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It started in Miami.
At first, Oscar didn't think much of it. A hand that stayed on his shoulder for a second too long or a light bump of their knees under the conference table.
Lando is naturally a touchy person, so that wasn't anything unusual. Maybe he just needed some more comfort this season?
Anyway, it's not like Oscar was weirded out by it or anything. It's just that these subtle touches, which probably meant nothing to Lando, were doing strange things to Oscar's brain.
He couldn't stop thinking about the heavy weight of Lando's big palm on his shoulder. It was truly nothing worth getting so worked up over.
Oscar just needed to get a grip and start thinking about racing and not his teammate.
Everything since then has been going normally. No unusual touches in Italy, and Oscar definitely wasn't thinking about how he missed the feeling of having Lando so close.
Things turned around in Monaco.
When Oscar was sitting on a couch, just doomscrolling before the race, Lando came into the room.
"Hi, mate. Mind if I nap here for a bit?" Lando asked tiredly with a light smile.
He did look run down. His curls weren't as neatly arranged as usual; they were tousled and without any additional product in them. His posture was stiff, and he was playing nervously with his hands as if Oscar would ever dare to decline. Still, even in a jaded state, he looked adorable. He was dressed in black sweats and a grey hoodie that was too big for him, and its sleeves fell down over his hands, covering them.
Suddenly, Oscar realized that he was probably staring for too long, as Lando was now softly giggling.
"Take a picture, it'll last you longer, mate." He was now laughing openly.
"Oh, um, yeah. Of course," Oscar said awkwardly, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
Lando walked up to the couch and sat next to Oscar. He tried to get as comfortable as possible in the tight space that was left.
He rubbed his eyes and said, "Thanks, Osc. Wake me up when we have to leave, yeah?"
"Sure," Oscar replied, but the other's eyes were already closed.
Lando truly had a gift for sleeping anywhere. Oscar took this as his cue to look at him properly.
His lashes were so long, almost like a girl's. He wished he could look into the man's eyes now. He had never seen more mesmerizing eyes than Lando's. Their height difference was minuscule, but when Lando sometimes looked up at him under those lashes, his heart beat a tad faster. His gaze made its way downward to the delicate shape of his lips, now glistening with the tiniest bit of saliva. Oscar also noticed light freckles scattered around his nose, probably from being in the sun too much.
Lando made a noise and scrunched up his nose as if he was uncomfortable. Thinking that maybe he was just too cold, Oscar took off his team hoodie and placed it on top of him. The sleepy man sighed and tried to find a cozy place under the fabric. Due to the sudden movement, his head fell on Oscar's shoulder. Lando made an approving sound and snuggled close into the other man's neck.
Oscar held his breath, mustering all of his strength not to move.
He looked down at Lando. Seeing his face happy and content, he thought that it wouldn't be so bad if it happened more often.
And if he took a photo of Lando curled up next to him, well... That's a secret no one has to know about, right?
In Barcelona, Oscar feels on the verge of combusting.
Does Lando like him? If not, then why does he keep his hand on Oscar's thigh, squeezing it from time to time?
They are being interviewed, for fuck 's sake!!
Oscar wishes he could be swallowed by the floor. His face is so red, he is sure that you can see it even two thousand kilometers from here. From his peripheral vision, he sees Lando smirk.
Ah, so that's how it is.
Not wanting to be the only one embarrassed on live TV, he too puts his hands on Lando's thigh.
His palm wandered upward; with each slide of his fingers over the clothed skin, Lando's leg trembled. Oscar found something very satisfying in the thought that he was the one making Lando's body react this way. That he had this power over him.
Now it's Oscar's turn to smirk. He flashes his best smile at the camera , looking right at it.
He answers every question shot at him with a frightening calm. They ask how he feels about his chances in the next race, how the car feels, and whether the fight for the championship will make them turn against each other.
He feels Lando stiffen under the weight of a dozen eyes on them.
His smile is a bit crooked when he answers, "I mean, we try not to hold anything that happens on track against each other, you know? Sometimes things just happen, and everyone wants to win the race."
Oscar stops his teasing and starts drawing small circles in the middle of Lando's thigh. He hopes it'll bring him some comfort.
"I agree with Lando. We both hope to win the championship; it's just the way it is. You could ask any driver, and the answer would still be the same. The fight won't break our team's bond because we won't let it." Oscar says, too exasperated to think of anything more.
After the interview, Lando finds him in the bathroom.
Oscar rinses his face with cold water. Drops run down his face, soaking his shirt. He hasn't felt this exhausted in a while. They keep asking the same questions. It makes him sick. No, the championship won't make a bridge between him and Lando, he is certain. He will do everything for Lando not to hate him.
Then the door opens without making any noise. Lando stands in the doorway, looking at him hesitantly.
And Oscar despises it.
Before Lando can start apologizing for something he didn't even do, Oscar makes his way over to him.
Lando always does that. He apologizes for interviews, for things journalists write, even though it's all manipulated and scrupulously arranged to fit the narrative. The media turns everything they say against each other, and Oscar has had enough.
