Hello, welcome to my little collection of fanfics, I hope you enjoy!!! <333 (feel free to send in requests Iâll try my best ^^)
commissions are now open! 3$/1k, 8/10 slots open
my ao3: throttleheart
Ships I wrote for so far:
fem!Reader x LN4, MV33, IH6
LN4 x OP81 | MV33 x GR63 | AKA12 x OB87
Isack Hadjar x fem!Reader
âž Drift â§âË â * â§â summary: It's summer, so it makes sense that you and Isack share a Mediterranean villa on the Italian coast.
Max Verstappen x fem!Reader
âž System Error â§âË â * â§â summary: A system error can change everything. TW: panic attacks
Max Verstappen x George Russell
âž Shut your mouth (or Iâll kiss you) â§âË â * â§â Parts: I. II. III.
summary: Every media outlet has the same headline after the latest Grand Prix: "No Audio, All Questions: Verstappen and Russellâs Motorhome Moment Leaves Fans Guessing" Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž Caught (In The Act) â§âË â * â§â summary: Max catches George masturbating. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž (Para)Normal Activities â§âË â * â§â summary: A night in a hotel room turns heated fastâMax has George right where he wants him, begging and undone under every deep thrust. Itâs perfect. Until the minibar fridge decides to make a dramatic escape attempt. George canât stop laughing. Max absolutely refuses to stop fucking him. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž A prayer is whatever you say on your knees â§âË â * â§â summary: The one where George has a vagina. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž The Big Bed Theory â§âË â * â§â summary: Max and George are university students who share an apartment, and then some. AKA: the one where they share a bed and take care of each other while being idiots and in love.
âž The Space Between Falling â§âË â * â§â summary: George watches him and feels something deep and aching unfold in his chest. He thinks about how young Max was. How small. How falling didnât always mean tripping. He thinks, absurdly, irrationally, If only I had been born earlier. AKA: Max and George talk about their childhoods over dinner.
Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri
âž Cloud Nine â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando is left in his boxers with only a single sock on his foot, blame it on strip poker. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž Upstairs Noise, Downstairs Trouble â§âË â * â§â summary: Oscarâs new upstairs neighbor is loud. Not like TV-too-loud or walking-in-boots-at-3AM loud. No â heâs singing-abba-in-the-shower-while-dropping-weights kind of loud. Oscar files a noise complaint. The guy responds with apology gifts â that are somehow worse. Oscar plans to stay annoyed⊠until he reads the note. Now heâs doomed. Especially when he finally sees him. sugestive, non-descriptive sexual content
âž Accidents Happen (Especially When Youâre Hot) â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando âaccidentallyâ spills water on Oscar after the press conference in Imola. Lando is also a menace. Oscar punishes him. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!! handjobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, slight sir kink
âž In Sickness, ln Health, In Monaco â§âË â * â§â summary: 2025 Monaco McLaren Livery reveal doubles as a PR wedding apparently, itâs not like Lando and Oscar are complaining. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž More than words â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando and Oscar love each other, so therefore, itâs everyoneâs problem.
âž Sweet Tooth (And Other Weaknesses) â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando and Oscar shoot a video in which they try each otherâs childhood candy, things escalate. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!! the sequel to this fic is: Sucker Punch
âž âHi, Mum. Nice to meet you.â â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando knows his mom is worried about him, being a F1 driver, constantly being in danger while chasing the sweet adrenaline they call racing but nothing comes close to her biggest concern: him being single. So the only logical thing Lando can do is lie. This whole thing would have been so much easier if Oscar didn't love being his pretend boyfriend so much. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž Sucker Punch â§âË â * â§â summary: The aftermath of decorating waffles in Spa, with a little more green than intended. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!! sequel to: Sweet Tooth (And Other Weaknesses)
âž Am I in the frame from your point of view? â§âË â * â§â summary: Oscar knows he shouldnât want Lando like this, but he doesnât care. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž Let me be a dreamer â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando has dreams about Oscar and itâs becoming a big problem. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
Lando Norris x fem!Reader
âž Missed Calls & Mixed Signals â§âË â * â§â summary: Landoâs been distant, and Y/N is tired of waiting for a sign that he still cares.
âž Fuck it, I love you â§âË â * â§â Pt I II III summary: Time went by faster in Monaco, but they still remained. They love, hurt and admit to being complicated. Inspired by the song Fuck it, I love you by Lana Del Rey
âž Tumblr Dot Com â§âË â * â§â summary: the one where y/n runs a Tumblr account about Lando and posts fics about him, cue to chaos 18+
âž Lucky Charm â§âË â * â§â summary: Youâve just started your dream job as a performance analyst at McLaren, determined to stay professional. But when Lando starts treating you like his personal good luck charm, lines blur, and feelings get complicated.
âž Marked by love â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando discovers a myth that moles show where a past-life lover used to kiss you, and he immediately decides itâs true for you both. Now, he wonât stop kissing every mole on your face, convinced heâs loved you beforeâand always will.
âž Hard times â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando is in a bit of a slump, luckily youâre there for him. Inspired by the song Hard Times by Paramore
âž Little big spoon â§âË â * â§â summary: Lando is your little spoon.
âž âYou ever think about how weird bathtubs are?â â§âË â * â§â summary: âYou ever think about how weird bathtubs are?â He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. âLike, we just sit in a giant bowl of hot water. Itâs kind of strange if you think about it.â
âž A Little Playful Tease â§âË â * â§â summary: You really like Landoâs ass.
âž The Cold Night â§âË â * â§â summary: Sharing warmth with Lando, in unique ways.
âž Stuck With You â§âË â * â§â summary: You hate heights, Lando suggests to go on a Ferris wheel. TW: panic attack, mention of past panic attacks
âž Pillow Problems â§âË â * â§â summary: You canât fall asleep without hugging a pillow. Lando finds out.
âž Where the Sea Meets Us â§âË â * â§â summary: A quiet coastal bedroom, with a sea breeze through fluttering curtains, you, him & the world. The good and the bad happens.
âž Page 237 â§âË â * â§â summary: You come across a library book that somehow knows more about your future with Lando than either of you do.
âž Youâre Just Mad I Win â§âË â * â§â summary: You and Lando have a tradition: game night after every race. But tonight, the board games donât stand a chanceâand neither does Landoâs ability to function when you flirt back for once.
âž Daylight savings ( Night Bravings) â§âË â * â§â summary: When Lando shows up uninvited to your backyard with iced coffee and taking his hoodie off, you know trouble is ahead.
âž something so soft, it breaks â§âË â * â§â summary: You love Lando, and itâs completely, utterly breaking your porcelain heart. Inspired by the song Fragile by Laufey
âž Quiet Comfort â§âË â * â§â summary: A snippet of a lazy afternoon with Lando.
âž Just a nose â§âË â * â§â summary: You always sleep buried under your blanket like a burritoâwith only your nose peeking out. Lando finds out.
âž Things we left unsaid â§âË â * â§â summary: You, Lando & confessions.
âž Hiding â§âË â * â§â summary: You & Lando have a big fight before a race. He crashes and you are left to figure out how can your relationship survive.
âž Little things â§âË â * â§â summary: Working for McLaren is a dream come true, but sometimes burnout happens. the sequel to this fic is: Little things (make the difference)
âž bookmarks & champagneâ§âË â * â§â summary: You build your life around books, balancing content creation with a full-time job, community work, and charity fundraisers. He builds his life around speed, cameras, and champagne. But one day, your worlds collide.
âž Little things (make the difference) â§âË â * â§â summary: Working for McLaren is a dream come true, but sometimes burnout happens. sequel to: Little things
Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Oliver Bearman
âž Cry (for me) â§âË â * â§â summary: Kimi cries during sex and Ollie discovers something new about himself. Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
âž Joyride â§âË â * â§â summary: Kimi and Ollieâs first date at the amusement park is memorable, in many ways. Or: Kimi and Ollieâs first time Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
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Summary: Lando has dreams about Oscar and itâs becoming a big problem.
Masterlist
âž»
The dream always starts the same way.
Too real.
Lando never realizes itâs a dream until itâs already over.
Theyâre in some quiet corner of a paddock that doesnât exist, not quite any circuit he knows, just a blurred mix of garages and dim evening light. The noise is distant, muted, like someone turned the world down just for them. Oscar is standing close. Too close for reality. Close enough that Lando can see the faint freckles across his nose, the slight crease between his brows when heâs concentrating.
Close enough that their shoes almost touch.
âYou keep doing that,â Oscar says.
His voice in the dream is softer than it ever is in real life. Not gentle, exactly, just⊠less guarded.
âDoing what?â Lando asks.
âLooking at me like youâre about to say something.â
Lando lets out a quiet breath. In the dream, he doesnât feel nervous. Doesnât overthink. Everything feels natural, like this version of them has existed for years. âMaybe I am.â
Oscarâs mouth twitches like heâs trying not to smile. âDangerous.â
âWhy?â
âBecause,â Oscar says, stepping closer, âyou never just say something. You do something stupid first.â
Their shoulders brush.
The contact sends a warm, electric jolt straight down Landoâs spine. He doesnât move away. Neither does Oscar. The air feels thick suddenly, charged in that way that only exists in dreams and almost-moments.
âYouâre not stopping me,â Lando murmurs.
Oscar tilts his head. âDid I say I wanted to?â
That does it.
Landoâs hand lifts before he can think, fingers catching lightly at the front of Oscarâs team kit , right near the collar. The fabric bunches under his grip. Oscarâs eyes drop to the touch, then back up again, slower this time.
âLando,â he says quietly.
It should sound like a warning.
It doesnât.
Lando steps closer. Their chests nearly touch now, breaths mixing in the small space between them. He can feel the heat of Oscar through the thin layers of fabric, can see the way his lashes lower slightly as his gaze flicks down to Landoâs mouth.
âYou gonna tell me to stop?â Lando asks softly.
Oscar doesnât answer.
His hand lifts instead, resting lightly against Landoâs side, not pushing away, not pulling closer. Just there. Warm. Steady. Enough to make Landoâs heart start hammering.
âThought so,â Lando whispers.
He closes the distance.
The first brush of their mouths is tentative, like both of them are testing if this is real. Itâs soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that feels more like a question than anything else.
Oscar exhales against him.
Then his hand slides up, fingers curling lightly at the back of Landoâs neck, and the kiss deepens. Still slow, still warm, but certain now. Landoâs chest tightens with something almost dizzying as he leans in, pressing closer, one hand sliding from Oscarâs collar to his jaw.
Oscar kisses him back properly.
Not teasing. Not smug. Just⊠there. Present. Warm in a way Lando has never seen outside this dream. Their foreheads almost bump when they shift, both smiling faintly into it, breath mixing between soft, lingering kisses.
âFinally,â Lando murmurs against his mouth.
Oscar huffs a quiet laugh. âTook you long enough.â
Lando leans in again, slower this time, savoring it, the warmth, the closeness, the way Oscarâs thumb brushes once against the side of his neck. Everything feels suspended. Perfect. Like this is exactly where heâs meant to be.
âMissed you,â Lando whispers.
Oscarâs expression softens in that impossible, dream-only way. âIâm right here.â
âI know, loveâ Lando smiles and kisses him again.
âž»
âOi.â
The world snaps back hard.
A hand taps his shoulder. Not gentle. Not romantic. Just enough to jolt him out of sleep.
âLando. Wake up.â
Landoâs eyes fly open.
Bright motorhome ceiling. Narrow bunk. The faint hum of paddock generators outside. Reality hits like cold water. He blinks up, disoriented, heart still racing from the dreamâ
âand finds Oscar standing over him.
Very real. Very awake. Very much not soft.
Oscarâs arms are crossed, expression flat in that usual mildly-annoyed way he gets when Lando is being inconvenient. Heâs already in partial team kit, headset hanging around his neck.
âYou alive?â Oscar asks. âYouâve snoozed through three alarms.â
Lando stares at him.
