#sit pretty

Lando's hands slide to grab Oscar's ass, pulling them flush together with a pleased hum.

"You want me to tie you up more?" Lando asks, flexing his fingers to dig into Oscar when he hears him whimper, feels it against his lips. "Ah?" He lets go and leans back, resting against where Oscar's wrists are tied.

Oscar tries to follow, brows furrowed – pleading. "Lando –"

"You want me to do your legs next?" His tone is leading, deceptively kind as he tilts his head, fluttering his lashes at Oscar.

"Thats not –"

"That's not what you asked for?" Lando ducks down to slide out from between Oscar's arms, grinning as he tires to follow, desperate; the bed frame creaks in protest. "But it's what you need, isn't it?"

He doesn't look over at Oscar – at the beautifully tense muscles between his shoulder blades, at the blooming redness from his nails adorning his shockingly fair skin – as he crouches down at the foot of the bed, sliding a hand underneath. Oscar's gone quiet, probably toying with lip – probably trying to convince himself that his cock didn't twitch at Lando's words.

A sleek black box slides out easily; if he were looking, he would have seen it – the way Oscar's spine straightened at the sound, that gentle swish against the floor.

With practiced ease, Lando pops it open and wraps his fingers around exactly what he had in mind.

Finally, he looks up to the bed, watches Oscar shift where he's sat on his heels. It makes his cock throb, heavy and neglected since he righted his joggers in the office.

"Tell me you want it."

He hasn't even told Oscar what it is.

Oscar whispers something, voice lost as he faces the bed frame – staring down his bound hands.

"Louder."

He's starting to flush down the nape of his neck, blossoming like a rose.

"I want you."

"Not what I said, Oscar."

There's a pause, embarrassed redness starting to race down Oscar's neck to his shoulders – to meet the possessive tracks left by Lando's hand.

His voice shakes. "I… want it. Please."

— — —

They never get to do this.

Oscar bruises too easily, wine-colored rope giving way to purple bruises – the sort that would make his trainer raise a knowing brow, the sort that would make Oscar fiddle with the sleeves of his fireproofs, making sure they stay down. The sort that need to stay hidden, no matter how much Lando wants everyone to see it.

But in the rare weeks where their time is their own, when Lando can run his teeth over Oscar's bruises from dusk till dawn – when he can sit him up on their kitchen counters and spread him, when he can tie him to their bed and keep him there as long as he wants – Lando takes his time.

He savors it, the way that he can bend and bind Oscar to his will. He can nearly taste it on his tongue, like the way his skin puckers under the rope's twist makes him sweeter, more addictive. The redness of his skin like a cherries in the height of summer, the bruises in the coming days like sangria; he can't get enough.

"Too tight?" Lando asks earnestly, peering up at Oscar as he runs his finger along the final knot – the last in a row running along the seam of Oscar's calf and thigh, each leg bound together, leaving him kneeling perfectly.

Just the right height for Lando to –

Oscar hums, flushed face tucked into his shoulder and looking distinctly away from Lando; but he's still hard, swollen and desperate and begging for Lando's hand, his mouth. He tries not to grin – pity he won't get either of those.

"C'mon, gotta say it." He runs a palm up the front of Oscar's thigh, drawing a deep breath as he takes in the softness of Oscar's hair agains the harsh twist of the rope, the way it digs into his snow-pale skin.

Another hum.

Lando reaches out to snag Oscar's jaw, fighting to turn his head – forcing him to meet his gaze.

Oscar's pupils are wide, nearly eclipsing his irises, as their eyes lock; Lando can feel his pulse race under his hand, can feel his breath catch when he flexes his grip tighter. Tighter.

"Is it too tight?"

The ropes, his hand.

Oscar's response is strained, lips glistening with spit as he parts them. "No."

"Was that so hard?" Lando teases, leaning in to give Oscar what he clearly wants.