Chapter Text
Sometimes Lando finds himself in one of these inexplicably obnoxious moods, more than his usual level of being a conniving little shit – a side of his personality he likes to tap into from time to time.
Lando has been affectionately referred to as the annoying younger cousin on more than one occasion, he’s very much aware of that. He’s known to do a bit of poking and prodding on someone’s sore spots if the situation calls for it. Or even if it doesn’t.
It’s one of his favorite pastimes when he’s hanging out with Max F; his best friend so quick to take the bait and throw it back at him tenfold. It’s not exclusive to Max, though. Lando will do this bit with whoever’s around when inspiration strikes.
He can get a bit snarky with the media in the paddock when he can’t be bothered to answer the same question over and over again. He’ll make comments about the other drivers that he knows will end up being clipped out of context, reposted dozens of times, and eventually sent back to them.
Sometimes he’s genuinely pissed off, others are just for fun.
When he’s in a particularly bad mood, usually after a shit result on track, his sassiness tends to seep into interactions with his team. He can think back on quite a few times he’s talked back to Zak or Andrea or Will. They all react the same, with an eyeroll and an exasperated “come on, Lando.”
This particular mood, however, is completely unlike the others. When he’s overly happy, that’s when the need to irritate comes out.
What’s going on within him currently is an example of this.
No matter the catalyst, the end result is always the same. Lando gets filled with this frantic energy that he tries to suppress for as long as possible. Eventually, it all bubbles up and out of him.
He’s currently sitting in a strategy meeting post-qualifying in Monaco, more than pleased with himself after putting it on pole. Everyone knows there isn't much room for overtaking on this track. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but the chances he becomes the next winner of the Monaco Grand Prix is pretty high.
Sat directly next to him is Oscar, who doesn’t exactly seem to be in the best of moods. It’s not like he’s sulking, P3 is nowhere near a bad place to start. Yet, Lando knows better than anyone that not putting a so-called rocketship on pole can be disappointing even if you’re only one or two places down.
Lando’s trying to contain his excitement for the sake of his teammate. It starts with the instinctual leg shaking, his knee frantically bouncing up and down against his will. This in itself is something he knows Oscar isn’t too fond of. There’s been times where they’ve been sitting together, Lando stewing in his anxiety, jittering his leg like a madman, and Oscar having to ask him to stop because he’s shaking the whole couch.
He can tell that he’s bothering Oscar right now, catching the way the other side eyes him when the shaking starts. They’re not sharing a seat, so it can’t be too much of a nuisance. Still, Lando forces himself to stop.
In place of shaking his leg, Lando starts to fiddle with his pen, which he should be using to take notes and keep himself concentrated. He clicks and unclicks the pen against the table, paying more attention to the little sound it makes than Andrea running through the strategy for tomorrow.
You’d never be able to tell that the movement was distracting to Oscar, unless you were paying close attention like Lando is. Oscar loudly clears his throat, shifting in his seat, eyes trained on the pen in Lando’s hand out of the corner of his eye.
Lando drops it like the object physically burns him, settling on chewing on the stubborn hangnail he’s been picking at on his thumb. It takes all of two seconds for Lando to rip it off with his teeth, tongue darting out to soothe the wound when a little dot of blood appears.
At this point, he’s buzzing with energy, forcing himself to sit on his hands to keep them from fidgeting.
It doesn’t take long for his hands to start to lose circulation under his weight, having to pull them out again. Lando rubs up and down his thighs, drums his fingers on the table, runs his hands through his hair.
It’s no use, he needs to do something to bring himself back down to earth. He doubts Andrea would appreciate it if he got up and started walking circles around the room.
It’s ridiculous, he knows, but Lando’s always thought that he has ADHD. This is just the way that he copes when he’s out in public and can’t bounce off the walls in the privacy of his own home.
His right hand eventually settles on the back of Oscar’s swivel chair; a common resting place for him, hovering somewhere behind Oscar’s back when they’re sat side by side.
He does it without realizing, slightly pulling on the chair, causing the entire thing to turn, moving Oscar with it. As soon as he notices, he releases his grip on the chair. It’s against his better judgement that his hand moves forward, fiddling with the collar of Oscar’s team kit absentmindedly.
Lando can feel the way Oscar’s entire body tenses when his knuckles brush the skin on the back of Oscar’s neck, letting go of his shirt on instinct. What happens next is a complete and utter mistake.
Without really thinking about it, his hand moves up, pinching Oscar’s earlobe between his thumb and pointer finger, pulling at it. Then, he uses his finger to flick the little piece of skin back and forth. The skin there is soft and it feels nice between Lando’s fingers.
This was definitely not the right move. Oscar’s head snaps towards him so fast, Lando’s scared he might give himself whiplash, despite having a neck strong enough to withstand it.
“Cut it out, Lando,” Oscar hisses quietly, eyes hard as he shakes Lando’s hand off of him.
It’s a completely understandable reaction from him. If Lando was being used as a human fidget toy without his consent, he would feel the exact same way.
What isn’t understandable, however, is Lando’s own reaction over being scolded by Oscar. He can feel the embarrassed blush spreading on his skin from head to toe. There’s this weird tingling sensation that blooms from the back of his neck, coursing through his veins. It’s a similar feeling to what happens when he can’t sleep and indulges in some late-night ASMR, some kind of internal shivering.
He doesn’t need a mirror to know what he must look like staring back at Oscar’s stern expression. His eyes glazed over and hands hovering in the air. “Sorry,” Lando rushes out, curling in on himself.
That’s the thing about Oscar that always got to him, how wordlessly firm he is with his boundaries. Lando’s too scared to push, unlike how he is with everyone else. When meeting others, his tactility is always put forward, unless the other person doesn’t receive it well. With Oscar, he didn’t push at first, and now when he does, Oscar doesn’t express interest one way or the other. He simply just takes it.
The shock of Oscar fighting back on one of Lando’s attempts for closeness stills his frayed nerves at once. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like anyone else in the room noticed, so with a calmed body comes a calm mind. Lando keeps his hands to himself and pays attention for the rest of the meeting.
—
Lando doesn’t allow himself to analyze this evening’s interaction until he’s safely tucked away into bed for the night.
It’s barely even 10 PM and Lando’s scrolling through YouTube to find a good ASMR video to help him drift off to sleep. He wants to get a good night's rest for tomorrow.
He settles on the newest video from one of his favorite ASMRtists – some pretty girl who specializes in personal attention. Normally when he watches these videos, he’s already tossed and turned for several hours before resigning himself and pulling out the ASMR. He would never admit to his closest friends that he does this, finding it too embarrassing for some unknown reason.
