#emptyhalf fic

If Lando's absolutely honest with himself, which he tries to be, he knows what a catastrophically bad idea it is to be shoving his tongue down Oscar's throat in the Bahraini royal palace. But then, Oscar's s'posed to be the sensible one, isn't he? And he's just pushing his tongue right back into Lando's mouth and moaning and stuff, so.

It's all very distracting because Oscar gets a bit desperate, a bit teenage still, does all this grinding and putting his thigh between Lando's. It's a good job they didn't bother to change into suits, still in team gear because this'd cause Lando's tailor a right headache,

Having drunk their combined bodyweight in champagne is maybe making them a bit stupid. Having made it to the end of the season even moreso. Having won. Having done it together.

If Lando's absolutely honest with himself about that last bit, there's something different about doing it with Oscar. Not how obsessed he is, there's plenty of the internet willing to remind him he was that way about fucking Carlos but how good they are together. How they're perfectly in sync, always a counterweight to each other to get the right balance. How Oscar makes him feel a bit crazy sometimes and think about soulmates and so on.

The guy in question makes a soft "oof" noise and Lando realises he must have shoved Oscar into the wall a bit forcefully or something, getting too into it. Sometimes he wants too much, needs to climb inside Oscar or something.

It only becomes apparent Oscar was reacting to something else when someone clears their throat right behind Lando, making him jump forward and actually push Oscar into the wall.

"Mate, careful on the ribs." Oscar puts his arms around him, protective, anyway.

"Who's-" Oscar's being astonishingly chill about being caught humping each other, even by his standards. It takes Lando a second to twist round enough he spots it's Andrea who's interrupted them.

"Don't let me stop you, boys." It's weird how Andrea drunk sounds a lot like regular Andrea, not the way Lando turns all gargly and can't get his words out. "It's good to see you working together, still."

"Yeah but," Oscar pulls Lando closer again. "Probably shouldn't do it like, out here."

"No, that is true." Andrea steps back a little. "But there are plenty of rooms that are more private."

There's some of Oscar's saliva still on Lando's lips. It's a bit different to his own, somehow, when he has to lick it off. Has to drag his feet out of where they're tangled with Oscar's to follow Andrea and like, maybe this is weird?

A glance at Oscar shows him looking nonchalent enough, like heading off to let their team principal watch them make out with each other is normal. Maybe it is. Maybe this is just what happens when you win the constructors' and Lando just didn't know about it.

The thought of Mark and Sebastian making out for Christian is horrible but very believable, after all.

"Osc," he's trying to be quiet, have a quick chat before they get to - wherever they're going - and work out what the gameplan is, here. Problem is, he's had a lot of champagne so it comes out louder and squeakier than he expected when Lando manages to choke out "what are we gonna do, then?"

"Dunno mate, probably the usual." That could be anything. Literally fucking anything. Oscar tied Lando up and ate him out until he cried, in Brazil.

"Nothing wild," Oscar reassures, tangling their fingers together. It's nice, safe. Bit romantic. Oscar's a bit that way, likes to buy silly little things to tell Lando he loves him and things like that.

"And he'll just... be there?"

Oscar squeezes his fingers. "Guess so. He's got us a good car, mate. Good team. Think it's fair."

That's reassuring, somehow. That this is McLaren business. Just team stuff. That's alright, safe, whatever passes as normal for them.

"Hmm, here looks good." Andrea pushes open a door. "Easy to lock and there is space for you."

It's a big room. Not really a bedroom, maybe a lounge or something - there's a big sofa with two armchairs facing it, across a coffee table.

Lando has the mad thought that Zak could have been in the other one. Is suddenly very glad he isn't.

"C'mon," Oscar pulls them down onto the couch while Andrea's still checking the door. It's one of those fancy sort of velvet and gold things, in dark green. Jizz will stain like a crime scene on it but that's probably someone else's problem.

Oscar's hand is in Lando's jeans almost unnaturally fast, where he's lying back with Oscar propped above him. It's nice, always nice when Oscar uses his hand on him but Lando'd got a bit worked up earlier, wants something else.

"Let me," he flips them over, so he's on top of Oscar. "On your thigh, yeah?"

"Oh, alright." Maybe Oscar assumed Lando wouldn't do anything as pathetic as rub off on his thigh in front of Andrea but, well, in for a long contract. They can try and be more impressive next year.

Not that Oscar's much better. They both just about have the presence of mind and coordination to get their shorts and jeans off, boxers too and then it's just their warm skin against each other. Both their dicks rubbing a bit, like a hug. They kind of both smell but in a nice, human sort of way.

Oscar's dick is velvety against Lando's. It's such a good cock, Lando loves putting it everywhere. Wants to have it inside him for at least a day in the off season - mouth, arse, everywhere. Joined to Oscar so he can't leave, won't fuck off to Red Bull because Lando's a mardy bitch or whatever the media's saying this week.

