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Lando knows.
He knows about the rain when it’s sunny outside. He knows the fire will consume the rattling wood before his mother even has the chance to think about lighting up the fireplace. His grandmother used to know as well, the same way her dad knew. The sound of the wind on the branch of the pines, he feels it in his flesh, as if nature itself was just another part in his body, an organ he needed to survive. He knows.
There is a small part of his heart that never wanted to be like this. (The part that never had friends in school). Brain goes wild when filled with mostly negative thoughts, emotions going up and down, not understanding if they need to calm down or prepare for something. River of blood— anxiety predominantly — splashing out water from his bathtub. He is older now, not a kid anymore, but still has no control above some pieces of his power. Power. Scientifically, people use the word ‘ability’ (as if he could move the sun), but in garage, or factory, they tend to refer to it as flair. Lando doesn’t like this word either. He hates it. The whispering sounds of voices calling him this and that, afraid of speaking directly and getting a curse (a gift) up their faces. His ears seem to capture every misspelled word and turn into something. It’s his ability. Lando is a witch after all.
The majority of the time, he prefers to call it wizard. Prettier, not so old fashioned, opened to interpretation, and he won’t feel the gut wrenching feeling the word ‘witch’ causes. His insides won’t twist and— Be careful with what you say, young man. He has to. Closing his eyes and counting down normally helps, the same way he can always call his dad’s number and talk to him until the pressure on his lungs disappears. Although he hates the worried voice coming out the line, his family is filled with unique people, so his father does understand. His mother is not a witch but her mother was, and somehow the strange force that makes the universe exist made him like this. That’s why, and how, he always knows about the rain, the cold, the snow and the wind gusts that take away the leaves from the trees.
He can curse people around. Not that he’d ever done that (but he desperately wants to), he takes a special tea with medicine, to shut down his force into nothing, so emotions won’t get in the way and make a fuss in any race. Sometimes he cries after a bad result, a negative reaction tends to lead unwelcome phenomena, the air changes, the wind blows unstoppable to whatever direction it wants, like she (the air) is searching for Lando, to kiss his face and wipe away tears only with her blow. However, the medicine takes it far, to a place he quite can’t reach with hands, he feels like a child left behind in the amusement park. On days like this, he can cry out loud, stuffing himself with cruel thoughts. Ruthless mind, enough to make drops on the glass cup. Cruel. So cruel.
Besides the obvious fact that Lando has minimal control over anything, people are not only afraid of him because of his flair , mainly they just don’t like the way things are upside down near Lando. As if they could tell from his breathing that he is something. That he has a thing inside him. Dad always told that it was his secret talent, captivating people, attracting them for him. Moth and flame. Mom used to do the same, mumbling kind stories, made him believe that he could give people gifts. Curses, as the ignorant would say, were his special way of being chosen. Tell your father to laugh and he did. Lando, tell the dog to stop barking and so it stopped. Eventually, things would return as they were, as soon as the dog stopped and his dad smiled, the recovery was done.
His mother told him the little gifts (curses) would eventually fade as long as it did what it had to do. So Lando wonders in which part the little purgatory that he dropped himself in would end. He doesn’t know about ending, about quitting, he never had to, eventually the world would become itself again, he doesn’t know how to finish, therefore, he can tell exactly where to start, with white fangs and wooden eyes. I’m Oscar Piastri. The beast hidden in the shadows.
Being someone with witchcraft on the very inside of him always molded Lando into someone suspiciously careful, still, he would find himself dealing with the consequences of letting something slip through his lips. Oscar has dimples on his body, Lando saw them once when they had to change clothes in the same room, hair falling down to forehead, messy and soft by the look, his eyes came from the death of a deer. He’s been told when animals die, they come back as people, and the eyes, they never change. Never. Because that’s what they are, his type, his people, waked in the world by the fall of the angel of death, the rise of the witches according to very old people.
Oscar keeps himself locked most of the time, away, when the two of them first met was a challenge to keep a conversation. He stares and stares and stares, until Lando feels himself lightly pleased by it, he’s also been told about love at first sight, and how the feeling would burn, instead, his body associates warmth with an emotional want. And that’s what he’s been doing towards Oscar. Wanting, wanting, wanting. Oscar hides a mist inside him, while both of them keep the contest of who can glare-and-pretend faster (Be careful, Norris), they don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about the slightest touch of Oscar making Lando want to throw himself on the ocean, they don’t talk about sharing gazes on each other (hidden under the haze), they don’t talk about shiny eyes and they definitely don’t talk about wanting. Until it becomes a need, and the need is soon to emerge as despair.