Oscar raises an eyebrow. âHello?â
âOh my god,â Lando whispers before he can stop himself.
âWhat?â
âNothing,â Lando says instantly, sitting up too fast and nearly smacking his head on the low ceiling. He drags a hand through his hair, trying to reset his brain. His heart is still pounding like he just ran a marathon. âWhy are you in my room?â
âI knocked,â Oscar says. âYou didnât answer. Door was unlocked.â He glances around. âYou sleep like youâre in a coma.â
Lando avoids eye contact. Avoids looking at Oscarâs mouth. Avoids remembering literally anything from thirty seconds ago. âRight. Cool. Thanks. You can go now.â
Oscar doesnât move.
âYou were talking,â he says.
Lando freezes.
ââŠWhat?â
âIn your sleep,â Oscar says casually. âCouldnât really hear what. Just⊠mumbling.â
Landoâs soul leaves his body.
He grabs the nearest hoodie and pulls it over his head just to have something to do. âYeah, well. I do that. Normal. Human behavior.â
Oscar watches him like heâs trying to solve a puzzle, with an intrigued expression. Lando absolutely hates it. âYou look weird.â
âIÂ just woke up,â Lando snaps, voice going slightly higher than intended. He clears his throat. âOf course I look weird.â
A pause.
Oscar shrugs finally. âBriefing in fifteen,â he says. âFigured youâd want a warning before Andrea sends someone to drag you out.â
âHeroic,â Lando mutters.
Oscar turns to leave, then pauses at the door. He glances back once, expression neutral, a little sharp around the edges, nothing like the warmth from the dream.
âTry setting an alarm that actually wakes you,â he says. Then he walks out.
The door clicks shut.
Silence.
Lando slowly flops back onto the pillow and stares at the ceiling in horror.
ââŠRight,â he mutters to himself. âCool. Great. Normal.â
He presses his hands over his face.
Because dream-Oscar kissing him softly in golden light is one thing.
Waking up to real Oscar standing over him with crossed arms and mild irritation is another entirely.
âž»
The briefing room is already half full when Lando walks in.
Heâs determined to be normal.
Completely normal.
Unremarkable.
Unhaunted by extremely vivid dreams involving his teammate and a level of emotional intimacy that absolutely did not exist in real life or will not ever exist between them.
Normal.
He grabs a coffee on the way in, nods to a couple engineers, drops into his usual seat like nothing is wrong. Like he didnât wake up thirty minutes ago with Oscar standing in his motorhome and the lingering phantom memory of being kissed senseless against a wall.
Normal.
Oscar walks in two minutes later.
Also normal.
Infuriatingly normal.
Too normally normal.
Freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, McLaren polo neat, tablet tucked under his arm. He gives the room a quick polite nod and takes his seat beside Lando like this is just another routine debrief and not the site of Landoâs impending psychological collapse.
âMorning, again,â Oscar says quietly, setting his tablet down.
Lando takes a sip of coffee to buy himself half a second.
âMorning.â
Good. Casual. Calm. He can do this.
Oscar glances sideways at him.
Lando keeps his eyes on the big screen at the front of the room. Telemetry graphs. Lap comparisons. Safe. Neutral. Non-threatening.
âYou look tired,â Oscar says mildly.
âI slept great,â Lando says immediately.
Too immediately.
Oscar pauses. âRight.â
Lando stares harder at the telemetry screen like it personally insulted him.
Around them, engineers shuffle papers and connect laptops. Someone at the front starts pulling up data from FP2. The usual pre-briefing buzz fills the room, low voices, keyboard clicks, chair legs scraping.
Normal environment.
Professional environment.
Definitely not a place where Lando should be remembering the feeling of dream-Oscarâs hand in his hair.
He grips his coffee cup a little tighter.
It felt so good to be loved like that.
âDid you get my setup notes from yesterday?â Oscar asks quietly, businesslike.
âYes,â Lando says. Good. Racing talk. Safe topic. âYeah. Iâ I looked through them last night.â
He risks a glance sideways.
Big mistake.
Oscar is already looking at him.
Not smiling. Not teasing. Just⊠watching, slightly curious, like heâs trying to solve a puzzle.
Landoâs stomach flips.
âEverything alright?â Oscar asks.
âYes,â Lando says again, too fast. âWhy wouldnât it be?â
Oscarâs mouth twitches faintly. âYouâre gripping that coffee like itâs about to escape.â
Lando immediately loosens his grip. Then realizes that makes it obvious. Then awkwardly re-grips it in what he hopes is a casual manner.
Cool as a cat, Lando.
Across the table, one of the engineers glances between them briefly, clearly sensing something off.
Great.
Fantastic.
Perfect.
The briefing officially starts. Data appears on the screen. Their performance engineer begins talking through lap deltas. Everyone turns their attention forward.
Lando tries. He really does.
He nods at the right moments. Asks a question about tire warm-up. Even cracks a small joke about sector two that gets a couple quiet laughs. On the surface, heâs completely fine.
Inside, his brain is running two parallel tracks:
Track A:Â Professional racing driver. Listening. Engaged. Focused.
Track B:Â You literally dreamed about kissing your teammate against a wall and then woke up with him in your room. You also wished he would have kept kissing you for longer, either versions of him.
He shifts in his chair.
Oscar notices.
Of course he notices.
âYouâre fidgeting,â Oscar murmurs under his breath without looking at him.
âI always fidget,â Lando mutters back.
âNot like that.â
Lando goes still immediately.
Across the table, another engineer glances up again. Then another. Thereâs a subtle shift in the room, that almost imperceptible team awareness when something is slightly off between drivers.
Lando can feel it.
Great. Now everyone thinks heâs weird.
He tries to focus harder on the screen. Fuel numbers. Strategy options. Anything.
Then Oscar leans slightly closer to see something on Landoâs tablet.
Itâs a small movement. Innocent. Practical.
But it brings him just a bit too close.
Close enough that Lando can feel the faint warmth of him. Smell clean shampoo and the ever-present trace of garage air. Close enough to feel his breath land on the side of Landoâs neck. Close enough that his brain, traitor that it is, flashes back to the dream â the almost-kiss, the soft voice, the soft breaths, theâ
He inhales sharply.
Oscar immediately leans back.
ââŠOkay,â Oscar murmurs, now definitely suspicious. âWhat is wrong with you today?â
âNothing,â Lando whispers, staring straight ahead. âAbsolutely nothing. Never been more normal in my life.â
Oscar watches him for a long second.
Then, very quietly: âDid I do something?â
The question hits harder than it should.
Lando turns his head slightly. Oscar isnât teasing. He looks genuinely unsure, brows faintly drawn, voice low enough that no one else can hear.
And suddenly Lando feels worse.
Because Oscar has no idea.
None.
Heâs just existing. Breathing. Sitting too close and being unfairly attractive and completely unaware that Landoâs brain has betrayed him.
âNo,â Lando says quickly, softer this time. âNo. You didnât do anything.â
Oscar studies him a moment longer. Searching.
Then he nods once, accepting it, at least on the surface.
âAlright,â he says quietly.
They both turn back to the screen.
The briefing continues.
But the weird tension lingers, subtle but noticeable. A couple engineers exchange quick glances. Their performance coach looks between them once, faintly puzzled. Itâs not dramatic,  just enough that people can tell somethingâs⊠off.
Lando can feel every second of it.
He forces himself to contribute more. Asks another technical question. Makes a comment about balance mid-corner. Anything to look normal.
Beside him, Oscar has gone very composed. Professional. Focused forward.
But once, just once, Lando catches him glancing sideways.
Not confused now.
Not suspicious.
Something else.
Something almost thoughtful.
And Lando immediately looks back at the screen, heart pounding again, because he has the horrible, sinking feeling that whatever weird energy is hanging between themâŠ
âŠitâs not just in his head anymore.
ââ
The briefing ends forty minutes later.
Chairs scrape back. Laptops close. Engineers cluster into small groups to discuss setup changes and run plans. The room fills with low conversation and the rustle of papers.
Lando stays seated a moment longer than necessary, pretending to scroll through data on his tablet. In reality heâs just trying to let his pulse settle before he has to stand up and exist like a normal human being again.
Beside him, Oscar is packing up calmly. Tablet into his bag. Pen clipped neatly into place. Every movement precise, controlled.
Normal.
Always so annoyingly normal.
âSimulator later?â Oscar asks, like nothing in the past hour has been strange at all.
âYeah,â Lando says. âAfter lunch.â
Oscar nods. Slings his bag over his shoulder.
Then he hesitates.
Itâs subtle. Most people wouldnât notice. But Lando does, because heâs hyper-aware of everything Oscar does right now in a way that is deeply unhelpful.
âYou sure youâre alright?â Oscar asks quietly.
Thereâs no teasing in it this time. Just genuine concern.
Lando forces a small grin. âYouâve asked me that like four times.â
âAnd youâve given the same weird answer every time.â
Lando opens his mouth. Closes it again. Because what is he supposed to say?
Sorry mate, I had an extremely realistic dream where you pinned me to a wall and looked at me like I was something you wanted and kissed me six ways to Sunday and now my brain canât reboot.
Yeah. No.
âI just slept weird,â he settles on. âThatâs all.â
Oscar studies him for a second longer than is comfortable. His eyes flick briefly to Landoâs mouth, then back up again so fast it mightâve been imagined.
âRight,â he says finally.
They stand at the same time.
Immediately almost bump shoulders.
Both stop.
Thereâs a tiny, awkward shuffle as they try to move around each other in the narrow space between chairs. Lando steps left. Oscar steps the same way. They pause. Then both try the other direction.
For half a second theyâre just⊠standing there. Too close. Not touching. But very aware of each other.
One of the engineers walking past gives them a quick amused look before continuing out.
Lando feels his face heat.
Oscar clears his throat softly and steps back to let Lando pass first. âAfter you.â
âCheers.â
Lando walks out of the briefing room trying very hard not to think about how aware he is of Oscar right behind him.
âž»
The paddock is bright and busy outside. Media milling around. Team members moving with purpose. The familiar controlled chaos of a race weekend.
It should ground him.
Usually it does.
Today it does not.
They walk side by side toward the McLaren hospitality without really talking. Not awkward exactly â just⊠charged. Like something unsaid is hovering between them.
At the entrance, a couple mechanics greet them.
âGood session this morning, boysâ one says. âBalance looked strong.â
âFelt decent,â Oscar replies easily.
Lando nods, forcing himself into race-mode conversation. âYeah, long run pace was better than yesterday.â
Normal. Racing talk. Safe.
They grab drinks from the fridge and lean briefly against the counter while discussing tire deg. A few engineers join. The conversation turns fully technical.
For ten blessed minutes, everything feels normal again.
Then one of the younger mechanics, completely oblivious, grins at them and says, âYou two were proper in sync out there today.â
Lando nearly chokes on his drink.
Oscar just raises an eyebrow. âThatâs⊠generally the goal.â
âYeah but like,â the mechanic continues, gesturing between them, âon track and off. Youâre always together lately. Proper duo.â
Lando stares very hard at the label on his bottle.
Oscar gives a short, polite smile. âWeâre teammates.â
âSure,â the mechanic says, clearly unconvinced but not pushing further. He gets called away a second later and disappears toward the garage.
Silence settles for a beat.
Lando exhales slowly. âPeople are weird.â
âPeople observe patterns,â Oscar replies mildly.
Lando glances at him. âYou saying thereâs a pattern?â
Oscar takes a sip of his drink. Doesnât answer immediately. Just looks out through the hospitality glass toward the garage.
Then, casually: âYouâve been avoiding looking at me all day.â
Lando almost drops the bottle.
âI have not.â
âYou have.â
âI literally have not.â
Oscar finally looks at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. âYou just looked at the fridge while denying it.â
Lando presses his lips together.
Because⊠okay. Maybe.
âAlright,â Oscar says quietly, not unkind. âDid something happen?â
The question lands heavier this time. Less casual. More direct.