Cuddling up on his side with a pillow between his thighs and headphones in his ears, Lando tries to get lost in the soft brushing and tapping sounds as the girl on his screen ‘gives him a face massage.’
Lando’s one of those lucky ASMR viewers that doesn’t have to try hard to experience tingles. Maybe he’s not tired enough, or maybe his mind is drifting off elsewhere, but the calm that’s meant to wash over him never comes.
All of a sudden, the girl in the video is saying “Hold still. You’re moving too much.” It’s like a spotlight gets pointed directly at Lando where he’s laying in the dark of his bedroom. The shock of her words have the exact opposite effect of what ASMR should do. Suddenly, his body’s heating up and he’s wide awake.
It dawns on him then, that feeling he’s chasing, it has absolutely nothing to do with ASMR. He can’t even remember the last time he’s sat down to watch this girl. Subsequently, he realizes that it has everything to do with Oscar.
The way that Oscar looked at him, the way that he spoke to him, caused some chemical reaction to occur in Lando’s brain. It was no longer about getting on someone’s nerves because he was in the mood to be jaunty. Something in the way that Oscar handled him, it’s done something to him.
Lando can’t just continue living his life knowing Oscar has this innate capability to calm his nerves in a way that makes his mind turn off and his body hold still. His teammate, who is usually so impassive and unflappable, has this underlying rigidity to him that can melt Lando into a puddle on the spot.
All it took was a little bit of pushing, for Lando to annoy him just enough for him to have no other choice but to say something. And he’s barely scratched the surface. Lando’s sure that if he pushed harder, Oscar would come back even stronger.
Lando’s never been one to suppress his urges. He’s never had to, the objects of his desire always come to fruition eventually.
A gameplan starts to form in Lando’s mind, no regard for consequence in sight. The first objective for tomorrow is obviously to cross the finish line before any other car. Right after that is to piss Oscar off enough to get him to scold him again. Something that will bring the same results, if not more.
He’s finally able to drift off to sleep with the assurance that he will get Oscar to fold, to give him exactly what he needs whether or not his unsuspecting teammate is aware of it.
—
The urge to skip into the paddock like an overexcited child is just barely suppressed, Lando not wanting to give the media anymore reason to believe that he thinks a championship will just be handed to him.
The race day routine remains the same, Lando and Oscar sitting down for a quick runthrough of the strategy before they’re dismissed to their driver’s rooms, allowed the last hour before the race to do their own preparations.
Usually, this is the time for Lando to lay down on his shifty bed, blaring his playlist at full volume on his speaker to clear his mind. He also knows Oscar uses this time to warm up in the room adjacent, stretching his muscles out and getting his energy up.
They head to their rooms together, Lando giving Oscar some time to get settled into his routine before making his move. After about five minutes of anxious pacing within the confined walls of his own room, Lando gets up and knocks on Oscar’s door, pushing it open before Oscar can tell him to come in.
Oscar’s exactly where he suspected he would be, sat on the floor in a sad attempt at the butterfly pose, leaning forward to open up his hips.
Lando saunters in like he owns the place, plopping down onto the couch and watching as Oscar sits up straight and raises his eyebrow at him, silently asking what he’s doing here.
“I’m feeling a bit nervous, mate. Thought I would join you for warmups,” Lando supplies. Even to his own ears, the excuse sounds flimsy, his voice coming out much too upbeat and expectant for someone who is meant to be anxious.
Well, he is anxious, but it has nothing to do with the race.
Oscar’s eyebrows raise even further at that, knowing that Lando never willingly admits when he’s nervous. “You wanna join me down here?” Oscar’s eyes flick from Lando to the floor, offering for him to do some stretches as well. When Lando shakes his head, Oscar says, “I think you should,” speaking to him like he’s a reluctant toddler.
And if Oscar thinks he should, then he will.
Lando slides onto the floor, facing Oscar and copying his butterfly pose. “What’s next?” Lando asks when his hips feel sufficiently stretched out.
“I typically do a plank for as long as I can hold it,” Oscar replies.
“Let’s make it a competition,” Lando’s quick to say, navigating the uncharted territory seamlessly. Lando’s always been adaptable, he can work with whatever he’s got.
“Game on,” Oscar smirks, moving into a plank position with his head facing Lando.
Lando gets into position as well, counting down until they both lift up on their forearms and toes. He’s pent up with anticipation by the idea of what he’s about to do, his tight muscles serving as an advantage in keeping his plank steady and still.
Oscar drops his head down between his shoulders as he holds the position, Lando keeping his chin up so he can assess when’s the right moment to strike.
“You ready for today?” Lando asks conversationally. Nothing out of the ordinary for them.
The question gets Oscar to lift his head, quickly averting his eyes when he sees Lando staring laser-focused at him. “Of course I am.” His voice comes out tight, not very convincing.
“You must feel like you have something to prove. Y’know, considering how you dropped the ball last year.”
It has the desired effect, Oscar’s eyes snapping back towards him at once. “What are you on about?”
Lando knows he’s being a bit mean right now. It’s no longer teasing, but jabbing. He decides to pull back a little. “You’re gonna have to get a good launch off the line, that’s all I’m saying.” He plays it off like Oscar is the one being unreasonable.
“You think I don’t know that?” Oscar counters, sounding more affected than what the strain from a plank calls for.
“There’s also the mandatory two pitstops to think about,” Lando continues, growing bolder as Oscar simply assesses him and doesn’t reply. “I hope they fuck yours up.”
At that, Oscar lets out a grunt, dropping his knees down. His hand lifts up and slaps the floor below like he’s trying to physically push the frustration out of his body. “That’s enough.” Lando waits a couple seconds to really solidify he won the plank competition, then lowers himself down as well. Oscar stands up in front of him, hands on his hips and face red. Whether that’s from exertion or annoyance, Lando’s unsure.
The picture the pair of them make causes Lando’s vision to go fuzzy around the edges. Lando on his knees, Oscar frowning down at him like he’s scolding an untrained puppy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Oscar bends down and grabs Lando’s shoulders to lift him to his feet, the touch sending electricity through him. Lando would reply with his own witty comeback if his brain didn’t currently feel like it was rebooting. “You really need to be put in your place. If your new tactic to win the championship is to try to get into your teammate’s head, you’re doing a pretty shit job at it.”
The words cut deep, Lando wanting to plead, yes, please, put me in my place. Today and everyday.
Instead, what comes out is, “I won, by the way. Just like I’m going to win today.”
Oscar releases a heavy sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose and shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with him. His hand raises and makes contact on the back of Lando’s neck, making his eyes flutter. He didn’t think he would get what he’s aiming for so soon.
