#let-it-linger

“Osc,” he hears on the other side of the wall, Lando knocking gently against the thin divider between their driver's rooms. “You alright?” 

Oscar opens his mouth, response dying at the tip of his tongue as he whines in painful arousal. Fuck. 

“No,” he admits quietly after a minute, the word coming out in a breathy huff. He can feel tears threatening to spill over, building up in the corners of his eyes while tension begins to swirl in the valley of his pelvis. 

Lando's pushing through the door before he knows it. Pausing in the doorway to stare at the scene before him — Oscar pressed against the shared wall of their rooms, eyes glassy and distressed. 

“Oh Oscar,” he coos, gaze flickering over Oscar as if he were a distressed animal.

Oscar's not quite sure what he looks like but if he had to guess he'd say he looks nothing short of wrecked. He can feel his shorts straining against his crotch, a single tear spilling down his cheek, his face angry, red, and blotchy from the hot flashes. 

Lando takes a tentative step forward, softly clicking the door shut behind him. 

“Osc,” he starts, voice gentle in the way Oscar’s only ever heard him speak to children, “what’s wrong?”

The only response Oscar manages is a whine, dropping his head against the wall as he curls further into himself. 

“Fan— ngh, fuck.” He feels like his throat is closing in, his head spinning as all the blood in his body seems to rush south. “Fan gift,” he finishes, nodding his head in the direction of the sleek black box sitting on his desk. 

Lando furrows his eyebrows in confusion, following Oscar’s gaze. He lets his eyes flick back to Oscar, stepping further into the room and picking up the box to inspect it. 

“Think ‘s cursed or som’thin’,” Oscar slurs, squeezing his eyes shut as he fights the urge to shove his hand down the front of his shorts. 

“Unlabelled box of chocolates and you thought it was a good idea to eat them?” Lando teases, flipping the box over in his hands, leaning back against the desk. 

“Not —“ He’s cut off by another whimper, an ache running through the length of spine straight to his dick. “Not my brightest idea, yeah.” 

Oscar takes a deep breath in as an attempt to calm his erratic heart beat. His dick is aching, he can’t think of a singular moment in his 22 years on earth that he’s ever been this horny.

“Feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ combust if I don’t cum right now,” he huffs out, words swallowed by a painful whine. The back of his knees feel weak, thighs tremmoring with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Well we can’t have that can we.” 

When he manages to finally pry his eyes open, Lando is pushing off his desk and stepping closer to Oscar — caging him against the wall as he rests his hand on Oscar’s hip. 

A shiver runs down his spine. One that has nothing to do with the effects of whatever the hell was in those chocolates and has all to do with the fact that Lando Norris — his teammate and the recipient of a long time hero-worship crush — is pressing him against a wall. 

“Oscar,” Lando prompts, voice suddenly serious. “Do you want me to help you cum?”

Fuck.

Oscar all but moans, knees buckling as he feels the effects of Lando’s words travel through him. 

”Need you to use your words,” Lando emphasises with a squeeze to his hip, breath ghosting over the sweat slicked skin of his exposed collar bone. 

“Yes,” Oscar responds immediately. “Yes. Fuck, yes please.”

Lando hums, fingers dipping into the waistband of his shorts as he leans in, tilting his head up to make eye contact. 

“Tell me to stop and we stop,” Lando adds. Something in his eyes tells Oscar he’s serious. That despite the fast paced, quick fuck nature of this spontaneous arrangement he truly means it. He nods, immediately adding a breathy yes when Lando hums low and disappointed. 

Lando makes quick work of shoving Oscar’s shorts down, letting them pool around his ankles. He pauses, thumb hooked into the band of his boxers, waiting for Oscar to nod before he pushes them down as well. 

“Oh baby,” Lando coos once more, voice sugary sweet and laced with fondness. “Look at you.”

Oscar forces his eyes open, blinking several times in quick succession to rid himself of the dots framing the edges of his vision. He drops his chin to his chest, peering into the small gap between them. 

The tip of his cock is an angry red, the length of him flushed pink. He’s rock hard too, harder than he’s ever been he thinks. Precum collects at the head of it, shimmering in the harsh over head lighting — glossy, pink, and desperate. 

Lando’s tanned fingers splay over the pale milky skin of his waist, thumb gently caressing the divot of his hipbone. 

”You gotta be quiet f’r me,” Lando mumbles, waiting for Oscar to nod before wrapping his fingers around the base of him. 

Oscar’s jaw goes slack, a moan dying at the back of his throat as he forces himself to stifle it. His vision goes white, eyes closing without meaning to. 