Lando opens his mouth with another automatic deflection ready.
Nothing comes out.
Because the truth is sitting right there, stubborn and embarrassing and impossible to explain without sounding insane.
Oscar watches him. Waiting. Patient, but intent.
The paddock noise hums around them, distant engines, voices, radio chatter, but inside the little space between them it feels oddly quiet.
Lando exhales.
ââŠI had a weird dream,â he mutters.
Oscar blinks. Clearly not the answer he expected. âOkay.â
âAnd itâs justââ Lando gestures vaguely. âYou know when you wake up and it feels real for a bit and then your brain doesnât catch up properly and youâre just⊠off?â
Oscar considers that.
Then nods slowly. âYeah. Happens.â
Relief flickers through Landoâs chest. Small but real.
âRight,â he says. âSo. Thatâs all.â
Oscar studies him for another moment. Like heâs deciding whether to push further.
He doesnât.
âFair enough,â he says quietly.
They stand there a second longer. Not tense now. Just⊠aware.
Then someone calls Oscar from across the hospitality.
He pushes off the counter. âSimulator later,â he says.
âYeah,â Lando replies.
Oscar hesitates half a second before leaving. Just long enough to glance at him once more, something thoughtful in his expression again.
Then heâs gone, heading toward the garage.
Lando stays where he is, staring down at his half-empty bottle.
He tells himself itâs fine.
Totally fine.
Just a weird dream.
Nothing real.
Except for the small, traitorous part of his brain that keeps replaying the way Oscar looked at him just now, not confused, not teasing.
Just⊠quietly curious.
ââ
The simulator room is always dim.
Low lights. Screens glowing. The constant hum of machines and cooling fans filling the space with a steady, almost hypnotic sound. Itâs usually one of Landoâs favorite places in the paddock â controlled, quiet, predictable.
Today, it feels like a trap.
Heâs already strapped into the sim when Oscar walks in.
Lando hears him before he sees him, the soft thud of the door closing, the faint rustle of fabric as Oscar shrugs off his jacket. Thereâs a chair set up just behind the rig where the other driver usually sits during shared sessions.
It creaks softly as Oscar drops into it.
âReady?â one of the sim engineers asks through the headset.
âYeah,â Lando replies automatically.
A few setup adjustments. Steering calibration. Run plan explained. Then the virtual track loads around him, bright and precise across the curved screens.
He focuses on driving.
He really does.
For a while, it works.
Corners. Braking points. Tire management. His mind slips into the familiar rhythm of it, data and instinct blending until everything else fades into the background.
But he can still feel Oscar behind him.
Not touching. Not speaking. Just⊠there.
Watching.
The first run ends after twelve laps.
âAlright, box,â the engineer says. âGood baseline. Letâs pause and talk through front-end response.â
The sim freezes. Engine sound cuts.
The headset lifts slightly off one ear so he can hear the room.
The engineer starts discussing adjustments, pointing at data on the monitor to the side. Lando nods along, responding where needed. Itâs normal. Technical. Safe.
Then the engineer gets called out of the room to check something with the performance group.
âIâll be two minutes,â he says, slipping out.
The door closes.
Silence settles.
Lando stares straight ahead at the frozen virtual track. Hands still loosely resting on the wheel.
Behind him, the chair creaks softly.
Oscar shifts.
ââŠWas it a nightmare?â
The question is quiet. Careful. No signs of teasing.
Landoâs grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel.
He lets out a small breath through his nose. âWhat?â
âThe dream,â Oscar says. âEarlier.â
He sounds almost hesitant now, like heâs not sure if heâs crossing a line but asking anyway.
Lando swallows. Keeps his eyes on the screen. âNo.â
A pause.
âJust weird,â he adds quickly. âNot bad-weird. Just⊠confusing.â
Another small creak of the chair as Oscar leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
Lando can feel the shift in proximity without seeing it.
âConfusing how?â Oscar asks.
God. Heâs persistent.
Lando huffs a quiet, half-laugh. âYouâre really stuck on this, huh?â
âYouâve been off all day,â Oscar replies simply. âIâm trying to figure out if I did something.â
That makes Landoâs chest twist unexpectedly.
He finally glances back over his shoulder.
Oscarâs sitting there in the low light, forearms braced on his thighs, looking at him with that same steady, searching expression from earlier. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just genuine concern â and curiosity.
âYou didnât do anything,â Lando says quickly. âItâs notâ you didnât.â
Oscar studies his face like heâs checking for cracks in that statement.
ââŠWas I in it?â he asks after a moment.
Landoâs brain short-circuits.
He turns back around so fast itâs almost mechanical. âWhat? No. I meanââ He fumbles. âNot likeâ it wasnâtââ
Smooth. Brilliant. Incredible recovery.
Behind him, Oscar goes very still.
Then, softly: âSo I was.â
Lando drops his head back against the seat for half a second. Mortified. âThis is so embarrassing.â
Oscar doesnât laugh.
That might be worse.
Another small silence stretches between them, thick but not uncomfortable exactly,  just⊠charged with something Lando doesnât want to name.
âWas I mean?â Oscar asks.
The question is so unexpectedly gentle that Landoâs chest tightens.
He glances back again.
Oscarâs still leaning forward slightly, watching him in the dim simulator glow. Thereâs a faint crease between his brows now. Almost cautious.
âNo,â Lando says quietly. âYou werenât mean.â
ââŠRight.â
Oscar sits back a fraction, processing that.
He doesnât push immediately. Doesnât make a joke. Just lets the answer sit there between them.
Then, after a moment: âSo whyâre you embarrassed?â
Lando stares at the frozen track again. The glowing racing line. The still grandstands.
Because you were soft.
Because you looked at me like you wanted me.
Because I woke up and for a second I thought it was real.
He swallows.
ââŠIt just felt real,â he admits finally. âThatâs all.â
Behind him, Oscar goes quiet.
Not uncomfortable quiet. Thinking quiet.
The simulator hum fills the space again. Low and steady.
After a few seconds, Oscar exhales softly through his nose.
ââŠThose are the worst ones,â he says.
Lando glances back.
Oscarâs expression is unreadable in the low light. Calm, but distant for a second, like heâs recalling something of his own.
Then he notices Lando looking and straightens slightly, composure sliding back into place.
The door opens just then as the engineer returns.
âAlright, letâs try another run,â he says, oblivious to the tension heâs walking back into.
Lando turns forward quickly, resetting his grip on the wheel.
Behind him, Oscar leans back in the chair again. Quiet. Controlled. Back to normal.
But the air between them feels different now.
More aware.
More real.
âž»
The second run is worse.
Not because of the sim, the car feels fine. Predictable. Stable through the high-speed sections. He hits his marks, adjusts braking points, gives feedback when asked.
From the outside, he looks completely in his element.
Inside, heâs hyper-aware of everything.
The weight of the headset.
The pressure of the seat harness.
Oscar sitting behind him.
Every time he speaks to the engineer, he can feel Oscar listening. Every time he shifts in the seat, heâs aware of the space between them, small, enclosed, impossible to ignore.
They donât talk again while the session runs.
Itâs almost easier that way.
Almost.
âBox, box.â
The sim slows. Stops. Screens fade slightly as the run ends.
Lando pulls the headset halfway off, rubbing a hand over his face. âFrontâs better,â he says automatically. âStill a bit of mid-corner understeer, but manageable.â
âYeah, we see that,â the engineer replies. âLetâs call it there for now.â
Harness unclipped. Steering released. The usual post-run routine.
The engineer starts packing up some notes, already half-focused on the next driver rotation. âGood session,â he says. âOscar, youâre up in twenty?â
âYeah,â Oscar answers.
Lando climbs out of the rig, stretching slightly as his feet hit the floor. He grabs his water bottle from the side table, takes a long drink, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands.
He turns.
Oscar is already standing.
Theyâre closer than expected, only a step or two between them in the tight simulator space. Close enough that Lando has to tilt his head slightly to meet his eyes.
For a second, neither speaks.
Then Oscar says, quietly, âYou called me âlove.ââ
Lando nearly inhales his own water.
He coughs once, sharply, lowering the bottle. âIâ what?â
âThis morning,â Oscar says. Still calm. Still steady. âWhen you woke up.â
Oh. God.
Heat crawls instantly up Landoâs neck. âYou heard that?â
âHard not to,â Oscar replies.
Thereâs no mockery in his voice. No smirk. If anything, he sounds⊠careful.
Which somehow makes it worse.
âI was half asleep,â Lando says quickly. âDidnât know you were there. Brain wasnât on. Justâ dream carryover. You know. Happens.â
Oscar watches him for a moment.
Not convinced. Not unconvinced. Just⊠watching.
âRight,â he says.
Lando shifts his weight. Takes another unnecessary sip of water. Puts the bottle down. Picks it up again. Anything to avoid that steady gaze.
âYou couldâve pretended you didnât hear it,â he mutters.
Oscarâs mouth twitches slightly at that. Almost a smile. âThought about it.â
âYeah? And?â
âYou looked like you were going to pass out already,â Oscar says. âDidnât want to push it.â
That actually pulls a quiet laugh out of Lando despite himself. He rubs the back of his neck. âAppreciated.â
A small silence settles between them again.
Not awkward this time.Â
Oscar shifts a step closer to the simulator rig, setting his hands lightly on the edge of it. Casual. Grounded. But he doesnât break eye contact.
ââŠSo,â he says after a moment. âIn the dream.â
Lando groans softly. âWeâre still talking about this?â
âYou called me âlove,ââ Oscar repeats mildly. âIâm curious.â
Lando drags a hand down his face. Considers lying. Considers deflecting. Considers walking straight out of the room.
Instead, he sighs.
âIt wasnâtââ He stops. Starts again. âIt was just⊠one of those dreams where everything feels normal even if it isnât. Like your brain just decides somethingâs real and goes with it.â
Oscar listens quietly.
âAnd?â he prompts.
Lando hesitates.
Then, quietly: ââŠWe were together.â
There. Said.
He watches Oscarâs face carefully for a reaction, a laugh, confusion, anything.
Oscar just blinks once. Slow.
ââŠTogether,â he repeats.
âYeah,â Lando says, forcing a shrug that isnât very convincing. âNot like, dramatic. Just⊠normal. Close. You were beingâŠâ He searches for a safer word. ââŠnice.â
Oscarâs mouth twitches again, faintly. âI am nice.â
âNot like that,â Lando says before he can stop himself.
Silence.
Oh. Brilliant.
He closes his eyes briefly. âForget I said that.â
But when he opens them again, Oscar isnât offended. Or annoyed.
If anything, he looks⊠pleased.
He shifts his weight slightly, leaning one hip against the sim rig now, arms loosely folded.
ââŠIn the dream,â Oscar says slowly, âwas I⊠different with you?â
The question lands softly. Carefully.
Landoâs throat feels dry again.
âYeah,â he admits.
Another quiet pause.
Then Oscar nods once, like heâs filing that information somewhere private. Processing it without judgment.
He pushes off the sim rig, straightening.
âWell,â he says lightly, composure sliding back into place. âNext time you dream about me, try not to say it out loud.â
Lando huffs a breath of laughter. âTrust me. I will.â
Oscarâs lips curve, just barely, before he turns toward the door.
But as he reaches it, he pauses.
Glances back.
And for a split second, his expression softens into something Lando has never seen from him before. Something quieter. Almost curious.
ââŠDid you like it?â Oscar asks.
Landoâs brain goes completely blank.
Oscar holds his gaze for exactly one second longer.
Then he opens the door and steps out into the corridor, leaving Lando standing there in the dim simulator room with his heart doing something dangerously close to a qualifying lap.
âž»
The next Grand Prix weekend arrived faster than Lando had expected.
Thursday morning in the paddock, he tried to appear calm. Tried being normal. Tried everything he could think of.
Then he spotted Oscar leaning against the McLaren hospitality railing, coffee in hand, sunglasses tucked into his hair, casually chatting with an engineer.
