#ln4 fandom

On the carpet.

You hadn’t even made it ten steps past the door, before Lando’s mouth was on yours.

He didn’t even give you a second to think, let alone care about making it to the bed (or the shower, for that matter) or to process the fact that you honestly had no idea how you even made it back to the hotel room.

And it genuinely hit you only now.

What had just happened.

Now that the door was closed and the adrenaline was finally loosening its claws, you began to understand.

Lando’s hands were warm on your waist, his laugh still buzzing faintly against your lips, and for the first time, it truly sank in: you had watched him become world champion. You had stood there, helpless and breathless, witnessing that impossible, glittering moment unfold like something stolen from a dream too big for the world to hold.

Because the truth was that, when the chequered flag fell, when his name flashed next to the world champion title and the team erupted into a chaos of screams, sobs and papaya confetti, something inside you cracked open in a way you hadn’t anticipated; you felt your throat close, and your chest expand all at once.

This wasn’t just a victory, wasn’t just a title or statistic printed in history books, this was the culmination of years spent giving every piece of himself to a dream he had carried since he was a shy little boy in oversized karting gear. Years and years of heartbreak and setbacks, near-misses and doubts he only ever confessed to you in the dark, when he thought you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.

It was about a boy growing into a man who shaped his entire life around a dream that always felt almost out of reach.

And now, that one thing, that impossible, golden thing, was finally his.

His success didn’t just feel like his; it felt like yours too, woven delicately into the fabric of your shared life, into every bruise you soothed, every doubt you countered, every late-night whispered hope he dared to speak because you made the world feel safer for him.

And maybe that was why your heart felt too full now, why your whole body vibrated with warmth.

The celebrations had been a dream and they had swallowed the entire night, stretching from the second he stepped out of the FIA room to the moment you entered the exclusive Abu Dhabi club someone had reserved and booked for the occasion. And every single person around you decided that staying sober was not only unrealistic but also deeply offensive to the spirit of victory.

So you danced, wrapped around your man until your feet hurt, until sweat gathered at the base of your neck and your cheeks were sore from smiling. The team kept opening new bottles, each more unnecessary than the last, but no one cared because how could you possibly toast a childhood dream with moderation?

Now back at the hotel, hours later, at 7am in the morning, you weren’t drunk anymore. Not really, not to the point of slurred words or stumbling alone, but you were certainly far from sober; and Lando was no better, his pupils blown wide and wild with hours of celebration and disbelief, his breath warm with champagne and laughter every time he kissed you.

The stumble happened because you were both trying to walk, kiss and undress each other simultaneously, which, in hindsight, was probably a terrible plan considering the state you were in, but you didn’t begin to care.

And that's the reason why you couldn't reach the bed.

While falling, he made a sound, a delighted groan that vibrated against your lips, as he wrapped his arms around you, twisting mid-fall in this half-instinctive, half-ridiculous attempt to shield you from the impact.

It didn’t work. You still crashed onto the enormous ivory carpet in the center of the suite, bouncing once on its soft surface before settling in a disheveled tangle of limbs and stray pieces of clothing you’d somehow managed to shed along the way.

"Ooops, jeez!"

You lay there for a moment, chest heaving, hair in your mouth, dress bunched around your hips, leg thrown over his, your hand still gripping the collar of his champagne-stained shirt like you were afraid he might evaporate if you let go.

You were both laughing. So hard and loud your abs started to hurt at some point.

And it didn’t stop. Not even when he found your lips again. That’s why it turned out to be messy with teeth clicking, shared breaths that turned into sighs and chuckles vibrating on his tongue as it swept into your mouth.

His hands, which had been braced on the carpet on either side of your head, slid down. One cupped the side of your face, while the other went to your hip, fingers digging into the bunched fabric of your dress, dragging it downward in a slow, deliberate pull that felt less like undressing and more like claiming territory.

You helped, arching off the carpet just enough to let the silky material slide over your thighs, but you were distracted by his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He lingered at the frantic pulse there, sucking gently, and you let out a shaky gasp, your fingers finally releasing their death-grip on his shirt collar to slide into his hair, curling into the soft, sweaty curls at the nape of his neck.

“Lando,” you breathed, and it wasn’t a protest, just a sound, a piece of him given voice.

“Mmm?” The vibration against your skin travelled straight down your spine.

He didn’t wait for an answer, his mouth continuing its descent, over your collarbone, to the lace-edged cup of your bra. He nuzzled against the fabric, breathing you in, before using his teeth to tug the delicate strap off your shoulder. “Fuck, you smell… fucking amazing”

You both didn't want to waste any time. Right there on the ground, on a wool carpet, was fine. More than fine, it was perfect.

He unhooked the clasp of your bra with a clumsy, fumbling twist of his fingers, a task made infinitely harder because he refused to lift his head from your chest. The fabric fell away, and his groan was raw as he repeated. “So fucking good.”

His mouth closed around your nipple without warning, wet and insistent, and you cried out, back bowing off the carpet instantly. The sensation was electric, amplified tenfold by the haze of alcohol still blurring the edges of reason, making the pleasure feel broader, deeper, less precise and more consuming.

He suckled hard at first, then eased his mouth into slow laps, teasing you with the very tip of his tongue. His other hand slid up to cup your remaining breast, thumb circling the tightened peak with deliberate pressure, until you were writhing beneath him, breath breaking into soft, urgent sounds you couldn’t hold back.

Between some desperate kisses, you wrestled with his shirt. It was already hanging open, but the damn thing was trapped under him, tangled in the arms he was using to hold himself up. You pushed at his shoulder, lips brushing his as you murmured, “Off… get this off…”

He broke away with a wet, obscene sound, sitting back on his heels to yank the white fabric over his shoulders in one impatient motion. It inevitably joined the growing pile on the carpet, and for a second, you just stared.

The suite was dim, lit only by the glow of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains, but it was enough to see the sleek lines of his torso, muscles defined from years of relentless and brutal training, now sheened with a light sweat. He looked utterly debauched, hair wild, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you, lying half-naked on the ivory wool.

And you were absolutely in love. Utterly and completely.

“ Eager? ” he teased, his hands going to the waistband of his black trousers. But you were already moving, pushing yourself up to kneel before him, knocking his hands away cause yeah, eager.

“Let me.”