Happens on a Friday morning, before the practice begins, when they are hanging on those alone moments where jokes are the only escape from the tension. The words left Lando’s mouth as they should, calm and steady, a phrase which he regretted immediately.
“Don’t be weird about it, ‘kay? I just—” He chuckled nervously, it was a stupid conversation about personality, not a big deal at all, “I just wanted you to talk more, y’know?”
It’s not a curse, it’s a gift, sweetheart. Not even two seconds to expect it to work. Lando’s face falling blank, the recognition that he just accidentally— he didn’t want to— And then Oscar can’t keep it shush, he mumbles and he whispers— Can anyone get Zak, please?
That’s the starting line for the mess to come complete. The team managed their way through the anxiety, the results should be concerning but somehow they managed to get it done. By the time they are back in Zack’s office, Oscar found a way to lower his voice even more, considering facts that he can’t stop now. Lando looks lost, and feels like it too, a bitter taste on his guts, fingers playing with his shirt, a strange fear creeping up his stomach. Yet, he can’t help but feel a sparkle on his tongue, an old voice of some forgotten devil, telling him to do that again. It’s an unwelcome feeling, the one that just wants to talk again and make Oscar his toy. (Tell him to kneel). Wanting, and wanting.
Zak sighs, making the two boys stare at him, hoping that was a sound of hope and not another disappointment speech coming.
“So,” he starts, looking back, “tell me again how do we end this— this shit show you’ve put on.”
“I don’t know.” He simply answers, as if he’s not having this conversation with someone that holds his career in hands.
Lando doesn’t blink, not even bend his head to the side, the thing he does when trying hard to understand something. He crosses his arms, peeking from the side of his eyes to see Oscar, and he should stop it, since it makes his devil talk louder. Ask him something. Ask Oscar to catch you. Ask.
“In fact,” Lando continues, with a courage that happens to boil up his head and burn his senses, “I have literally no idea, a shame, innit?”
Zak seems taken aback, massaging his temples. Lando knows people like him, people carrying fear hidden behind their shoulders, afraid he might be the next one to talk nonstop. A shame, really, sometimes fear comes with despise, but hey, he is a witch, a mage, sorcerer sent from the underworld, he can deal with people not liking him, just like his ancestors did.
Unless Oscar stops, he finds a way, like he always does. His body is just standing, clavicle clenched together, holding something down so it won’t burst. Lando thinks he can ruin him just like this. Ask him something with so much power in it that will tear him apart, he wants to do it. Demand Oscar to tell him his worst secrets while exposing him to the eventual danger of vulnerability, wanting so much to make him roll and bark, wanting him to be good for him, as if— as if he’s nothing but someone to receive every drop of his magic in his mouth. A shame, he wants. Kiss, catch, squeeze, scratch. He wants.
“How’d you do that?” Zak looks surprised when the room is filled by silence, not by the unconnected whispering.
“If I don’t think then nothing will come out, think the curse is making me say everything that crosses my head, or something, want to sleep so bad , might work if I— what a great day— white hoodie must be dirty— yeah, will find a cure—” The words are a bit confused, mixing random thoughts here and there, but the point is taken.
“Great, so we’ll keep a driver that can’t put his brains on work, ha!” Zak’s eyes fall down to the table, pitiful to look even.
“I’ll find a way, just let me think and, you know, try?” Even Lando doesn’t seem very hopeful when he says it, but Zak must be really desperate, so he nods aggressively and sends them back to the hotel.
The trip should’ve been quieter, they are in Suzuka, after all, there is no much to talk about, no big parties, and Oscar appeared to have some part in control, but then, they get in the car and the first thing he says is how he hates the weather and wants to sleep. Lando looks at him, stares for a while, watching the subject of his gifts right in front of him. Oscar is (scared, he seems scared), he is learning. Lando wants to push a bit, his tongue runs through his lips, a way he found to secure himself he won’t do it. Say something and fuck everything up. Let Oscar do it. Don’t push your luck, Norris.
“Could you please don’t do that?” Oscar finally gives him a side glare.
“Do what, exactly?” Don’t push. He wet his lips again.
