Archive of Our Own

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In all honesty, Oscar’s pretty sure that he just point-blank loses his mind. 

It’s not planned. Of course, he wouldn’t plan this. 

It’s just one moment, he’s looking at Lando. Shaking his bottle of champagne, watching it fizz and sparkle for a moment in the air before it splashes across Lando’s skin. 

He looks good as a race winner. 

It’s been a while since Lando stood on the top step. Since either of them has. But today, Lando reigns supreme. 

He’s grinning wildly. Little gap on display, and lips wide and heart-shaped. Champagne dripping from his curls. His eyes sparkle with happiness. Squinting occasionally from the sting of the alcohol in his eyes. 

And Oscar. 

Oscar just can’t look away. Can’t be disappointed by his own P2 when Lando looks this good. This beautiful. This fucking breathtaking.

The thought is so sudden and intense, it consumes him. Makes his heart pound. Makes his blood turn hot. The thought runs so wild in his mind and floods his body with an astounding need to just act. 

His bottle slips from his hands, hitting the ground, champagne splashing up on his legs and boots. 

Lando looks at him. 

“You ok, Osc?” Lando asks, smiling. He wipes the champagne from his eyes. He moves to stand next to Oscar, letting his hand come up to squeeze Oscar’s bicep. He looks at him, pillow soft and filled with fondness. 

It makes Oscar swallow nervously. 

Oscar hears George chatting with the McLaren team member behind them as they shake hands. Distantly, he can see the crowd gathered below them. A sea of papaya. 

Lando tilts his head at him, brows raised in concern. 

Oscar can’t have that.

Needs that resplendent winner back. 

So he leans forward, hands cupping Lando’s face. 

And kisses him. 

It’s almost like the world goes quiet. 

And maybe it does. 

But all Oscar can do is mesmerize the man in front of him. 

Lando smells so good. Like sweat and Moët and something expensive. 

His skin is warm and smooth under his hands. 

He tastes like a mix of champagne and lemons. Tart and sweet all at once. 

And god, he feels so good. Lips, stiff at first before they move against Oscar’s. Something slow and warm and fuck. Perfect. 

He shifts and tilts Lando’s head so he can press closer. Angle him in a way that lets Oscar take control of the kiss. 

A soft, almost moan tumbles from Lando’s lips. 

Oscar swallows it happily. 

He wants to get closer. Wants to make Lando’s mouth part until he can lick inside and taste more of Lando. See what other kinds of sounds he can draw out of him. Slide their lips together until they go numb from kissing. 

“Holy shit.” 

Oh.

Fuck.

Oscar jolts back. His hands fall from Lando’s face immediately. 

George is positively gawking at them, wide-eyed and confused. As is their director of marketing. As are the members of the FIA and the trophy presenters watching from the side. 

Lando steps back. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are practically bugging out. He licks his bottom lip. Oscar follows the movement closely even as his heart begins to pound. 

“Lando,” Oscar tries. Words fail him. His brain feels wiped of all coherent thought. The crowd below them is murmuring loudly. A thousand conversations happening all at once. Lando’s mouth opens. But no words come out. 

A hand tugs at his arm. He looks and sees his press officer. Sophie’s panicked. He can tell right away. Sweat beads at her temples, and she’s clutching her phone like it’s her only lifeline. 

He looks at Lando. His own press officer, Harry, is quickly ushering him off. They’d been waiting in the wings of the podium entrance, standing around to escort them to the press conference. 

“Oscar, we’re going inside now,” Sophie says. Normally, she’s firm but patient. She coaches him through polite, non-controversial answers. Berates him only lightly when he lets the emotions get the better of him and slips out a snide or snarky remark. Has done her best to make sure he had an answer when Lando’s performance was ramping up, and Oscar’s was slipping each weekend. 

But now she was frenzied. Tugging at his arm until his feet started walking. He could hear the endless click of cameras. 

They’d started playing music, loud and strange in the air. Some fucking Ed Sheeran song. 

Lando is already tumbling back into the paddock with Harry. Oscar follows behind him, watching as the flush on his cheeks seems to have spread to the back of his neck.

What the fuck, Oscar thinks. What the fuck did I just do? 

----

The thing is. 

They’re not dating or anything. Not even close. 

Oscar’s not sure he would even call them friends. 

Teammates. Of course. 

Coworkers or colleagues. If you really want to get pedantic. 

But, more than that? Not really. They get along. They can have a laugh. They work well together, most of the time. 

Oscar can admit he admired Lando when he was younger. Hard not to. 

But wanting him? Enough to just have a complete lapse of judgment and kiss him? 

That’s not like Oscar. Not like him at all. Not something he does. 

Not even something he knew he wanted until he looked at Lando, smiling. Bathed in sunlight and lit up with the rush of victory. It made him breathless for a moment. It made every coherent thought fall from his mind until all he could do was lean forward and feel that joy under his own hands and lips. 

It doesn’t make any fucking sense. 

They’re ushered back to Hospitality. 

It’s chaos. They’re surrounded by a mess of people. Harry and Sophie. Jon and Artturi. Both of their bodyguards. A slew of other McLaren employees. Beyond their wall of people are photographers and fans. All trying to get their attention and their photos. 