Lando rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the copious amounts of precum and spreading it along the length of him. He pauses, giving Oscar a second to get used to the feeling and quiet any other moans that threaten to spill over. 

Lando brings his unoccupied hand up, hovering it an inch away from Oscar’s mouth, waiting for him to nod before pressing it against him, an extra precautionary measure to ensure Oscar stays quiet. 

“Tap me twice if you want to stop, yeah?”

With a final nod, Lando starts moving his hand up and down. Slow at first, collecting more slick with every pass over his tip. After a minute of this, he speeds up, gently tugging up and down Oscar’s length. 

Jesus, he’s about two seconds away from the edge all from a two minute handy and some continued consent. 

Silently, Oscar whimpers behind Lando’s hand covering half his chin. His hips buck erratically, meeting Lando’s hand halfway. 

Lando hums in satisfaction, keeping his rhythm steady, leaning forward and resting his forehead into the crook of Oscar’s neck.

“That feel good?” He whispers against the shell of his ear. “God you’re so wet, leaking all over my hand. Kind of pathetic don’t you think? I mean, it’s just a handy and you look like you’re about a second away from cumming.” 

Oscar can’t help the whine he lets out, louder than any of the ones before, his hips faltering at Lando’s words. 

“Jesus Osc,” Lando exhales, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Are you really? Close I mean?”

Oscar nods pathetically, eyes slipping shut once more as he nears the edge. 

“God that’s hot,” Lando mutters to himself, squeezing the base of Oscar’s cock as he continues to stroke him. Oscar’s vision goes white, jaw slack against the palm of Lando’s hand. 

His orgasm hits him like a freight train, tipping him over the edge before he even knows he’s at it. Lando continues to stroke him through it, grip loosening — slowing and eventually stopping once Oscar begins to whine at the overstimulation. 

Lando draws his hand back, letting the one covering Oscar’s mouth move to cup his jaw instead. Oscar continues to breathe heavily, shoulders dropping as he falls forward against Lando’s chest. 

“Shhh, it’s ok,” Lando whispers, grimacing as he holds Oscar’s hip with his cum slicked hand. “I got you. I got you.”

Oscar hums, eyes slipping shut as the familiar wave of post orgasm exhaustion washes over him. 

Lando lets them sway like that for a minute, brushing his thumb over Oscar’s cheek, giving him the time and space to cool down from the heightened experience. When Oscar eventually grimaces at the cooling cum against his waist and the sweat dripping down his spine, Lando shifts them once more. He steps back, tilting Oscar’s jaw to look at him. 

“You ok?” He asks, voice soft and light. Oscar hums, too tired to thinks of the implications of his teammate giving him a fucking handjob in his driver’s room all becasue he was stupid enough to eat something from a fan. 

“Ok,” Lando nods, thumb brushing underneath Oscar’s tired eyes. “Gonna clean you up now, yeah?” 

Oscar hums in acknowledgement, stepping out of his shorts and letting Lando guide him into the adjoined bathroom. Lando sits him down on the closet toilet seat, making quick work of rinsing his hand and wetting the edge of the hand towel. He runs the cloth over Oscar, purposefully gentle with his still sensitive cock. When he’s done he wrings the towel out, doing his best to get rid of any residual cum. 

Lando moves around him with ease, moving through the room as if it were his own. He steps back into the small bathroom holding a new pair of shorts, a shirt, and a pair of boxers that definitely don’t belong to Oscar. 

“Get changed,” Lando says. “I’ll wait for you outside. We’ve still got half an hour before fan forum.”

Oscar moves mindlessly, peeling his sweat soaked shirt off and changing into the clothes Lando brought him. 

When he steps back out, he feels a lot better than he did ten minutes ago. There’s still the lingering tiredness and ache within his core sure, but he doesn’t feel like he’s seconds away from exploding. 

“Uhh,” he shifts awkwardly, glancing towards Lando who’s sitting on the couch scrolling on his phone. “Thanks for uhh — for helping.”

Oscar feels the heat rush up his neck, painting his cheeks a deep shade of red. What’s he supposed to say? There isn’t exactly a guide on what to do in the event that your teammate helps you get off because you were stupid enough to eat something very obviously cursed by a fan. 

“‘Course mate,” Lando replies, his own cheeks flushed red. “I mean, still pretty stupid of you to eat the chocolates,” he adds grinning through it. 

“Fuck off,” Oscar drawls, laughing despite himself as he falls into the couch next to Lando.