“You— this! We have a race and I— pretty— Don’t know how to stop this and neither do you, let’s just— focus?” He explains, seemingly to try very hard to keep his words straight away, of course there is a slip.
“Oh, I am completely focused, my attention is all on you, innit?” Lando catches Oscar shivering, and it’s just funny how he easily reacts. Lando smiles at him, curving his body a bit, so he can catch when Oscar lowers his head, “I’ll think about it all night long.”
Although the silence makes the car a home after that, he doesn’t miss the way Oscar looks around, eyes that quiver on the neon lights outside. He wonders if this is something. If even him being not a witch as Lando is, he can perceive things too, if the things he purposely says has the desired effect. Is Oscar aware that he cries some evenings and shouts in others? Did he ever perceive it? With his great sense of devotion towards Lando (making itself invisible behind kind words and nervous chuckles), has he ever wanted to do something about his red eyes on a Sunday?— Are you anyway like me?
They don’t part ways when the elevator stops at their floor, the tension being so solid Lando can almost trip on it. Oscar looks at him, in some ways he doesn’t have that poorly designed aura of someone that is struggling so hard to shut up, instead he is just there. Biting his lips (probably his tongue) to keep it together. What a shame. He must have found a way to break it. Poison drips in Lando’s mind, ‘cause he wants so bad to say something again, an order, give Oscar (and just Oscar) another curse, so he can have some control over him once.
“You are doing it again, for fucks sake, what is it?” Oscar blushed at how his own voice sounded desperate, only to hear what was crossing Lando’s mind.
“Thinking of something to help you out, mate! Jesus Christ, didn’t remember cursing you to be mad or whatever,” He places his hand on his heart, trying to put an offended face, “Anyways, wanna come to my room? We can figure it out together.”
Oscar startles. Turns his head to him, and to the hall, then back to him.
“Yeah, I mean, Yeah is that a good can be, we can try idea is that a good— sorry, okay, let’s go.” Lando smiles again, and Oscar is sure he is the devil. That’s the thing inside him, for sure, the devil himself.
Turns out Lando’s room is way tidier than his, the clothes are organized on the suitcase, very few of them paints the floor with colors but it’s definitely cleaner than Oscar’s one. He’s never been the person to let his shoes arranged by color or model, and his mother would yell from time to time about his school uniform, Lando sees it as part of Oscar, a way he shows how’s he feeling inside, messy sometimes, organized in other days, insufferable at weekends. He became the best at reading Oscar, so he doesn’t need any power given by the heavens— or hell, he corrects himself, to know that Oscar is nervous.
“Chill a bit, I ain’t tryna eat you, ‘kay?” He closes the door and sprawls on the bed, leaving some space for his teammate, “So, can you lie?”
Oscar frowns, “How’s lying supposed to do any help?”
Lando rolls his eyes, his body moving like a cat while he tries to take off the hoodie he was wearing. When he finally does it, Oscar is watching closely, with a tilted head, which makes his hair fall to the side, and Lando wants to touch it. Grab it and kiss. He takes a step away.
“Was it—” Oscar jumps a bit at the sound of his own voice, probably words he would like to keep inside, but again, he can’t.
“Go on, can’t hurt me.” Lando gestures.
“Was the curse the only reason why you wanted me here?” Oscar’s eyes go wide, like he can’t believe what he is saying, and Lando almost understands, ‘cause the Oscar old self would never be this direct. They like to walk around the subjects.
“I—” Lando frowns, caught in the light here, the situation slipping away, “You want it to be?” He backfires the question, too much of a coward. Trying to run, but the wanting in between his words sticks him in place. Wanting, wanting—
“No, that’s not—”
“Oscar.”
It’s not cursed. Lando knows you can’t gift someone when they are already dealing with one, still, his hands shakes at the sound of his own voice, as if he is letting by what is going to be the death of him. Showing too much, perhaps. He can’t help but stare at Oscar, hoping he would look at him back, their little game (as they always did), Lando can’t trust his instincts to say anything or he knows he will sound more and more desperate for something, he knows the emotions he’s been suppressing for months will crack open, he knows he can’t, he knows this is not okay, he knows— he knows this need, he knows, he knows it—
“I want to suck your dick.”
Out.
The simplicity that the words left Oscar made Lando believe this was like any other request he would ever make. Lando almost felt back, moving from his position to just sit and watch the floor, drawing patterns on the blue carpet, his mind still moving on the tortured way his teammate said it, his head turning to the Aussie, who’s looking at him with some sort of expectation, an answer would be okay. Lando can be okay with this, with his knuckles being white from clenching in the bed, he moves a bit closer, so he can watch Oscar better.