It’s madness. Oscar pushes his cap down and keeps his eyes down low until they’re standing on the upper floor of hospitality. Finally, there’s some breathing room, and he and Lando are ushered into a meeting room. A windowless one, and the door is shut. 

Zak and Andrea sit at the head of the table. Both of them look anxious. Stressed. Oscar sits on the far end. Lando sits next to him. His manager is here. Their head of public relations is here. The social media head. 

For the first time in a long time, Oscar wishes he hadn’t asked for some distance from Mark. Then at least he’d have someone here. 

He doesn’t know where his phone is, but he’d love to have it. Love to call Mark right now and hear someone familiar. 

Oscar sneaks a glance at Lando. 

His face is still flushed. From the sun or the embarrassment that Oscar’s put him through, he’s unsure. But the expression is carefully blank.

Blank, until he peers his eyes up and looks at Oscar. 

He’s looking at him like he’s never seen him before. It makes Oscar’s stomach twist in nerves. 

“Boys,” Zak says. He rubs at the back of his neck. He looks uncomfortable. Not necessarily mad. But certainly not joyful. Andrea is avoiding everyone’s gaze entirely. 

“Shouldn’t we be at a press conference right now?” Lando asks, carefully. 

“We’ll take the hit,” Zak says. 

The hit being €50K. Not like they can’t afford it, but still. Jesus, Oscar’s never missed a press conference in his life. 

He swallows nervously. 

“Look,” Zak says, hands folded before him on the table. “You know we don’t discriminate here. It’s not the dark ages anymore. You’re free to be…uh, you. But I wish you both had told us beforehand.” 

Andrea nods, though he keeps his eyes on the table still. “I am in agreement with Zak. It’s come as a bit of a surprise to us.” 

“Well,” Zak laughs stiffly. “Not a total surprise. But still, a podium is hardly the right place for this. What about the sponsors?”

Yeah, cause Oscar really cares for sponsors. 

Well, he does if it fucks them over. He looks at Lando. Lando, who’s always been a good draw for sponsors. Easy to talk to and look at. Cracking the right jokes to break the ice. Playing golf with Zak and other businessmen to help close deals. To get McLaren the money that helped make them champions.  

Shit.   

Oscar’s brain finally comes online. 

“What do you mean, not a total surprise?” Lando asks, brows lifted, as Oscar’s head starts to pound. 

“Well, we’re not blind, Lando,” Zak says. Lando’s manager sighs next to him. “We know how close you two are. You’re not exactly subtle in how you look at each other.” 

“What?” Lando asks, incredulous. His face scrunches up in disbelief. Yeah, Oscar’s pretty confused about that one, too.

Andrea pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Zak’s mouth opens like he has more to say. 

Oscar doesn’t need to hear whatever it is he’s about to say. 

“Ok,” He interrupts, drawing everyone’s attention. “Look, I just got caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have ki-, done that to Lando. Can’t we just say it was a mistake or something? Or like just not talk about it and hope it goes away?” 

“I don’t think that’s possible, Oscar,” their PR officer says. “It was broadcast live across the world. Even if the broadcast cut away, there were hundreds of people there with their phones out. We have to say something.” 

Oscar isn’t quite sure that’s true. The team certainly never has much to say when it comes to the internet’s opinions of Lando and Oscar. They’ve both gotten their slew of hate, Lando most of all, but never has the team said anything. 

Just ignore it and don’t feed into them. That’s what they told Oscar in his rookie year. 

Like that was easy. To just ignore all the online buzz. 

But now suddenly they can’t stay quiet. 

He’d be happier to give them a taste of their own medicine if it wasn’t ruining his own career. 

He looks at Lando. He’s biting his lip. He looks confused. He looks, not upset, but deep in thought. 

“I think a bit of warning would have been nice,” Zak says. “I’m happy for you both. But we need some time to create a plan. I mean, two drivers dating. It’s a lot.” 

He and Lando speak at the same time.

“Wait, we’re not dating.” 

“Nothing is going on here.”

They stop and look at each other. Oscar feels his cheeks heating up. Actually, they’ve probably been red since the podium. But somehow he knows the blush is deepening. Spreading further across his skin. 

Zak looks at them. His face settles into a grim, hard set line. 

“So what’s going on then?” he asks, eyes narrowing in on Oscar. “Cause if you’re not in a relationship, then we have another problem on our hands. I know we’re early in the season. But these types of mind games can’t be going on.” 

Their PR officer shakes her head. “Certainly not. We already have enough rumors floating around about Lando’s sexuality. That’s not a good look for us. If it appears that one driver is mocking the other.” 

Oscar looks at her in disbelief. Are they joking? He would never do that. He certainly knows that the entire world has made themselves comfortable talking about Lando’s sexuality. But it’s never been his business. 

Though he could take a guess on Lando’s preference based on the line of gorgeous models and influencers Lando’s trotted around the paddock throughout their years as teammates. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Oscar says. Not just because you’d have to be an actual evil person to do that. But becuase Oscar has respect for Lando. And it’d be wildly hypocritical. Hypothetically. 

Lando looks over at him. He worries his lip between his teeth for a moment. 

“Then what?” Zak demands. “You’re not dating. You’re not playing games? Then what do you want us to believe, Oscar? That you’re just kissed Lando out of nowhere randomly?” 

Oscar hunches in on himself. 

