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Lando felt a bit weird for just - well, staring, frankly - over at Oscar’s form beside him on the spacious expanse of his Barcelona hotel bed. But Oscar was staring back, he didn’t call him out on it, so was it really such a bad thing?
Jeremy Clarkson’s monologue on the television was complete gibberish in the background, every cell in his body now focused solely on Oscar: on the way his gaze kept occasionally drifting down to his lips, how close he was sitting, how the hand that had been resting between them was suddenly moving to rest tentatively on Lando’s thigh.
It felt like he was swimming, almost. The anticipation of whatever the hell this was coming closer to an out of body experience than anything else. But Oscar was suddenly leaning in, just barely, slow enough that if Lando didn’t reciprocate for some reason he could have passed it off as a trick of the light.
Obviously, Lando had no intentions of doing anything except closing the rest of the distance.
Their lips met harder than he imagined they would for their first kiss, but obviously, he wasn’t complaining. The hand that Oscar didn’t have on his thigh moved up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer while Lando moaned softly into his mouth.
“Fuck, Lando,” Oscar murmured against his lips, his hand beginning to trace slowly further up his thigh.
Lando shifted his body slightly to have easier access to him before kissing down Oscar’s jaw, onto his neck, gently nipping and kissing down the column of his throat.
“Lando.”
Oscar’s voice was breathier now, his fingers twitching on his thigh before continuing to move further up, drawing a soft gasp out from Lando before he focused his efforts into sucking a small mark above his collarbone.
Finally, fucking finally, Oscar’s hand reached where he was beginning to tent the thin fabric of his shorts, and-
“Lando. We’ve marketing in a minute, you need’ta wake up, mate.”
Lando’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving slightly with every breath as he was suddenly shaken into consciousness. He tried desperately to make sense of reality, but his brain was lagging a good five seconds behind every bit of sensory intake right then, making that considerably more difficult.
He quickly rubbed his eyes with a fist before blinking up at Oscar, standing above the sofa where he was sprawled out, his hand still hovering over his shoulder like he was convinced he’d have to shake him again.
Seeing Oscar looming above him like that - his crotch too close to eye level with how they were positioned - after what had been the most vivid dream he’d had in a while, had Lando feeling an insane amount of whiplash.
And, simultaneously, terror, upon processing that he was definitely rock hard right then. He was still laying on his stomach, so at least Oscar wouldn’t be able to notice, but what if he’d been making sounds in his sleep? Or, god forbid, moving in some way? But Oscar’s face was completely flat and unaffected, if not maybe slightly annoyed at having to put the effort into waking him, granting Lando at least some peace of mind.
“Get out my room, freak,” Lando mumbled, resting his forehead back down onto the couch while he closed his eyes again.
Ironic, he thought to himself, taking in a slow, deep breath. Oscar’s the freak. Not the guy having lifelike dreams about fucking his teammate.
Oscar sighed exasperatedly. “‘Kay, well. We’re starting in, like, ten. See you downstairs, yeah?” He asked, flicking Lando’s arm, who immediately swatted his hand away blindly.
“Mmm.”
Once he finally heard the door of his drivers room shut, Lando immediately sat up, burying his head into his hands to collect himself for a moment before promptly reaching under the waistband of his shorts. Fuck being late, he wasn’t doing a marketing shoot at full mast.
The dreams were nothing new, really. He’d learned to cope with them after the first… Well, ten, probably. Being woken up from one by Oscar was definitely new, and more jarring than he could have possibly imagined, but also more than enough fuel to get himself off right then somehow.
The week leading up to Barcelona seemed to pass by entirely too quickly. Lando wasn’t particularly excited, given how many long straits the circuit contained and how little pace their cars held compared to Mercedes and Ferrari.
Not to mention, that weekend in Spain was a bit unbearably hot. Not that Lando would ever complain about it too much though, given that he had the perfect excuse to be able to wear some of the shortest shorts he owned unabashedly. He knew damn well he was fit, he figured there was nothing wrong with showing off a bit. Especially in the constantly close vicinity of Oscar. It was a bonus, really.