And he isn’t. Oscar uses his grip on Lando to push him towards the door. “Get out.” Lando’s knees almost buckle at the firmness of the command.
He tries to retreat to his room as quickly as possible. Right as he’s about to shut the door, Oscar adds on one thing.
“And watch your fucking mouth.”
Lando trips over his own two feet as he crosses over to his own room, slamming the door shut and sliding down against it until he lands in a heap on the floor. His mind is reeling, body shaking, like he just stumbled off one of those zero-gravity spinny rides at the local fair.
He shuts his eyes tight, bright white dots blooming behind his eyelids. While his body is exploding with sensation, his mind is pleasantly blank, thinking nothing besides I did it.
When he opens his eyes, the fluorescent lights cut through his hazy vision, needing to blink a few times before he can clearly see his hands held out in front of him. They’re visibly trembling, just like the rest of him. It's not the type of shaking you get from being overly anxious, it’s the kind that comes from being so turned on you don’t know what to do with yourself.
Lando looks down, and if his mind wasn’t pleasantly drifting off into space, he would think it’s comical the way his erection obscenely tents his shorts. Somewhere between barging into Oscar’s room and skittering back to his own, his cock has gone from totally soft to rock hard with just a few harsh words thrown his way.
At this point, he probably only has about half an hour before he has to suit up and get in the car. His hand drifts down to his lap, squeezing at the base of his cock.
The slightest touch has Lando’s head knocking back against the door, a low whine ripping from his throat.
He shoves his shorts down just enough for his cock to spring out, wrapping his hand around the shaft and pumping frantically. There’s no time to spit into his hand or coax more precome out of the slit to ease the glide.
The sharp sting of his rough palm sliding against his dry shaft is just on the right side of pain. It feels fitting to get off this way; it’s meant to be a punishment.
His tongue lolls out and his eyes flutter shut as he chases his orgasm; hurtling towards it incredibly fast. He would be embarrassed about it if there was anyone here to witness his desperation.
With his eyes shut, he can imagine Oscar’s right there next to him, coaxing him through it with that stern voice and those hard eyes.
Cut it out, Lando.
You really need to be put in your place.
Watch your fucking mouth.
Lando wants to hear more— no, needs to hear more. He needs Oscar to tell him he’s being naughty, punish him, take him apart, then put him back together with soft words and an even softer touch.
The thought of pleasing Oscar after pissing him off, Oscar telling him he’s a good boy for it, sends him straight over the edge. He comes with a soft whine, cupping his release in his hand and wiping it off on his boxers.
He checks his watch, he only has a few minutes to spare to make himself presentable before someone will be sent to come collect him.
Lando quickly changes into his race suit, assessing himself in the mirror and blushing even deeper when he sees how pink his cheeks have gotten. He splashes cold water on his face, runs his hands through his hair and pretends it’s Oscar’s fingers combing back his curls to reward him for taking his punishment so well.
The soft breeze outside helps to soothe his overheated skin. He’s just about to put on his balaclava when Oscar comes over to his side of the garage with a sheepish look on his face.
He comes directly up to him, and Lando freezes like he’s just seen a ghost. Panic coursing through him at the prospect of Oscar somehow knowing what he just did.
“Hey, I just wanted to say sorry for snapping at you before. It was uncalled for.”
“No!” Lando rushes, catching Oscar by surprise with his sudden outburst. “Don’t apologize. I deserved it.”
Oscar stares back at him for a second with a blank expression, something like realization then dawning on his face. Lando wrings his balaclava in his hands, nervous for Oscar’s reply.
All Oscar does is nod once. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he turns back to his side of the garage like he didn’t just knock Lando’s world off its axis.
In Lando’s frenzy to get a reaction out of his teammate, he hadn’t considered that, eventually, Oscar would clock onto Lando’s unusual behavior. It’s more likely than not that Oscar will soon ask what the fuck is wrong with Lando and what any of it has to do with him.
As it stands, Oscar is under the impression that Lando’s playing some convoluted mind game to get ahead in the championship. Lando wonders if he’d be relieved or appalled to find out the real reason he’s acting so off.
It’s all a spiral that has to be dealt with at a later time. He’s still riding the high of his plan coming together and the resulting orgasm that came with it.
When Lando pulls his helmet on, a move he’s done thousands of times before, he has never felt more at ease over getting in the car.
—
It should really be telling for Lando that the most exciting part of his day is receiving a congratulatory hug from Oscar.
Lando hops out of the car after winning his first ever Monaco Grand Prix, and before he can even take his helmet off or run over to his team, Oscar’s walking over and pulling him into his arms.
They’ve hugged before, but they’ve been few and far between, and Lando always waits for Oscar to initiate it. Lando’s so taken aback by Oscar making the first move that he doesn’t think before latching onto him tighter than he probably should.
He digs his fingers into Oscar’s arm, his grip so strong that he can feel Oscar’s bicep bulging through multiple layers of fabric.
Before Oscar can pull away, he whispers “you’ll get ‘em next time,” directly into his ear. He’ll never miss an opportunity to be a smartass.
Oscar scoffs out a laugh, whispering “shut up” right back at him. He doesn’t look annoyed when Lando forces himself to step back, rolling his eyes and looking down on Lando with a fond smile.
Luckily, Lando’s helmet conceals just how pleased he is, feeling like he’s done something right for once.
—
Lando wakes up the next morning with a raging hangover.
He rots in bed all day and lets himself bask in the glory of yesterday’s win. Everything finally feels like it’s coming together. His performance in the car is improving, he got to celebrate his win with his closest friends and family.
There’s just one thing he can’t seem to shake, that hole in his chest that somehow only Oscar is able to fill.
Between the headache and the dehydration, Lando’s frustrated with himself for no particular reason at all. If Oscar was there last night, he would’ve told Lando to drink some water between tequila shots. He would’ve brought Lando home before the sun started to rise. He would be here in the morning to take care of him, bringing him water and ibuprofen.
He’s thought about what sleeping with Oscar would be like before. It’s only natural when you’re bisexual and spend so much time in close quarters with another person. In all of these fantasies, he’s pictured himself as the aggressor. Oscar would be timid and gentle, Lando having to talk him through how to fuck him right.
When he thinks about that scenario, it still seems desirable. It just doesn’t make him weak in the knees in the same way the fantasy of Oscar forcing him into submission does. He tries to fit other men into the picture, someone like Carlos or Jenson taking Oscar’s place. It just doesn’t seem right.
It’s all he can think about, mind running in endless loops about how he can get Oscar to make him feel the way he longs to feel, even if Lando doesn’t know how to put it into words himself.