He isn’t Zak’s biggest fan. Sure, he’s an alright boss. A little too much most of the time. Far too American - corny and brash at the best of times. But he’s still the head of this team. Still saved Oscar from being in an Alpine. Is putting Oscar in a championship contending car. 

And usually Zak seems like he’s a bit desperate to appear cool to Oscar in most settings. Oscar’s constant aloofness, a bit hard for him to read and decipher. So, he does his best to joke around with Oscar. To speak like they’re friends. But right now. He’s speaking like Oscar’s a liability. Like he’s done something terrible. 

And maybe he has. 

“I-I just,” Oscar tries. Words failing. He racks his brain for anything to justify this that doesn’t sound crazy. He wants to crawl inside his body and just stay there until this all passes by. 

“Hey,” Lando says, loudly. All eyes draw towards him. “Can we just have a moment? Me and Oscar. Alone.” 

“Are you sure?” Zak asks, eyeing Oscar like he might stab Lando the moment they’re alone. 

“Yes,” Lando says calmly. “Please.” 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Andrea says. He stands, practically jumping up. “Let’s give them a minute, yes?” 

Zak scoffs, but agrees and motions for everyone to leave. 

They file out slowly. Clearly hesitant to leave. Oscar watches as Lando’s manager squeezes his shoulder in silent reassurance. His eyes flit back to the table. Trying to mezmorize the knots in the wood. 

Then they’re alone. The door shutting with a click. 

Oscar’s mouth ran dry. Nerves running through his body. Humming tight and rapid in his blood. 

He looks up at Lando. 

Waits for the moment that Lando’s going to yell. Going to call Oscar a freak or a monster. Going to demand to know why Oscar thought it was ok to do that. 

Proably going to stand and smack Oscar across his cheek. 

Lando stares at him for a moment. That terrible blank expression on his face. Those bright, jade colored eyes surveying him. 

Oscar swallows. 

And then. 

“Mate, what the fuck was that?” Lando asks. He offers Oscar a laugh of pure disbelief. 

He looks genuinely confused. But not mad. Not disgusted. Not like he’s about to punch Oscar in the face. 

“I have no idea,” Oscar tries. “I’m so sorry.” 

Lando waves his hand. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “Well, not fine. But like, Osc? What happened?” 

Oscar grimaces. What did happen? Well, Oscar finally had a small psychotic break and thought it was ok just grab his teammate and kiss him. 

That moment is gonna haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Not only was it mortifying. Could possibly be spelling the end of his career. 

But god. It was a good fucking kiss. 

Even now. He’s looking at Lando. His eyes flit down to his mouth. His pink, bitten lips. 

Oscar feels like he might throw up from pure confusion and nerves, but god does he want to kiss Lando again. Wants to feel his jaw work as his lips move against Oscar’s. Wants to taste him. 

The want is so sudden and so deep, it scares him. 

“I’m not mad,” Lando says. He might not be mad. But he certainly isn’t happy. Definitely isn’t thinking of kissing Oscar again. Not like Oscar is in his fucked up brain. 

“I’m sorry,” Oscar says again, looking at a point behind Lando. “I don’t know what came over me. It just felt… I don’t know if right is the word. Maybe it was just the endorphins.” 

“Right,” Lando says slowly. Like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Well, no matter the reason. What are we gonna do?” 

Oscar groans. He scrubs at his face. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

What are they gonna do? It’s not like Oscar can just take the moment back. He can’t do anything but find some way to excuse this. Make sure Zak knows he isn’t playing some sort of weird, manipulative mind game. The car is good this season. Another championship contender. 

Good enough that they can fight. Lando will want his second title. 

And Oscar’s starving for his first. 

But there’s no title fight if Oscar’s just fucked his whole career. 

Lando hums as he thinks. 

“I guess we should just pretend to date, then?” he says easily. Like he suggested they have chicken for dinner rather than steak.  

“What?” Oscar asks. “You’re not serious?” 

“Um, yeah I am, mate,” Lando says. He rolls his eyes like Oscar’s an idiot. “C’mon. It’s not like we can erase the kiss from anyone’s mind or socials. And I don’t want Zak to think you’re like playing mind games with me. I mean, you’re not right?” 

“No,” Oscar exclaims, shaking his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Frankly, Oscar isn’t even sure he would know how to do that. He’s stressed enough in the car as it is. The most games he can play is calling out things to be investigated. 

And he usually left the media bullshit to Mark. Though those often turned out bad enough.  

“Then, we might as well just lean in, right?” Lando says. He scratches at his chin. He’s shaved, but there’s a hint of a 5 o'clock shadow. Oscar kinda wonders what the full goatee might feel like against his skin. “You’d look crazy if we just pretended it was some weird accident.” 

“But that’s the truth,” Oscar says. “And I shouldn’t take you down with me.” 

“I think I’m already indicted no matter what we say,” Lando says with a laugh. “And I don’t want you to get fucked up. Not when you have the chance for a title this year.” 

“So do you,” Oscar says.

Lando shrugs. “Yeah, but already got one of those, don’t I?”

He says it so easily. Not like a brag, but in that it solved so many of his problems. Probably did. Oscar’s seen the way Lando’s been driving since he got his title. Like a fucking monster, to be honest. Fast and sure. Something to be reckoned with. 

