#liqfic

He hits his face again, the relentless cold sting shooting down his spine.

Finally, Oscar sighs and turns off the tap before standing upright, flicking water away from his face in lieu of a towel. It drips down to the collar of his shirt, stark against his overheated skin. He presses his back against the sink, waiting. "What do you want?"

He mumbles again, eyes locked on Oscar's and unreadable. Glassy and unfocused, yet somehow pleading, somehow shocking in their need. It would push him back if he wasn't already pinned by the counter, the intensity of Lando's hazy... whatever.

"–at th'bar," Lando's slurred speech almost carries over the thrumming bass, lids dropping – heavy.

He takes another uneven step, halfway towards where Oscar waits, frozen. Lando's skin tingles from the weight of his gaze – bright from the water, droplets clinging to his lashes like tears, like champagne.

Lando can almost feel it pounding against him, the hot rush of countless bottles of champagne soaking him to the bone, running down his spine and pooling in his collarbones, running down his neck like the water on Oscar's skin slowly gliding down, down, disappearing under his shirt.

"What?" Oscar asks, almost snaps, as Lando's eyes drop to his neck, to his chest.

As Lando tries to drop to his knees, eyelids fluttering closed.

Pulled by instinct, Oscar surges forward – wet hands gripping Lando's upper arms, heaving him back to his feet. "What the fuck are you–"

"Jus' wan'you to lemme..." Lando trails off, not trying to escape Oscar's grasp. Oscar doesn't try to let him go.

The only signs that either of them can still move is his racing heart, beat outpacing the music seeping in through the bathroom walls, and Lando's lashes brushing against his cheeks as he blinks. Slowly. Lazily.

"You done?" Oscar finally asks, hesitantly unclenching his fingers. He takes a step back, suddenly desperate to break whatever just happened. "D'you want me to go find–"

Lando smiles, that dopey one he gets when he's too far gone, and bends his knees again – ready to let himself collapse to the ground at Oscar's feet.

"Christ!" He yells, frantic eyes darting to the bathroom door as he grabs Lando again. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" His hearts in his throat, suffocating him alongside the smell of Lando so close – sweat and vodka and the cologne he always wears, sharp and musky.

He's warm in Oscar's hands, head rolling limply as Oscar shakes him.

"Seriously, mate, s'not the place to play games. Someone could see–"

"Wanna buy you a drink," The words blur together, soft despite the confusing edge in Lando's eyes when they meet.

"Fine, fine, we can–"

"Wanna–"

"Lando, just stand up. We can go to the bar–" Lando grows heavier, mumbling to himself. Alarms sound in Oscar's mind, deafening.

"–like we were s'posed to, like." His knees go slack again, dead weight in Oscar's grasp.

"No! Lando, no, seriously, don't..." Panicking, incredibly aware of what this looks like – Oscar, too wet for normal circumstances, clinging to his ragdoll of a teammate – he all but drags Lando into an an open stall.

Lando careens into the wall, massive hands splayed against it to catch himself. Oscar slams the door closed, locking it and pressing his back against it with an exhilarated huff.

He's on his knees before Oscar can process what's happening, his deep sigh of relief the clearest thing he's said since he interrupted Oscar's pity party. But he's stolen Oscar's breath in the process, lungs frozen still as Lando looks up at him – lips parted like a silent prayer, eyebrows drawn together in an attempt at rapt focus.

It hurts to swallow, his throat gone so tight that he hardly manages it. His heart takes up too much room in his chest, painfully fast and making it's presence know; he can almost feel it beat against his spine, reverberating against the bathroom door as Lando stares up at him, as he blinks that slow, catlike blink.

"S-stand..." Oscar's voice shakes, eyebrows shooting up as Lando shuffles closer – a golden tan hand reaching out for him, wrapping around his thigh.

It covers so much of it, searing hot palm heavy against his jeans, sprawling fingers digging into his flesh.

Oscar, slack-jawed and dry-mouthed, wonders if it could bruise.

"Wanted you to win..." Lando sighs, tipping forward – pressing his cheek against Oscar's inner thigh, nuzzling against him like a cat. "Wanted, hm..."

Oscar's so warm against his face, denim somehow soft and thigh malleable under his grasp. And he's looking down at Lando, Lando's looking up at him, and he's beautiful. His skin glistens and flushes, spreading under his eyes and the high points of his cheeks just like it would under the lights, on the podium, just like Lando wanted to see. He wanted to drench him, wanted Oscar to laugh, wanted to feel like it was theirs just as much as it was his, wanted–

He wanted it to not matter between them, for Oscar to win right alongside him because he deserved it.

He wants him.

Lando's other hand wanders up to Oscar's hip, fingers spreading wide to feel more of him – pushing up his shirt a little, shuddering at the hot shock of skin underneath.

"Wan' you, want you so bad..." Lando keeps going, speaking to himself as he straights his back, as he moves his face further up Oscar's thigh.

He can't move, pinned so entirely by the weight of Lando's hand devouring his hip, the weight of Lando's eyes when he looks up: wet at the edges, desperate. It goes right to his cock, somehow already aching by the time Lando reaches it – finally shutting up enough to press his mouth against it, hot and plush.