And the second their eyes met, Lando knew he was doomed.
Oscarâs gaze swept over him, slow, deliberate, like he could see straight through him. Then a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Oh no.
Lando tried to act casual as Oscar approached. He could feel his cheeks warming, his stomach doing that very inconvenient twist.
âMorning,â Oscar said, voice easy, tone teasing without a word of explanation.
âHi,â Lando managed, forcing a shrug, backpack strap sliding up as he adjusted it unnecessarily. âMorning. Race weekend.â
Oscarâs eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to look like he was studying him. Landoâs stomach tightened.
âYou sleep alright?â Oscar asked, casually, taking a sip of his coffee.
Lando blinked. âWhat?â
âSleep,â Oscar repeated, grin flickering. âYou looked⊠tired last time.â
Landoâs heart skipped. He forced a laugh. âYeah. Fine. Normal. Totally normal sleep. Nothing weird.â
Oscar hummed thoughtfully, clearly not buying it.
âNo weird dreams lately?â he asked.
Lando choked slightly on his own breath. Why is he like this?
âIâno, nothing weird,â Lando said quickly, trying to sound casual, trying very, very hard not to betray how flustered he actually was.
Oscarâs smirk deepened, small and utterly infuriating. âGood. Just making sure youâre keeping your head in the game.â
Lando wanted to protest, but all he could do was mutter, âYouâre enjoying this far too much.â
âMaybe a little,â Oscar admitted, tilting his head in that way that made Lando want to crawl under the nearest table.
They walked toward the garage, and Lando felt every step like a countdown to embarrassment. He kept glancing at Oscar, who seemed perfectly calm, perfectly collected⊠and perfectly aware of the effect he was having.
âYouâre flustered,â Oscar said suddenly, voice soft, amused.
âI am not,â Lando replied immediately.
Oscar let out a quiet laugh, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. âSure youâre not.â
Lando groaned internally, trying to focus on the ground ahead of him.
âRelax,â Oscar said, leaning slightly closer. âItâs fine. You donât have to act normal around me.â
Donât have to act normalâŠÂ Landoâs brain short-circuited. He cleared his throat. âI⊠I am normal.â
Oscarâs grin widened, just slightly, enough to make Landoâs face heat up further. âYeah, you are. Definitely. Totally normal.â
The engineers didnât notice. The bustle of the garage swallowed them up. But Lando couldnât stop feeling every inch of his embarrassment pressed against his skin, and Oscar, as always, seemed to revel in it.
And Lando, against all odds, couldnât even hate it.
âž»
By mid-morning, Lando had more or less accepted that he was in trouble. Oscarâs calm, teasing presence was impossible to ignore, and every little glance or casual lean made him flustered in ways he hadnât anticipated.
As they walked past the McLaren hospitality, Lando tried to sound casual. âCareful, Oscar. People might start talking.â
Oscarâs smirk lifted, slow and deliberate, but he didnât say anything immediately. He let the pause hang just long enough to make Landoâs stomach tighten. âPeople talk anyway,â he finally murmured, voice easy, teasing. And if Lando wasnât feeling embarrassed enough, Oscar took the opportunity to throw his right arm over Landoâs shoulders.
Lando blinked, feeling the heat creep up his neck. âYeah, butââ He cut himself off, gesturing vaguely toward the pit lane, ââdonât give them extra material.â
Oscarâs grin widened, that quiet sort of amusement that made Landoâs chest tighten. âNoted,â he said softly, tilting his head in a way that gave Lando no choice but to turn to him, neck still touching the heated skin of the youngerâs bicep. He wished he could just let himself enjoy it, being so close to each other.
They leaned on the pit wall, ostensibly observing the teamâs work in the hospitality, though Lando kept finding excuses to glance at Oscar. The quiet energy between them was suddenly noticeable to everyone around, though Lando desperately hoped it wasnât obvious.
It was.
âž»
By Friday evening, the paddock had quieted down, and the hum of the Grand Prix weekend had softened. Lando was in his hotel room, sprawled on the bed with his laptop open, trying to review some notes, but his mind kept wandering back to earlier that day. Every glance, every touch and smirk from Oscar kept replaying in his head, making concentration impossible.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table. He reached for it and froze slightly when he saw the message.
Oscar:Â
Ordering room service. Want to join?
Lando blinked, caught off guard, and then smiled. He typed back quickly:
Lando:Â
sure
be there in 2 mins
Oscar:Â
đÂ
Donât take too long
Iâm starving
By the time Lando knocked on Oscarâs door, it was open before he could ring the bell. Oscar leaned casually against the frame, a tray stacked with food in his hands and that easy grin he always wore.
âLando,â he said, voice light, âglad you could escape your room and join the feast,â
âYeah, yeah,â Lando muttered, smile unable to leave his face. The room smelled delicious, and the tray was piled with burgers, fries, little sandwiches, and enough sauces to start a small condiment empire.
Oscar set it down and gestured to the small table. âSit. Donât hover like youâre still in the garage.â
Lando laughed, lowering himself onto the chair. âI donât hover. I⊠supervise. Big difference.â
Oscar rolled his eyes. âSure, whatever you say, chief.â
They dug in, sharing bites, passing fries back and forth, and teasing each other over the smallest things.
âYouâre supposed to be helping me with strategy, not stealing my fries,â Lando said between bites, holding up a hand dramatically.
âI am helping,â Oscar replied, grinning. âTeaching you the art of negotiation.â
âYouâre ridiculous,â Lando laughed, shoving a fry toward him.
âAnd youâre too easy to annoy,â Oscar shot back, snatching it anyway. Lando groaned, throwing his hands up, and Oscar laughed so hard he had to clutch the table.
They talked about everything and nothingâteam gossip, the funniest moments from the track, whoâd made the worst coffee, how someone had managed to spill an entire box of tools (Lando almost cried laughing when he remembered how one tool ended in the livery during that one practice session). Every time one of them made a joke, the other doubled over laughing, sometimes snorting, sometimes flailing arms around dramatically.
At one point, Lando caught himself mid-laugh, staring at Oscar for just a second too long. Oscar noticed, smirked knowingly, and muttered, âCaught you.â
âDid not!â Lando protested, though his grin betrayed him.
âTotally did,â Oscar replied, laughing again. âEyes say everything.â
The tray slowly emptied, their stomachs full, but neither of them seemed to care. They were too busy laughing at the ridiculousness of the evening, laughing so much that the room felt warmer, louder, and lighter than it had all week.
Finally, Lando leaned back, wiping his hands. âAlright, you win. This was⊠actually a lot of fun.â
Oscar grinned, leaning back in his chair. âOf course it was. Admit it, you secretly love my terrible jokes.â
âI admit nothing,â Lando shot back, but he laughed anyway.
Lando knew he was done for.
âž»
As soon as the room service tray was cleared, Lando eyed the extra controller Oscar had left on the bed, after he had proudly announced that he brought his console with him.
âSeriously? Youâre challenging me at FIFA now?â Lando asked, raising an eyebrow.
Oscar smirked, sliding onto the edge of the bed. âOf course. I have to make sure youâre not just good at dodging paddock photographers.â
Lando rolled his eyes but settled beside him, gripping the controller. âPrepare to be demolished.â
âOh, this is going to be fun,â Oscar said, grinning.
The game started, and immediately they were shouting and laughing at each otherâs ridiculous mistakes. Lando tried a fancy trick, only to spin out and let Oscar score easily.
âNo way! That was cheating!â Lando exclaimed, throwing his head back in laughter.
âSkill, my friend. Pure skill,â Oscar teased, nudging him lightly.
They bantered nonstop, teasing each other about every move. Lando tried to get revenge, snatching the controller when Oscar got distracted by a message on his phone, but Oscar grabbed it back with a laugh. Soon, they were doubled over in laughter, shoulders brushing as they fought for the next goal.
âOkay, okay, truce,â Lando gasped, holding up his hands. âOr weâre both going to break the controller in fits of rage.â
âToo late,â Oscar said with a grin, scooting closer so their legs were brushing. âWeâre in too deep now.â
Neither of them noticed how tired they were becoming. They kept joking, swapping controllers, laughing at their own terrible plays, until Lando yawned, mid-complaint about one of Oscarâs goals.
Oscar snorted, nudging him gently. âSure, sure.â He yawned too, slumping back against the headboard.
The controllers fell onto the bed somewhere between laughter and exhaustion, and soon the jokes turned into quiet chuckles, then soft sighs, until both of them were curled up on the bed, half-on, half-off the pillows, the game paused and forgotten.
By the time the hotel room was quiet, they were asleep, still tangled up in blankets.Â
Lando fell asleep thinking that maybe, it would be nice to have this, Oscar smiling at him, being happy, together.
âž»
Lando drifted into sleep, and the paddock, the hotel, the world itself faded away. He found himself lying back on a soft bed, sheets tangled around him, warm and heavy. And there was Oscar, leaning over him with that slow, infuriating grin, the one that made every nerve in Landoâs body hum.
âYouâve been thinking about me all day,â Oscar murmured, his voice low and teasing, one hand brushing a strand of hair from Landoâs forehead. âCareful⊠you might give yourself away.â
âI⊠maybe,â Lando admitted, chest tightening as he reached for Oscar, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt. âMaybe Iâve been thinking a lot.â
Oscarâs grin deepened, lips hovering just above Landoâs. âOh? And what exactly have you been thinking about?â
Landoâs breath caught. âYou⊠like this,â he whispered, voice shaky, eyes half-lidded. âBeing here with you.â
âMm,â Oscar hummed, brushing a soft kiss across Landoâs cheek, lingering near the corner of his lips. âI like the sound of that.â
Lando shivered, arching instinctively as Oscarâs hand moved slowly across his torso, teasing just enough to make him catch his breath. âOscar⊠IâŠâ he stammered, hands threading into Oscarâs hair. âI canât⊠I canât stop.â
âI know,â Oscar murmured, lips trailing down Landoâs neck, teasing, playful. âIâve been thinking about this too⊠about you.â
âI⊠I need you,â Lando breathed, hips shifting, body on fire with want. âOscar⊠pleaseâŠâ
âShh,â Oscar whispered, lips brushing lightly along Landoâs chest, tracing patterns that made him tremble, fingers threading through the soft curls at the nape of Landoâs neck. âRelax. Iâm right here.â
Landoâs heart pounded, every nerve alive with sensation. âI⊠I want⊠I canât⊠youâŠâ His words trailed off, lost in gasps and half-formed moans.
Oscar smiled softly, brushing a hand down Landoâs side and tugging lightly at his curls as he leaned closer. âI can feel how hard you are⊠how much you need me,â he murmured, voice low, warm. âGod, you feel perfect.â
Lando arched instinctively, hands clutching at Oscarâs shirt, pulling him closer, trying to grind even harder into Oscarâs thigh. âOscar⊠pleaseâŠâ he gasped. âI⊠I canât hold itâŠâ
âDonât,â Oscar said, pressing his thigh closer to Landoâs dick, brushing lips along Landoâs collarbone and chest, trailing gentle kisses lower, teasing, never rushing, tugging at Landoâs curls in rhythm with each tremble. âLet me make you feel good, Lan.â
Landoâs body trembled, mind swirling in a haze of heat and want. Every touch, every whisper, every teasing kiss sent shivers rippling through him. He felt the tension building, inch by inch, breath catching, heart hammering, so close he could hardly think.
âI⊠Iâmâso closeâŠâ Lando moaned, voice breaking, body trembling. âOscarâŠâ
âI know,â Oscar murmured, brushing through his curls again, tugging gently when Lando shivered, coaxing him with steady, warm hands. âI can feel it too,â
Hands tangled in each other, hips shifting instinctively, Lando could feel every inch of himself pressed toward the edge. Oscarâs lips, his hands in his hair, the way he whispered and teasedâit was everything Lando had ever imagined, and more.
