#lis.fic

So now Oscar is using his new key to come grovelling for ramming into Alex and ending his race. No matter that he already apologized right after the race, via text but only for lack of opportunity. By the time Oscar had finished his own Sunday - pointless as well - Alex had already been done with media and barricaded himself in his driver's room, busy leaving Oscar on read.

So, that's how they get here: Monday evening. Oscar, lingering sheepishly in the entry way. Alex, on his back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, feeling all sorts of conflicting things.

“Is it alright that I used the key?” Oscar says.

Alex shrugs. “Sure. I didn't say it was for emergencies only or anything.”

“Feels like an emergency anyways.” Oscar's voice is closer now. Alex can see him moving closer out of the corner of his eye.

“Me being mad at you is an emergency?” Alex says. It's supposed to be a joke, mostly, but-

“Yes,” Oscar says plainly and Alex finally squints against the overhead light to look at him. There's a smile tugging at the corner of Oscar's mouth, but his eyes are serious.

“I'm not actually mad at you. You know that, right?”

Oscar shrugs. “Figured it was worth checking.”

Alex sighs. Honestly, what is he supposed to do with this guy. “Come ‘ere,” he tucks at the corner of Oscar's shirt until Oscar lays down half on top of him, half squished between the couch cushions and Alex's hipbone.

“Ouch,” Oscar huffs and wriggles until he likes his spot, starfished and one leg between Alex's. He's like a dog sometimes, like this.

Alex lets his hand card through Oscar's hair. It's dry and knotted. Airport hair, surely.

“Did you come straight here?”

“Mhm,” Oscar hums in confirmation. He's halfway to dozing already, for sure, switch turned from guarded to cozy. Like a dog.

“You know, I already told Sky that it was an unfortunate mistake. And that I don't blame you. I mean, you could've saved yourself the trip.”

Oscar's breath is tickling Alex's collarbone where he's tucked Oscar into his armpit. Slow and steady. Cool, calm and collected.

“Yeah no, I saw that,” Oscar says. “Still had to- you know. Had to make sure you weren't chatting shit.”

“Do you always check up on someone when you crash into them?” Alex gasps, fake horrified, fully over it now. “Don't tell me you turned up on Lando's doorstep like this last year.”

Oscar lifts his head, disgruntled. The hair on the side of his head that Alex has been teasing is already a mess. One of these days Alex'll get it to stand like a Mohawk, no products.

“Like what?” Oscar says and loses half the sentence in his battle with the Australian accent.

“Looking lost and apologetic and, like. Hm. Submissive and breedable?” Alex tries and gets a whack to the chest for his efforts.

“Rude,” Alex says and catches Oscar's hand in his. “First on track abuse and now, what. Domestic abuse?”

“I like the domestic part of that,” Oscar murmurs and curls his hand inside Alex's. “Sounds kinda nice.”

“He likes the domestic part of domestic abuse,” Alex whispers to the ceiling, incredulous. “Can you believe this guy?”

Oscar shakes in his arms with silent laughter. “Christ, not like that. You know what I mean.” Then he's quiet for a moment and Alex feels Oscar's hand leave his to sneak up his ribs. Splayed, possessive. He gets it. Sometimes those words shake him too, for a second. Domestic, boyfriend, emergency contact, home.

“I wouldn't, by the way. Follow up with anyone else.” Oscar's lips press to Alex's collarbone, dry and light. “For some reason I care more when it's you.”

“Jury's still out on why,” Alex says but Oscar shakes his head.

“Nah. Jury's pretty sure they figured it out.”

It's too much to do this so soon. Christ, they haven't even turned off the big light. Everything is bare and open.

Alex brings his hand back up to Oscar's head and squints against the light. “You owe me dinner,” he whispers. “I'll choose where.” Monaco is always pricey, but if Alex plays his cards right, he can really make Oscar's wallet hurt. Or at least make him pretend it does. He'll know the right moment to ask.

“In case James locks me up?”

“You never know,” Oscar says and then groans, deep and satisfying as if he's stretching out his back for the first time in hours.

Alex ponders the advantage of Oscar as a character witness when Oscar says, “I have to pee, I'll be right back.”

“Take me with you,” Alex says, without thinking. And- huh. Sure.

“What?” Oscar splutters.

“I wanna finish my story. You're no use for me as a witness, you're bad at lying.”

“I don't think you're supposed to lie in front of a court.”

Alex repeats, “Take me with you. I'm bored.”

Oscar clearly deliberates and then sighs. “Sure, why the fuck not.”

Alex slouches down further on his couch and listens to Oscar make his way to the bathroom. Exit the gaming room, turn right for two steps to move around the weird corner, then on to the main corridor. Second one to the left. The door doesn't fully close without a series of wiggling motions that Alex has down to a T, now, though he mostly just leans it shut.

Oscar doesn't close the door at all. He has no qualms about bathroom ghosts coming to haunt his balls, which is objectively crazy, so he pees with the door wide open. Still-

“I don't think I've ever really seen you pee,” Alex says. “That's weird.”

“Is it?” Oscar says dryly.

“I've seen Lando pee. And Fernando. George, obviously.”

“Two out of three of those make perfect sense to me,” Oscar says and then there's a faint rustling in the background.

“What are you doing now?” Alex asks, “Narrate it to me.”

“First, I'm taking you off speaker,” Oscar says and ignores Alex's protests, “this is fucking weird enough.”

“Urgh. Fine. Go on.”

“I'm, uh,” Oscar hesitates, now without the background noise, “I'm pulling down my pants.”

“Wow,” Alex muses, “this is the worst phone sex I've ever had.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar says but he's clearly giggling through it. Pants to his ankles. Alex can see it so clearly.

“Also I don't think it counts as phone sex as long as I haven't pulled my dick out.”

“Hm, no but I have,” Alex says, dick still in his sweatpants. He's a bad liar, too, at least for Oscar.

“Shut up. I have to concentrate.”

“Will you be fine aiming while holding your phone?” Oscar's right, this is fucking weird. Alex is having the time of his life.

“Hm.” Oscar seems to really think about it. “No, I think I'll sit down. Safer.”

“Good idea,” Alex agrees. “Hey, how many F1 drivers have you seen pee?”

Oscar is quiet for a moment, either because he's thinking or peeing.

“Maybe two? I must have, surely.” There's a longer pause. Alex is fighting not to strain his ears. “One time I peed while Caio was sitting in front of the bathroom door, but I don't think that counts.”

“You guys have a weird relationship.”

“It's not that weird,” Oscar argues. Jesus, how much pee has this guy been holding in.

“He's heard you pee and you don't know his birthday. I haven't even heard you pee.” Alex doesn't try to keep the petulance out of his voice.

“Yes, but I know your birthday,” Oscar's clearly smiling now. “And maybe I'll let you listen in next time.”

Alex pumps his fist in the air. “Yesss. Deal. Are you finished now?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says.

“You didn't wash your hands?”

A pause, then- “I mean, I'm in my own home right now …,” Oscar trails off.

Jesus. Alex throws a hand over his eyes. “I can't believe I let you touch me with your pee hands. This is atrocious.”

“I wash my hands when you're around,” Oscar protests.

“Yeah you better. You know I saw Mario Isola leave the bathroom without washing his hands once?”

“You live such an exciting life,” Oscar deadpans and oh, Alex is back on speaker now. “I gotta turn in soon, you wanna finish your story?”

Right. Alex's devious plan. “Yeah. Facetime?”

“Only if you still got your dick out.”

Alex grins. “Give me five seconds, baby.” He's a bad liar after all.