Your fingers trembled as you worked the button fly, and he watched you, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands settling on your bare hips, tracing lines on your skin as you pushed the expensive fabric down over his hips. He helped you then, kicking the trousers and his briefs away in one frantic motion, and then he was just… there. Naked. Hard, flushed and beautiful in the muted light, all lean muscle and intent.

Your world champion ready to fuck you on the hotel carpet.

How surreal.

The last of your clothing was dealt with in two rough and quick tugs, and then he fell back onto the ground, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his hips, the coarse weave of the carpet biting into your knees, the heat of him pressing insistently against your core. The new position sent a fresh wave of dizziness through you, and you braced your hands on his chest, dropping your forehead to his.

“Wait,” you panted with a giggle, not because you wanted to stop, but because suddenly the world was tilting. “Just… gimme a sec. Head’s spinning.”

He stilled instantly, giggling as his hands come up to cradle your face. His thumbs smoothed over your temples. “Yeah, those tequila shots were a terrible idea, were they?”

“Your idea,” you mumbled with a smile, the words slurring together as you focused on the feel of his skin under your palms, the steady thump of his heart against your fingers. The spinning began to slow, condensing into a warm, pleasant hum in your veins, syncing with the ache between your thighs.

“It was worthy,” he giggled. Then, he shifted his hands from your face, sliding them down your back, tracing the dip of your spine until they settled firmly on your hips. His grip was possessive, grounding. “Better now?”

You nodded, leaning down to brush your nose against his. “Yeah…I just…”

You didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.

But then he was there, looking at you with those soft, slightly glassy puppy eyes, pupils blown, eyelashes wet from the shower of emotions he had been drowning in all night, and suddenly you couldn’t swallow the words anymore.

“I’m just …” you whispered, your fingers sliding up to frame his jaw the way he’d held yours moments earlier, your thumbs brushing gently over the spots where his helmet straps usually left faint marks. Your breath hitched, unexpectedly fragile. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

His smile faltered, shifting into something tender, almost shy, like the compliment hit him somewhere he didn’t know how to protect.

“I know how much work and dedication you put into this” you continued, your voice thickening. “ And being by your side in this journey and watching you achieve it, it was... the greatest privilege of my life… I just—” You swallowed, leaning your forehead to his, letting your breath fan over his lips. “I love you so much”

His hands tightened on your waist, not rough, but sure. Certain.

“I love you too, baby,” he murmured, voice warm and full. “None of this would’ve been the same without you. You know that.”

He kissed you then, fiercely, like he needed the contact, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t fit into words. You kissed him back with everything you had until you were both breathless, the world spinning for a whole different reason.

You broke the kiss with a smile that trembled against his lips.

“Okay,” you said, trying to sound serious. “Now please, fuck me already.”

A sharp, delighted laugh burst from him, and he surged up to kiss you again, rolling you both over in a smooth motion that left him nestled between your thighs.

“You don’t have to say it twice!”

The weight of him was perfect, grounding. He reached down between your bodies, his fingers sliding through your slickness with a groan that was pure filth.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his words a hot puff against your neck as he positioned himself. “All this just from me kissing you on the floor?”

“Yeah, that…” you fired back, hooking your legs around his hips, digging your feet into the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. “…and the fact that you’re a Formula 1 World Champion!”

He dropped his forehead to yours, his eyes dark pools in the dim light. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word ragged with awe. “It sounds so fucking good coming from you.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. You didn't. need to. He kissed you, deep and consuming, and as his tongue swept into your mouth, he pushed slowly, inexorably inside.

Just like that.

The stretch was exquisite, a breathtaking fullness that made your eyes roll back. He sank into you with a low, continuous groan, burying himself to the hilt before stilling, both of you trembling with the shock of connection.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he confessed against your lips, his voice a raw scrape of sound. His hips gave a minute, involuntary rock, and you both moaned. “Every time I looked at you in that dress while some sponsor was yapping in my ear… all I could think was how badly I wanted it on the floor”

The fit was perfect, familiar and brand new all at once, stretched and filled in a way that made your toes curl against his calves. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with the effort of going slow.

“Fuck,” you choked “Fuck, Lando… that’s… oh, god.”

What followed was not graceful. It was a glorious, sloppy, desperate tangle on an expensive carpet. The alcohol made your coordination falter; some thrusts would go slightly off-angle, forcing a breathless, giggling adjustment. Your kisses were more collisions than anything else, all tongue and teeth and shared, panting laughter. He’d try to speak, to murmur something dirty, and it would come out as a slurred, heartfelt jumble.

“You feel…, I can’t… fuck, sorry, I’m trying to say…”

“Shut up,” you gasped, pulling his mouth back to yours.

He obeyed, his rhythm building from a deep, rolling grind into something harder, faster. The carpet burned against your back, a sweet counterpoint to the friction building inside you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises onto your breasts, licking a stripe up your sternum, returning to your lips to swallow your cries.

A part of your brain, the part not drowned in sensation, marvelled at the absurdity. The champagne flutes probably still sat on the minibar. His trophy was likely in a box by the door. And you were here, being ruined on a carpet that cost more than your first car, and it was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt.

Just as that thought crystallised, his hands shifted. They gripped your hips, fingers digging in hard, and in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he flipped you.

The room spun again, and then you were suddenly straddling him again, his hands still locked on your hips, him buried so deep inside you that you could feel the imprint of him in your stomach. You gasped, bracing your hands on his chest, the new angle making you feel impossibly full, stretched to a breathtaking limit.

“C’mon, baby. Ride me and show me how much you love your World Champion.”

Jesus.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, his lips swollen, and he looked utterly wrecked, but entirely in command at the same time. What a dream.

So you tried. You rose up on trembling thighs, the muscles already burning from the strain of the party, and sank back down with a broken cry. The friction was exquisite, a slow, dragging fullness that made you see stars. But your legs were jelly, your breath coming in shallow, useless pants that inspired zero stamina.

“Lando…” you panted, dropping your forehead to his, your movement faltering into a weak, desperate grind. “… fuck, Lando, I can’t…”

His hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping you firmly. “You’re doing so good, baby... just take it”

And then he took over. Holding you in place, he planted his feet on the ground and began to piston his hips upward, driving into you from beneath with sharp, powerful thrusts that stole the air from your lungs. Each one jolted through you, the force of it pushing you up only for his hands to drag you back down onto him, over and over, a relentless, pounding rhythm that had you crying out with each impact.