âI⊠OscarâŠâ Lando gasped, body coiled tight with anticipation, mind swimming, heart pounding. âI⊠Iâmââ
And then, just as the tension was about to spill over, as Landoâs body trembled and he teetered on the brink, fingers clenching into Oscarâs curls⊠he woke up with a start.
âž»
Landoâs dream lingered like smoke in his mindâOscarâs hands in his curls, the teasing whispers, the closeness, the heat. In the dream, everything felt so vivid, so real, so⊠consuming. He felt himself get caught up in it, every nerve alive, every thought focused entirely on Oscar.
The silence of the room was heavy, broken only by the ragged, uneven sound of Landoâs own breathing. His skin felt several degrees too hot for his body, the ghost of the dream still clinging to him like a fever. He was certain that if he opened his eyes, the sheer force of his blush would illuminate the dark hotel room.
He didn't just cover his face; he pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, trying to physically push the images of dream-Oscar back into the depths of his subconscious.
"Lando."
The voice was too close.
Lando flinched, a small, choked sound escaping his throat. He hadn't heard Oscar move. He hadn't heard the rustle of sheets. But suddenly, the edge of his bed dipped, and a handâcool, steady, and very realâbrushed against his wrist.
"Go away," Lando croaked, his voice thick. "Go back to sleep. Iâm dying. Just let me die in peace."
"Youâre not dying," Oscar murmured. His tone wasn't teasing now. It was low, vibrating with a gravity that made Landoâs dick twitch. "But you are shaking. And youâre making noises that Iâm pretty sure aren't about FIFA."
Oscarâs fingers hooked around Landoâs wrists. He didn't yank; he applied a slow, insistent pressure, pulling Landoâs hands away from his face. Lando fought it for a second, his muscles locked in pure, unadulterated shame, but Oscar was patient. One by one, he pried Landoâs fingers back until Lando was forced to look at him.
In the dim light of the city glowing through the curtains, Oscar looked devastating. His hair was a mess from sleep, his eyes dark and dilated, fixed entirely on Landoâs flushed face.
"Your heart is going through your chest," Oscar whispered, his eyes flicking down to Landoâs throat, then back up. He didn't let go of Landoâs wrists. He pinned them lightly against the pillow, leaning over him until their noses almost touched. "Tell me what you were dreaming about."
"I can't," Lando breathed, his eyes darting everywhere but Oscarâs mouth. "Oscar, please. It was justâIâm tired. My brain is weirdâ"
"You called me 'love' again," Oscar interrupted. His voice dropped to a near-silent register, the kind that made the fine hairs on Landoâs arms stand up. "And you looked like you were in pain. Or like you were being properly fucked."
Oscarâs gaze searched Landoâs, dropping the last of his playful armor. The air between them was so thick it felt like it could snap.
"Lando," Oscar said, his thumb grazing the pulse point on Landoâs wrist. "Did you really want it to be real?"
The honesty of the question broke Landoâs remaining defenses. He couldn't lie, not when Oscar was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Lando gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
The shift in the room was instantaneous.
Oscar didn't hesitate. With one smooth, decisive motion, he reached down and gripped the edge of the heavy hotel duvet, flinging it back. The rush of cool air hit Landoâs heated skin, making him shiver, the outline of his cock visible, and to his embarrassment, he couldnât help but twitch.
Oscar moved, swung a leg over, settling himself firmly over Landoâs thighs, their cocks rubbing a little against each other. The weight was grounding and overwhelming all at once. Oscar sat up, his knees bracketed on either side of Landoâs hips, his hands sliding from Landoâs wrists up to his shoulders, then finally cupping his neck.
"Oscar," Lando gasped, his hands instinctively coming up to rest on Oscarâs waist, gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt.
"If we're doing this," Oscar whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against Landoâs ear, "weâre doing it for real. No more dreams."
He shifted, his body weight pressing down on Landoâs cock as he began a slow, rhythmic grind against the older. The friction was electric, the heat of their bodies meeting through the thin layers of their clothes. It was exactly like the dream, but a thousand times sharperâthe scent of Oscarâs skin, the sound of his hitching breath, the solid reality of him, the precum staining the front of their boxer.
Lando let out a broken moan, his head falling back against the pillow as he arched into the contact. His fingers dug into Oscarâs hips, guiding him, needing that pressure more than he needed his next breath.
Oscar let out a low, guttural huff of a laugh against Landoâs neck, his teeth grazing the skin there. "Better than the dream?"
"Shut up," Lando choked out, pulling Oscar down by the back of his neck to finally, finally kill the distance between their mouths. "Just⊠donât stop."
âž»
The kiss wasnât like the one in the dream.
The dream had been golden and soft, a hazy question asked in a quiet corner. This was an answer, it was loud, desperate, and crashing into reality with the force of a high-speed collision. Lando pulled Oscar down by the neck, his fingers tangling in those dark curls with a frantic grip, and Oscar met him with a groan that vibrated straight through Landoâs chest.
It was messy. It was teeth and tongue and the salt-sweet taste of skin. It was the sound of Oscarâs heavy breathing filling the small gap between them and the frantic rhythm of Landoâs heart finally finding its match.
Oscar shifted his weight, his thighs bracketing Landoâs hips, and began to move again, after pulling both of their boxers down. The friction was agonizingly perfect. With nothing separating their leakig cocks, every slide of Oscarâs body against his felt like a live wire sparking. Landoâs head thrashed back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut as a jagged breath hitched in his throat.
"Oscâ" Lando gasped into the kiss, his hands sliding down from Oscarâs hair to grip the hem of his shirt, pulling the fabric taut. "God, you ruin me"
âYouâre perfect,darling" Oscar murmured against his lips, his voice wrecked, stripped of all its usual Aussie dry wit. He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against Lando's, his eyes dark with a hunger that made Lando feel like he was melting into the mattress. "All for me, Lando"
Oscarâs hands, usually so steady on a steering wheel, were trembling slightly as they slid down Landoâs sides. He pressed his palms flat against the bed, using the leverage to grind down harder, more purposeful.
Landoâs back arched, his hips rising instinctively to meet Oscarâs cock. A broken, high-pitched sound escaped himâa sound he would have been mortified by twenty minutes ago, but now he only wanted to repeat it. He wanted Oscar to hear exactly what he was doing to him. He wanted Oscar to know that the dream hadn't even come close to the real thing.
"You're so red," Oscar whispered, his gaze tracing the flush that had spread from Landoâs cheeks down to the collar of his shirt. He leaned down, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of Landoâs neck, and inhaled deeply. "You wanted this for forever. Admit it."
"I hate you," Lando breathed, though his hands were busy pulling Oscarâs hips closer, refusing to let him pull away even for a second. "I hate how much you know."
"You don't hate it," Oscar countered, his teeth grazing Landoâs earlobe before he moved back to his mouth. "You love that Iâm the only one who sees you like this."
The friction intensified, a slow, torturous heat building in the pit of Lando's stomach. Every slide of their dicks was a promise of what was to come. Oscarâs movements were steady, rhythmic, and devastatingly effective. Lando felt like he was hovering on the edge of a cliff, the same one heâd fallen off in his sleep, but this time, there was no waking up to an empty room.
Oscar caught Landoâs hands, pinning them above his head with one hand, his fingers interlacing with Landoâs. He looked down at him, his expression a mix of fierce possession and a vulnerability that Lando had never seen before.
"Look at me," Oscar commanded softly.
Lando forced his eyes open, his vision slightly blurred. Oscar was looming over him, a silhouette of heat and muscle, his chest heaving.
"It's real, Lando," Oscar said, his voice a low, grounded rumble. "I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere."
Lando swallowed hard, his fingers squeezing Oscarâs. The embarrassment was still there, a tiny flickering ember, but it was being rapidly smothered by something much larger, much more powerful. He wasn't the lonely driver in the motorhome anymore. He was here, in the dark, with the one person who made the world make sense.
"Show me," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "Show me it's real, love,"
Lando watched, his throat tight and his pulse thundering in his ears, as Oscar spit in his palm and made a quick, slick adjustment. The slick heat of his palm was a sudden, electric contrast to the cool air of the room. When Oscar reached down, his hand sure and steady as he brought their cocks together, Landoâs head hit the headboard with a soft thud, his eyes rolling back in sheer, dizzying relief.
"Oscar," Lando choked out, his fingers digging into the mattress, his knuckles white.
Oscar didn't answer. He settled back over Landoâs lap, his weight a grounding force, and began to grind down again. It was direct, slick, and devastatingly hot. The rhythm was like a countdown, a fast and desperate pace that mirrored the final laps of a race where everything was on the line.
The friction was agonizingly perfect. Oscarâs hand worked with a relentless, driving motion, fingers going over Landoâs split, caressing their throbbing cocks one second, and changing the pace the next. Landoâs world narrowed down to the feeling of Oscarâs chest heaving against his, the scent of hotel soap and adrenaline, and the incredible, heavy pressure of their bodies meeting.
"Look at me," Oscar rasped, his voice a wrecked shadow of itself.
Lando forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. Oscar was looming over him, his face tight with concentration and a fierce, vulnerable kind of want. He looked like he was vibrating with the same tension that was about to snap Lando in half.
"I want you" Oscar breathed, the words punctuated by the rhythmic slide of his body against Landoâs. "This is... us."
The tension peaked, a sharp, white-hot line that Lando couldn't retreat from. His core tensed, in that familiar and burning way he grew accustomed to, but now even more intense. He arched his back, a fractured, high-pitched sound escaping him as he finally climaxed. Oscar let out a low, guttural growl against Landoâs shoulder, his grip tightening as they both came at the exact same moment.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the ragged, dying echo of their breath.
Oscar collapsed forward, his head resting in the crook of Landoâs neck, his body heavy and warm. Landoâs arms came up instinctively, wrapping around Oscarâs back, his fingers tracing the line of his spine with a slow, trembling touch. The embarrassment that had haunted him all these months was gone, replaced by a quiet, buzzing exhaustion that felt like peace.
Lando shifted his head, his lips brushing against Oscarâs sweat-dampened hair. "Definitely better than the dream," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.
Oscar let out a tiny, huffed laugh, his chest expanding against Landoâs. He didn't move to get up. He just tightened his hold, his voice muffled against Landoâs skin.
"Don't let it go to your head, Norris," he murmured. "But yeah. Way better."
Oscar didn't move to get off him. Instead, he shifted his weight, sliding down until they were lying side-by-side on the tangled sheets, the duvet pulled carelessly over them both. Lando didn't hesitate, immediately curving into Oscarâs side, throwing an arm and a leg over him to lock them together.
He felt ridiculously giddy, a bubbly, chaotic warmth spreading through his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with adrenaline. He was tucked against the crook of Oscarâs neck, listening to the solid, calming rhythm of his heart finally slowing down.
Lando shifted, pushing his nose against the soft skin of Oscarâs shoulder, a breathless, happy giggle escaping him. "Youâre actually real," he whispered, feeling a little frantic need to confirm it again. "Youâre not going to dissolve into golden light."
Oscar tightened his arm around Landoâs waist, bringing him closer until there was no space left between them. He let out a soft, low chuckle that resonated through his chest. "I think the lack of clothes and the very real cum thatâs dripping makes it pretty hard to be a dream, Lando."
Lando hummed, content to just breathe him in. He felt light, dizzy, and overwhelmingly happy. He tracing small, absent patterns on Oscarâs bicep, feeling the tension slowly leach out of his own muscles.
"It was so hard to not do something stupid," Lando murmured, the memory of the dream still warm in his mind, but now replaced by the much better reality. "The way you looked at me all this time, I really thought I was going crazy."
Oscar went quiet for a moment, his fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of Landoâs neck. The silence wasn't awkward, it was heavy with a new kind of honesty.
"You weren't crazy," Oscar said quietly, his voice stripping away the last of his usual defenses. He turned his head to look at Lando, his expression serious and incredibly intense in the dim light. "Because I've been looking at you like that for a long time."