So, he turns to the internet.
What does it mean when it makes you all tingly after your partner yells at you?
In some ways, they are partners. It still makes Lando’s stomach flutter, typing it into the searchbar.
After clicking through a few different websites, they all lead to one stark conclusion. Subspace.
It’s gratifying, finding the correct word for what he’s experiencing. It doesn’t make it any less confusing. Reading through the articles, Lando comes to understand that it’s a BDSM term, something that submissives experience after a particularly intense scene.
Lando hasn’t dabbled much with BDSM, and based on his research, it’s a little concerning that Oscar has the ability to send him into this trance-like state without even trying. It’s also incredibly exciting. If Lando was able to convince Oscar to give it to him for real, there’s no telling how deep Lando could go.
He’s chasing a high he hasn’t even fully experienced, and he’s already completely addicted.
—
Factory day serves as a welcome distraction. He’s got a full schedule booked at the MTC. Meetings, marketing, simulator runs.
By the end of the day, he’s dead on his feet. Spacey for an entirely different reason.
They’re catching a redeye flight to Montreal on the McLaren jet that night. Lando always appreciates flying private with Oscar, even before all of the soul searching happened. That’s because the team allows the pair of them to sit by themselves in the back half of the plane together. It’s the only time that they’re guaranteed to be left alone, a few hours of peace so they can catch up on sleep.
Oscar plops down in the seat in front of him, and by the time the plane lifts into the air, Oscar’s eyes are already drooping, about to fall asleep. This is a common occurrence for them. Oscar using any spare moment he can get to rest, Lando silently buzzing in his seat, wishing he could do the same.
Lando hasn’t worked out what the next step of his plan is going to be. He knows he needs to start small, work himself up to pushing Oscar past the point of no return.
He doesn’t know where he’s going with it when he leans forward to tug on the arm of Oscar’s shirt. The man in question’s eyes flutter back open, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s up?”
“I’m bored,” Lando moans, blinking at him with a faux-innocent expression.
“We literally just took off,” Oscar deadpans, shifting around in his seat to get more comfortable, about to go back to sleep.
“I don’t care,” Lando replies, toeing his shoes off and poking Oscar’s shin with his socked foot. “Pay attention to me.”
Oscar blinks one eye back open. “Not my problem.” His eyes close again.
And that’s just not good enough for Lando. He lifts his feet up, settling them into Oscar’s lap. “My feet hurt. Rub them?” On the outside, Lando’s the picture of cool confidence, like shoving his feet into Oscar’s personal space is something they just do. He’s shitting it on the inside.
At that, Oscar’s eyes snap back open, shooting an incredulous look over at him. His hands delicately wrap around Lando’s ankles, and for one delirious second, Lando thinks he’s actually about to do it.
Then, Oscar’s grip on him tightens, and he’s shoving Lando off of him. “Get you fucking feet off of me,” he grits, sounding angrier than Lando’s heard him before.
Lando draws his feet back at once, bringing them to his own seat so he can wrap his arms around his legs and lean his cheek against his knees, head suddenly feeling much heavier. Oscar’s reaction was exactly what he’s going for. Soft pants of breath get punched out of his lungs, the part of his brain that produces speech rendered useless for a moment.
Oscar’s eyes are wide open now, sitting up straight and analyzing the pathetic heap of a man in front of him. “I’m thirsty,” Oscar states, looking at Lando expectantly.
There’s a full bottle of water in the cupholder right next to him. Lando’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth when he points it out. “You have water right there.”
“I don’t want water.” Oscar pauses, seeming to weigh his options. “I want seltzer.”
Lando’s neurons aren’t firing at a quick enough speed to pick up on what Oscar’s implying. “I don’t think they have seltzer on this flight,” Lando replies, proud of himself for stringing together a coherent sentence.
“Why don’t you go ask the flight attendant?”
A command. Yes, please.
Lando moves on autopilot, standing up from his seat and walking towards the front of the plane. He politely taps the flight attendant on the shoulder, asking if they have seltzer. As she goes to check one of the fridges in the back, Lando has to put conscious effort into standing up straight, the movement of the plane making him shaky on his feet.
She eventually brings back a crisp can of unflavored seltzer, Lando profusely thanking her.
He goes back to Oscar and brandishes the can like it’s something holy. Oscar takes it, eyes scanning the label, then asks “They didn’t have anything with a flavor?”
Lando rips the can out of his hand before Oscar finishes his sentence and brings it back to the flight attendant to ask. She tells him that’s all they have and that she’ll make sure to get flavored seltzer for him for the next flight.
The trek back to his seat feels like torture. It’s completely ludicrous, the way Lando can’t help but to hang his head, feeling frustrated tears prick at the back of his eyes. Oscar asked for one simple thing and he can’t provide.
“This is all they had,” his voice comes out high and squeaky, clearly affected by something he has no reason to be doing in the first place.
“It’s alright.” Oscar has to pry the can out of his hand, cracking it open and taking a sip. Lando doesn’t move from his spot hovering above him, at a loss for what he’s meant to do. Oscar notices his hesitation. “You’re good, Lando. Sit down.” His voice is softer this time around.
With Oscar’s permission, Lando sinks down into his seat, not taking his eyes off the other. He wants to push harder, slip down deeper, he just doesn’t know how.
“I’m useless, aren’t I?” It’s a lame attempt at getting Oscar to say something mean about him, but it’s the best he can come up with when he’s well on his way to that floaty place he’s come to long for.
It gets Oscar’s attention, at the very least. “What are you talking about?” He’s looking at Lando like he’s just grown a second head, borderline concerned.
Lando can feel frustration bubble up in his chest, not coherent enough to remind himself that he’s the one causing it. “Just tell me I’m useless.” He can practically see the wheels turning in Oscar’s head, connecting the dots from Lando’s behavior in Monaco to now.
“You’re useless,” Oscar eventually says, eyes slightly widening as he watches Lando bite down on his lip, suppressing a pleased little noise. “Not good for much, are you?” When Lando nods, Oscar’s confidence grows. “Couldn’t even get me the right drink.” He takes a sip from the can, grimacing at the taste. “What are we going to do with you?” Oscar shakes his head like he’s exasperated.
Deep down, Lando knows Oscar is simply indulging him, playing along with his antics, most likely out of boredom. He certainly does not realize how much this means to Lando. Maybe he should feel guilty about the way his cock begins to stir in his joggers.
Lando’s chin drops to his chest, looking up at Oscar through his eyelashes. “I need to learn.”
Oscar’s eyebrows pinch, confused. “Learn what?”
“How to behave.”