“You feel that?” he breathed against your lips, his thrusts becoming even harder, deeper, each one a deliberate claim. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I belong, yeah? Right there”

His dirty talk, low and filthily specific, wound the coil inside you tighter. You clung to him, your arms looping around his neck, your mouth finding his in a series of messy, off-centre kisses, and you couldn't help but notice that he still tasted like champagne.

“Lando, please…”

“I know, I know… I got you,” he gritted out. One of his hands left your ass, snaking between your sweat-slicked bodies. His thumb found your clit again, now swollen and sensitive, and pressed down in firm, circular strokes perfectly timed with his upward drives.

It was the final key. The orgasm detonated, a silent, seismic event that ripped through you with violent intensity. Your body seized, back arching violently as a raw, shattered scream was torn from your throat. You clenched around him in rhythmic, pulsing waves, the pleasure so acute it bordered on pain, blinding and absolute.

“Yeah, there she is… my good girl” The sound of his voice, thick with awe and possession, seemed to pull another, deeper wave of pleasure from your core, prolonging the shattering climax until you were sobbing with the intensity of it.

With a final, guttural shout, he slammed up into you one last time, holding you down as he emptied himself deep inside, his own release shuddering through him in long, hot pulses.

You collapsed forward, a boneless, trembling weight on his chest. He held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed possessively over the small of your back, keeping you flush against him even as he softened inside you. His lips moved against your temple, placing a kiss that was surprisingly tender amidst the wreckage. “You alright?” he murmured, his voice wrecked almost a whisper.

You managed a weak nod, your face still buried in the hollow of his neck. “Mmm. Never better.”

A low, breathless chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Liar. You look completely fucked out.” There was no small amount of pride in the observation.

“You completely fucked me out,” you corrected.

“Damn right I did.” The sheer, unapologetic arrogance of it made a laugh bubble up from your own spent core, a soft, shaky thing that he echoed, his shoulders shaking gently beneath you.

Still smiling, you tilted your head up and found his lips. It was a lazy, tender kiss, all soft pressure and warmth, a slow moment to take in after the chaos and the heat.

Then, the heat returned cause he broke the kiss just far enough to speak, and whispered “One more,” his voice still rough but threaded with a bright, giddy energy. “I’m too happy to sleep.”

“Lan!” you laughed against his mouth. “You’re insane, I can’t, my legs have retired.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem” he said, and there was a playful, determined glint in his eyes a second before he moved.

In one smooth, surprisingly strong roll, he had you on your back again on the carpet, his body settling over yours. He was still semi-hard inside you, the sensation a delicious, full reminder. You gasped at the movement, then sighed as he kissed you, deep and sweet, his tongue sweeping in a languid rhythm that promised everything his words did.

“See?” he murmured between kisses.

He rocked his hips once, a shallow, testing thrust that made you both sigh, before reluctantly slipping out of you. You watched, mesmerised by his movements, as he reached down and gave himself a few slow, firm strokes, his eyes locked on yours. The sight of him, tender and focused, bringing himself back to full hardness for you, sent a fresh, aching pulse of desire through your soreness.

Fuck, that was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen after seeing him on the podium last night.

Then he was ready, he guided himself back to your entrance, pressing in with an exquisite, gradual slowness that had you arching off the carpet. This time, there was no frantic race. He filled you inch by deliberate inch, until he was fully sheathed, and then he simply stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours.

“Okay?” he breathed.

“Yeah, perfect,” you whispered back.

He began to move then, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was less about friction and more about connection. Each withdrawal was a gentle pull, each thrust a homecoming. You wrapped your legs loosely around his waist, not to urge him on, but to hold him close. Your hands framed his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you kissed, long and deep and unhurried.

And then, the dirty talk returned. Cause he couldn’t help himself. Even tho, it was softer now, woven into the kisses and the shared breaths. “Love how you feel… so warm and tight for me…” “Never get enough of you…” “My girl taking me so well”

Each whispered word was a brand, a promise, a thread stitching you tighter together in the quiet dark. The only sounds apart from his words were the wet slide of him moving inside you and the broken music of your shared breaths: low moans and sighs, with occasional whispered curses that melted into kisses.

The pleasure was a live wire, sparking from the point where his thumb worked your clit straight down to where he filled you, thick and relentless. It was insane. Irrational. So good words could not explain.

You were overstimulated, exquisitely sensitive. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed, so that the drag of his cock, the press of his pubic bone against your clit, even the whisper of his chest against your peaked nipples, sent licks of electric fire straight to your core. It was almost too much, a sweet, torturous overload that had tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Lando…” you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, not to push him away, but to pull him impossibly closer. “It’s… it’s so good...”

“I know, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, vibrating hum. “I can feel you squeezing me”

His words, soft and filthy, fanned the flames. You were a live wire, every inch of your skin hypersensitive. The coarse carpet beneath your back, which had been an annoyance, now felt like a thousand points of sensation, and him… him inside you, filling you with this relentless, gentle pressure, was the center of the inferno.

And despite that, you felt like you couldn’t get close enough. Even with 90% of your body being directly in contact with his skin, he felt too far away. You wrapped your legs even higher around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, trying to fuse yourself to him. Your arms wound tightly around his neck, holding him so close your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between your mouths.

“More,” you pleaded “Please, I need...”

He understood. He always did. Instead of pulling back, he braced himself on his forearms, caging your head, and obeyed. He sank deeper, adjusting the angle of his hips so each slow, measured thrust pressed directly against that swollen, tender spot inside you that made you see stars. He dropped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all soothing tongue and soft lips, swallowing your gasp.

“God, yes… don’t stop” you choked out, your body beginning to tremble beneath him again, not with the sharp violence of your first climax, but with a rising, wave of sensation that was somehow more overwhelming.

He didn’t. He was lost in it, in you. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow, jerking things as his own release gathered. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, rocking into you with deep, grinding circles of his hips, each movement designed to worship that impossibly sensitive spot until you were trembling, tears of overstimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes.

This second orgasm didn’t crash; it unfolded. It began as a low, warm tremor in your belly, a pooling heat that spread outward in slow, concentric waves, like a shuddering release that had you crying out softly against his shoulder, your body clasping him in a series of gentle, endless flutters.

With a final, broken thrust, he spilled, a hot, claiming rush that seemed to go on forever, syncing with the last fading echoes of your own pleasure.

He collapsed on you then, a dead weight of utter satisfaction, but instinctively rolled, taking you with him so you were sprawled half on top of him, still intimately joined. His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together.