Oscar thinks about that Abu Dahbi press conference. When he’d said Lando was just Lando Norris, not Superman. 

Clearly, he’d forgotten what a confident Lando Norris was like. 

He’d been reminded of it every race since Lando held that trophy in his hands. 

“Are you sure?” Oscar asks. “I mean, that’s a lot to ask. Why would you even want to help me like that?” 

Lando shrugs. 

“'Cause we’re friends,” he says. Again, Oscar doesn’t really think that’s true. “And we’re a team, right? I mean, how shit would that look? If we just abandoned you and made you look like a dickhead?”

Well, Oscar probably is for kissing his teammate like that. 

But, there’s a certain, maybe disappointment isn’t the right word. But an unpleasant feeling at knowing Lando only wants to help him for the good of the team.  Like, this is just another McLaren duty for Lando. Something akin to taking the blame for poor strategy or an unreliable car. 

Still, Oscar is ok to admit he’s a bit selfish. He needs the help. Desperately.

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“Yeah, “ Lando says. “I mean, it’s not like we have to get married or whatever. We can just pretend for the rest of the season until this blows over, and then we can fake a break-up or something. Not like I don’t often have breakup rumors following me around either.” 

“We’re only three races in,” Oscar says. “The end of the season is a long way away.” 

Lando shrugs again. How annoying. Oscar kinda wants to flick his forehead to get him to stop acting so goddamn nonchalant about the whole thing. 

“It’s fine,” Lando says. “We can follow whatever timeline the PR people got. The news will blow over soon enough. I mean, there’s gonna be a ton of moves next year, so that’ll take up some space.” 

Yeah, Oscar’s heard about that. Max. George. Carlos. Ollie. A whole slew of drivers looking to get new contracts. 

Oscar was pretty locked in here. At least, he was until today. 

But Lando. Well, he’s always been the biggest McLaren supporter. Or he was, until reliability had started to bite him in the ass again and again. Certainly, not the post-championship career he’d imagined. 

Oscar didn’t know how long his contract went. 

For all he knew, Lando could be one of those looking for a new team. 

The thought makes him feel more than a little unbalanced. 

“I just feel like it’s a lot to ask,” Oscar says. “I mean, we’ll have to pretend like we’re in love and shit.” 

Lando laughs. Bright and honestly amused. “According to the internet, we already are.” 

Yeah, Oscar knows. He’s seen all the memes. The heart eyes. The Zendaya laugh. The wanting of Lando’s “cookie”. Whatever that actually meant. 

He’s seen how the internet scoured up his old likes. His tweets to Lando before they’d ever even met. 

It’s stupid. Before this kiss, Oscar could say he was just looking at Lando. How he looks at anyone. 

And yeah, Lando’s funny. He makes Oscar laugh. It’s fine. It’s all fine. 

“I’m more than aware,” Oscar says. 

“Then it seems we can just act like normal,” Lando says. “Nothing really has to change. We’ll just, I don’t know, pretend we’re spending free time together or something. We can play padel and stuff. Oh my god! Or I can finally take you golfing with me.” 

Oscar tries hard not to roll his eyes. He hates golf. 

As a pretty boring white guy, even he can admit that’s a boring white guy’s activity. 

Not to mention, Carlos would probably be invited. 

Who Oscar is ok not spending his free time with. 

Or Max Fewtrell. 

Who Oscar actually likes most of the time. But as Lando’s little pet best friend, he doesn’t think he’d like Oscar around very much after 2025. 

“We’ll see on the golfing,” Oscar says, ignoring how Lando’s face lights up at him being open to it. He sighs. “Seriously, though. I don’t want to ruin your life, Lando. You don’t have to do this for me.” 

“I know,’ Lando says, smiling at him. “I want to.” 

“Ok,” Oscar says. “I owe you my life. Even if this is like actually crazy for us to do.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Lando says. “Actually, just don’t crash into me. Maybe let me through on a race or two.” 

He’s joking, but Oscar feels like he may actually need to. 

“Plus,” Lando says. “It’s not cool to be outed and stuff. Or just face that shit. Not in F1.” 

“Yeah,” Oscar says. “I mean. I haven’t even really… I’m not out or anything. I’m uh, bi? I think?” 

“You think?” Lando asks. 

“Well, I mean,” Oscar says. “I haven’t like done anything yet. So, it’s a bit hypothetical. Like, I haven’t put it into practice.” 

“Hm,” Lando says. “Is that why you and?” 

He trails off. Right. The breakup. Something that had rocked Oscar’s world for the better part of last year. As disappointing as it was freeing. 

“Yeah,” Oscar says. “I just needed some space to figure it out. I mean, we’ve been together since school, so I haven’t been able to have time to like actually know what I want. But, I’ve never really done anything with a guy.” 

“Until now,” Lando says. A little smirk forming on his face. “Wow, I’m Oscar Piastri’s first gay kiss.” 

“Oh jesus,’ Oscar says. “What about you?”

“I’m open,’ Lando says. “No definition or anything. Honestly, haven’t really thought much about it. Not too bothered by people thinking I’m gay or bi or whatever. Obviously.” 

He shrugs, but Oscar thinks there’s something else hiding behind his easy demeanor. He’s not in the position to press right now, though. 