Lando froze, lifting his head slightly to look into Oscarâs eyes. "What?"
Oscar smiled, a small, genuine expression that reached his eyes. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you, Lando. Before I even signed the contract. Before I knew what it was like to race alongside you."
Lando felt his breath hitch, his heart rate spiking in a completely different way than before. The giddiness turned into something deeper, something anchoring.
"Really?" Lando asked softly, searching Oscar's face.
"Really," Oscar confirmed, brushing a thumb along Lando's cheek and raising his head to kiss the same spot. "Iâm just... not very good at saying stupid things first like you are. I usually do something stupid later." He smirked, that familiar teasing glint returning to his eyes, but it was warmer now.
Lando laughed, a loud, genuine sound that filled the quiet room. He buried his face back into Oscarâs neck, hugging him tighter. "You're a nightmare, you know that?"
"But I'm your nightmare," Oscar murmured, kissing the top of Landoâs head.
"Yeah," Lando whispered, closing his eyes, perfectly content. "My nightmare."
first law exam season done aaaaaaaaaaaah, it was something! honestly expected more chaos but I managed to pull through well enough and I can finally think of writing more fics :P I have a draft for a landoscar one thatâs almost doneeeeee đ§ââïž missed writing and reading so much đ exams made me crave reading something other than my uni courses or constitution or civil code⊠but regardless I finished without failing any exams so thatâs a win for everyone because I have a longer break until the second semester. I do wish to do things more differently in this upcoming semester because now I know how things work and how I need to prepare so summer can be stress free as well!
Itâs in the works! just taking me a longer time than usual with uni exams approaching đ„Č I, too, yearn for writing my little landoscar fics, I miss them so much but I still need to keep up with uni first, a little bit of patience and I will be back with something <3
Summary: George watches him and feels something deep and aching unfold in his chest.
He thinks about how young Max was. How small.
How falling didnât always mean tripping.
He thinks, absurdly, irrationally, If only I had been born earlier.
AKA: Max and George talk about their childhoods over dinner.
Masterlist
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Thereâs a single candle on the table between them, flame flickering with every small movement, throwing low yellow light across the walls. It dances over Georgeâs hands as he rests them around his glass, over Maxâs profile as he leans back in his chair, listening.
Dinner is simple. Pasta gone slightly cold. Bread torn by hand instead of cut. They didnât bother with music.
They donât need it.
They sit across from each other, knees brushing under the table, and talk about childhood like itâs a language they both learned too early.
Max talks about growing up fast. About tracks and early mornings and a father who believed pressure made diamonds, that strength was something you carved out of a child before they had a chance to ask for gentleness. He says it casually, like he always does, like itâs just another fact about gravity or lift or velocity.
George listens.
He talks about karting too, but differently. About rules and order. About wanting to be good, to be correct, to never give anyone a reason to be disappointed. About a father who taught him discipline without fear, pride without pain. Someone who stood firm without raising a hand.
The candle flickers.
Max laughs at something George says, soft and surprised, like he didnât expect to be understood this easily.
And Georgeâ
George watches him and feels something deep and aching unfold in his chest.
He thinks about how young Max was. How small.
How falling didnât always mean tripping.
How sometimes it meant being pushed down by words, by hands, by anger that had nowhere else to go.
How there were moments, bruises hidden under sleeves, apologies that werenât his to give, silence learned too early, breath knocked clean out of him, where no one stepped in before the damage was done.
Georgeâs fingers tighten around his glass.
He thinks, absurdly, irrationally, If only I had been born earlier.
Just a little.
Enough to stand at the edge of the track. Enough to kneel beside a scraped-up boy and cradle his head, shield him from the impact of the world, especially Maxâs world. Enough to fall first if it meant Max wouldnât have to.
He imagines it so clearly it almost hurts:
Max stumbling. Gravity winning. His body throbbing from the force of the violence.
George stepping forward without thinking.
Taking the collision so Max wouldnât have to.
Even once.
Just one time.
âYouâre very quiet,â Max says, interrupting the thought.
George looks up, startled. The candlelight catches in Maxâs eyes, warm and steady and searching.
âSorry,â George says. âI was justâthinking.â
âDangerous habit,â Max replies, smiling.
George exhales, something like a laugh. âYou ever wish,â he says slowly, breath staggering, trying to make the lump in his throat disappear, âthat someone had been there a bit sooner?â his voice cracks slightly and he already feels his eyes burning with unshed tears.
Max doesnât joke this time.
He looks down at the table, thumb tracing the rim of his plate. âSometimes,â he admits.
The word hangs between them.
George reaches across the table without quite realizing heâs doing it. His hand stops halfway, hesitatesâthen Max closes the distance, resting his fingers against Georgeâs knuckles.
Itâs not dramatic. Itâs not rushed.
Itâs gentle. Deliberate.
The candle flickers again, casting their shadows together on the wall, two shapes overlapping, inseparable.
âIâm here now,â George says, quietly. Not as a promise, heâs never been one to make promises, but as a fact.
Maxâs grip tightens, just a little. âYeah,â he says. âI know.â
And for the first time that evening, George feels like that old violence has finally been softened. Not erased. But caught.
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Summary: Max and George are university students who share an apartment, and then some.
AKA: the one where they share a bed and take care of each other while being idiots and in love.
Masterlist
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The apartment wasnât supposed to feel like home.
It was supposed to be a âtemporary housing arrangement.âÂ
When they signed the lease, George said it was strictly practical.
Max took his time scanning the place â two bedrooms (though one was more of a glorified closet), one bathroom, a kitchen that hummed when you turned the light on, and a living room big enough for a couch and Maxâs flight manuals spread everywhere.
âTwo people, one rent,â heâd reasoned. âCheaper than living on campus.â
The only problem was that the reasonably sized bedroom â had one singular, massive bed in the corner of it that stared back at the pair in its awfully comfortable way.Â
âThereâs only one bed,â Max pointed out.
George barely looked up from the paperwork. âWeâll get another one.â
They didnât.
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The setup worked â mostly.
Until it didnât.
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Georgeâs textbooks multiplied overnight.
Stacks of legal theory, tort law, and constitutional interpretation appeared like fungi â under the coffee table, beside the sink, even on the microwave once. Case law printouts, highlighter caps in every shade, post-its with cryptic reminders like âIntent â Motiveâ that Max tried to understand once before giving up.
Then came Maxâs turn. Model airplane parts on the nightstand , equations scrawled in the margins of the grocery list, a half-finished cup of coffee left in the sink because he overslept again. There was a long week where he tried to build a model engine on the kitchen counter, and George nearly lost his mind.
âMax, this is where we eat.â
âThis is also where I engineer.â
âThatâs not a verb.â
âIt is when I do it.â
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The fridge, though â that was neutral territory.
The first was a cat in aviator glasses. Then came one wearing a pilotâs cap.
George pretended to be annoyed but secretly started a mini collection: one holding a briefcase, one with a gavel, even a cat wrapped in a tiny graduation robe.
âYou know,â Max said one night, leaning on the fridge door, âyou could just admit you like them.â
George didnât look up from his notes. âI tolerate them.â
âSure,â Max said. âThatâs why you named them.â
âI did notââ
âYou called that one âSir Whiskerton.ââ
âThat was sarcasm.â
âThen why does he have a name tag?â
George glared. Max grinned. Sir Whiskerton stayed, guarding their very important stacks of papers.
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Georgeâs schedule: 8 a.m. lectures, legal research blocks, study sessions that stretched into midnight.
Maxâs: engineering labs, simulator hours, âaircraft systemsâ that George keeps calling âplane stuff.â
Their days rarely aligned. Sometimes Max got home from class and George was already half-asleep at his desk, glasses tilted, pen still in hand.
Sometimes George woke up at 3 a.m. and found Max on the balcony, hoodie zipped up, hair messy, whispering equations into the dark like prayers.
So they took care of each other in small, quiet ways.
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They were also different in every way.
George thrived on order â outlines, plans, perfect handwriting, lectures highlighted in three colors.
Max lived on chaos and caffeine, scribbling formulas in pen on the backs of napkins and sometimes the actual wall (they had a whole fight about it, George had to call his mom to ask if dish soap can help remove black ink off of the walls, Max fixed it the next day by painting the small section of the wall, George swore he deliberately picked a darker paint than the original, Max just shrugged and promised to keep his formulas exclusively on paper for the time being.)
But somewhere in the middle of that, a rhythm formed.
Max packed Georgeâs lunch when he knew heâd forget to eat. He left it in the fridge with a cat-shaped post-it that said âdonât starve pls.â
George found it before a study session and smiled like an idiot in the library bathroom.
In return, he started buying Maxâs favorite snacks and leaving them in the pantry. âDonât crash before your flight sim,â his own note read.
They never talked about it, but they didnât have to.
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The bed thing was an accident.
The apartment came with one big bed, and George had sworn heâd sleep on the couch until they found another. That plan worked, for exactly two nights. By night three, his back felt like someone had tried to rearrange his spine.
At 2 a.m., Max found him sitting upright on the couch, looking utterly defeated.
âCouldnât sleep?â
âI canât feel my lower back.âÂ
âYou could justââ Max gestured toward the bed. âYou know.â
George gave him a look. âYou snore.â
âI donât snore.â
âYou do.â
Max smirked. âThen Iâll snore on your side.â
George groaned but gave in.
That night, he slept better than he had in weeks.
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Now they share.
They claim itâs âfor convenience.â Max says the heating system is bad and George radiates warmth. George mutters something about not wanting to argue at 2 a.m.
In reality, itâs because somewhere between the cat magnets and the packed lunches and the late-night study sessions, they stopped needing an excuse.
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Max is usually the first to fall asleep â sprawled, starfished, mumbling about flight paths in his dreams.
George slips in later, quietly, careful not to wake him.
Except Max always shifts closer, still half-asleep, mumbling something soft in Dutch against Georgeâs shoulder.
And George â George, whoâs supposed to be composed and precise â lets himself melt just a little. His hand traces slow, sleepy circles on Maxâs back until his own breathing matches his.
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One morning, George was in full panic mode â mid-semester exams, three essays due, and a presentation on constitutional law.
He was standing in the kitchen, muttering to himself and flipping through flashcards, when Max appeared in a hoodie and messy hair, a mug in hand.
âYouâre talking to yourself again.â
âIâm rehearsing,â George snapped. âI need to be concise.â
âYou could try being human, that might help.â
George glared at him over his coffee cup. âYou have an engine to disassemble or something?â
âAlready did. It exploded.â
George paused. ââŠExploded?â
âSmall explosion. Contained. Mostly.â
George set his coffee down very carefully. âMax.â
Max just grinned. âRelax. No casualties.â
âOther than your GPA.â
âFunny coming from someone who hasnât seen sunlight in a week.â
George opened his mouth to retort â then stopped when he noticed the neatly packed lunchbox on the counter.
A sandwich. An apple. A small note taped to it that read, âDonât argue with idiots before 9 a.m.â
He sighed. ââŠYouâre insufferable.â
âAnd youâre welcome.â
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By winter, the apartment felt less like a crash pad and more like a home.
They decorated for Christmas â well, Max did. He hung an airplane ornament on a potted plant and called it a tree. George tried to correct him, gave up halfway through, and added a tiny bow to the pot instead.
When the heating broke, they layered blankets on the bed until it looked like a fort. George pretended to mind, but he didnât â not when Maxâs arm found its usual spot around his waist.
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They argued, too. Loudly.
George once found an empty energy drink can balancing on his law textbook.
âAre you serious?!â heâd yelled from the kitchen.
Max yelled back from the shower. âItâs called recycling!â
âOn my constitutional notes?â
âThen move them!â
They didnât talk for three hours after that.
Then Max appeared in the doorway, damp hair sticking to his forehead, holding out a new can of Georgeâs favorite energy drink.
âPeace offering?â
George took it, sighing. ââŠYouâre lucky I like you.â
âYeah,â Max said softly. âI know.â
They still bicker over everything:
Who left the light on, who forgot to take the trash out, who used the last of the milk.
