#prttynrgnl

Slowly, she lets her eyes open, blinking awake into the dark room. She can’t help but furrow her brows, almost certain they left the curtains half open when they went to bed last night given how much Lily likes waking up to the sun soaking her. 

Under the sheets, Oscar bites into her thigh, lapping at it immediately after he does. Fuck, as good as it feels that definitelyisn’t right. Oscar’s not a biter for starters, he’s always been so gentle with her. A little too gentle sometimes. And even if by some miracle he decided to start indulging her unspoken fantasies now, the teeth are all wrong. The sharpest points of his bite feels too far apart, almost as if it were his canines digging in the most and not the two right in front. 

Her thoughts are cut off when Weird-Oscar presses a kiss to her entrance, the tip of his nose pushing against the hood of her clit. He nuzzles into her, breathing her in as he presses kisses along the outer edge of her lips. 

“Mhm,” Lily moans, arching into the touch, her fingers latching into his… curls? That’s not right. Lily frowns, dragging her nails through his hair experimentally. His hair feels messy, loose ringlets that have tussled out during his sleep. 

Before she can say anything more, Almost-Certainly-Not-Her-Oscar is pushing into her, the tip of his tongue lapping at her entrance, lips latching onto her labia. 

“Fuck,” she moans, fingers tugging against his hair, pushing him further into her. He goes willingly, shifting under the sheets to hold onto her hips. His hands feel bigger than they should as well, thumbs meeting each other just short of her navel. Fuck, yeah this is definitely not her Oscar. 

She’s heard about this before. People temporarily switching with different versions of themselves across realities, swapping bodies with someone else, a whole assortment of bizarre things that can happen when a little bit of magic is involved. The general consensus is it doesn’t really count if you do something with another version of your partner. 

Assuming it is your partner, of course. 

It’s hard for her to dwell on the ethical implications of whatever is going on while kisses are being pressed against her core, her mind melting more with each one. 

The man — who she hopes is another version of Oscar — brings one hand down, slowly pushing the tip of his finger into her cunt. His tongue latches onto her clit, tip circling it with practiced precision all while his finger continues to work into her. It goes in easier than it should, the usual tension she experiences seemingly nonexistent here. 

Lily can’t help the string of moans and curses she lets out, fingers tensing at the feeling, hips bucking up to meet his lips. 

This Oscar seems to capitalise on simplicity. His lips sucking against her gently while his fingers curl to find the soft spot within her that has her seeing stars in seconds 

She lets herself revel in it — the feeling of his hair tickling her over-sensitive thighs, the way his other thumb presses right underneath her navel, the feeling of his shoulders holding her apart every time she tries to close them.

Fuck, he’s really, really good at this. 

It doesn’t take long for warmth to start coiling behind her navel. The build up steady yet entirely unexpected. 

Seemingly sensing her nearing the edge, he hums against her, tongue suckling her with a steady fervour, fingers curlings with precision. 

Lily’s jaw drops with a strangled moan, tipping over the edge before she can do anything to stop it. She feels her eyes squeeze shut, the back of her eyelids painted white hot as pleasure courses through her. 

He continues to suck on her clit, gently easing as he helps her ride out her orgasm, fingers slowing before stilling entirely. 

Eventually, after what feels like hours, Lily begins to whine in overstimulation, pulling her hips away from the feeling. 

Beneath the sheets, Alternative-Universe-Oscar chuckles to himself, pressing a final kiss against her before pulling back, easing his fingers out gently, wiping against the sheets. 

Her fingers release their clutch against his hair, falling against the sheets uselessly while she takes a deep steadying breath. Her mouth feels dry, her head pounding, and her cunt aching in the best way possible. 

“Jesus Mags, nearly fuckin’ ripped my hair out,” he chuckles beneath her, pushing the covers up and over his head. 

Lily frowns, eyes shooting open. Pushing onto her elbows, she looks down at Lando emerging from beneath the sheets, dopy smile plastered against his wet lips as he grins up at her all 32 teeth on display. 

He drops his bag with little regard for the contents within it, beelining towards the plush bed in the centre of the room. "Hey," he grumbles, crawling up the bed and falling flat against Max's chest before he's even had a chance to acknowledge their entrance.

"Hey to you too," Max responds, opening his arms to let Lando burry his head in the crook of his neck.

Behind them, Oscar moves through the room with more care; setting his bag down gently, moving Lando's so it doesn't become a tripping hazard tomorrow, lining their shoes up next to the pile of half strewn suitcases. He circles the bed slowly, leaning over Lando to kiss Max in greeting; pulling back with a tired smile, nodding towards the en-suite in lieu of a full sentence.

"You alright?" Max asks tentatively, wincing when Lando huffs in humourless frustration. "Right, yeah. Stupid question," he mumbles to himself instead.

"You wanna talk about it?" Lando shakes his head, shoulders hunching till his ears. His fingers press against the collar of Max's shirt, cold despite the fact that it's still well over 25 degrees even after sunset.

Several minutes pass like this; Max tracing soft circles into his back while Lando fidgets with the thread bare fabric of his shirt.

Lando's mind has gone hazy when Oscar eventually joins them; taking Max's open arm as an invitation to the growing dog-pile, his own circling Lando as they press themselves further into Max's chest. Oscar's fingers snake up as well, their pinky's intertwining against Max's sweat slicked collarbone.

Lando breathes; a horrible, shaking breath that runs through him, dislodging his frustrations, exhaustion, and anxiety. His fingers still, falling lax into the divot of Max's chest.