“If you mean doing bits with guys,” Lando says. “I haven’t done anything either. I mean, like Max and I’ve kissed once as teens. Just to see if we were gay. But it didn’t really do anything for me. Think that was more of a Max thing than a boy thing, though. Oh, and I’ve kissed you now.”

Oscar’s cheeks burn. 

“Ok, right,” Oscar asks. He licks his lip. Picks at the skin around his thumb. “I really don’t want to fuck up your life.” 

“You’re not,” Lando insists. “Might be a little more difficult. But, that’s life, ain’t it?” 

Oscar really does roll his eyes. “You and that phrase.” 

“Well, it is life isn’t it?” Lando says. 

This is not life. Not for normal people whose brains work. It’s just Oscar’s life whose body and brain decided it needed to fuck up his entire life and enter into a fake relationship with Lando fucking Norris of all people. 

“If that helps you,” Oscar says. 

“It does,” Lando says. “None of this will matter when we’re dead anyway.”

Lando’s saying that, but they’re about to become the first gay or bisexual or whatever out drivers on the grid. Maybe it won't matter when they’re dead, but it will right now.  

Lando sighs. “Besides, it’s a good excuse for me to break up with Maria.” 

“Who the hell is Maria?” Oscar asks. 

“This girl I’ve been seeing,” Lando says. “I don’t know. She’s cute, but she thinks I travel too much. And all my friends don’t like her. A bit clingy too, but only when there are cameras about.”

“She portuguese?” Oscar asks, already knowing the answer. 

Lando scoffs. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything. Anyways, I’ve been debating breaking it off. If she hasn’t seen the kiss already, then I’m sure this’ll be a good excuse.” 

“Won’t she think you’re cheating on her?” Oscar asks. 

“Well, we’re not really exclusive,” Lando says. “Plus, I think she has a second boyfriend in Lisbon. Peter or something.”

‘Maria and Peter,” Oscar says. “How biblical.” 

“That’s true,” Lando laughs. “Plus, our names don’t go together as well. Laria. Mariando. They don’t work. Not like ours. Landoscar. That’s a good couple name. Better than Kewis.” 

“Mate, no one was calling them Kewis,” Oscar says, shaking his head. Only, he would somehow find himself with this ridiculous of a fake boyfriend. 

“Oh,” Lando says suddenly. “We’ll have to cut the mate out, won’t we?” 

“C’mon,” Oscar says, leaning back in his chair. He notices his cheeks kinda hurt from smiling. The worry from earlier falling to the back of his mind. Sitting here and shooting shit with Lando. “You don’t think we’d call each other mate still? If we were dating.” 

“Not were,” Lando says. “We are now. Fake dating, at least. But, I’m a pet name guy.” 

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Oscar asks dryly. Lando fake scoffs. 

“Please,” Lando says. “You telling me you didn’t call your ex any pet names?” 

Oscar did. But they were far and few between. They had been in love. But neither of them was particularly the lovey-dovey type. Oscar did all the normal shit. Flowers. Opening the door. Hand holding. But they’d only gone as far as calling each other love. Pretty tame. 

He imagined that Lando liked all sorts of things that Oscar wasn’t used to. 

“We weren’t that type of couple,” Oscar says instead. 

“Well, I am,” Lando says, almost like he’s proud of it. “I guess you can call me Lando or whatever.”

He rolls his eyes like Oscar calling him by his name is absolutely stupid. 

“I’d prefer it.” 

“Fine,” Lando says. “But you won’t be too bothered if I call you by one?” 

Oscar shrugs. “I guess not.” 

“Cool,” Lando says. “We should probably get the rest of the team then. Let them know we’re actually a happy, in-love couple.” 

Oscar scrubs at his face. “I’m gonna throw myself over a building.” 

Lando laughs as he stands. He places his hand on Oscar’s shoulder as he moves to the door. He squeezes his shoulder. 

It reminds Oscar of Hungary. When Lando gave up the win. Let Oscar pass. Even as pissed as he was. As unhappy with the team. He congratulated Oscar. Sincerely. Like, he really was happy for his first win. 

Squeezing his shoulder and smiling blindly as he congratulated him.

Always placing the blame on the team. 

But never on Oscar. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Osc,” Lando says. “We’re in this together.” 

It’s reassuring, but it sounds more like Oscar’s in this, and he’s simply made Lando the collateral. 

-----

The plan is quite simple. 

The larger team plan is that Lando and Oscar will make a joint Instagram post. Followed by a McLaren post and press release. Then they will do a joint interview before the next race. 

At Lando’s request, Jenson Button agrees to the interview. To Oscar’s chagrin. 

Then they will go on a series of public dates between race weekends to be able to give content and make sure the public sees they are serious. 

It’s bad enough to cause a media shitstorm. Worse to do it for something that no one believes in. 

So, the PR and social teams ask them to show that they are a bit serious about their relationship. They can be mostly private, but they want to convince the public that Lando and Oscar are sincere. Secretly, Oscar thinks it’s just so they can get points for being woke or something. Supporting their little gay drivers. 

Zak is more than pleased once they tell him they are in a relationship. No longer looking at Oscar like he’s corrupted his precious boy. Instead, he works overtime. Fielding calls from the team owners and sponsors. 

The good news is that both of them are contracted for a long time and are far too good for their more conservative owners to insist they kick them out without looking like inhumane fools. 