They make out in the kitchen five minutes later.
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One night, after a brutal exam week, they both crashed early. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater.
George shifted closer, half-asleep. âYouâre warm.â
âPilot body heat,â Max murmured, drowsy.
âThatâs not a thing.â
âIt is now.â
George chuckled. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âAnd you like it.â
There was a long pause. George took the opportunity to shift closer to Max and bury his head in the crook of his neck. He breathed Max in, trying to slowly memorise the way his nose fits against the olderâs neck, the way their laundry detergent smells on Max even after days.
A trail of pecks pressed to hot skin, followed by a quiet: âYeah. I do.â
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They didnât talk about that either.
But the next morning, Max found a new cat magnet on the fridge.
A cat curled up with another, tiny paws touching.
No note. No comment.
Just that.
He smiled for the rest of the day.
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Sometimes, Max would come home late and find George still awake, head buried in his notes, the light from his Ipad illuminating his eye bags.Â
âHey,â Max would say softly, leaning against the doorway. âYouâve been at it for hours.â
âI have to finish this.â
âYou also have to sleep.â
George sighed. âYou sound like my mother.â
âYour mother doesnât make out with you.â
Georgeâs pen slipped out of his hand. ââŠMax.â
âWhat?â Maxâs grin was shameless. âItâs true.â
George looked up, exasperated but smiling despite himself. âYouâre impossible.â
And Max crossed the room, tilted his chin up, and kissed him â slow, familiar, the kind of kiss that made George forget all about case law.
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Sundays were for pretending.
Pretending they werenât both behind on assignments. Pretending they didnât have exams creeping closer. Pretending they werenât living in an unspoken relationship built out of shared coffee mugs and one (very) shared bed.
It was 9:47 a.m. when George finally blinked awake, blinking at the sunlight spilling through the half-closed curtains. The air smelled faintly of coffee â strong, black, the way Max liked it â and something buttery.
He rolled over to find Max sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, carefully balancing a tiny model airplane wing in one hand.
âYouâre building that on the bed?â George mumbled, voice raspy.
Max grinned without looking up. âThe tableâs full of your notes.â
George squinted. âThatâs not a justification.â
âItâs not not a justification.â
He was impossible. Brilliant, endearing, infuriating â and, somehow, Georgeâs favorite kind of chaos.
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Maxâs little workstation was spreading â parts laid out on a breakfast tray beside an untouched plate of toast. George sighed, stretching, and then leaned over the edge of the bed to sniff the coffee mug sitting on the nightstand.
âIs this mine?â
âYours is the one with less sugar.â
George took a sip anyway. âYouâre a menace.â
âYou love me.â
George froze for a fraction of a second â long enough for Max to catch it.
He looked up, smiling faintly. âIn a roommate way, obviously.â
âObviously,â George said, hiding his smile behind the lukewarm coffee mug.
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Breakfast was quiet, in the kind of way that meant comfort rather than awkwardness.
George sat with his laptop propped against his knees, scrolling through an outline of case law for his upcoming moot court. Max tinkered with his model, occasionally stealing bites of Georgeâs toast when he thought he wasnât looking.
He was definitely looking.
âDo you ever not steal my food?â
Max shrugged, mouth full. âI pay rent.â
âThatâs not currency for my toast.â
âItâs in the roommate code.â
âThereâs no such thing.â
âI wrote it.â
George rolled his eyes. âYouâre absurd.â
âYouâre infatuated.â
George fought it. Lost. âUnfortunately.â
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At some point, Max gave up on pretending to work and leaned against Georgeâs shoulder, lazily watching him type.
âWhy do you do that?â Max asked quietly.
âDo what?â
âStay up so late. You already know all this stuff.â
George sighed. âItâs not about knowing. Itâs about being sure.â
âYouâre already sure.â
He glanced at Max, who was watching him with that frustratingly steady expression â the one that made it impossible to hide behind sarcasm.
âYou think too much,â Max said. âYou could just⊠stop for a bit.â
âI canât just stop.â
Max smiled softly. âThen Iâll make you.â
George blinked. âExcuse you?â
Before he could protest, Max closed the laptop and nudged it to the side. Then he just looked at him â calm, warm, almost unbearably fond.
âTen minutes,â he said. âNo studying. Just⊠stay here.â
âTen minutes wonâtââ
âGeorge.â
There was a firmness in Maxâs tone that made George sigh in defeat. âFine. Ten minutes.â
Max grinned. âGood. Now lie down.â
âIâm not a dog.â
âI didnât say you were.â
âYou implied it.â
âLie down, lawyer boy.â
George huffed, but he did.
âž»
It was peaceful, somehow. Max lay beside him, their legs brushing, one of Maxâs hands tracing idle patterns on Georgeâs arm. The sunlight caught the side of Maxâs hair, golden and soft, and George found himself watching the way his eyelashes fluttered as he blinked.
He didnât realize heâd been staring until Max smirked. âYouâre looking at me.â
âYouâre in my line of sight.â
âThereâs a whole room.â
âI like this part of it.â
Maxâs grin softened into something else â quieter, fonder. âYouâre getting worse at denying things.â
George turned onto his side. âYouâre getting better at reading me.â
The gentle smile turned into a smirk George knew well enough, one that Max wore when he was about to say the stupidest things George had ever heard in his life.
âYouâre my favorite subject.â
Georgeâs hands automatically found his face, letting out a long groan behind his palms.
âMaxââ
And whatever protest George was about to make vanished the second Max took his hands off his face and leaned in. George began to smile, already knowing what this usually led to.
The kiss was slow â not the kind of rushed, playful thing they usually shared between arguments and jokes. This one lingered, deliberate, heavy with everything they hadnât said yet.
When Max finally pulled back, Georgeâs breath caught in his throat.
âYou have 5 more minutes,â he whispered.
Bumping his nose against Georgeâs, Maxâs voice was barely above a murmur. âOf course you kept track.â
George smiled and pulled Max on top of him by the nape.
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They stayed like that for a while â tangled in sunlight and blankets, the kind of lazy warmth that made the rest of the world feel far away. Sharing kisses and long hugs that made George wonder if there is a possibility of ever melting into one another.
At some point, Georgeâs phone buzzed with a reminder for his afternoon study session. He glanced at it, then back at Max.
âI should probablyââ
Max reached out and shut the phone off with one finger. âNo.â
George blinked. âNo?â
âYouâve been studying for six days straight.â
âI have aââ
âYou have me right now.â
George looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly and sank back down. âYouâre going to ruin my GPA.â
âIâll take responsibility.â
âYou canât just take responsibility forââ
âIâll cross-examine your grades if I have to.â
George laughed. âThatâs not how law works.â
âItâs how Max works.â
George rolled his eyes but let his head fall against Maxâs chest anyway. âI hate how charming you think you are.â
âYou love how charming I am.â
ââŠMaybe.â
âDefinitely.â
âž»
Later that evening, the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge. George was cooking pasta â or trying to â while Max hovered nearby, eating raw noodles and being unhelpful.
âStop that.â
âIâm testing them.â
âTheyâre not even cooked.â
âStill counts.â
âDo you even know how to boil water?â
Max gestured at the pot. âItâs literally boiling.â
âThatâs because I did it.â
âYouâre such a control freak.â
âAnd youâre such aââ
He didnât get to finish, because Max leaned over and kissed him, quick and smiling against his lips.
George blinked, dazed. âThat was disgusting, I could taste the uncooked pasta, you know?â
âYou need to try new things, lawyer boy.â Max said simply, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard. âIâll show you later what I can truly do.â
Georgeâs heart did something traitorous. âYouâre insufferable.â
Max handed him a bowl. âYum!â
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They ate dinner sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching some half-finished documentary Max had started weeks ago. Halfway through, Georgeâs head dropped onto Maxâs shoulder.
âYouâre falling asleep,â Max murmured.
âIâm multitasking.â
âYouâre losing.â
âQuiet.â
âUh huh.â
George smiled, eyes half-closed. âYou know⊠this is kind of nice.â
Summary: Working for McLaren is a dream come true, but sometimes burnout happens.
Masterlist
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The next morning felt heavier than usual. The kind of heavy that wasnât fixed by coffee or another lap around the paddock. Your badge weighed on its lanyard like a brick, your eyes burned from lack of sleep, and every soundâair guns, chatter, the beep of telemetryâfelt like it was hitting you twice as loud.
You kept moving anyway. Because thatâs what you did: kept moving. Smile for the sponsors. Nod through the meetings. Check and recheck the numbers until they blurred. You didnât even realize your hands were shaking until you dropped a piece of paper and had to crouch to pick it up, hiding your face as you exhaled through your nose.
When you straightened, he was there.
Lando. Helmet under one arm, still suited up but with his balaclava tugged loose around his neck. His eyes flicked from your trembling hands to your face, and something in them sharpened.
âHey,â he said quietly. âCome with me for a sec.â
âIâm fineââ
âJust a sec,â he repeated, softer but no less firm.
You hesitated, but he was already tilting his head toward the side corridor behind the tyre racks. It wasnât farâbarely three steps away from the noiseâbut once you ducked behind the crates, the world dimmed. Quieter. Cooler.
He set his helmet down and crouched a little so youâd meet his eyes. âYouâre running on fumes,â he murmured.
Your throat bobbed. âIâm justâtired.â
âBurnt out,â he corrected gently. âYouâve been at it since before I even got here.â
You opened your mouth to argue, but the truth of it sat like a stone on your tongue. You let out a shaky laugh instead. âI donât really have a choice.â
He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away. You didnât. His palms slid up your arms until his thumbs rested just below your shoulders, rubbing small circles over your team uniform. The warmth of it made your eyes sting.
âYou do,â he said. âAt least for a minute.â
You blinked at him. âA minute?â
He grinned faintly. âTwo, if youâre feeling rebellious.â
It was so very himâgentle but teasingâthat you felt the edge of a smile break through. He saw it and his grin widened just enough to show a dimple. Then, still keeping one hand on your arm, he reached into his pocket and produced a slightly squashed protein bar.
âBreakfast of champions,â he said, waggling it at you. âHalf for you, half for me.â
You huffed a laugh, the sound catching on something raw. âThatâs not exactly a five-course meal.â
âGood thing weâre not exactly at a five-star restaurant,â he replied. âCome on. Sit.â
You sat on an upturned crate. He plopped down next to you, shoulder warm against yours, and ripped the wrapper open. For a moment you both chewed in silence, the hum of the paddock just a distant buzz.
And then he did something small but devastatingly kindâhe pressed his forehead lightly against yours. Not a kiss. Not even quite a hug. Just contact, a shared breath.
âBetter?â he asked, voice low.
You swallowed. âA little.â
âGood,â he said. âBecause you donât have to do all of it alone. Not here. Not with me around.â
You let your head tip onto his shoulder. He didnât move, didnât make a joke. Just shifted enough to tuck his chin lightly over your hair and keep you steady.
For the first time all day, the static in your ears eased.
âž»
Later, back at the workbench, your tablet open again, you felt his knee bump yours under the table. When you glanced up, he was already looking at you, a quiet promise sitting in his eyes.
And you realized you werenât just surviving the weekend anymore. You were finding little pockets of stillnessâbecause heâd gone looking for them with you.
âž»
The day blurred by after that small interlude, though it didnât feel quite so heavy. Each moment with himâeach brush of his hand, each quiet glanceâwas like a counterweight to the noise that usually pressed in. You still moved through the team briefings, the tire changes, the endless data streams, but there was a subtle steadiness now. Like someone had pressed pause on the chaos long enough for you to catch your breath.
By late afternoon, the garage had emptied again, leaving only the faint hum of machinery and the occasional clink of a dropped tool. You were crouched by the side of the livery, checking a wiring harness, when you felt it: a hand on your shoulder, nudging you upright.