“You saying this ‘cause you’re cursed, mate—”
“I wish it was but I’ve been thinking about it for a while, it’s okay if you don’t want to, I can can’t be normal about it but please.”
Lando is in a state of light shock. A thunder crashing his ears, and he is about to ask what is happening, yet, he doesn’t. He really needs to think about it, it’s not as if he can just let go of the rope he holds with life. But desire is also a demon, one that takes over souls, corrupts it and rottens the brain, leaving nearly nothing to survive with.
Lando is long gone, by now, desire has become half of him, taken his guts and craves more. He nods, whilst feeling a smile creeping up to his face, a new sensation settling into his stomach while his eyes map the way Oscar sighs in relief and lowers himself in front of him. His view is not blue circles anymore but brunette hair and milk skin. Oscar stares at him for a bit, like he is expecting the Brit to change his mind soon, instead Lando touches his face, fingers crawling against the pretty white derm.
Oscar lets his cheek rub on the inner part of Lando’s thigh, face so close to his crotch that Lando can feel his slow breath, and that goes directly to his dick. Oscar leads his hands to the waistband of Lando’s jeans, and he takes it as a signal, lifting his hips just enough to get them off. Oscar maneuvers his clothes, boxers and pants all together. Quick. He bites his lips when the cold air hits his half hard cock.
Oscar watches him for what feels like ages, until he finally takes pity on him. Lando can almost touch the joy that fills his body when Oscar’s lips touch the head of his cock, almost like a kiss, like he would sit on the floor and worship Lando and his dick. And God . He shouldn’t be so pleased with the idea. He could do it, though. With his words. Break and rebuild every piece that composes Oscar. Fire him up just to see it burn. It’s nearly a rage that boils in his guts when he thinks of it, the way he wants to wreck Oscar, play him like a new toy, one that he seems to like so much. He wants to do everything with Oscar. Grab him by the hair and fuck his mouth, get his dick so wet he won’t even have to lube it to fuck his ass, make him scream his name, cry out begging for Lando to go deeper.
He lets out a huff when Oscar goes down, he’s being careful, practically afraid of ruining the whole thing. A wave of heat bursts through Lando’s body when Oscar sucks him, cheeks going hollow and eyes wide, watching the way his teammates throw his head back and suppresses the urge to move his hips forward. (After all he is afraid too, of how much he wants this). Lando doesn’t know about Oscar's previous experiences with cocks and throat, so he keeps his body steady while the other goes a little bit more. He fears hurting him, as much as he fears this , he understands that the curse wouldn’t make Oscar lie, but the insecurity tells him at the end of— whatever they are doing, the Aussie will just walk away. After months hiding the beast inside, months of stolen glares, meaningful jokes, he will just—
“Lando.”
He looks down, finding Oscar breathing hard and rubbing his legs together, he has glassy dark eyes, and all of a sudden, he catches Lando’s hand, a mark left on the duvet from squeezing it too harshly. Oscar kisses his fingertips, an act that feels way more intimate than the whole scenario, kisses his palm, letting out a groan in satisfaction when Lando brushes his lips with his thumb. Oscar squeezes his hand, before placing it to his head, and that is something. Lando has no time to comprehend the silent ask before Oscar is back on sucking him.
“Oscar— For fucks sake—” The words come in a moan, while he feels the way Oscar tries to go down, throat clenching around him, and he bobs up, gagging and dripping drool and precum.
Lando tastes the waters a bit, pushing Oscar up and then down until the point he thinks the Aussie can take, being in control, sets him to another point of pleasure. He’s feeling his hips starting to lose balance, to move on their own wanting, Lando shoves Oscar until only the tip of his cock is resting against his lips, his eyes trace down to where his teammate is palming himself under the shorts, thighs spread open and he’s basically rocking on nothing. Lando would laugh if he were far in terms of despair, but they are basically together on this. Oscar looks up and then sinks his head down again, going deeper, his eyes filled with tears that threaten to fall down, puffy lips around his length, and a rose face.
“Look at you, almost coming just from having my cock in your mouth, so nasty, Oscar.” The younger fastens the movement with his hand, moaning with his mouth filled with a rigid dick, “Be good and let me come in your mouth, yeah?”