Zak figures that they will lose some sponsors, but there are more than a few ready to take their place. Lando’s sponsors all enthusiastically agree to stay on. Happy to be a part of history is what Oscar thinks he overhears his manager say. 

Oscar’s own sponsors seem unbothered as well. Thankfully. Mark is less than enthusiastic that he’s both dating Lando Norris and choosing to come out at a podium. 

“I really don’t care what you’re into,” Mark says, although it sounds a bit like he does. “It’s just…does it have to be Norris?” 

It’s not like Oscar can say that this all happened because of Oscar’s mistake, and that Lando is fairly innocent in this. But they’ve agreed to keep the true nature of their arrangement to themselves. Well, Oscar figures probably themselves and Max Fewtrell. And Oscar does tell his youngest sister after she blows up his phone. He figures one confidant each doesn’t hurt.

Confidant. Accomplice. Same thing. 

“We just got close,” Oscar lies. He grips his phone tightly as he paces his flat. It’s a really beautiful night in Monte Carlo. But Oscar feels like he’s five seconds away from going to drown himself in the harbor. “You know how it is. Stuff happens in the paddock.” 

Mark sighs. “Yeah, I know that too well.” 

Oscar has a lot more questions about that, but keeps mum. 

 Mark sighs. “Just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, Oscar.” 

Well, Oscar has no fucking idea what he’s doing. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says. 

“Alright,” Mark says, like it pains him. “Congrats, I guess. You’ve needed a pick-me-up since the breakup. Don’t really get Norris’ appeal, but whatever floats your boat.” 

And that’s that. 

Andrea works with the FIA. It’s certainly not against the rules to be gay or bi or whatever. It’s just illegal in some places that they race. 

Which seems crazy when Oscar actually takes the time to think about it. Usually, he just thinks of these countries as tracks. Not places to be in. Not places that someone lives. Just a place for him to get into the car and race. Somewhere, he knows little about besides the mesmerized curves of the track from his simulator. 

He supposes there’s a certain ignorance that comes with being straight. Something he can’t lie and say he isn’t mourning. 

Andrea confirms they’ll have high security and no issues as long as they do not talk about their relationship or be affectionate in public during those races. 

Fine with Oscar. He doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. 

Privately, he and Lando come up with their own plan. 

They agree to meet and come up with a detailed timeline of their relationship and be prepared for the questions that will come from the media. The team. Their friends. Their families. 

And they need to take a photo for their post. 

They meet at Lando’s flat, a few days after the infamous podium. Oscar’s kept his phone on DND with only his emergency contacts coming through and hasn’t dared touch any social media. 

His sister said it wasn’t bad. People were more shocked. Of course, there’s some homophobia. But frankly, there always is in F1. 

“People just think you’re cute together,” she said when he facetimed her. “Actually, most people already thought you had something going on after your breakup.” 

“Of course they did,” Oscar said. “Did you?” 

She laughed. “It was a passing thought. I don’t know. Lando’s a bit out of your league.”

Oscar rolled his eyes and gave her the finger before promptly hanging up. 

She was joking. Or not joking, but saying it in the way sisters do. Unserious, but completely cutting. 

It’s not like Oscar doesn’t know Lando’s a bit out of his league. Lando, who dates gorgeous women. Who looks at home in photoshoots and designer clothes. Who walks with the confidence of someone who’s aware he’s attractive. 

And Oscar, for all his money and fame, still struggles to dress well. To style his hair. To look good next to Lando in photos. To feel confident in himself outside the car. 

Beyond their apparent closeness in videos, he might think they’d make a bit of an odd pair if he just saw them on the street. 

Not that Lando says that. 

But Oscar wonders if maybe he’s thinking it. 

If Oscar is a dip below his usual dating pool. He’d said he was open. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have standards for the men he liked. 

Regardless of his thoughts on Oscar’s appearance, he guides Oscar into his flat with a bright, wide smile. He’s dressed casually in a tee and a pair of loose shorts.

“Hi, boyfriend,” Lando says cheekily as he shuts the door behind Oscar. 

“Hi,” Oscar says flatly, taking in his surroundings as he toes off his shoes at the door. 

Lando’s flat is nice. Unexpectedly neat and clean. Well, decorated in deep blues and dark woods. 

There’s helmets everywhere. Hung on the wall. Sitting neatly on shelves near his gaming computer. A new one, one Oscar’s never seen before, resting on the dining room table. 

If he were here under any other circumstance, he might linger. Poke around and see all the things that made this Lando’s home. 

They’re on a bit of a time crunch, though. No time is spared when it comes to building a fake relationship.

Lando leads him into the kitchen, offering him a drink. 

Oscar settles on a can of Lando’s monster. Not that there is much choice in Lando’s almost bare fridge. The true sign of a triple header. Just a few bottles of expensive flat water, one bottle of sparkling, a half-drunk Coke, and a whole pack of his energy drinks.

It’s late afternoon, but Oscar could use a bit of a kick if they’re really gonna do this. Lando is kinda enough to pour it into a glass for him. The color of it is shockingly neon. Radioactive, even. He’s never drunk it before. Wasn’t really allowed by his team since it would be strange to drink your rival’s drink. Even if it was a shared sponsor.

He sips it tentatively under Lando’s watchful eye.  

