“What can I do for ya,” Mark says, like he doesn’t know. Oscar’s eyes narrow. He licks his bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth. Mark can’t be expected to think about anything but doing that himself. About Oscar’s soft lips, how they might give under Mark’s teeth.

“S’almost break,” Oscar says, casual. “Won’t be seeing you as much.” He looks a bit strained about it, behind his brittle little shield of confidence.

“For, what, two weeks?” Mark won’t say it but he’s been thinking about it too. He doesn’t like Oscar gone too far from him for too long. Two weeks on two separate continents shouldn’t be as much of a problem as he’s making it.

“Two weeks is a while,” Oscar says. A car outside on the track gets closer, zips by. The doppler effect of it feels somehow physical. Mark sways back as it hits. Oscar sways forward. And at first Mark thinks he’s overbalanced, stepping into Mark’s space and catching himself on Mark’s chest with both hands.

But—no. Oscar never does anything without intention, does he?

Oscar’s got one hand spread wide over Mark’s side and with the other he’s caught him by his lanyard. Not pulling him down just yet but holding him in place, blinking up at him so slow and doe-eyed it’s near hypnotic. Mark’s eyes slide out of focus with Oscar up so close. The blur of his eyes, the smudge of his pink mouth. Mark gets a hand around Oscar’s wrist.

Push back, Mark thinks. Say no.

Oscar tugs at the lanyard. He’s stopped smiling. His eyes have slipped shut and his lips are soft and puckered and he looks fucking cherubic, so innocent and wanting in the wash of the sunset. Something perfect, something ripe, something ready to spoil.

Sometimes, Lando wondered why he even bothered showering in Singapore when it only took ten minutes before he was damp again with sweat. His balls clung to his inner thigh like a sticky hand toy, and no amount of baby powder or subtle adjustment made it any better.

"I feel gross," he whined to Jon, plucking his McLaren polo away from his skin and flapping it as if the air were cool enough to help. When he let go, the fabric stuck to his ribs and belly.

"You are gross," Jon assured him. Not that he looked any better, with perspiration beading across his forehead and damp spots on his chest and under his arms.

"I wish I could have an ice bath back at the hotel," Lando said, dreamily. His room didn't even have a tub, just one of those mega showers you could fit four people in, if you were inclined to try something like that.

Jon took long enough to reply that it was obvious he was thinking about how to make it happen. Lando almost felt bad for putting it out there. Jon really would do anything for him, within reason. Sometimes even a bit beyond reason.

"Might be difficult," Jon said. "But I can try to set something up."

Lando bumped their shoulders together. "It's fine," he said. "There'll be A/C, anyway."

~*~

The A/C in question seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the climbing humidity outside. Lando stripped off his shirt before the hotel door was even closed and walked over to stand in front of the fan. Behind him, he heard the fridge door open, the sink run. Two feet from the fan and it barely felt like it was doing anything.

"Hey," Jon said. He pressed a cool glass to the space between Lando's shoulderblades.

Lando flinched, but relaxed into the contact. "That feels nice," he said. Jon touched the glass to the back of Lando's neck, then to his cheek, then handed it to him to drink.

"Alright," Jon said, taking the glass back when Lando had finished. "Need anything before I go?"

"Wanna stay a bit?" Lando asked. He could feel Jon's body heat from inches away, sweltering. It was a recent development, not yet routine, but Jon hadn't turned him down so far.

"Bit warm for a cuddle," Jon said, with careful lightness.

"Yeah," Lando acknowledged. "Don't have to touch, like." He shrugged, unsure what he was even asking for. "It's alright." His cheeks heated up. Jon didn't want to stay, simple as. Lando pasted on a smile before he turned around. "I should probably get to bed."

Jon chewed on the corner of his bottom lip as his inscrutable gaze drifted down Lando's chest. "I wish I knew what you were thinking," Lando wanted to say, but didn't. He probably didn't actually want to know what Jon was thinking, because Jon was probably thinking something along the lines of, "Lando's abs look so defined. He's definitely dehydrated. More electrolyte drink before the session tomorrow." He probably wasn't thinking about the way it felt when his stomach pressed up against Lando's back, and the way their breathing fell into sync, and the way it had turned into Lando’s second-favorite thing to do on a race weekend other than win.

“I can stay a while,” Jon said. “But if you try to cuddle me in this heat, your training sessions next week are going to be miserable.”

“You don’t have to,” Lando said, because it hadn’t been an order, had hardly been a request. It was just something he wanted. 

Jon quirked an eyebrow. “I’m aware,” he said. “Bed or couch?” 

“Bed,” Lando said, feeling like nothing so much as a puppy who’d just heard the word park. He toed off his socks and shoes and shimmied out of his cargos. He debated shucking the briefs as well, it wasn’t anything Jon hadn’t already seen, but left them on. He was already pressing his luck. 

When Jon turned to face him, naked except for his briefs and his glasses, Lando’s heart made a solid attempt to climb out of his throat. He hoped it didn’t show on his face, the almost nauseating brew of possessiveness and arousal and something altogether unnameable. But god, Jon was so sexy. His strong thighs were covered in dark hair that grew thicker until it disappeared enticingly into his briefs, then trailed up over his soft belly and dissipated across his chest. It was darker from sweat, clung damp to his pecs and inner thighs. Lando wanted to taste it, to nuzzle in against Jon’s chest, drag his fingers through the dark space between Jon’s legs. Not tonight, Lando chided himself, but someday.

Jon smiled as he crawled onto the bed, well opposite of Lando, and sprawled out in an imitation of Lando’s starfished position. The comforter was cool under them for now, but soon back sweat and body heat would turn it into another trap. Lando would end up sleeping nude on top of the covers at the rate things were going. 

“This alright?” Jon asked, turning his head so he could look at Lando. 

Lando gave him his most hopeful eyes and slid his hand palm-up across the space between them. 

Jon chuckled, reached out and put his hand in Lando’s, tangling their fingers. “Better?” he asked.