a celebratory drink and a perfectly ironed birthday sash. "You guys did all this? George, did you make a PowerPoint for this?"
"It was a success, Alex," George said proudly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend's cheek.
The party instantly converted into high-gear celebration. Music filled the room, and the drivers crowded around Alex. Halfway through the night, George officially brought out the dessert platter.
Alex gasped when he saw the white chocolate and raspberry muffins. "Wait, did you guys actually bake these?"
"Lando and Oscar did," Pierre shouted from the bar, raising his glass. "With an official technical consultation from Chef Yuki!"
Alex took a massive bite of one, his eyes lighting up. "Wow! Guys, these are genuinely elite. The chocolate is all melty and the raspberries are perfect!"
Lando puffed his chest out, grinning wildly as Carlos pat him on the back. But when Lando turned to look for his co-baker, he noticed Oscar slipping quietly toward the exit, holding a single, un-plated muffin in his hand. Lando caught Oscar's eye, and Oscar gave him a subtle, tilting jerk of his head toward the door.
Stealing away from the loud music and the chaotic sight of Charles trying to teach Max how to dance, Lando slipped outside into the cool, quiet London night air.
Oscar was waiting for him by the car, sitting on the hood with his leather jacket pulled tight around him. He looked up as Lando approached, his expression softening into that private, beautiful smile he saved just for Lando.
"Stole one before the grid devoured them," Oscar said, holding up the muffin. He broke it cleanly in half, handing the larger piece to Lando.
Lando climbed up onto the hood next to him, their thighs brushing together as they sat under the streetlights. He took a bite, the sweet, warm flavor of white chocolate and tart raspberry hitting his tongue. "Wow. We’re actually amazing bakers, Osc."
"We are a highly efficient team," Oscar corrected gently. He set his piece down for a second, reaching out to catch Lando’s chin with his fingers. "Hold on. You've got a bit of white chocolate right..."
Oscar didn't use a napkin. Instead, he leaned in, his lips softly brushing against the corner of Lando’s mouth, kissing the sweetness away before lingering to press a deep, slow, incredibly affectionate kiss right to Lando's lips.
Lando melted into it, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s neck, the quiet hum of the city fading into the background. When they finally pulled apart, Lando’s cheeks were a deep, flushed pink.
"Optimal mouthfeel," Oscar murmured, quoting Yuki with a playful, deadpan wink.
Lando let out a loud, breathless laugh, burying his face into Oscar’s shoulder. "You are an idiot. Come on, let's go home. The muffins were a massive success, and I'm exhausted."
"Agreed," Oscar said, sliding off the hood and opening the passenger door for Lando like a true gentleman.
As they drove away into the London night, leaving the chaos of the paddock behind them, Lando reached across the centre console, squeezing Oscar’s hand tightly. It had been the perfect strategy, the perfect execution, and, most importantly, the perfect co-driver.