For a long time, there was only the sound of that heartbeat and your shared, gradually calming breath. The high, singing tension in your bodies had melted into a heavy, boneless warmth. You were both sticky, sore, and utterly content, a tangled knot of limbs on the now ruined carpet.

A faint shiver ran through you then, the adrenaline and sweat cooling on your skin in the room’s air-conditioned chill. He felt it immediately.

“You cold?” he murmured.

Before you could answer, he was moving. With a grunt of effort, he disentangled just enough to stretch one long arm toward the nearby sofa, fingers scrabbling until they hooked the edge of a small, cashmere throw blanket. He dragged it over, the motion awkward and comical, before draping it haphazardly over both of you.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you, muffled against his chest. “We could have just gone to bed, you know.”

Tonight i’ll give you something to remember, an eternity impossible to measure

“Baby i’m home!”

It wasn’t that late when you came home that night. The apartment was warm, dimly lit with the familiar orange hue from the streetlamps bleeding through the sheer curtains.

You dropped your suitcase at the door, kicking it aside with a tired sigh. The week had been long, a blur of airports, hotels, panel talks, and forced smiles for endless photos. Your heels had dug into the back of your ankles all day, your outfit still clung to you from the humidity of the weather, and all you wanted was to collapse into your own bed. Or more accurately, into Lando’s arms.

And thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, love.”

His voice floated in from the kitchen, and it made your chest flutter just hearing it again in person. Then he appeared, barefoot in grey sweatpants and one of his old McLaren hoodies, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was messily pushed back, still damp from a shower, and his boyish grin bloomed across his face when he saw you.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, arms outstretched. You walked into him without hesitation, your hands curling behind his neck, his arms sliding around your waist like they’d missed their place.

“I missed you,” you murmured, cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart and the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

“I missed you too,” he said, kissing your temple, then pulling back slightly to scan your face with careful eyes. “You look tired. Flight okay?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers through the ends of his curls. “Yeah. Just long. Got caught in Paris traffic and almost lost my connection ”

Lando chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb against your hip in slow, absent circles. “Normal airport routines uh?”

“You’re telling me,” you teased, finally pulling away from the embrace just enough to look at him.

Lando smiled at you and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, just a soft peck, the kind that made your chest flutter anyway.

“Did you already eat?” His eyes searched yours like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from you.

“Yeah,” you said heading towards the couch and brushing a knuckle under your eye as you stifled a yawn. “Grabbed a sandwich at the airport before boarding. Probably the saddest-looking baguette in France.”

He sat right beside you, tucking one leg under himself, arm draped behind you. He was close, but not as close as he could be. There was a weird space between you that you decided to not overthink too much, leaning into him anyway and resting your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” you asked gently, voice laced with a little line of concern. “You’re being quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly, his hand reaching for the remote just to have something to do. “Just tired. Training was brutal today. Back-to-back meetings. And then sim prep.”

You hummed, unconvinced but not ready to push yet. You knew Lando. That’s why you knew when something was brewing beneath the surface. He wasn’t the type to explode, but the storm always started small. Restlessness in his hands. A twitch in his jaw. A sharp inhale that never quite became a sigh.

“How was your week?” Lando asked, settling even further back into the couch, legs stretched out in front of him.

You smiled tiredly, letting your head fall back against the cushion as you turned slightly to face him. “Busy. We had several panels, influencer dinners, shootings ... I didn’t even had time to unpack fully at the hotel. Just lived out of my suitcase and prayed I didn’t look like a zombie in the campaign photos.”

“You didn’t ” he said. “You looked… gorgeous.”

That gave you pause for a second. You glanced over at him again. He was staring at the TV, but not really watching it. His fingers were tapping restlessly on his thigh, a rhythm just offbeat enough to signal that something wasn’t sitting right.

You ignored the twist in your stomach and carried on. “Ahw, thank you baby. Hopefully we can get sponsored by some big brands, one of them was actually hosting this art-show gala thing last night. Very swanky, very over-the-top. But decent prosecco, so that helped.”

His brows ticked slightly upward, like he was waiting for you to say something else. When you didn’t, he hummed and turned his head toward you again.

“It’s where you met your ex, right?”

There it was. You blinked, caught completely off guard. There it was where his weird attitude was coming from.

“What?” you asked slowly, heart stumbling slightly. “How do you know that?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his phone on the armrest beside him, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward you. You leaned in and squinted at the article open on a gossip site: there was your face clear as day in the center of the header image, smiling politely at your ex in the middle of the event hall.

The caption read:

“Influencer cozy with former flame? Cheating rumors spark as Lando Norris girlfriend is seen reconnecting with ex-boyfriend ”

Your stomach twisted as you scrolled down. Screenshots of tweets, blurry zoom-ins, speculations. Words like “unfaithful,” “suspicious,” and “betrayal” jumped out at you. And your name, your actual name, was trending with cheater beside it.

“Oh my god, what?” you muttered, shoving the phone away like it burned. “Fuck this shit! This is insane. We talked for five minutes about work. That’s it.”

“I know,” Lando said quickly, setting the phone face down on the coffee table. “I know, I trust you. I do.”

“Then, what are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything!” He flinched slightly at your tone, sitting up straighter. “I saw it everywhere today. Twitter, Instagram, even fucking Reddit. And I was sitting in the sim, trying to focus, but all I could think was, why didn’t you mention it? We spoke on the phone this morning!”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Because it wasn’t important. I barely remembered it happened. I didn’t think I needed to come home and give you a play-by-play of every conversation I had at an event.”

“I never said you needed to,” he replied, tone defensive now. “But it’s not just someone. It’s him. And when the whole bloody internet is acting like something’s going on, can you blame me for needing to hear from you that it’s all bullshit?”

You stared at him for a beat, your jaw tight.

“I literally just told you it was bullshit,” you snapped. “Or was that not convincing enough?”

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning into his palm before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m not trying to be that guy, alright? I don’t want to be the jealous boyfriend who questions everything. But seeing that photo, reading that article. It made me feel like an idiot.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice rising. “ You’re second-guessing me because the internet decided to stir up drama? You’re scared I’m ruining your reputation? What?”

Lando looked at you in a way that felt like you’d cornered him in a truth he hadn’t wanted to face.

“I’m not saying that,” he said quickly, defensively, his voice was now sharp with frustration, as if he didn’t know how to process the conversation properly. “It’s not about my reputation. It’s... God, I don’t even know what it is. I just—when I saw that picture, and your name trending with his… it made my stomach turn.”

