Do I Know What Im Doing?

And Oscar doesn’t know where the courage comes from, maybe the fact that he hasn’t had a tongue on him in way too fucking long but…. he says, “Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect reputation by thinking you’re a liar would we?”

That’s all it takes for Lando so softly shove his chair backwards and stand.

Lando’s standing and— so is something else. Oscar thinks Lando would try to hide it but remembers how unashamedly the man walks around with his bulge out. 

And at the moment it’s not too different from his normal.

For a second they stare at each other, mostly Oscar unsure what to do.

“Come on then. Since you’re so eager to know the truth.”

Eager. The playful jab stabs Oscar and then leaks out of him, making fabric stick to him when he rises.

Not a word is said as they head back to Lando’s driver room.

Not a word is said as Lando falls to his knees, beautiful teeth shining at Oscar.

And not a word is said as Lando’s massive hands pull down Oscar’s panties—no, words are said, Oscar can just barely hear them over his own pulse.

“Fuck, Osc, I haven’t even touched you and you’re soaked.”

Oscar doesn’t care about embarrassment anymore, doesn’t care about the blush and the shaking. He needs Lando to shut up and— “You said you were gonna prove it, Lando. Can’t do that without your mouth full.”

That gets an eyebrow raise and a slack jaw out of Lando, shock.

But, it works.

Lando shuffles and wraps one hand onto each of Oscar’s thighs where they meet hips, spreading them wide. He rubs circles into Oscar’s skin and bones, getting so close air tickles his folds.

Oscar knows he’s glistening and puffy and already practically begging for it and that he should be embarrassed—he is, but it just makes him want it more.

Then, Lando plants his beautiful heart-shaped mouth that Oscar has stared at for years onto Oscar’s clit and flattens his tongue.

Lando starts moving, toying with his clit like this a game for him. It’s a balance of soft and firm, slow but paced.

It’s perfect.

And it’s making Oscar cover his mouth to prevent awful, incriminating sounds from escaping. Both hands clamping his lips shut.

Oscar’s hips try to buck up as Lando slips lower, tongue traveling down him and dipping into his hole, but Lando doesn’t allow it from the way he’s holding Oscar pinned.

A muffled ‘oh my god’ escapes Oscar by accident.

Lando hums into him in return and speeds up a little, starts using his lips to suck in all the right places.

There's too much in his stomach already, electricity building and building and building inside him. Nearing fireworks exploding in his gut. His head is fuzzy now, he can’t think—doesn’t know what noises could be coming out of him, doesn’t know what Lando is doing anymore.

He’s close, so close. He needs just a little longer, just a little more.

He’s—

Lando stops.

The man leans back in record time, hands peeling off Oscar’s sweaty legs. He can hear Lando breathing heavily, and can hear fabric ruffling.

But Oscar can't see, is frozen in place.

He was so close.

Finally, Oscar glances at Lando, at Lando and his award winning, championship winning, smile.

And Lando says, “I said a little snack, didn’t I?”

He wipes Oscar from his face.