Oscar laughs at that. “Yeah, that’s certainly true.” His amusement is probably based in shock, Lando allowing himself to believe he’s laughing at him, which he finds incredibly erotic. “You’ve been a bit naughty lately, haven’t you?” His eyes are sparkling, like this is all just some bit he’s finally catching onto, having no idea what those words do to Lando.
Pinned down by Oscar’s watchful gaze, Lando can do nothing but whine, muscles frozen. “Yes, Oscar please.”
And that’s the turning point of this whole complicated mess, Oscar’s eyes trailing down his body with such intent Lando can feel it. They land on the bulge in Lando’s pants, cock having filled out in an embarrassing amount of time.
“Woah. You’re not messing about,” Oscar comments. He doesn’t look confused anymore, or disgusted, just intrigued by the turn of events. Lando squirms under his gaze, hips subconsciously bucking towards him. “Are you gonna take care of that?”
The question translates as another command in Lando’s lust-addled mind, his hand drifting down to cup his erection with barely there pressure.
When Oscar catches the movement, it breaks whatever spell they were in. “I didn’t mean here.” Oscar turns around in his seat to check if there’s anyone in the rows ahead of them who could bear witness to the precarious scene happening between them. “I meant in the bathroom.”
Lando must be possessed, because that wasn’t even proper permission, and he’s already standing up and heading towards the bathroom in the back of the plane.
Once he shuts and locks the door behind him, he slumps back against it, vision going fuzzy. He has to stand there for a few minutes, get his breathing under control. There’s something heady about the fact that Oscar knows what he’s about to do here, that he was the one who suggested it.
He’s not lost in thought necessarily, just spaced out, mind pleasantly blank. The plane wobbles, going through a patch of turbulence, and it brings Lando to his senses enough to finally shove his pants down and wrap a hand around himself.
Pumping himself almost robotically, he forgets where he is until a knock on the door reminds him he’s practically in public.
“You almost done in there?” It’s Oscar. “Need to use the bathroom, mate.” It comes out casual, like Oscar has no idea what Lando’s really doing.
In place of a reply, Lando thumps his head back against the door, the dull noise ringing out throughout the tiny room. Knowing Oscar’s on the other side, Lando’s mouth runs as his hand picks up speed.
“Oscccc. Oscar, please. Fuck.”
If Lando strains his ears, he can almost hear the way Oscar’s breath starts to pick up speed on the other side of the door. The chances that Oscar really needs to go to the bathroom that bad are slim, Lando still stripping his cock frantically under the assumption that Oscar’s waiting on him.
Oscar knocks again. “Hurry the fuck up, Lando.” His voice comes out rough, commanding, and that’s all it takes for Lando to reach orgasm, coming all over himself with a hand over his mouth to conceal the yelp he just let out.
Lando leaves no time for himself to come down from the high, cleaning himself up as best he can, sliding the door open and being met with Oscar’s blazing stare.
Stood this close together, Oscar seems more than a couple inches taller than him. He looks down on Lando with a knowing smirk. “Dirty boy,” he accuses, wrapping a hand around Lando’s wrist. His touch is intoxicating, somehow way more pleasurable than Lando masturbating himself to completion. “Get out of my way.” Oscar pulls him out of the bathroom, Lando stumbling over his feet as Oscar shuts the door behind him.
As Lando sits down and waits for Oscar to come back, he imagines that Oscar’s in there touching himself because of him, so turned on he lets his inhibitions go. Oscar comes back just a minute later. Unless he came in under sixty seconds, Lando’s now logical enough to recognize he probably just went for a piss.
That’s not to say that Oscar doesn’t look affected. When he sits back down, his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes don’t leave Lando’s form for more than a second. He doesn’t say anything about what just happened.
“I’m gonna take a nap,” Oscar says. “You’re gonna take one too.”
After an orgasm, Lando always feels sleepy, so a nap sounds like a good idea. Regardless, he would’ve put himself to sleep if he was wide awake, at Oscar’s instruction.
Lando’s out like a light a few minutes later.
—
The leadup to the Canadian Grand Prix leaves Lando with no time to plot further, especially after qualifying P7.
Now that he’s gained a handful of points back in the championship, his quest to attain complete subspace has to be put on the backburner.
He goes through the motions, finding solace in the idea that doing his job goes hand in hand with doing what he’s told. He’s still thinking about it, of course, and clearly so is Oscar.
Oscar isn’t initiating anything, but he also isn’t pretending that nothing happened. His communication towards Lando starts to change. Instead of asking “could you please bring me a water,” he’s commanding “bring me a water, Lando.”
Lando has no choice but to oblige, acting under the pretense that he’s just an attentive teammate.
The race itself is a whole other ballgame. A disaster, if you will. Lando battled Oscar for fucking P4, resulting in contact that was fully Lando’s fault, spinning out into a DNF.
Now, Lando mostly has a one-track mind. However, his quest to get Oscar to scold him into submission had nothing to do with the contact. Even if Oscar suggested that Lando’s only toying with him to get a leg up in the championship, he would never actually do something to fuck up his chances.
That being said, Lando had extra time before the race ended to weigh his options.
Lando’s already changed out of his racesuit and in the media pen by the time Oscar shows up. He does what any good teammate would do, approaching Oscar and taking all the blame for the contact, making sure the cameras catch the apology. He really is apologetic.
The two of them have to sit through a lengthy debrief, Lando scolded endlessly by Andrea and Zak. He knows it’s what he deserves. That doesn’t take away from the fact that an additional scolding would do him way more good.
Oscar’s cordial throughout the whole thing, insisting that it’s no big deal. That just won’t do.
When the meeting comes to a close, they’re dismissed so they can go collect their things from their driver’s rooms and head out for the night.
The shared car to their hotel has already been called, only given a few minutes to grab their things.
They leave their rooms at the same time, Oscar’s eyes glued to his phone. Clearly, he isn’t planning on paying Lando any attention. Maybe that’s his idea of punishing him.
Lando falls into step with him, muttering out “I did it on purpose,” before his mind can flesh out the details. He doesn’t know why he says it, just wanting to goad Oscar into acknowledging him.
Oscar looks up at him with an eyebrow raised, pausing his steps. “Is that so?” He pulls his backpack around to his front, unzipping it and passing a keycard to Lando. “Room 525. Come at 10.”
With that, Oscar walks ahead of him, already settled in his seat with headphones in by the time Lando makes it to the car.
As the car makes its way to their destination, Lando sits on his hands and watches Oscar out of the corner of his eye the whole time. Oscar keeps his eyes fixed on his phone screen for the entire ride.
—
Five minutes before 10, Lando’s in a state of panic.