That being said, upon getting dressed and taking a look in the floor length mirror of his hotel room on Wednesday morning, something about his legs was bothering him in an unusual manner. The hair, he figured, unsure what else it could be. Something about how it looked over his tan skin felt wrong, too much in a way he couldn’t fully decipher. Not thinking twice about it, never having been the type of guy who shied away from modifying his body to however he felt the most comfortable, Lando did a quick Google search before making a same day appointment at a highly rated waxing salon in the area. If he hated it, it would grow back, anyway. Not the end of the world.
And, thankfully, he was right. Getting it done had hurt like a bitch, but back in his hotel room after the appointment, Lando felt entirely pleased with the difference it had made when he looked back in the mirror. How smooth his skin looked under the short, pink shorts he had on just seemed right, which was almost annoying, because now he was fully convinced this was something he’d want to maintain. Bit of a pain in the ass, but worth it, he supposed. Not to mention, it felt great - he caught himself absentmindedly running his hand over his skin the entire day.
Media the following day felt just as draining as it always did, the heat of the sun seeming to drain his energy more so than usual. But, at least it gave him an excuse to dress up a bit again. He supposed media days called for that regardless, but still. He put on the same shorts as the day before, a white linen button up, and a little more jewelry than usual - he liked how the sun reflected off the metal in photos. He wasn’t sure if it was just his ego telling him that he caught Oscar looking at him a bit more than usual throughout the morning, but the idea of it made his heart race in the best way, so he ran with the theory (if not only to give himself something to keep his head occupied throughout the seemingly endless press).
What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was to receive a text from Oscar after arriving back at his hotel room that evening.
Today 19:17
[Osco:] You busy?
19:17
It’s not like they never texted. They did pretty frequently, actually. The more time that passed as they got to know each other after Oscar first joined McLaren, the more casually and often it happened. Stupid memes, check ins, venting frustrations about their days, making plans. And while they hung out semi-frequently, it usually wasn’t until after races or during the beginning of the week. Their schedules didn’t allow much freedom, and they both valued the little alone time they got - especially on Thursdays, before the weekly scheduled shitstorm really started to kick into high gear come Friday mornings.
Not that the text had come unwelcomed, though. Lando would never turn down the opportunity to see Oscar, even as exhausted as he was.
[Lando:] Nah what’s up?
19:18
[Osco:] Cool if I stop by? My AC is being
weird and I think I’m gonna go crazy if I
stay in here lol
19:20
[Lando:] 😂 Yeah course lol
[Lando:] That sucks
19:20
[Osco:] Truly
[Osco:] Thanks, be there in a few
19:21
Lando stood up from his bed immediately, throwing the clothes scattered on the floor into a somewhat neater pile on the chair by the balcony, then promptly made his way to the bathroom to check his appearance. He brushed his hair into something a bit more presentable, reapplied some deodorant, then made his way back over to the bed. Before he could sit down though, all too quickly, the knock at the door came.
He opened it with a smile, stepping to the side and gesturing for Oscar to come in. “Fully functioning room. Make yourself at home,” he greeted him, a wide smile on his face.
“You’d think with the constructors' check last year they’d be able to pay for a hotel with working AC,” Oscar grumbled in reply, but he smiled back just as widely as he walked in, toeing his shoes off in the entryway.
Lando laughed quietly, walking back over to throw himself down on the bed again, making sure to leave sufficient space for Oscar to join him comfortably. Usually, there was some kind of planned pretense or activity when they hung out like this - he wasn’t entirely sure if it would be rude or not to go back on his phone; if Oscar truly was only over because of his AC and had his own things to do. But, thankfully, Oscar cleared that up pretty fast after leaning back against the headboard on the other side of the bed.
“Wanna watch something?”
Lando nodded as he looked over at him, grabbing the TV remote from his nightstand with a soft grunt of effort.
“Yeah, sure. The hotel channels are proper shit, though. Was lookin’ at them earlier, it’s horrible, really,” he replied with a chuckle, beginning to flick through some of their options. The room fell quiet as he continued looking, except for an occasional joking comment from one of them when something looked particularly bad. Lando wanted to eat the wicked smile off Oscar’s face.
They ended up falling on some shitty reality show; a Love Island-esque thing that seemed terrible enough to make fun of. But only minutes into the episode, Oscar was looking back over at him in silence.