He gently takes Lando's face in his hands. His fingers caress his cheeks, the slow motion bringing much-needed reassurance.
"Lando, you did nothing wrong, okay?" he asks softly. "They just want us to hate each other so they have something to write about. I would and could never hate you for things we have no control over." His voice is steady when he says it, confident in his words.
Lando blinks, a few stray tears make their way onto his cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I even care so much. You must think I'm some crybaby." He laughs, the fake sound bouncing off the walls.
And as fast as he appeared, he leaves.
Oscar's hand falls. His fingers move slightly as if to touch the delicate skin again.
After that, it gets weird.
Lando still lingers next to him , making jokes and laughing with him. It's just that all of the little touches are gone. He never stood or sat too close to him, and it made Oscar feel strange . He felt empty without Lando next to him. He didn't know what he did wrong.
He sees Lando talking to Carlos and Charles before the conference. Lando laughs so openly with them, his hand on Carlos's shoulder.
Oscar feels sick.
It was supposed to be him, not Carlos. Not anyone other than him. So when Oscar comes up to them and stands next to Lando, and he visibly tenses and steps to the side, Oscar knows he has had enough.
It's a month later when Oscar manages to do something about his feelings.
They're in some extravagant club that they have reserved for the night. Oscar's slouched over the bar, sipping his fourth beer when Max finds him.
"Tough night?" the man asks, cocking his brow at him.
He nods and looks around, his gaze immediately finds Lando. He dances with some random guy in the centre of the dance floor. His hips sway to the beat in an obscene motion. His head falls back, showing off his neck to everyone. His black shirt rides up, revealing a small piece of his tanned stomach. He looks heavenly. How Oscar wishes it was him up there, taking Lando's hips in his hands, feeling him up.
He shrugs. "I just don't feel too good."
He knows his attempt at lying is awful. Anyone could see how miserable he is.
"Right, so you sit here, suffering instead of going there and taking him home, because of what, exactly?" Max furrows his eyebrows. "You know he dances with that guy only to make you jealous, mate. You're not supposed to drink your sorrows right now. He wants you to do something to show him you care." He sighs.
Oscar wipes his face with his hands. "I don't know, man. What if I've been reading everything wrong? I mean, he is so out of my league. Lando could have anyone." Oscar's face sours.
"Keep telling yourself that, and your pity party will never end. Either you go there and take your guy, or both of you will spend the rest of your lives thinking 'what if' while looking at each other's Christmas pictures," Max deadpans. "So please, do everyone a favour and stop drinking yourself to death. It's embarrassing."
The man clapped him on the back and left.
Fuck, if even Max Verstappen gives him advice, He truly must be fucking pathetic.
Looking up, his eyes set on Lando again. He must do it, even if Lando laughs in his face. He takes the last sip of his beer, the bitterness of the drink making his throat hurt. He stands up and makes his way to the dance floor.
Bumping into a few people, he finally finds himself standing behind Lando.
He coughs.
Lando jumps a little, startled by the sudden sound coming from above him. He turns around and comes face to face with Oscar.
He looks up at him and says, "Osc! I didn't know you liked to dance." The tone of his voice laced with playfulness.
"Um, no, I mean, I don't mind?" Oscar mumbles. "Anyway, you do, so I thought I'd dance with you." If there were an 'The biggest awkward moment' award, Oscar knew it would be his, without a doubt.
Lando doesn't mind; he just smiles at him and takes his hands into his. He places them right at his waist and puts his own on Oscar's neck. They start to move to the beat. The music is loud, echoing through the room. It's pop music Oscar thought they only played at those exaggerated high school party movie scenes. He doesn't necessarily like it. Oscar always feels uneasy at parties, but the way Lando looks at him with the prettiest smile on his face makes him forget about it.
His hands slide down to Lando's hips, and he makes eye contact with the guy Lando previously was dancing with. Oscar knows how much the guy hates him right now if the clenched jaw is something to measure by.
Ha, too bad for him then, because Lando won't leave here with any guy who isn't Oscar himself.
Lando's whole body glimmers in the club's light. Now, seeing him up close, the only thing Oscar can think about is how much he doesn't want to ever let him go.
"Hey! What are you thinking about when I'm right here, Osc?" Lando asks accusingly.
His lips turn into an adorable pout. Oscar just wants to kiss it off of him.
So he does.
He lifts Lando's chin and kisses him.
Lando tastes like champagne, sweat, and something sweet that is distinctly him. Oscar absolutely loves it and deepens the kiss. It starts slow, tender, and full of unspoken emotions but quickly turns heated and hungry. They definitely waited too long for this.
Oscar feels elated.
They stop kissing, both needing air, but their faces stay close to each other. Their breaths are mingling together. In Lando's eyes, he sees so many things he can't even begin to name right now. He is so utterly enamored, so he takes Lando's hand and takes him home.
The next day, they wake up with their limbs tangled together under the covers. Lando's head is pillowed on Oscar's chest. Oscar brushes his hand through the stubborn locks and plants a small kiss at the top of Lando's head.