“And you think it didn’t do the same to me?” your voice was now trembling “Do you have any idea how humiliating that headline is? My name, Lando. My name. Accused of cheating on you, as if I’d ever—” You broke off with your eyes already burning. “And the worst part is that you’re not mad at them for spinning a five-minute conversation into something it wasn’t. You’re mad at me.”

Lando stood up, raking his hand through his curls as he started pacing the living room. “I’m not—fuck. I’m not mad at you. I’m just… I don’t know. The fact that I had to find out about it over the internet…”

You cut in, interrupting him: “Oh, come on. See? You’re not threatened by him. You’re threatened by what people might think. You trust me, but not enough to not spiral when the internet throws out a headline? That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

He stopped pacing, his back to you, fists clenched at his sides.

“No, it’s not,” he said, too quiet.

“Then what?” you challenged, standing too now, anger simmering just beneath your skin. “Actually, why is it okay for you to be photographed surrounded by girls practically throwing themselves at you in every paddock on the calendar, even when I’m standing right there, and I don’t say a damn word because I trust you. But the moment I speak to someone I used to date ages ago, I’m suddenly under suspicion?”

“That’s not the same thing—”

“No, it’s exactly the same thing,” you interrupted, stepping closer.

“Forget it,” he muttered. And he was defensive again. Avoiding confrontation again, even if he was the one starting it.

“Forget it?”

He didn’t answer. He just rubbed the back of his neck and started walking toward the bedroom, tension radiating off of him. And off you.

“Oh no,” you said, scrambling to your feet and following him. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to accuse me, get all in your head, and then just drop it like it’s no big deal and walk away!”

“I’m not accusing you!” he shot back, spinning around just as he reached the doorway, his voice sharp with frustration. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m twisting your words?” you asked rethorically stopping a few feet away from him “You saw a picture, made up a scenario in your head, and now what? You’re pretending it never mattered?”

“I never said it didn’t matter,” he said as his jaw tightened. “I said I trust you. I do. But I’m not gonna stand here and keep talking in circles when it’s clearly just… going nowhere.”

“No,” you said, stepping into his space now. “We’re going to talk about it. Properly. Because you’re upset, and I’m upset, and walking away from problems isn’t how we do things. So go on, if you’ve got questions, ask them.”

He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. He looked tired. Not physically, though you knew training and travel had drained him too, but emotionally. Like he’d been carrying this around all day, trying to hold it in.

He ran a hand through his curls again, the motion rougher this time, more agitated. “Can we just talk about it tomorrow morning?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading. “I’m wrecked, you’re exhausted… we’re just going to say things we don’t mean.”

You stared at him for a moment, your chest heaving with the weight of the conversation pressing down on both of you. But despite the fatigue lining his face, the tight clench of his jaw, and the flicker of retreat in his eyes, you stood your ground.

“No,” you said firmly, stepping closer again, closing the space between you with intention. “We’re having a discussion here and we’re not going to bed like this. Not upset at eachother!”

You saw the conflict on his face, the parts of him that wanted to let it go, to play it cool, and the other parts, the real parts, that had been stewing in unspoken doubt and gnawing jealousy for far too long.

“Ask the fucking questions, Lando”

“Fine.” He took a step back, into the bedroom now, gesturing vaguely as if still trying to decide if this confrontation was worth it. “What was he doing there?”

The question didn’t sting as much as it surprised you. Because it wasn’t accusatory. It was uncertain. Hesitant.

You softened, just a little. “He works in marketing now,” you said. “He’s part of the agency that coordinated one of the brand launches. He was there in a professional capacity.”

Lando nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“And you knew he was going to be there?” he asked after a moment, not quite meeting your gaze.

You hesitated.

“Yes,” you said with your voice firm “I saw his name on the briefing list a few days ago. But I didn’t think I’d even see him. There were hundreds of people at that event, Lando.”

He blinked at you, like he was trying to read between the lines.

“Then why not tell me?” he asked again. His voice was lower this time, a little more tired, a little less angry. “Why not just... mention it?”

“Because,” you said, throwing your hands out in exasperation, “he means nothing to me. I didn’t think it mattered.”

Lando’s expression flickered, just enough for you to see the flash of something. Something sharp and insecure.

“It mattered to me,” he muttered, turning away like he couldn’t say it while looking at you.

“Why?” you exhaled, exasperated.

And when he didn’t answer, that, made something in your chest snap again.

“You can’t do that,” you said, following further him into the bedroom where he’d collapsed onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair. “You can’t keep telling me you trust me, then act like I broke that trust because of something you imagined.”

“I do trust you,” Lando repeated standing from the bed and walking towards you this time. His head stayed bowed, eyes on the floor like it was the only thing that wouldn’t look back with judgment.

“Then act like it,” you said softly. You weren’t shouting anymore, didn’t need to. The exhaustion in your voice, the disbelief that you were even having this conversation, was enough to hit harder than any raised tone.

You took a step closer. Then another. Until you were right in front of him, close enough that he’d have to feel the way your energy buzzed just under your skin.

“I know,” he said, voice thick and cracking. “Fuck, I know. I just…”

He trailed off, unable to finish.

“I didn’t even want to see him, Lando,” you said, standing tall, your arms still crossed over your chest like a shield. “It was five minutes. A work conversation. Nothing personal. Nothing even remotely meaningful. He means nothing. Not now. Not ever.”

“I’m yours,” it came out as a soft whisper, “I wake up thinking about you. I fall asleep wishing I could roll over and feel your arms around me. I send you dumb memes during meetings and pause in the middle of my day just to text you because you're always on my mind, and i always wanna know what you’re doing, that’s how constant you are for me”

You leaned in slowly, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along the sharp line of his jaw.

“I love you,” you said, and you kissed him, slowly, with care, like a balm over every sharp edge between you. Then again. And again. Each kiss deliberate and full with everything you couldn’t quite say with words.

One of his hands reached for your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t stand the inches between you. The other wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you close.

And finally, finally, he kissed you back.

“I hate it when we fight” he whispered on your lips and you rested your forehead lightly against his, letting your breaths mix together, letting the moment settle between you like dust after a storm.

“Stop letting your overthinking wheels spin, baby,” you whispered. “They’re taking you places that don’t exist.”

He let out a quiet, sheepish laugh. “I know. I just… my brain doesn’t know how to shut up sometimes.”