Not knowing if he was trying to be subtle or not given the fact that he wasn’t saying anything, Lando looked over with his eyebrows raised slightly, only to find that Oscar wasn’t looking at his face at all. His eyes were glued onto Lando’s thighs, though he quickly looked up when he was caught.
“You shaved?” He asked casually, glancing back down just momentarily before meeting Lando’s eyes again.
Trying to ignore the way his stomach turned slightly at the fact that Oscar had noticed, he swallowed hard, nodding.
“Well, waxed, actually. But yeah.”
Oscar hummed softly in acknowledgement. “Must’ve hurt. Looks nice.”
Lando’s expression shifted for just a second, his fingers grabbing a hold of the duvet in a desperate attempt to keep himself grounded. Because, what the hell was he supposed to do with that?
“...Did a bit, yeah. And- Thanks.”
He didn’t know what to say other than that. If there was anything else to say. So, he decidedly focused his eyes back onto the TV, praying that Oscar would stop looking at him for the sake of his own sanity. The room was quiet for a couple more minutes, though Lando could still hear the loud drone of his pulse in his ears.
“Can I feel it?” Oscar asked suddenly, as casually as he’d sounded making comments about the TV show beforehand, causing Lando’s eyes to snap back over to him while his breath caught in his throat.
“Sorry?”
Surely he hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Can I feel your leg?”
Fucking hell.
As cold as his blood began running through his body, Lando tentatively nodded, figuring it would only be weirder if he said no.
“Uh, go for it.”
Oscar didn’t say anything else, simply scooting closer over so he could reach him easier. Lando felt goosebumps prickle over his skin as he slowly began to run his hand up the smooth skin of his leg below his knee, his eyes glued to the contact and his lips parted slightly. The dreams that had woken him up so many times now, sweating and hard against his mattress or drivers’ room sofa, mirrored the exact position they were in almost to a T. It was a bit of a mindfuck, really.
But Oscar’s skin was warm and delicate against his own, painfully real, undeniably there.
“‘S pretty,” Oscar mumbled under his breath, seeming almost entranced by what Lando hadn’t thought twice about after he’d left the appointment.
Lando had been called a lot of things in his life. Pretty wasn’t usually one of them. Fit, hot, gorgeous, sure - but something about the way that word melted off Oscar’s tongue had his breath catching in his throat, the firm muscles of his thigh constricting under his fingertips. If he didn’t call it quits now, clear his throat and laugh the whole thing off, he knew he was coming dangerously close to getting hard where Oscar would be unable to miss it.
Oscar finally looked back up at him at the sudden reaction, studying Lando’s face for a second - who promptly turned his head away, eyes glued to a nondescript section of the wall while his face flushed hot.
He could still feel Oscar’s eyes on him in his peripheral vision, his fingers still slowly stroking over his skin.
And, Lando knew he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t imagining things; Oscar was definitely starting to ever so slowly inch his fingers further up.
“…You like that? Being called pretty?”
Lando’s eyes snapped back over to him, his pupils dilated. Words seemed much harder than they did a couple of minutes ago.
“Depends who’s saying it.”
Oscar held his gaze for a couple more moments before dropping his eyes back down to Lando’s leg, his hand now low on his thigh.
“You like when I call you pretty?” He asked, quieter, his thumb now smoothing gentle circles into his lower thigh.
Lando quickly looked back at the TV, almost scared that if he let himself get too attached to the moment he might end up waking up again like he had the other day. Having too much hope was a dangerous, dangerous game.
But, fuck, how could he possibly be misconstruing this?
Taking in a deep, uneasy breath, Lando nodded slowly, glancing back down at Oscar’s hand on his thigh.
“...Yeah,” he replied quietly, his pulse rabbiting at the admission.
Oscar’s hand suddenly left his leg, sending a wave of disappointment through him as he looked over in near confusion. But as soon as he turned to face him again, Oscar was raising his hand to Lando’s neck instead, gently tracing his thumb over the silver necklace adorning it before taking hold of it and pulling just slightly. Just enough to bring Lando forward a couple inches, a quiet, startled noise leaving his throat at being suddenly maneuvered.