Oscar nods in the way he can, before bobbing up and down. Lando feels the pressure on his insides, a clench around his stomach every time Oscar sucks and moans on him. Every part of him wants to combust itself, to implode, he feels so good . Being a witch and the problem with the unsolved curse seems like a far away nightmare, and his only thought is Oscar’s mouth. His skin is about to catch fire, and his breath is more like a pat, Lando can’t even form a coherent phrase, saying things like ‘that’s so good— fuck— fuck, fuck, fuck— so fucking good’.
Oscar lets out a loud cry. Lando looks down to find his shorts messily organized and fingers dirty with cum, his eyes are a bit cloudy, his lips are swollen and face is marked with the path the tears made while he pulled Lando to his throat, just the image of Oscar so vividly corrupted in pleasure is enough to send Lando into his orgasm. The Aussie sighs and takes him again, as far as he can, so he feels Lando’s cum going down on him, swallowing every drop of it, keeping his mouth there until there is nothing left.
Lando softens the grip on Oscar’s hair, making it more like a caring touch, he really is worried. Wooden eyes meeting him, he is still there, knees red and chest going up and down while trying to catch more air.
The Brit pulls him by his arm, movements are a little chaotic, he sits himself back and climbs up the bed, also with some difficulties on setting down a spot. Lando just pulls again, by the collar of his shirt now, bringing their lips together for the first time. His senses are numbed by the pleasure placed down his bones, when this happens he senses little, magic is too busy getting high with delight to do anything. His head is empty, and the only thing that runs is Oscar, and Oscar’s soft skin on his hands, cupping his face closer, and Oscar’s tongue entering his mouth (tasting like him) and Oscar’s teeth catching him and Oscar’s smell lingering on him forever and Oscar’s— And— Oscar.
Lando only seems to notice he is pressing his teammate to the soft duvet when he listens to a silent groan. He pushes upwards only enough to stare at Oscar's face, seeing it change from rose to pure red. This is his downfall, an Australian man who watches cricket and listens to unknown bands, the reason he is about to throw long nights awake, parties he never went to and salt tears just to experience the marvels of being in love. He breathes in and out, glassy orbs glued on him. Lando doesn’t think there is a silence to break, emotions are loud, and he hopes it’s not only him, then might be better to start with a joke and not the real conversation. The wind outside blows quietly.
“Really wished I could fuck you but we kinda have a race tomorrow,” he points out, proud of his own responsibility towards the Aussie’s ass. A soft laugh fills the space between them, “You can, like, use the bathroom to— you know, clean your hands— and body, whatever, I guess.”
He can’t explain why the shyness is hitting after he just received a blowjob but it happens anyway. Oscar giggles, showing his pretty teeth (white fangs) in the act. A glass on the drawer is filled with water, some drops making their way down, but Lando is far used to this, seeing that even with the medicine, he still lets out something from the sidelines.
“Can you kiss you again? Before going really don’t wanna go I just really, really like you, kissing you.” And how could Lando ever say no to that?
They kiss again, and again, a couple of times before Oscar actually takes initiative on shoving the Brit to the side and going to wash his hands and get some borrowed clothes. Lando mentions that he goes quick since he also needs to take a shower, and Oscar looks at him.
“At this point, I don’t mind sharing, mate.” And then he’s back to picking a hoodie.
“Sorry I couldn’t think how to, you know, heal you, Zak’s probably finding someone that’ll do the job.” He says, fighting the laziness to get out of bed.
“Oh, no, I mean, it’s gone by now, s’pose, I said it because I wanted to,” Oscar flushed a bit, leaning his body in the doorframe of the bathroom, “You just made me say things that I couldn’t, but wanted to, so… Yeah, the last straw was telling you I liked you so— Yeah, I’ll just—“ He points at the inside, vanishing from Lando’s surprised face. So that it was.
His secret that plays a important part in the whole scene. He really likes Lando.
If he thinks about it, he can quite feel the change now. Although there is still this desire he truly believes there’s no way to cure, he will die with the curse of wanting Oscar Piastri, yet, his body seems better, as if part of him where living somewhere else came back in a different way, more longing. The part of him that knows the sea without sinking on it is also the part that longs to Oscar, the part that (be careful what you say, young man) can’t pay attention to the same thing for a long time, the part that makes the wind rush and water cold.
They are in Suzuka, Japan from all the countries, and Lando knows.