Work Text:
Oscar limped his car home in fourteenth, wishing the ground would swallow him up. Better than last year, it had to be said, but absolutely not a reflection of his performance in the first stint.
He’d held off the Red Bulls until the safety car restart, when he was then on the less favourable race tyre, locked up at turn 1, and catapulted down the order.
At least he’d finished the race. Just sucked to have thrown away a podium because the car was a fucking handful.
And yet, his day still hadn’t been as bad as Lando’s.
He hadn’t seen the incident, but Tom had let him know when the second safety car flagged on his dash. Lando is out of the race, as well as both Alpines. Turn 1 collision, be wary on the next restart.
The media pen highlight reel showed him what happened. Franco arriving like a missile, taking out his teammate, with Lando ending up backwards in the wall as collateral. At least Franco looked dejected. Or well, distraught was probably a better description. Pierre just looked exhausted. Lando was already back in hospitality according to Sophie.
His boyfriend had also had his own lock up at turn 1 previously just like Oscar had. Tom had warned him the mediums were not being kind, and boy had that quickly been proven correct.
Just another fucking wreck of a weekend to add to his 2026 season.
He knocked on Lando’s driver room door as soon as he got back. Upon being invited in by Jon, he collapsed on the nearest padded chair, sipping from his water bottle. His boyfriend was in the middle of his post-race massage, and Oscar wasn’t about to disturb his peace.
When Lan reached out his hand though, he took it immediately and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.
“Your hands are sweaty.” He imagined Lando pouting, nose adorably scrunched up.
“Sorry. Haven’t showered yet.” He shot Jon an apologetic look as he was no doubt stinking up the room. He wouldn’t have been let in if Lando hadn’t wanted to see him yet, and Oscar wasn’t about to abandon him to freshen up if he wanted him close. “I can go–”
“Stay,” Lan pleaded, squeezing back before letting go as Jon worked over his shoulder blade.
It was the sort of massage to help relax him rather than attack his chronic back issues, his trainer using aromatherapy oils and gently kneading out his tension knots to eventually help him sleep. He loved when Lan turned into a bit of a clingy, sleepy cat. Soft and cuddly, snuggling into his neck and allowing Oscar to soothe him into his dreams.
Oscar scrolled on his phone to pass the time, immediately regretting it as he caught wind of the backlash. Lando, understandably pissed the fuck off at how his race ended after everything else that had already gone wrong across the weekend, having his words clipped and shared across every platform.
Fuck the media and their need for clickbait headlines.
Lando’s Instagram comments were taking a beating too. At least his fans were fighting back by flushing out the hatred with green hearts. Personally, the Canada 2025 memes were uncalled for as it hadn’t been anywhere near the same situation.
He’d make it his personal mission to ban Lando from his phone for the rest of the night. Or the next few days if he could help it.
“What’s up?” Lando asked, head pillowed on his arms. “You hissed.”
Oscar ducked his head. “Stay off Instagram. Or any social media platform.”
Lando rolled his eyes as Jon patted his back, signalling he was finished. “Maybe they should try getting crashed into a wall at whatever speed and Gs and see how they handle it.”
Jon dismissed himself with his usual instructions for hydration and food, and Oscar was helping Lan slowly sit up to avoid a head rush. He offered his water bottle, but Lando shook his head, making grabby hands and tugging him closer. His boyfriend melted against him, breathing deeply, massaged body all soft and floppy.
“You’re all tense, babe,” Lando pouted, drawing back to kiss him sweetly. His eyes were heavy and slightly glossy, curls messy from both the massage table and no doubt his fingers being raked through them like he tended to do whenever he was stressed.
“Rough afternoon.”
“M’sorry. So much for that redemption podium, huh.”
“Yeah. Sorry about your shit day, too.” Lando was running his hands gently across his back and down his sides. It reminded him that he was still in his fireproofs, gross and unshowered. He handed Lando his water bottle. “Drink that while I shower, then we’ll get dinner, yeah?”
“M’not hungry.” Oscar raised his eyebrows, smiling when Lan squirmed. “Urgh, fiiiiine. Don’t be long. Miss you already.” He kissed him one more time, deepening it for a few seconds before Oscar pulled himself away.
“Love you too.”
He kept a close eye on his boyfriend while they picked at their dinners. Lando kept diving his attention to his phone in his lap, and one accidental flick of his wrist as he swapped legs over his knee and he could see Instagram open on the screen.
“Lan.” He gently nudged him, a reminder of his earlier warning.
Lando flashed the screen fully in his direction, and Oscar immediately nodded in understanding, squeezing his thigh in apology. He was messaging Martin Garrix, and he’d never deny his boyfriend his support system. He could trust him to stay away from the noise.
The social media storm had only gotten worse, so much so that their bodyguards were sat with them while they ate. More for Lando’s sake than Oscar’s, but he’d do anything to protect his boyfriend, including engaging in awkward small talk if it meant a better sense of safety.
While the keyboard warriors could be ignored and blocked, anybody in the paddock who fancied having a go would be able to do so pretty easily. So while the guard patrol might be overkill, he’d rather them be hypervigilant than unprepared.
When it became clear Lando couldn’t stomach anymore food, they began to make arrangements for the airport. Oscar offered to go on ahead with their luggage, but Lan protested.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured, rubbing his arm. He had his favourite hoodie on, all soft and comfy. Oscar couldn’t wait to cuddle him close. “It means I can sort out the privacy stuff with the attendants so you don’t have to worry about anything and I know you’ll be safe. I’ll see you real soon, okay?”
Lan had reluctantly let him go, messaging him a love heart as they couldn’t kiss or hug in such a public space. Oscar couldn’t help looking back before he was surrounded by fans on his way out. Lando slumped in his chair, wanting to be as small as possible, drowning in his oversized hoodie, team cap on his head hiding his face.
He gave as much energy into the fan greets as possible. Anything to distract people from thinking or asking about Lando. He deserved some peace, some time to clear his head after the weekend before being shoved into metal tubes for the next fifteen to twenty hours.
Before they went through it all over again.
Lando mumbled something, but it was lost to the duvet and the cabin wall. They lay together in their private first class suite, Oscar cuddled up behind him.
“What was that, love?”
“I don’t want Franco to get a race ban. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just pissed off.”
Oscar planted a kiss behind his ear, his heart clenching. “I know, darling. I’m sure Franco won’t hold it against you.”
“His fans sure do. Fucking hate me.”
“Phone,” Oscar demanded, voice lacking heat as he was close to falling asleep. Lando handed over the device with a soft huff and he dropped it to the floor behind him. An unofficial ban for the rest of the flight. “Now try and sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
Sleep didn’t seem to come easy for him.
Tossing and turning every so often, a kiss, whispered reassurances, and a hand through his curls helped him settle down again. Oscar accompanied him to the bathroom twice, and helped him change when he demanded to wear one of his hoodies as they were warm and smelled like him.
Triple headers were a nightmare as they were away from home comforts for so long. Starting the first race on such a negative note, especially with nine races over eleven weeks, didn’t bode great for the next fortnight.
But they had each other, and that was all that mattered.