When he got back to his room, he only had a couple hours of free time before he’s expected to make an appearance in Oscar’s room.
He has no idea what to expect, his wild imagination conjuring up every possible scenario. Oscar could be genuinely angry with him, not in a sexy way. He knows how much the title fight means to him. He could be disappointed, believing Lando’s comment for what he said, looking down on Lando for crashing into him for his own salacious needs. He could be fed up, waiting until they’re alone to tell Lando that he does not want to be included in Lando’s weird fantasy.
Lando’s worked himself up so badly that he’s fully trembling, mind racing and close to tears. 10 PM comes and goes, Lando deciding to arrive fashionably late after spending more than enough time washing himself off and cleaning himself out.
Fifteen minutes after 10, Lando walks down the hall to Oscar’s room and lets himself in with the keycard he was given. Stepping into the room, Lando is somehow surprised to see Oscar sitting on the couch adjacent from the bed, clearly waiting for him.
When Lando shuffles in, head already hanging low, Oscar stands up. He walks over to Lando, placing a hand on the small of his back to guide him to the couch, telling him to take a seat.
Once they’re both sat, Lando looks at him expectantly, picking at the skin of his thumbs to have something to do with his hands. Oscar doesn’t say anything at first, so Lando brings a finger to his mouth to start chewing at his nail in anticipation. He can’t be the first one to break the silence.
Oscar’s hand comes up to grab Lando’s wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. “We need to talk.”
Talking. The mere suggestion rattles him to his core, mind running at such a high frequency he genuinely doesn’t know if he’s able to form words. In place of a verbal response, Lando nods.
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been acting weirder than normal recently," Oscar starts, watching closely for Lando’s reaction. “You’ve been combative, nothing like the sweet Lando I’m so used to.” Lando’s eyes lower down into his lap at being called out, simultaneously feeling heat spread throughout his tummy at being called sweet. “Is something going on?”
Once again, Oscar’s speaking to him like he’s something fragile. “No…” Lando tries to convince, doing a pretty shit job of it.
“Something tells me that’s not true.” Lando doesn’t respond right away, so Oscar grabs him by the chin, lifting his head up so they’re making eye contact. “Do you want me to get mad at you?”
Lando nods frantically, unfortunately jostling Oscar’s hand from his face.
“Why?” Oscar simply asks.
Throughout all of this, Oscar asking why is the question he’s been dreading the most. He doesn’t know why. Both in and out of bed, Lando’s always been one for praise. He thrives on it. Simply put, the praise hits much harder when it’s been lost, then gained back.
Lando’s mind is still on, telling him that explaining any reason why is too dangerous. He doesn’t want to elaborate, he wants Oscar to just know. He shakes his head, trying to convey to Oscar that he’s not willing to share.
Oscar tsks at him, raising his hand again. Not to tilt Lando’s chin up, but to grab him by the hair on the back of his head, holding him in place. Lando whines at the pull, feeling the coherency drain from him the tighter Oscar’s grip gets.
“Let’s keep in mind that you crashed into me today. Not to mention you saying it was on purpose.” At Lando’s words thrown back at him, his eyelids flutter, fighting the urge to slip down into subspace before they can get this straightened out. “If there’s something you need from me, you’re gonna have to say it.”
Oscar’s giving him an opening to bare his soul, to tell him what’s really going on. He can't, though, body not cooperating with his mind.
He blinks back at him, trying to find the words that will never come.
“Lando,” Oscar chastises, removing his touch. “I can’t give you what you need if you won’t say. I need something too. Need you to explain.” As Oscar talks, his voice grows more urgent, letting Lando into the fact that he may actually need this too.
Withholding his touch is what does it for Lando, the dam breaking. “I just want you to notice me.”
It’s not what he really wants to say, not at all, but it’s the truth and it just comes out.
The hard look on Oscar’s face melts away. “What are you talking about? I notice you all the time. Probably way more than you notice me.”
The sincerity in his voice feels like Oscar is divulging a secret of his own, making way for Lando to say what he really means.
Lando takes a deep breath, focusing on the way his lungs expand and deflate, allowing some form of coherency to come back to him. Pushing away all his insecurities, he lets himself talk.
“You snapped at me the other day, when I was touching you during debrief. It made my brain feel all tingly and I couldn’t figure out why. So I messed with you again, just to get you to yell at me. In your driver’s room, do you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Oscar’s reply, just keeps talking before he loses the nerve. “And it happened again, I went all spacey and all the frantic thoughts in my head died down. I don’t know why it happens. Normally when people get mad at me it makes me want to cry. With you, it makes me so hard I get dizzy.”
Although Lando was looking at Oscar while he speaks, he’s not really seeing him, much too focused on getting his words right. When his vision comes back into focus, Oscar’s staring back at him with his jaw dropped.
“So you do want me to get mad at you,” Oscar starts. “And then what?”
“I want you to decide,” Lando whines, even though he knows exactly what he wants to happen next.
Oscar laughs at him, a bit condescendingly. “That’s not how this is gonna work. You’re gonna tell me exactly what you want and I’ll tell you whether or not I’m willing to give it.”
“OK, fine,” Lando says petulantly, crossing his arms and pouting as if outlining his deepest desires to the man he’s been obsessing over is the hardest thing in the world. In some ways, it kinda is. “I want you to punish me, in whatever way you see fit. Tell me I’m naughty. Then I want you to tell me what to do, and I just have to do it. Whatever you say goes. If I’m doing a good job, tell me I’m a good boy. But I really have to earn it. Once I’m deep into subspace, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”
The more Lando talks, the more Oscar shifts in his seat, starting to become affected by Lando’s outspoken desires. “Subspace?” he asks.
Lando pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks up the definition of the term, showing it to Oscar.
He holds his breath as Oscar reads it over. Once he’s done, he plucks the phone out of Lando’s hand and places it on the table in front of them. “I can do that,” he states. “But first, I have to know, did you really crash into me on purpose?”
They’re standing on the precipice of something that Lando doesn’t quite have the capacity to think through how life-altering it’s going to be. He’s not sure if he should push or tell the truth. In the end, honesty wins out. “Of course not. Maybe subconsciously, but I’m not that dumb.”
Oscar smirks at him. “Are you sure?”
Lando’s not really sure of anything, especially not clear on what Oscar’s asking about. “What?”
“Are you sure you’re not that dumb? I don’t know, Lando, it seems to me like you’re desperate enough to do something so stupid.”
The words cut deep, Oscar falling into the role Lando’s forced upon him way too easily. Whether Oscar means to or not, he’s giving Lando the opportunity to tap into the side of his brain that innately needs to antagonize.