“What are you doing?” He choked out, trying to grasp onto any semblance of reality, his brain lagging drastically behind whatever the hell was going on.
“The jewelry's pretty, too,” Oscar muttered, leaving Lando’s question painfully unanswered. The distance between them, while still several inches, suddenly felt as if it had been reduced to nothing at all. Oscar kept using that goddamn word, and Lando was definitely hard now, but if Oscar had noticed, he hadn’t said anything, and-
“-Think you'd ever wear a skirt?”
Lando felt his face go red immediately.
“A skirt?”
He laughed once, nervously, his brain suddenly conjuring up images of how a short skirt would fall over his tan skin, how his ass would be visible if he bent over a little too far, how the fabric would protrude if he was hard under it.
“Would you- Want me to?”
The words left his mouth before he could process that he’d actually said them, instinctively searching for Oscar’s approval on the matter. Because, as embarrassing as it felt to be questioned about it, the thought of Oscar asking him to dress a certain way, especially like that, had his cock immediately kicking under his shorts. He’d wear just about anything if Oscar liked how he looked in it.
Not to mention, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of it. Dressing up all pretty for him - but not like how he had before, without Oscar knowing it was intentional.
Oscar hummed softly, almost in approval, before letting go of his necklace and dropping his hand back to Lando’s leg. Not where it had been before, though, the warm skin of his palm now resting high up on his inner thigh. Lando squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his lips parting, urging his body to keep still as difficult as it felt to.
“Reckon I would, yeah,” he muttered. But before Lando could even take in his words, he felt Oscar’s hand moving up again, beginning to palm ever so gently at where he was now fully tenting his shorts. He took in a strangled gasp of air while his hips pressed up into the contact, his head tilting back as he exhaled out a soft moan.
“You know you talk in your sleep, yeah?” Oscar added quietly, cruelly, causing Lando’s eyes to shoot back open in terror at the realization.
He had been wondering where Oscar’s sudden boldness had been coming from, though, so he supposed that answered that question.
“You- Fuck, that’s- No, I-” Lando found himself completely unable to get a full sentence out with the distraction of his hand still moving so perfectly against him. The humiliation of whatever Oscar had overheard felt nearly overbearing, but he supposed it was hard to care too much when this is where it had gotten him.
“Should’a heard how you sounded. Fuckin’ mental, Lan,” he replied, a smile curling onto his lips while he undid the button to his shorts. “Been thinking about how to hear you say my name like that again.”
Lando’s chest was rising heavily with every breath now, his head spinning with anticipation. He wanted more desperately, more than he wanted to win that weekend, more than he'd ever wanted anything, maybe.
“Please,” he breathed, his hips jutting up again when Oscar pulled down his zipper.
“Take ‘em off, sweetheart. Then c’mere, on my lap.”
Lando wasted no time scrambling out of the fabric - his jerky, uncoordinated movements making the task more difficult than it probably needed to be - before immediately crawling onto Oscar’s lap and bracing his hands tightly onto his shoulders.
Oscar quickly pulled Lando’s shirt up off of him before resting his hands onto his thighs again, running them agonizingly slowly up and down the smooth skin there, raking his eyes unabashedly over Lando’s form. He wondered briefly if this is what bugs felt like being studied under a microscope; if they felt the same close, intentful observation he was receiving right then.
But, he had bigger problems than bugs right then, namely that Oscar still wasn’t goddamn touching him how he needed him to.
Letting out a soft whine, Lando rolled his hips forward in search of friction, his cock straining near painfully against the fabric of his boxers.
“Say please, princess,” Oscar said softly, bringing one hand up to play absentmindedly with his waistband while he closely watched to gauge his reaction.
As he suspected, the pet name nearly took Lando’s breath away while he keened towards him - and as embarrassed as he was to start begging with no hesitation, he was nothing but desperate.
“Please,” he breathed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Oscar's shoulder. “Please touch me, please, need it. Say- Say that again.”
Sparing him, Oscar obliged, spitting into his hand before finally pulling Lando out of his boxers, giving him just one slow, firm stroke. Lando, of course, melted immediately. He didn’t try to stifle the loud whimper that left him while he pulled himself impossibly closer, inhaling deeply into the familiar scent of Oscar’s shampoo and body wash.