It bubbles on his tongue. The flavor is nice. Bright and citrusy. A hint of melon. The familiar aftertaste that all energy drinks seemed to have. 

“It’s good,” Oscar says, swallowing. Lando beams at him, clearly proud. 

“Thanks, Osc,” Lando says. “Alright, then. Shall we get to work?” 

Oscar nods. 

“Should we start with the selfie or the backstory?” Lando asks. He’s resting his chin in his hands and looking at Oscar earnestly. 

Where do they start? 

Where do they begin to unravel Oscar’s mess?

They have to have a backstory. A believable way to have gotten together. To have gone from simple teammates to lovers. 

To people so in love they couldn’t control their own emotions on the podium.

And all of it on a timeline that makes sense. 

He’s not even sure how they can fabricate this story. Frankly, it looks like both of them kinda suck. Oscar’s only been single for a few months. Not too short of a time to get a new partner, but certainly not a long mourning period for a 10-year relationship. 

And Lando’s just broken up with his situationship type thing. 

Sure, they weren’t big news. Mostly speculation. And Oscar’s aware Lando’s fan weren’t a huge fan of her for some reason. Frankly, he doesn’t think they’ve ever liked one of his girlfriends. 

God, he hates to think what they’ll think of this once confirmed. 

Oscar’s never paid much attention to online chatter between their dedicated fans, but he knows it’s been a bit less than friendly. 

His brain hurts. He sips at Lando’s neon monstrosity and sighs. It makes his heart pound a little. 

“The selfie first,” Oscar says. The picture should be easier. Lando’s already agreed to write the caption. 

Lando laughs. “Alright, Osc. Up you get. We need some proper lighting for this type of post.” 

He comes around the counter and tugs at Oscar’s sweatshirt sleeve like a toddler asking for it’s mother. Oscar stands and follows him onto the balcony. 

They don’t live far apart. Practically across the street, but Oscar’s flat faces the hills. Lando’s faces the ocean. A gorgeous view of Monte Carlo as the sun just begins to set over the water. The lights of the city and the marina starting up. The sun glistening across the sea. 

It’s a beautiful view. One he’s sure that Lando pays a lot for. Championship bonus, definitely being put to work. 

“Wow,” Oscar says as he stalks behind Lando. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando says. “It’s nice and all. Come here.” 

Lando situates himself against the railing. He turns and faces the view. 

Oscar’s breath catches a little. The sun shines on him, making his tan skin glow, and a halo of golden light surrounds his curls. He leans against the railing as he waits for Oscar. His shirt stretches across the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not as wide as Oscar’s, but still strong. Still firm and muscled from years of training. His large biceps pop as he rests on his forearms. 

He looks good. Gorgeous, even. 

Oscar can admit that. Can admit that his mouth waters at the sight of him, so casual and beautiful against the Mediterranean sea. Can see why he lost his mind and just had to kiss him right then and there on the podium. 

Lando looks over. Eyes bright and amused. Pink, perfect lips quirked up in a smile. “You ok?” 

Oscar nods and forces his feet to move. “How do you want me?” 

“Oh,” Lando laughs. “That’s a dangerous ask, baby.” 

Oscar’s face flushes, making Lando laugh again. 

“I-, Jesus,” Oscar says. 

“What?” Lando asks. “We might as well get used to the pet names, right?” 

“I said I wasn’t a pet name person,” Oscar tries. 

“Yeah, but I am,” Lando says simply. “And a good boyfriend would indulge me. Wouldn’t he?” 

Well.

Is Oscar a good boyfriend? He’s alright. But he supposes he can try to be a good boyfriend. If they’re doing this. If they’re gonna sell this. If he’s gonna make it up to Lando. 

Then, yeah. He can be a good boyfriend. 

“I guess,” Oscar says. Lando straightens and tugs him close. The spicy, expensive scent of him filling Oscar’s nose. It takes a lot for Oscar not to press his face into Lando’s neck to inhale straight from the source. 

“Get behind me then,” Lando says. Oscar stands behind, letting a fair amount of space sit between their bodies. 

“How should we pose then?” Oscar asks. He shoves his hands into his pockets before he does something stupid like press their bodies together and kisses him again. 

“Put your arms around me,” Lando instructs. Oscar moves slow and awkward. He wraps his arms loosely around Lando’s middle. “You’re allowed to touch me.”

Oscar’s a bit lost for words. Feeling so lost and awkward, he’s not sure what to say. 

Luckily, Lando rolls his eyes and wraps Oscar’s arms tight around his waist. Something so small and slim, Oscar’s hands twitch to grip it with his hands. 

He shuffles back into Oscar’s body, back to chest. He leans his head back, letting it rest on Oscar’s shoulder. His curls brush Oscar’s face and neck. So soft and smelling faintly of eucalyptus. Oscar keeps his head upright so as not to nuzzle into them. 

Lando pulls out his phone and opens up the front-facing camera. 

“I’m bad at this,” Lando says, adjusting the angle to get them both in. “Get in close.”

Oscar exhales deeply before leaning down a bit. Angling his face down close to Lando’s so they’re both in frame. 

Lando smiles at the camera. Oscar looks and smiles back. It’s a bit stiff and awkward. 

“Ok, well, you need to look like you love me if we want this to work,” Lando says, laughing. 