“So what if I did?” Lando rolls his eyes at him, confidence growing. “It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it.”
A low growl rumbles from Oscar’s chest, the man rising to his feet and stepping in front of Lando. “Oh yeah?” Oscar grips Lando’s chin again, using his hold to pull him up to his feet. “I think you need to be taught a lesson, don’t you?”
Oscar’s asking him a question, and he’s most likely looking for a verbal response, Lando rendered useless with the way Oscar’s fingers are digging into his jaw. He simply shrugs.
“This is how this is gonna work,” Oscar steps back as he speaks, eyes running up and down Lando’s body, momentarily pausing on the bulge in Lando’s pants. “You’re going to do as I say, take what I give you until I decide you’ve been good enough. Safe word is papaya, got it?”
“Yes,” Lando automatically responds.
“What’s the safe word?” Oscar asks, as if he didn’t just lay it out for Lando.
“Papaya.”
“Good.” The tiniest bit of praise thrown Lando’s way almost makes his knees buckle. “I want you to undress.”
The order takes a second to cut through the fog gathered in Lando’s mind. Once it does, Lando is stripping off his shirt and pants without a second thought. He hesitates on pulling down his underwear, looking up at Oscar.
Oscar nods and that’s all it takes for Lando to step out of his briefs as well. Oscar grants himself about five seconds to take in Lando’s nude body, before he’s turning around and heading towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of it.
He leans back with his hands splayed behind him on the mattress, Lando can tell he’s hard too and it sends a dizzying thrill down his spine.
“Over my lap, baby. A few spankings will do you some good.”
The air feels like it’s sucked out of the room, Oscar calling him baby and telling him he needs to be spanked is the final nail in the coffin. There’s no coming back from this. And Lando, he’s never been more turned on in his life.
Lando scrambles onto the bed, positioning himself on his hands and knees, hovering over Oscar’s lap. His entire body is stiff, until Oscar runs a soft hand over the curve of his ass and then he melts into the mattress, ready to take whatever Oscar will give him.
“For what you’ve done, I’m going to give you ten spankings. You’re going to count them as we go. If you mess up, we start over.”
Lando’s head is already hanging heavy between his shoulders, forcing his head up to look back at Oscar and nod. It’s enough to appease him, Oscar bringing a hand up to the top of his back to press down.
Oscar’s hand runs up and down his ass, the light touch sending shockwaves through Lando. With no warning, his hand draws back, landing a quick smack onto Lando’s right cheek.
The contact is barely strong enough to make it sting, Lando still sent into another orbit at the sensation. “One,” he counts obediently.
Oscar hums out a pleased noise, lightly spanking Lando’s left cheek now.
“Two.”
The next two come in quick succession, one on each cheek, upping in intensity.
“Three, four.”
It’s still not enough to do any real damage to Lando, he almost wants to ask for it harder, knowing now's not the time to be making requests.
It turns out he doesn't have to, the sound of the next smack bouncing off the walls before Lando can even register the feeling.
Oscar’s hand lands right in the middle of his ass, hitting him so hard it forces Lando’s face deeper into the sheets.
“Five!” Lando exclaims, almost forgetting what number they’re on.
“This one is for touching me during debrief,” Oscar states before spanking his right cheek.
“Six.”
“This one is for messing with me before the race.” A harder spank lands on his left cheek.
“Seven.”
“These two are for crashing into me.” He’s given two harsh smacks, one on each cheek. He can feel the heat blooming from his skin.
“Eight. Nine.”
“And this one is just because you’re a naughty boy. So fucking desperate for my attention.”
Lando expects the last one to hit the hardest, and he’s not wrong. However, it doesn’t land on the curve of his ass. Oscar pushes his hand down on Lando’s back, causing his arch to intensify. His balls pop out from between his two clenched legs, Oscar hitting him there so hard that the pleasurable pain shoots up, traveling all the way to his brain, almost knocking him unconscious.
“Ten! Oscar, please!”
He’s barely able to get a full breath in, face smushed against the sheets, the fabric wet from where Lando bit down on it. Distantly, he can feel the way his entire body is shaking, unable to control himself.
“Shhh,” Oscar soothes, rubbing his hand over his reddened skin, heat radiating off his backside. “You did so well, baby.”
He moves Lando off his lap, laying him down in the middle of the bed. Oscar sits down on the edge, still stroking Lando’s bare thigh as he takes in the pathetic sight before him.
“Are you gonna fuck me now?” Lando asks with a small voice.
Oscar laughs and shakes his head, squeezing at the pressure points above Lando’s knee, causing him to jerk in his grasp.
“No, Lando. I’m not going to fuck you.”
The disappointment hits harder than Oscar’s hands against him. “W-what?” he gasps. Oscar forced him to say exactly what he wanted, forced him to admit he wants to be fucked good and hard, and now it’s being taken away from him.
Oscar’s hand slides up his body, tracing up his thigh, skimming past his cock, all the way up his torso until his fingers wrap around Lando’s neck.
“After everything you’ve done today, do you really think you deserve to be fucked?”
Yes, he did think that, but clearly Oscar doesn’t share the same sentiment.
“But I-I thought, if I did what you said, I could– you would let me come.” He tries to stand his ground, this is the deal they made after all. The words come out weak, hiccups breaking up his assertion.
Oscar moves slow, hand still wrapped around his neck with barely there pressure, crawling into the space between Lando’s spread open legs. He leans forward with one hand braced by Lando’s head, lips a hairbreath away from his.
“I never said I wouldn’t make you come,” he whispers, momentarily squeezing down on Lando’s throat for emphasis. His senses are somehow intensified, feeling Oscar all around him when they’ve barely even scratched the surface.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Oscar continues. “I’ll blow you, and if you can come within five minutes, I’m all yours.” It takes a while for the offer to compute for Lando, whimpering out a confirmation that yes, he is very much confident he can do that. “When we’re back in Monaco, I’ll give you whatever you want for a full day. If you don’t come, you’ll go to bed hard and that’s it.”
Lando would sign a deal with the devil on those odds. The reward is too sweet. His scattered brain is coming up with a hundred scenarios at once, all the things he can make Oscar do to him.
The only thing he can muster is a whiny “deal.”
Oscar smirks back at him, withdrawing his touch slowly as he inches down Lando’s body. Lando just barely catches how Oscar’s eyes flicker to the clock on the bedside table, taking note of the time.
So he really means it then.
The hot, wet heat of Oscar’s mouth envelops him before he can prepare himself. Normally, when Lando fools around with people, he has to put a lot of effort into not coming prematurely. He’s always been quick to get worked up. Oscar gave him permission, an order he could never refuse.