It makes him whimper a bit, thinking about not having Oscar. Has to lean down and kiss him and claw at his biceps, try to find a nipple through his team shirt. Oscar's are kind of hidden, never standing up like Lando's always are but when he rubs them Oscar makes his noise and shudders, every time. Leaks a bit, if they're far enough along. It's so hot.

Oscar's so hot, really. Lando's aware the bloke's obsessed with him, which is kind of weird of Oscar, really but he can't pretend he's not the same. It's just that he's so interesting. All these specific bits, like his fat arse and his big, hairy thighs and the calves Lando presses up against when he's blowing him, all strong and things.

His tiny waist, the way his pecs are almost like boobs and Lando can properly get comfy to sleep on them. His big, strong arms and his delicate hands, long nails that feel good when he taps them on the head of Lando's dick. The way his core's so strong he's moving them even while Lando's getting uncoordinated, distracted.

Oscar holds him so easily, hand on Lando's arse to keep him where he wants him and the other on his thigh, helping the rhythm of where they're rubbing off on each other. It's so nice, feeling so supported, so he can relax against Oscar and make out with him like he's trying to get the air out of Oscar's lungs.

Oscar'd let him. Lets Lando do anything, really. Even the time he'd taken so long opening him up Oscar was wet and easy to fuck all day, loose from four of Lando's fingers.

It's a good memory, makes him hiss into Oscar's mouth. Bending Oscar over on the kitchen counter just so Lando could look at what he'd done to him. Not letting him put on boxers all day, just one of Lando's t-shirts so his hole was like, all exposed to the air and stuff. So fucking hot, Lando's going to-

"Mmf," Oscar doesn't, like, bite Lando's tongue or something but it was probably a near miss. Then he's coming, too, though, so that's alright - they're always close together.

It's so good, holding each other, after. Oscar kisses Lando's forehead and Lando strokes the tingly bits on Oscar's neck that always seem to draw it out a bit for him, make him go all floaty. Especially if Lando kisses them, puts his mouth just below Oscar's ear and even just breathes on the soft skin there.

"Well done, boys-" fucking hell, he forgot Andrea was even there. "You perform so well together, as always."

"Fuck," Oscar tilts his head back, panting, like he'd forgotten Andrea was there, too. "Err, thank you?"

"I will leave you to it." Andrea stands up, brushes down his chinos. There's an unmistable tent in them. "You should find some time to relax, it has been a long day."

Oscar properly laughs at that, scrunching his face up before flopping back into the cushioning. It's cute, makes his chin stand out somehow. Lando wants to bite it.

"Let's - let's just. Clothes, yeah?"

"In a minute." Lando does bite his chin, just a little bit. "Boss said we've got to relax, mate. Don't wanna start doing bad teamwork now."

It wasn't like there was a seat for him in F1 anyway, so in a way it was the perfect timing. If you overlooked getting his once-a-year drunk in Abu Dhabi and forgetting to take a pill right before getting on fucking Lando Norris' knot, of all people.

His management had been keen to make sure Lando was, subtly and behind a lot of NDA's, forced to pay the child support. Had mumbled about even if Oscar's career was ruined, he'd be taken care of for life at least.

And he genuinely believes he will be, just not quite in the way they'd been imagining - cold legal documents and transaction records. Instead, Lando's holding him round his shoulders while Oscar keeps a tight grip on Albert, trying not to let the generalised anxiety of bringing their kid to the paddock get above base levels, even as the cameras flash.

When Lando'd set up the meeting with Zak Oscar had nearly started a fight about it, insisting he could find his own seat, had his own seat, if he waited for it.

"Yeah but," Lando had argued. "Danny's leaving, isn't he? And I know you're good, I don't want some shit teammate."

"Besides," Lando had leaned in close, breath hot on Oscar's ear. "You'll get all mardy if there's another omega in the garage. They're talking to Yuki."

They probably weren't. But it was enough to check the baby monitor and drag Lando to bed for some reassurance that he was definitely Oscar's alpha. And it would make things pretty convenient, both being on the same. team.

Two seasons in it's still pretty convenient. Being able to nest together between sessions, leave Albert babbling at their families in hospitality, keep each other together, keep what they have safe.

Some of the time, at least. The press, unfortunately, cannot be accounted for.

"Is your daddy going to win the title?" It's a photographer Oscar doesn't like in the first place, braces to move them on from this impromptu photocall and feels Lando do the same, next to him.

Albert, definitely a mix of both of their genes, seems less fazed. Glaring out from under his mop of curls, replies in a toddler deadpan. "Yeah. Both of them will."

There's a chorus of 'aww's and Oscar decides it is time to move it along, picks Albert up onto his hip and feels Lando scoot round to be the other side, hemming their child in from any other paddock freaks.

"We can't both win the title, champ." Lando says it gently, like he's trying to explain something he's worried Albert's going to get upset about.

Their child just shrugs, clinging close to Oscar as though he's sleepy. "Have to learn to share."

When it happened to Lewis and Charles, back in China, there's no way Oscar can imagine Ferrari having been so thorough, so genuinely apologetic. If he lets himself get into some really deranged imagination then the classic "we are checking" is the response he'd expect.