He chuckled softly while giving him a few more languid strokes, setting a slow pace that had Lando’s hips jutting forward into his fist in search of more, already far too needy considering how little time it had been.
“There you go, princess,” Oscar mumbled, using his free hand to cradle Lando’s jaw and tilt his head back up to meet his eyes. “Bet you’d open your legs for any guy that wanted to see that pretty cock, huh? Or is it just for me?”
Looking straight into Oscar’s eyes as he said that felt like a death sentence, his brain unable to reconcile with the fact that this was the same Oscar he’d been talking to about braking points earlier today in the motorhome. He couldn’t find his words, opting to just shake his head vigorously. Because jesus, of course it was just Oscar. It had always been just Oscar, since the first day he’d met him. Nobody that he’d slept with since then had come close to being as satisfying as even just dreams about him.
“Then say it, sweetheart. Say my name, use your words.” Oscar’s pace didn’t get any faster, infuriatingly, and Lando was pretty sure there were tears forming in his eyes with how blurry the room had gotten all of a sudden.
“Oscar,” he moaned, pitchy and broken, trying to fuck into his fist again - to little success, with the lack of leverage he had in that position. “Please, Osc, fuck.”
Muttering a curse under his breath, Oscar tightened his hand just slightly around his length, his eyes never leaving Lando’s. His pace finally quickened, leaving Lando feeling completely floaty and boneless - fully convinced that if Oscar wasn’t still holding his head up it would have fallen limp against his shoulder again without even trying.
“I’ll get you a pretty skirt to wear for me, yeah? Gonna be begging me to bend you over in it to fuck that perfect little pussy,” he murmured against his ear after leaning in, nipping gently at the skin beneath his earlobe.
Upon hearing that, picturing it, Lando was quickly sent over the edge before he could wrap his head around what was happening. He let out a loud cry while his hips stuttered into Oscar’s fist, his own voice sounding almost foreign to him with the high moans that left his throat with every breath.
Lando could’ve sworn he heard Oscar mutter ‘good girl’ as he stroked him through it, but his mind was too separate from his body at that moment to be sure if he was just hearing things. Didn’t really matter, though, because he was pretty sure he’d never come harder in his life before.
When he finally started coming back down, now leaning limply against Oscar while he tried to catch his breath, Lando was struggling to comprehend more than ever that this still wasn’t a wet dream. Oscar was slowly stroking a hand up and down the plane of his back, the other playing absentmindedly with his hair, his heartbeat pressed against his own chest serving as undeniable proof that he wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
“Was that too much?” Oscar asked quietly, seeming to have picked up on the fact that Lando was alive enough to talk again.
Lando could have laughed out loud.
“Fuck no.”
Oscar hummed softly in acknowledgement, or maybe thought, Lando wasn’t sure. But he didn’t really care, too caught up in the post-orgasm bliss and the pleasantly heavy, swimmy feeling in his head.
Admittedly, Lando was a bit of a nervous wreck walking into the paddock the next morning. It’s not that Oscar had given him any reason to think he regretted things - hell, Oscar had been the one to initiate it all in the first place - but they hadn’t talked about it since it had happened either, and the anxiety was eating ruthlessly at the pit of his stomach.
He could blame it on nerves for testing if anyone picked up on it enough to ask.
As he walked into his driver's room, throwing his bag down onto the sofa, a small black bag on the table caught his eye immediately. Tying the handles together was a pink, silky ribbon formed into a bow.
Lando immediately froze in place at the entryway.
Slowly, he approached it, his hands shaking just slightly when he finally began to undo the knot. Inside it, a neatly folded, short white pleated skirt, that made Lando’s mouth go dry at the sight of it. It was unbelievably pretty; he could only imagine the contrast of it against his tan skin, how it would fall over the curve of his ass.
More than that, though, a physical reminder of what had happened, and proof that Oscar fully intended on following through with what he’d said the night before. He ran his fingers over the fabric carefully, the feeling of the soft fabric alone making his cock twitch under his boxers.
He didn’t have the patience to not try it on then and there.
Today 10:23
[Lando:] 1 image attached
10:23