A garbled noise rips from his throat as Oscar sucks him down, tongue tracing patterns along his shaft as he suctions his cheeks in tight.
Oscar could have simply rubbed his lips against his tip and Lando would probably come. The fact that Oscar’s giving him the full experience, during his punishment, the wires get crossed in Lando’s mind. The distinction between teammate that’s fucking him because he taunted him into it and an actual lover that you open yourself up to so intimately blurs.
It's nothing like how he normally behaves. There’s always a wall up. Not in a physical way; an emotional barrier where Lando can never believe that someone’s in bed with him for just him.
Even when directing Oscar to be mean to him, it’s still because he’s doing exactly as Lando wants. With sudden clarity, Lando realizes that he might be in deeper than he thought. His mind can’t tell him much at the moment, but his body is reacting with a fluttery shiver all over. He’s falling into the deep end.
Oscar brings a hand up to jerk off the bit his mouth can’t reach, sliding his lips up and down in a smooth drag.
Lando can do nothing but moan Oscar’s name, reduced into nothing. He lifts his hand to settle into Oscar’s hair, catching himself at the last second before he makes contact. Oscar might get mad at him if he touches him without permission. He doesn’t know the rules here. Although his main trajectory is to piss Oscar off, he’s too close to orgasm to take the risk.
Without pulling his mouth off, Oscar reaches his spare hand up to grab Lando’s midair, bringing it down to his lower belly, right where he can feel his orgasm building up. He presses Lando’s hand into himself, applying pressure. It takes Lando’s breath away, legs kicking and head tossing.
That’s when Oscar lifts up, keeping his mouth close to his shaft while he jerks him off and looks up at him. Lando’s never seen someone more beautiful.
Oscar’s eyes flick back to the clock, speeding up his hand.
“Come on, Lando. Just be a good boy and come for me.”
His voice is all raspy and he’s lowering down to wrap his lips around the head and really suck hard, fist moving up to where his mouth connects them.
Oscar pushes down even harder on Lando’s belly, making him seize up, the moan ripping out of him more like a shriek. He comes for what feels like ages, Oscar eagerly swallowing it down with each pulse.
Lando shivers through overstimulation as Oscar continues mouthing at his shrinking cock. He could go again if Oscar kept at it for long enough.
Oscar pulls away and looks down at him, and it’s the first time Lando really gets a good look at him.
His lips are deliciously swollen, cheeks flushed a dark red. He’s still clothed, erection pushing his joggers out obscenely. While Oscar acts like the epitome of composure, his appearance says otherwise.
Lando may be horny for him beyond measure, but Oscar doesn’t look that far behind.
Maybe it’s the way Lando’s eyeing all of Oscar’s clothing that makes him do it. In an instant, Oscar’s shirt is discarded and he’s getting off the bed to step out of his pants and underwear. He’s panting with exertion before anything's even happened, climbing back onto the bed and flipping Lando onto his front.
Lando allows himself to be thrown around like a ragdoll, putting up absolutely no fight.
Oscar reaches into the drawer beside them, pulling out a bottle of lube. He slicks up his cock, staddling Lando’s thighs and squeezing them together with his knees. He leans forward, slipping his cock into the tight space between Lando’s legs, just high enough that he rubs against the sensitive skin of his balls.
His body drapes atop Lando’s, pressing his hands into where Lando’s gripping the sheets. With Oscar pinning him down, Lando can do nothing but let his mind drift away, happy to let Oscar use him as he pleases.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Oscar rasps as his hips rabbit into him. The feeling of Oscar’s slippery cock rubbing against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs has him shivering in delight. “Just wanna be used, huh?” He leans down to mouth wetly at the back of Lando’s neck. “Doesn’t matter how bratty you try to be, you’ll still do as I say.”
Lando whines high in his throat, Oscar hitting the nail right on its head. He squeezes his legs so tight that it halts Oscar’s thrusts, properly rutting into him now.
The drag of him so close to Lando’s cock makes it violently twitch in an attempt to get hard again. It still feels good, Lando whining and squirming at the tiny sparks of heat that climb up his limbs.
Oscar uses his position on top of him to pin Lando down by his upper arms, fucking into his thighs like he’s really properly fucking him. He drops his forehead down, mouthing wetly at the back of Lando’s neck.
“So pathetic like this. Still so eager after coming in under two minutes.”
As Oscar approaches orgasm, his voice gets lower, grittier. The raspy words whispered right into his ear makes him shiver in a way ASMR never could.
Right as Oscar’s hips stutter and warm come spills into the space between his legs, he bites down on the back of Lando’s neck, sucking in a dark bruise. Oscar moans through it, the simultaneous stimulation between his thighs, against his neck, into his ear is sensory overload for Lando.
He squeaks out an embarrassing mess of noises, sounding like he’s the one that’s coming. Oscar collapses on top of him after he rides out his orgasm, crushing Lando with his weight, serving as a really heavy weighted blanket.
Eventually, Oscar rolls over, pulling at Lando until they’re both laying on their sides.
A hand cards through Lando’s sweaty curls, scratching at his scalp. “How are you feeling?” Oscar asks, soft and kind.
Lando blinks slow at him, not ready to start using his words again.
Oscar seems to get it, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. He doesn’t pull away, dotting kisses at the corner of his eye, the tip of his nose, his pink cheeks, making his way to Lando’s lips. He pecks him, pulling away and giggling when Lando subconsciously surges forward, chasing his lips for more.
“Not yet,” Oscar murmurs. “You were so good, Lan. Took what I gave you perfectly.”
The praise almost brings tears to his eyes, feeling utterly cared for. “Thank you,” he rasps, not remembering the last time he spoke.
Oscar continues petting at his hair, looking back at him with such fondness it makes Lando want to squirm, if he had the energy for it.
As he comes back down to earth, Lando realizes he doesn’t know where to go next. He got more than he could’ve asked for, even if Oscar didn’t fuck him. His eyes shift towards the door, wondering if Oscar is waiting for him to pull himself together enough to go back to his own room.
Oscar catches it, smiling at him and petting at his cheek. “I’m gonna clean you up now. You’re gonna stay. Get some rest.”
Lando nods and Oscar’s out of bed to get a wet cloth, coming back to gently wipe the mess away from between Lando’s sensitive legs. He tosses it to the side, turning off the light and pulling Lando into his arms.
He cuddles his face into Oscar’s chest, soothed by the steady ride and fall of his breaths.
“Don’t forget what you promised me.”
Oscar raises a hand to fiddle with Lando’s earlobe, just like Lando had done to him. He shivers, Oscar chuckles. “When we’re back home, whatever you want, it’s yours.”