So, it's good. That Andrea actually cares. Seems to be taking it more like a blow to his own title hopes than either of theirs, even though the constructors is all wrapped up already.

"This isn't our fault, though, yeah?" Lando looks like his hands are twitching to get the fabric of his hoodie sleeves in a stranglehold. Like he's trying not to seem desperate.

Oscar doesn't even know what he's worrying about. He's had weeks of freedom, Baku having locked up Oscar's hopes.

"Of course not, no." Andrea says it softly, reaching out a hand to each of them, soothing thumb-strokes down their biceps.

"So you're going to let us out, yeah?" Lando's not got any gum in his mouth, for once, which makes it more obvious than usual he's swallowing around emotions.

"Oh, boys." Andrea sighs, genuinely sorry about this, too. "We cannot. You know the rules, if you fall backwards in the title then we cannot give you the keys."

It's not really a problem. Oscar's learned to come in the cage. There's only two more races, Oscar's waited this long, if the howling pit of disappointment in his stomach hasn't swallowed him yet then he's sure he'll survive.

Lando, on the other hand, wants things on a scale Oscar struggles to feel, now.

"Please," the big, watery eyes won't work on Andrea but Lando's trying them anyway. "Please, we would have got good results-"

"Lando, please. There are no theoretical points. You will just have to wait until Qatar."

Lando sniffles about it, tries a few more whiny attempts at bargaining, goes to talk to Jon at one point to try and claim he has a medical issue. Oscar's left with the satisfaction of not embarrassing himself about it, at least.

Surely you haven't got him so whipped you don't even notice when he's switching nationalities for you yet?

And no, yeah, she does. Notice it. It's not like Valtteri or whatever, becoming an honourary bogan. Lando couldn't pass for Aussie to save his fucking life, he's possibly never (at least as far as Oscar can tell) experienced "chilling out" and throwing a shrimp on the proverbial barbie would have him shrieking.

But Lando's started deliberately checking on Australian sports. He clearly has no idea what most of them are but makes an effort to natter to her about them, when they're wasting time in their driver room and both in danger of getting antsy before whatever media drivel they're scheduled into.

He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for, generally but especially when it comes to something he's concentrating on. Lando knows more about Australian politics than she does, now. Has views about wildlife conservation Oscar tries to keep up with, endorse the wildfire prevention and recovery fund the Quadrant outback drop donated to.

He even googled foods from Melbourne and discovered pigs in blankets is something they're both easily into eating a secret box of, smuggled from Tesco to the weird little flat they sometimes stay in in Woking

Think that's for Keegan not me dude

This time Logan takes no time at all to send back lmao and as if followed by never change Oscar.

She just sends back I really do hate those sunglasses, they make him look like Alonso before we were born. Lando's style is his own business but Oscar reserves the right to take the piss out of it when he deserves it. And only abuse the media team's access to Getty Images a bit when he wears something really hot into the paddock.

"Wow, harsh," the man in question declares, reading over Oscar's shoulder. "I think they're quite cool."

"You think clubbing is cool." She rolls onto her back, lets him snuggle down on top of her. They probably ought to get dressed soon, for the jet back from Ibiza. If they're late they might get sent to fucking Marseille again and as wank as it is having complaints about private jets, Oscar's not keen to repeat that.

Making a woman wait 10 hours for her post-win fuck is inhumane, no matter the mode of transport.

"Yeah." Lando sounds oddly melancholy about it, makes her tighten her arms around him and leave a space for him to carry on his sentence.

It's a few long beats before he does. "Prefer just hanging out with you, though."

They've talked about this, that they're becoming a bit insular. Don't spend as much time with their other friends, doing their separate hobbies, as they used to. It's rare Oscar wakes up without someone who loves her, understands her instantly, in the same bed.

It's not a bad thing. Or at least, it shouldn't be. People on TikTok make out like they're never apart and body language freaks on YouTube say they're tired of each other but they're not. The more time they spend together, the easier it is. The harder it is to imagine how they exist apart.

Just as well, really, if they're getting married. Makes her bundle Lando up against her, like even imagining what separating them would be like is a thought crime she needs to protect him against.

It's pretty sweet, being Oscar Piastri, this time.

"I don't want to take the plug out," Lando mumbles into her armpit. "Do you think it'll set off the scanner things?"

Probably not. Silicon isn't metallic and they're not likely to cavity search him.

"Won't you be all," she tries to gesture what he's like when he's wriggling. "On the plane."

Lando thinks about it for a second, then tucks himself into her, looking dangerously like he's about to fall asleep. "Nope. Not if you cuddle me."

"I'll take it out when we get back to the flat." She has no idea if he'll last that long or get squiggly and end up doing away with it in the tiny bathroom on the jet.

"You can put something bigger in." Lando's hand engulfs hers, where he wraps them together but Oscar can get the jist of what he's asking for. Kisses his hair, to hide how much she's squeezing her thighs together, wet and hot at just the thought.