“Yeah… ” you said gently, fingers slipping into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, like he needed to be sure of it. Like hearing wasn’t enough, he had to feel it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his forehead harder against yours. “For doubting. For not just… asking. I saw it and spiraled and I hated that part of me.”

“I’m sorry too,” you said, stroking his hair, your voice a little steadier now. “For not telling you about the event. I should’ve mentioned it, even if it was nothing.”

A beat of silence passed. Quiet, warm, intimate.

“We’ve been apart all week,” you whined with a pout, brushing a kiss against his temple. “And this is how we come back together? We haven’t even greeted each other properly”

Lando smiled, small but real this time.

“Hi,” he said quietly, like it was the first word he’d meant all day.

You laughed softly and kissed him again, a hand gently tracing the line of his jaw.

“Hi,” you whispered back

“You were breathtaking in your photoshoot pics, baby.”

He said it like a confession, like he’d been holding it in all week and needed you to know.

You let out a soft laugh, head tipping back slightly as your smile bloomed across your face, warmth spreading down to your chest.

“Yeah?” you teased softly against his mouth.

He didn’t even flinched, he just nodded and reconnected your lips.

This time, there was no hesitation.

Your lips moved against his with more urgency, more intent. No longer just a reassurance, but a reaffirmation. The kind of kiss that tasted like laughter and relief, like you were both finally back in a space that made sense.

Lando groaned softly against your mouth, hands pulling you flush to him until you were standing between his legs. His mouth moved greedily against yours now, like he was making up for all the doubts that arose inside of him involuntarily.

“This was a way better welcome home” You gasped softly into the kiss, smiling again his lips, and he chased the sound with another kiss.

As if he wanted to kiss your smile and make it his.

When you finally pulled back, just barely, your foreheads touched again, both of you breathing hard. His eyes were darker now and he was smiling like he couldn’t help it.

“God, i’m sorry I fucked up,” he whispered. “I missed you”

You brushed your thumb across the corner of his mouth. “There’s never been anyone else,” you said, voice low but steady. “There won’t be. You know that, don’t you?”

Lando’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his hands flexed slightly where they held your hips. “I do, baby,” he murmured, almost shyly now, his voice muffled against your skin as he ducked to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You tilted his chin up, made him look at you again, fingers firm but tender. “I only look at you like this.” Another kiss, this time lingering, your lips pressing into his like a promise. “I only want you like this.”

And that was all it took.

Lando kissed you once again with a smile on his face as he stood there, his legs bracketing yours while crowding you back a few steps until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

Mind went autopilot. Muscle memory kicked in.

Your fingers tugged at his hoodie until he raised his arms and let you pull it off, revealing the warm gold of his skin, the lean muscles moving beneath it as he caught your face between his hands again.

He kept kissing you until your knees gave out, and even then, he was there, lowering you onto the mattress as if you'd break if you landed too hard. You pulled him down with you, laughter threading through your breath again as he nuzzled into your neck, lips finding that spot beneath your jaw that always made your fingers tighten in his hair.

His hands roamed the length of your sides like he was reacquainting himself with every curve, every freckle and dip he'd missed like oxygen.

And you let him, stretching under his touch like a cat eager for attention.

“Can’t believe I got so fucking in my head when you’ve always been right here,” You arched slightly at his words, brushing your chest against his as you exhaled.

“It’s ok baby” you whispered but your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his teeth scraping the swell of your breast through your shirt. “We’ve figured it out, now let’s just make up for that week apart or I’ll go insane”

That made him groan. A full-body sound, raw and full of heat, muffled into the curve of your breast. His hips pressed flush to yours in response, instinctual, needy.

You reached between you, fingers curling around the hem of your top, and Lando pulled back just enough to help you slide it up and over your head, tossing it behind him without looking.

His hands lingered at your sides, then coasted slowly up your ribcage, thumbs brushing just beneath the cups of your bra. Then, without warning, he dipped one hand low, dragging his fingers just beneath the waistband of your panties, knuckles grazing your pelvis as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

Your breath caught. And he felt it. He always did.

His smile turned smug, lips quirking as he dipped further, fingers sliding between your folds with ease, the heat pulling a soft, surprised gasp from his mouth.

“Well, fuck me…” he murmured as he teased through the slickness, slow and featherlight. “You’re already soaked, baby.”

“Yeah, for you,” you said simply, pushing your panties down just enough so he could see, see how slick and ready you were. You met his gaze, no hesitation. “Always for you.”

Lando stared, really stared, his gaze flicking from your face to where your thighs parted for him, to the living proof of how true your words were.

His hands ended up caressing your thighs, warm and sure, thumbs stroking small circles as he settled between them. He didn’t dive in right away, didn’t rush it. He just looked like he was savoring the view, his eyes flicking up to yours as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee.

You whimpered, hips lifting slightly off the bed as need sparked sharp and hot through you. “Please, Lan…”

He didn’t make you beg again.

He leaned in, tongue flattening against your slit in a long, slow stroke that made your head fall back against the pillows with a choked cry. “God, yes— finally…”

“Mmm,” Lando moaned into you, mouth moving like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starved. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread wide for him as he licked and sucked, each pass of his tongue more purposeful than the last.

“Shit, Lando, that’s so good—fuck, don’t stop…”

He didn’t. Didn’t even think about it. He latched onto your clit gently, sucking it into his mouth. Your hands fisted in his hair again on instinct as your hips started grinding up against his mouth.

And he groaned like he loved it, like the taste of your need was his own personal drug.

“Say it again,” he murmured against you, “Say I’m the only one.”

“You are,” you gasped, breath ragged. “You’re the only one, Lando, only one who makes me feel like this, fuck—”

He slipped a finger into you then, slow and deliberate, crooking it just right, and your legs jerked around his shoulders as you nearly came apart from that alone.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he groaned, mouth still working your clit relentlessly. “Fuck, I was so fucking stupid to even let that thought crawl into my brain. Like you’d ever look at anyone else when I can feel you clenching just from my voice.”

He pushed in another finger, slowly, your body slick and welcoming, and you gasped, hips grinding helplessly down against his hand.

“Yeah, exactly…” you managed to breath out somehow.

He groaned again, completely and utterly lost in the feel of you.

“Come up here, baby,” he whispered “Sit on my face. Wanna feel how much you missed me with your thighs around my head.”