“I’m a bit awkward,” Oscar says. “People expect it.” 

“Not when you’re with your boyfriend,” Lando argues. “Especially one you’re willing to out yourself for.” 

Oscar huffs. “Sorry, it’s just different.”

Different than the usual platonic selfies they take for work. Or the softer, sweeter ones he took with his ex. He doesn't think he’s ever been this close to Lando. Well, except for their kiss. 

But most of the time, they keep a respectable distance. Always friendly, but not quite friends. A congratulatory pat on the back or dap up. The occasional hug for a great race, but nothing too close. Too intimate, like this. 

He sighs in frustration. Not at Lando, but at himself. 

“I’m just joking, Osc,” Lando says softly. “Just give me the usual heart eyes or something.” 

He makes it sound so easy. 

“But, I don’t even know when I’m doing it,” Oscar says. “Like, usually, I’m just looking at you. How I always do.” 

“Hm,” Lando hums. “Then just look at me. Don’t look at the camera.” 

Ok, Oscar can do that. He tilts his head and turns to look at Lando. Lando shifts in his hold to make room for Oscar to turn his head. His feet slip a bit, and Oscar tightens his hold on Lando’s waist to keep him upright. 

Lando’s breath hitches, loud and sudden. 

“Whoa,” he says. “Thanks, Osc.”

“Of course,” Oscar murmurs. Lando’s so warm and real in his arms. So slight, but firm. Full of lean, strong muscle. Warm from the sun and the comfort of his own home. Bathed in the light of the early vestiges of spring. 

“Hey,” Lando says. Oscar looks at him. Looks at the cute little moles framing his nose. The bump of his scar. The soft slope of his lips. The shifting blue-green of his eyes. “Just think about how uncomfortable we make Zak now that he thinks we’re sucking each other's dick in our driver rooms.” 

“Jesus,” Oscar says, a smiling blooming on his lips. 

“I’m serious,” Lando says, smiling back. He looks back at his phone. “We can just claim homophobia next time he tries to make us go to sponsor events. I’m gonna be so fucking gay in front of him now. God, I’ll never have to go to another Google dinner again. It’s fucking mint, mate.”

It’s so stupid and ridiculous that Oscar has no choice but to laugh.

Lando snaps the photo. 

----

Lando posts the selfie of them and tags him in the post. 

Oscar looks at the photo for a long time. If he didn’t know it was him. If he didn’t know them. He might think they were a real couple. Lando smiles into the camera, gap on display, eye crinkled in delight. He’s leaning back into Oscar’s hold, curls brushing Oscar’s cheek. 

It’s Oscar, though, that sells it. He’s not even looking at the camera. He’s a little blurry even in the photo, but it works somehow. 

He’s just looking at Lando. Eye crinkled, and cheeks squished up in a soft, warm smile. His mouth is close to Lando’s ear, brushing the tip of his elf-like ears. His arm is slung around Lando’s body, pulling him closer as he folds in on himself in laughter. 

He looks… happy. In love, even. Everything they’re trying to convey. 

@lando and @oscarpiastri

(Polite) cat’s out of the bag!

Been wanting to talk about this one for a while. Hoping to share many more podiums like that ❤️

It’s not a direct confirmation. But it will be. Once McLaren posts and makes their statement. Oscar’s stomach twists in nerves. 

They both agree to limit comments and close their DMs for the time being. But he can’t control the McLaren comments section. Or what the other 500-something racing accounts will post and say. He deletes the Twitter and Reddit apps from his phone before they post. He mourns his nightly doomscrolls. Still. Better to be bored as hell then self flagellate with bozos on the internet. 

Lando’s brand page reports it to their story. 

@lnfour

Mega proud of our guy(s)! Can’t wait to see them out on track next week. 💚🏳️‍🌈🏁

Oscar’s own brand account reposts it as well. But he tells his social media manager to just repost with a heart or something. She follows his instructions to a tee. 

Just a repost with a simple 🧡.

McLaren posts next. The same photo with a longer caption. A link in their story to read their statement. 

It’s done. 

Oscar locks his phone before he can see the F1 breaking graphic and collapses on his couch. He’s grateful for the week between races. Even if he’s locked up in his flat for the time being, it’s better than being looked at everywhere. Especially knowing they’ll all want to see if he’s with Lando. See how they interact. Dissect every part of their relationship. 

Discuss their sexualities in length. 

It’s exhausting. 

Oscar’s mind turns to his faux other half. 

He wonders if Lando is even half as tired and done as he is. If he’s twisting with stress and nerves. If he’s as scared as Oscar is. 

Or maybe’s he having a laugh with his friends and talking about what a loser Oscar is. 

What a freak he is for kissing him like that. 

Fuck. 

Oscar just thinks of him. 

Of Lando. 

Lando Norris. 

His boyfriend. 

Well, his fake boyfriend. 

Thinks about how he still kinda wants to kiss him. Wants to feel Lando’s body against his again. 

Pretty fucking confusing since he doesn’t even really like Lando like that. 

Right? 

Oscar groans. He grabs one of the pillows from the couch and shoves it over his face to muffle his scream of frustration. Maybe if he holds it down long enough, he can smother himself and then not have to deal with any of this. 

What the hell has he gotten himself into? 

What is he gonna do with Lando Norris as his fucking boyfriend?