benevolent fujoshi overlord

It’s as he’s starting on round seven that he gets a text. He fumbles his phone up off the floor and thumbs it open, wincing as he fists his dick too tight. He’s sweaty all over. His thumb leaves a streak on his phone screen that makes it difficult to make out the message, but—

Are oyu  still inthe building

From Oscar. 

Fuck. Holy fuck, they’re both in here.

Lando calls him. He can’t be arsed trying to type one-handed, and his texting isn’t great on a good day. If Oscar’s fucking up one sentence, what hope does Lando have?

“Hi,” Oscar says when he picks up. His voice is shaking. Lando’s dick throbs. 

“Where are you,” Lando grunts. He hasn’t stopped touching himself, he realizes. He’s wanking, still, even as he tries to focus on Oscar’s voice, on the information that he actually really needs quite badly. It’s just—Oscar’s panting through the phone, breath stuttering, the echo of the sirens tinny down the line. Lando lets himself think for one second about Oscar, in another room in this same building, dick out and hard. The smooth pink of his skin, how he’s probably sweaty like Lando is and covered in his own nut like—

Lando groans. Comes across his bare stomach. He’d ditched his shirt an hour ago. 

“—ndo,” Oscar is saying, moaning. Saying his name, saying a number over and over that Lando has to shake his head to realize is a room. They’re on the same fucking floor. Oscar’s just down the hall.

“Don’t move,” Lando croaks. He drops his phone and bee-lines for the door, hiking his sweats up over his dick. He hadn’t been wearing underwear; it’s obscene, even to himself, the way his cock bounces under grey fabric. It feels nauseatingly good even to look at it. 

He nearly brains himself trying to get through the door down the hall. He thinks he’d tear the fucking thing off its hinges if it were locked but it’s not, thank fucking God.

And in the room, there’s Oscar. Sprawled on his back in the middle of the floor, joggers tight around his flushed thighs. His dick is hard and pink and leaking in his hand. 

“Fucking hell,” Lando says, and he’s on him in seconds. 

The first touch of skin on skin nearly has him shooting another load. Even before he can get his pants down he’s losing his mind, clawing at Oscar’s waist, opening his mouth wide to suck the sweat off of his chest. Oscar arches under him. Keens, hot lips against Lando’s ear. Lando feels him come; feels it spatter between their stomachs, cooling rapidly against fever-hot skin.

Oscar says his name again. Lando writhes out of his sweats. 

“Turn over,” he says. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. The way it comes out of him is animal, harsh as a car crash. Oscar looks up at him with blown pupils. Parted lips. Lando wants to fuck his face until he pukes. 

“Can’t,” Oscar says, and for a second Lando thinks he’s going to refuse, and for a second Lando thinks he might not care. That he might flip him over himself and do it anyway. But Oscar drags his nails in sharp lines of sensation down Lando’s back, squeezing at his lats. Lando’s cock bobs, slaps against the mess pooled on Oscar’s belly. 

“I haven’t,” Oscar tries again, breathless. “I can’t—I haven’t.”

Fuck’s sake. He hasn’t—okay. Whatever. Oscar’s a butt virgin, whatever.

“Turn over,” Lando says again, and he rears up and rolls Oscar over between his knees. 

His arse is a work of fucking art. It’s criminal that it’s never been fucked before, Lando thinks, and then startles himself by drooling about it. A long string of spit drips from his gaping mouth, runs between Oscar’s arsecheeks and over his hole when Lando spreads him open. It’s probably only because Lando’s come so recently that he has the presence of mind not to just, like. Fuck inside. He knows, from somewhere deep and far away, that that would be bad. 

As much as he wants it.

He spits again, shuffles up until his dick is nestled in the cleft of Oscar’s arse, and then manages to spit once more until everything is shiny-wet. Oscar says his name again. His nails are digging into the short office carpeting. Lando’s back twinges where he’d scratched him before—he thinks he wants more of that. He thinks he wants more of fucking everything.

He squeezes Oscar’s cheeks together around his dick and starts to fuck between them. 

He starts to moan immediately. It feels so much better this way—his skin on someone else’s skin, the heat of a body, the noises Oscar makes back at him. It’s an awful, keening feedback loop, both of them pitchy and hoarse and absolutely horrifically desperate. 

Lando thinks some of it might make it to words. Nothing coherent, just endless streams of feels so good, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck.

He comes like lightning—hard and fast. He doesn’t get soft, though. So he just keeps fucking. 

Eventually, the space between Oscar’s arsecheeks is a mess of come. Eventually, it’s so wet that it sounds like fucking a girl. Eventually, Lando pitches forward, exhausted, to bury his face in the back of Oscar’s neck. He doesn’t stop. He keeps humping Oscar’s arse, obviously, listens to Oscar’s ragged breathing. Lando thinks he might be crying. Maybe they both are.

“H-urts,” Oscar says. He’d wormed a hand under himself a couple of orgasms ago, but the carpet has to have rubbed him raw. Lando tries very hard to care. 

“S’okay,” he slurs, licks Oscar’s neck and then keeps licking. He tastes so fucking good. The salt of his sweat makes Lando’s mouth water until he’s drooling again, dripping spit down Oscar’s jaw. “You’re okay.” 

He sits back up. He’s dizzy, nearly falls over when Oscar suddenly jerks around underneath him. His dick twitches and spits just a little, just at the way Oscar looks—the raw shade of rugburn on his chest, his tight nipples, the flush of red all the way from his hairline down to where it goes purple at his dick. He’s arched up off the floor high enough that when he drops down again Lando can hear the splat of his back into the pool of spunk he’s made below. 

“Fucking sucks,” Oscar gasps, grabbing his own cock and squeezing tight. “This is fucking—fuck.” His face crumples. He comes again, shoots so hard it spatters over his chin. Lando dips. He has to lick it off. He has to. 

Somehow his tongue ends up inside of Oscar’s mouth. It’s not kissing, not really. He just chases the spit that’s already coating Oscar’s chin to its source, plunges inside to find more of it. He tastes so fucking good. The sharp edges of his teeth are bright points of pain. Oscar bites down on his tongue, and Lando tastes metal. 

He doesn’t bother pulling away when Oscar grabs at his arse. Doesn’t bother trying to resist when he feels the wet head of Oscar’s cock pressing against his hole. He’s tense all over, everywhere but there; he opens up for Oscar easily, takes him inside and starts to come again immediately. 

It gets blurry. For a while, he thinks, all he does is whine and wail into Oscar’s mouth, hitching his hips back to take it and take it and take it. Oscar comes inside him over and over until there’s nut dripping out of his hole, down the back of his tight balls. It comes to him in flashes. The feeling of being full, of being pressed to Oscar’s body, of Oscar fucking up into him rabbit-fast. 

What could be years later, Lando is upright, hands spread wide over Oscar’s chest. He’s fucking himself now. Oscar is just laying there, making noises, face wet with spit and come and tears. Lando, when he thinks about it, is exhausted. It’s the first thought he’s had in hours that isn’t about coming.

His hips slow. Oscar’s dick isn’t quite as rigid inside of him. His own cock is drooping, fat and long and wet, the tip of it dragging sadly over Oscar’s belly. The emergency lights have stopped, he realizes. The alarms have stopped. Everything is unnervingly quiet outside of their ragged breathing, the squish of their soaked skin.

Lando kneels up and rolls over onto the floor. He’s fucking exhausted. There’s an extremely distant part of him who knows how bad this is going to look—that eventually someone’s going to come into the building, that they’re going to be laying here in puddles of their own splooge when a bombsquad of guys in hazmat suits wanders in.