Your breath caught, because fuck, the sound of that alone almost made you come. He pulled back slightly, settling back against the pillows, his curls wild and eyes locked onto you with absolute hunger. His chest was heaving, shirtless and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, his arms outstretched like he’d never wanted anything more.

“C’mon,” he urged, hands gently coaxing you forward. “Climb up, baby.”

And you did. Half in a daze, half driven by the fire still burning wild between your legs. You crawled over him, knees straddling his chest first, your soaked cunt hovering just above his mouth. He looked up at you like a man watching heaven descend.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and his hands grabbed your ass, guiding you down with a hunger that made your heart trip.

The moment your heat touched his mouth, you cried out a loud “Shit—Lando!” as his tongue dove deep, licking you in long strokes before zeroing in on your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a filthy groan. Your thighs clamped around his head as you ground down onto him, your hips already moving of their own accord.

Insane. Actually insane. You were literally fighting 5 minutes ago and now you were sitting on his face.

Insane.

He moaned into you, the vibration making your head tip back in pleasure.

And then you saw it.

Beneath you, pressed against his stomach, was the hard, thick outline of his cock, straining and aching in his sweatpants, twitching each time you moaned. You could see the precum wetting the fabric and the sight made your mouth water, your body throb with the need to return the favour.

To keep showing him that he was the only one.

So, still breathless, you shifted.

You lifted your hips just slightly off his mouth, his tongue chasing you instinctively with a confused groan, and he looked up from between your thighs, blinking through the daze of heat and arousal.

“Wha—?” he started, his voice husky, dazed.

But then you turned, your thighs brushing against his chest as you pivoted your body to face him. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to.

He got the hint instantly.

The moment you settled over him again, facing his stomach, you immediately leaned forward slowly, shifting your weight with practiced ease and kissing a path down his torso.

He groaned into your cunt the second your hand slipped into his sweatpants, his tongue faltering for a moment, caught off guard by the contact of your fingers wrapping around his cock.

You felt the sticky mess of precum smear against your knuckles as you drew him free, and the weight of him settled heavy in your palm. That sound he made, that ragged, strangled groan, vibrated straight through your clit and made your whole body jolt.

This was going to be the end of you both.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped against your folds, voice breaking as you stroked him, slow and teasing. “You’re evil”

Oh, you knew. You knew. Because his cock twitched in your hand with every pass of your thumb over the slick head, every soft squeeze you gave to the thick base, and his hips were starting to roll up into your touch now in an unconscious, desperate rhythm that matched the way his mouth was already working you.

You smirked, breath shaky, and leaned even forward, your tongue flattening against the head of his cock, licking up the mess he was already making. He moaned deep into your pussy, the sound hot and low, his hands tightening around your thighs as he tried to focus, tried to keep eating you like he had something to prove.

“Shit…” he muttered literally against your clit, your breath stuttering as your mouth opened wide to take him in.

“We fight after a week apart and then jump straight into a full 69? Thought we’d at least pretend to take it slow…”

You laughed softly, breathless as you licked a teasing circle over the flushed tip of his cock, letting your lips brush against it as you spoke. “You’re the one who told me to sit on your face,”

He huffed a laugh into your cunt, and the warm puff of air made you twitch above him.

You didn’t give him a chance to add anything else.

With a wicked smile and one final flick of your tongue over his swollen tip, you wrapped your lips around him and finally took him into your mouth.

And just like that, you both fell into it: an unspoken and fair compromise, an exchange that felt more like worship one another than anything else.

You sank your mouth down around his cock inch by inch, slow and deliberate, letting your lips stretch around him as your hand twisted at the base, teasing the slick head with your tongue. The sound he made when you did, raw and guttural, sent a fresh wave of wetness pouring out of you, and Lando didn’t waste a drop.

His tongue dove back into you, licking you open, sloppy and relentless, like he couldn’t get enough. He licked up every slick spill from your folds, his tongue circling your clit before sucking hard enough to make your thighs clamp tight around his ears.

And he was right there as well. You felt the way he trembled, the way his abs flexed beneath you as you rocked your hips against his mouth.

He didn’t stop. Not when you moaned, not when you gasped around his cock, not when your fingers dug into his thighs for balance. His grip on your hips was firm, grounding you as you straddled his face, his mouth soaked with you, chin glistening with arousal.

The deeper you took him, the deeper he went on you.

It became a give and take: his cock pushing deeper into your throat, your pussy grinding down against his lips, your tongues dancing filthy games while your bodies threatened to fall apart completely.

You tried. God, you really tried. To keep your lips wrapped around his cock, to match the rhythm of your mouth to the filthy, relentless way he devoured your pussy. But the pleasure radiating from between your legs was just too much.

His tongue moved like he was born for it, circling and flicking, pressing against your clit in a rhythm that set your nerve endings on fire.

You gagged softly around the head of his cock, not from his size (even tho he had a great size, but you were used to so...), but because the orgasm building inside you stole your breath, made you forget how to even suck him properly. You pulled off him with a wet pop, gasping, forehead pressed against his lower abdomen for a moment as you panted through the wave threatening to break.

“Ohh fuck—” Your voice was wrecked, shaky, nearly breathless.

He didn’t let up.

He never did.

His arms wrapped tighter around your thighs, anchoring in you down, forcing you to stay perched over his face, and his mouth latched onto your clit again like he was fucking starved.

You couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t do anything except chase the pleasure ripping through you, grinding shamelessly on his face, dragging his cock through your fingers with the kind of desperate rhythm that spoke to how badly you needed him inside you. How badly you needed to let go.

“Lando, fuck, don’t stop—,” you sobbed, your body shaking now, so close, so high you could barely breathe.

He moaned into your pussy again, his fingers digging into your ass, guiding your motion so you rode his face perfectly, the wet sounds of his tongue buried between your folds filling the room like sin.

And then you broke.

You cried out in pure bliss and pleasure as your orgasm slammed into you, your whole body seizing.

Lando held you through it, mouth open and hungry, licking up every drop as you spasmed against him. You collapsed forward finally, legs giving out, rolling off to one side with a gasp, your chest heaving, skin slick and glowing, thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

Your mind was floating somewhere above the ceiling.

Eyes wide, lips parted, you turned your head slowly toward him, who was shifting beside you, his face glistening with you, mouth red and wet and smiling. The kind of smug, absolutely pleased-with-himself smile that should’ve annoyed you, but instead only made your core pulse again in echo.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked, the words cracking on the tail end as you tried to laugh but ended up just breathless.

Lando burst into laughter, and the sound was pure sunlight, in a way that made your stomach twist and flutter. He didn’t respond right away, mainly because he was too busy crawling up your body, leaving kisses as he went, sloppy and teasing.

One on your belly.

Two on your ribs.

Another just beneath your breast.

He nuzzled into your skin, dragging his nose up between your breasts before pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat. “That,” he murmured against your skin, still laughing, “was me making up for being a jealous overthinking asshole .”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, but the words came out lazy, soaked in affection. “Is this what guilt sex feels like?”

He kissed your chin, your cheekbone, your temple. “No, no,” he said between kisses, “this is what ‘I’m desperately in love with you and I’m so sorry I don’t show you enough” sex feels like.”

You shivered. Not from the cold. From the way he said that like it was fact, like it was already written somewhere permanent. You met his gaze and found none of the teasing edge that had been there a second ago.

He was serious. So serious that your heart felt like it was right outside your chest.

He kissed you again, lips warm and tasting like everything you’d just given him. His hand moved down again, gripping your thigh, hitching your leg up around his hip, settling between your legs once again.

His rightful place to be.

“You good? ,” he murmured against your mouth. “Because now I really need to be inside you.”

The way he said it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even demanding. It was reverent. Like asking permission to breathe.

You nodded, cupping his jaw, thumb stroking the stubble along his cheek. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice already thick with anticipation.

“You got a preference, baby?” he murmured, that familiar little husk threading through his voice. “Want me to turn you over on your belly for doggy? Ride me? Or—”

You let out a breathy laugh, soft and full of affection, cutting him off with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I want you right here,” you said gently, sliding your hands down to his waist, guiding him in with the ease of instinct. “I want to feel your heart against mine.”

Lando’s face softened completely. “Fuck,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours for a beat, swallowing hard. “ I’m right here, baby”

He braced on one elbow, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking softly along your cheekbone as he kissed you again while his hips started nudging forward just enough for the head of his cock to press against your soaked entrance.

“Right here,” you whispered again, your voice quiet but firm, like a promise.

He pushed in with a soft groan, burying himself inside you in one slow, smooth thrust, stretching you so perfectly your breath caught. Your head fell back into the pillow with a soft gasp, hands moving instinctively to his back, nails dragging gently over the warm, tense muscles as he bottomed out.

“Holy fuck…” Lando’s voice trembled, lips brushing your ear. “You feel so perfect baby, I don’t deserve you”

He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, chest pressed to yours, forehead resting on your temple, his cock pulsing inside you like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“Yeah, you do ,” you murmured, turning your head to kiss the hinge of his jaw, “You do and no one else”

He started to move then, slow at first, deep and rolling, like he was savoring every single inch of you. Every thrust filled you completely, the stretch sweet and thick, his hips rocking into yours with a steady rhythm. He groaned softly into your neck as your walls fluttered around him, clenching every time he pulled back.

“There’s no one else,” you whispered again against his ear, your breath hot. “Never has been. Never will be.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hips stuttering for just a moment before finding that rhythm again, harder now, a little deeper.

“So fucking tight, I can barely move from the way you’re gripping me" he whispered, dragging his mouth up to your neck, kissing you just under your jaw.

You gasped when he angled his hips just right, the head of his cock brushing something so deep it made your toes curl and your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. “Lando, oh god, yes—right there, please—”.

“Yeah? Right there, baby?” Lando echoed, his voice breaking into a low, wrecked rasp, like the sound of your pleasure was winding him tighter with every second.

He grabbed your thigh, hitching it even higher around his waist, and pushed in deep again. Right there. Right where it made you cry out and clutch at him, nails raking soft, unintentional lines across his back.

His hand slipped down, fingers finding your clit with practiced care, slow circles that made your hips jerk and a soft, broken moan spill from your lips.

“There she is,” Lando murmured against your lips, like the sound of your pleasure was a prayer answered.

You whimpered softly, your hands roaming over his shoulders, feeling the taut flex of muscle beneath his skin as he thrust into you with that same slow, purposeful rhythm, dragging every inch through you like he knew it was your undoing.

You were close. So close. You could feel the pressure coiling tight in your core, in each roll of his hips, in each gentle circle of his thumb stroking your clit. His name was now a vow slipping from your lips.

“I know,” he said gently, his lips brushing yours. “I feel you, baby, it’s okay, let go”

Your thighs shook, your cunt clenched tight around him, drawing him deeper, holding him there as you came. “Oh my God, Lando—fuck!”

He groaned, a deep, raw sound from the back of his throat, and his rhythm started faltering.

One more thrust and then he was there too, coming hard, buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep inside you as his forehead pressed harder against yours, breaths mingling, hearts thudding in perfect sync.

Neither of you moved for a long moment. Your limbs were tangled, sweat-slicked skin pressed tight together, his arms wrapped around you like a shield. His nose nuzzled your cheek, lips pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your temple, the center of your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice raw and low, his lips brushing your temple as he said it.

He was still heavy on top of you, your leg thrown over his hip, the weight of him still inside you anchoring you to the moment. You could feel him, softening now but still thick, still warm, still nestled deep like your bodies hadn’t figured out how to separate yet.

You tried to answer his question, but all that came out was a sleepy, stunned sigh.

He chuckled under his breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I don’t think I can move,” you mumbled, smiling into his neck, too relaxed to lift your head, let alone speak in full sentences.

Lando hadn’t moved yet. He just shifted slightly so that his weight rested more to the side, his chest still flush against yours, one arm cradling your head like a pillow, the other wrapped firm around your waist. He was still inside you, but neither of you made any effort to change that yet. It felt right, like this. Like pausing the world to breathe each other in for a minute.

"Hey..." You took his hand and pressed it to your chest, right over your heart. “This? It’s yours. Okay?"

He just stared at your hand covering his, your fingers tangled over your chest where your heart thudded steady and slow, where you’d just told him it was his.

Then he leaned in and kissed you, like he was carving your promise into his soul. Like you were breath and water and absolution.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you, I am” he murmured against your lips.

“I know you got scared today.” You traced the line of his jaw with your thumb, slow and soothing. “But you know that that chapter is closed, baby. Hell, that whole book’s been burned.”

You felt him swallow, throat bobbing against your hand.

“I don’t want anyone else,” you said, voice sure and soft. “Not ever. You’re my home, Lando.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Then, with a low, playful groan, he shifted his hips just slightly, the movement making you gasp even as you both laughed.