âCareful,â Lando murmured. His proximity made your chest tightenânot in panic, just in that sharp, fluttering way that meant your heart noticed him before your brain did.
âIâm fine,â you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.
âSure,â he said, grinning, but he didnât move away. Instead, he leaned just slightly closer, letting the warmth from his shoulder brush against yours. âYou know, you donât have to look like a robot thatâs survived three consecutive races. You can⊠just be tired if you want.â
You let out a short laugh, more breath than sound. âAnd admit weakness? Not a chance.â
He chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, and his fingers found yours again, curling around your hand in a way that felt entirely natural. You froze at the contact, feeling the tension in your fingers unwind slowly as if it had been waiting for him.
âYouâre stubborn,â he said, almost like a compliment. âBut I like it. Makes me work harder to get through to you.â
âIâm sure,â you replied, with a dry edge that barely masked the warmth rising in your chest.
âYou donât have to fight so hard, you know,â he said, eyes searching yours. âEven if itâs just for a minute, let someone in. Let me in.â
You swallowed, the weight of the day pressing at your chest again. âI⊠I donât even know how to stop sometimes,â you admitted, voice quiet.
âThen start small,â he murmured, squeezing your hand. âA minute. Ten seconds. Doesnât matter. Iâll wait.â
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to crumble into relief and wanting to maintain some shred of control. But thenâsubtle, almost imperceptibleâyou allowed yourself to rest your forehead against his shoulder, letting the hum of the garage and the faint warmth of his hoodie anchor you.
He didnât speak, didnât shift. Just let you exist against him. And in that silence, in that small surrender, you realized: maybe letting someone in didnât have to mean losing yourself.
When you finally pulled back just enough to look at him, his curls were tousled, a stray lock falling across his forehead, his eyes soft but attentive. âBetter?â he asked, that familiar mixture of teasing and care lacing his tone.
âYeah,â you said, voice almost inaudible, but this time with conviction. âBetter.â
He smiled, small and secretive, like heâd just shared an inside joke with your heart. âGood,â he said. âBecause Iâve got your back. Always.â
And just like that, the world felt slightly less heavy. Not gone entirely, but lighter. Manageable. Because he hadnât just found the quiet; heâd built it with you, piece by careful piece.
âž»
Later that evening, when the last mechanics had trickled out and the fluorescent lights cast long, mellow shadows across the garage floor, he leaned against the edge of the workbench. He wasnât rushed, didnât need words, but his presence filled the space beside you.
âYou think,â he said thoughtfully, âthat everyone else notices thisâus being ridiculous?â
You raised an eyebrow, letting a small, amused smile curve your lips. âBeing ridiculous how?â
âTouching hands, leaning on each other, pretending weâre actually calm humans instead of walking chaos machines,â he replied, eyes crinkling with mischief.
You chuckled, shaking your head. âThen yes. Everyone definitely thinks weâre ridiculous.â
âGood,â he said, nudging your knee with his own. âI like being ridiculous with you.â
Your chest warmed at the words, and without thinking, you let your hand drift into his, fingers threading together naturally. The contact was gentle, easy, but it carried a weight that neither of you needed to explain.
Lando leaned slightly, resting his chin atop your shoulder. âTruce?â he murmured, voice low.
âFor what?â you asked, humoring him.
âFor letting each other be human,â he said simply.
You considered it for a heartbeat, then tilted your head to nudge his cheek with your own. âTruce,â you agreed.
And for the first time that week, the garageâthe noise, the chaos, the relentless paceâdidnât feel like it was pressing down on you. Because you werenât carrying it alone anymore. You had Lando.
Summary: You build your life around books, balancing content creation with a full-time job, community work, and charity fundraisers. He builds his life around speed, cameras, and champagne. But one day, your worlds collide.
Masterlist
âž»
The stack of packages on your kitchen table looked ridiculous.
You filmed them in one smooth pan for your video intro, narrating with a half-laugh.
âOkay, so this is what happens when you donât check your PO box for a week,â you said, waving a hand at the pile. âDonât worry, most of these are giveaway booksâyou guys know I donât keep everything. Iâll donate what I can, and a few of these will go straight into the literacy charity auction weâre running next month.â
You sliced open the first package, angling the camera so your viewers could see the glossy hardcover inside.
âPublishingâs sending out so many fantasy titles this season,â you said, flipping the book in your hands. âIâll probably keep one copy for a review, and the rest Iâll send out to you guys.â
You filmed a few more unboxings, a stack of thrifted paperbacks youâd picked up on your lunch break, and wrapped the video with your usual soft smile:
âThanks for sticking with me after a long day. Rememberâbooks are for sharing.â
You uploaded it quickly, then shoved your phone aside. You still had to prep dinner, fold laundry, and answer work emails before bed. Social media was a passion, but it wasnât the only thing keeping the lights on.
âž»
The next morning, you woke to a flood of notifications. That wasnât unusualânew video, new engagementâbut one username made you sit bolt upright.
landonorris liked your video.
At first, you thought it was a parody account. It had to be. You clicked through, half-asleepâand froze.
Blue check. Millions of followers. The real deal. Formula 1 driver. Cars, cameras, Monaco, champagne.
And somehow, he was watching you open boxes of books in your messy kitchen.
You locked your phone quickly, trying not to overthink it.
âž»
But then he came back.
A week later, when you posted your monthly âwrap-upââsitting cross-legged on the floor, stacks of books balanced around you, explaining what youâd readâhis name popped up in the comments.
landonorris: do people actually read that many pages in a month or is this witchcraft
You blinked at it, reread it twice. Then, hesitantly, typed back:
you: itâs just staying up too late and drinking too much coffee :)
He liked it almost immediately.
âž»
After that, it was like he couldnât stop.
When you did a thrift haul and mentioned how much joy it gave you to rescue neglected books:
landonorris: character is in the creases right?
When you filmed a PSA about donating duplicate ARCs to schools instead of reselling them:
landonorris: respect. more kids need stories.
When you went live during a charity readathon to raise funds for libraries, bleary-eyed but still smiling after 14 straight hours of reading:
landonorris: youâre insane. also, youâve read more today than iâve read in 23 years.
That one made you laugh so hard you had to pause mid-sentence.
Your followers noticed, of course. Screenshots started floating around. Rumors swirled. But you ignored them. He was just a name in the comments. A blue check didnât mean anything.
Right?
âž»
Until the day he followed you.
The notification hit like a weight:Â landonorris started following you.
Your heart pounded in your chest. He didnât just pass by anymore. Heâd chosen to stay.
You didnât follow back. Didnât comment. You just kept posting as usual, tried to pretend it didnât matter.
But you noticed yourself refreshing the notifications more often.
âž»
Two weeks later, the message arrived.
Your phone buzzed during your lunch break at work. You almost ignored itâuntil you saw his name in your DMs.
landonorris: i just learned iâve been pronouncing âepitomeâ wrong my whole life. felt like the kind of confession youâd forgive.
You stared at it for a full minute, your caesar salad forgotten on the desk.
You shouldnât answer. It was safer not to. But something about the clumsy honesty of it made you smile. Against your better judgment, you typed back:
you: book people forgive those confessions.
landonorris: even famous drivers who probably shouldnât admit it?
you: especially them.
landonorris: good. because i have a few more.
And just like that, the conversation started.
âž»
Over the next weeks, he slipped into your daily life like it was natural. He asked what you were reading on your commute, teased you for how many sticky tabs you used in one book, and once sent you a picture of his half-empty suitcase with a single paperback tossed in.
landonorris: this is me trying to take ur advice. packing a book.
you: proud of u. will u actually open it tho?
landonorris: 50/50.
It wasnât the glossy version of him in the magazines. He was⊠real. Curious. Funny. Sometimes a little lonely, though he never said it outright.
One evening, as you sat on your couch editing a video, your phone buzzed again.
landonorris: itâs one of my favorites. iâve been there loads when iâm in town.
Your typing paused.
you: âŠyouâre in town?
landonorris: yep. just got in yesterday actually.
you: oh. i didnât realize.
landonorris: wasnât sure how long iâd be here, but looks like iâve got a free evening on friday. figured itâd be stupid not to at least ask⊠do you want to meet up? dinner? my treat, somewhere nice
The message sat there like a spark in your chest.
He wasnât making some grand, dramatic request from miles away. He was here, in your city, casually asking if you wanted to share a meal. Nothing more, nothing less.
And before you could overthink it, your fingers typed back:
you: dinner sounds good.
landonorris: perfect. iâll find us somewhere.
You didnât even want to imagine what âsomewhereâ meant in his world.
But for the first time, you let yourself look forward to finding out.
The message didnât leave your mind all night.
Dinner? My treat. Somewhere nice.
He had typed it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like he wasnât a world-famous driver, and you werenât someone who filmed thrift hauls at midnight after clocking out of your actual job. Like the idea of the two of you sitting at a table in public wouldnât cause the internet to self-destruct.
You tried to convince yourself it was a joke. He was playful, half-sarcastic most of the time. Maybe he was just⊠testing the waters.
But when you woke up, there it was again. A notification.
And now he was saying heâd been there too? That heâd recognized it?
you: wait, really?
landonorris: really. i thought i was hallucinating when i saw the post.
you: itâs not exactly monaco.
landonorris: no. thatâs why i liked it.
You frowned at your phone, rereading the message.
landonorris: so. dinner?
you: why do you want to meet me?
landonorris: why wouldnât i?
You hesitated. The list in your head was long: because he had no shortage of glamorous people to talk to. Because you were ordinary. Because dinners in his world probably involved a guest list and photographers. Because meeting him in real life meant whatever comfortable bubble youâd built through screens might pop instantly.
you: it just⊠seems like you have better things to do.
You bit down on a smile before you could stop yourself.
you: youâre terrible at convincing people youâre not creepy.
landonorris: oh come on. creepy would be if i said i memorized the book you were reading in the photo.
you: âŠdid you?
landonorris: maybe.
you: lando.
landonorris: fine. it was called âI Must Betray You.â i only remembered because i bought it yesterday.
Your stomach flipped.
landonorris: itâs sitting on the hotel nightstand. waiting for me to become a changed man of culture.
you: and are you?
landonorris: not yet. i fell asleep on page four.
That made you laugh so hard you had to bury your face in the pillow.
âž»
The day crawled.
At work, you answered emails with half your brain while replaying the conversation in your head. A colleague leaned over your desk at one point and frowned.
âYou look like youâre hiding a secret,â she said.
You forced a smile. âJust tired.â
Which wasnât entirely a lie. You were tired. Tired of thinking in circles, of wondering if this was smart, of calculating how many ways it could go wrong.
By the time you got home, you had talked yourself out of it at least three times.
And then your phone buzzed again.
landonorris: donât cancel.
you: i wasnât going to.
landonorris: liar. i can feel the cancellation energy radiating.
you: you donât know what iâm thinking.
landonorris: yeah i do. youâre sitting there with your hair in a messy bun, chewing your lip, trying to decide if this is insane.
You froze. You were doing that.
you: okay thatâs creepy.
landonorris: not creepy. just accurate.
you: so what if i am thinking that?
landonorris: then iâd say stop overthinking and let me buy you dinner.
you: itâs not that simple.
landonorris: it is though. iâll pick a place that isnât scary. promise.
you: define scary.
landonorris: menus without prices.
you: okay good.
landonorris: so, mcdonaldâs?
you: perfect. iâll bring coupons.
landonorris: deal.
âž»
The next morning, you expected him to forget. To move on with his fast-paced life, leaving your little conversation as just another passing thing.
But then his post popped up.
A cappuccino. A half-cropped book. The caption: trying to do this right âïžđ
The book was unmistakable. âI Must Betray Youâ
Your phone buzzed instantly after.
landonorris: i thought iâd impress you.
you: i am impressed.
landonorris: do i get extra points if i finish it before tomorrow?
you: infinite points.
landonorris: cool. so iâll skim and make up a fake review.
you: youâre hopeless.
landonorris: and yet youâre still having dinner with me.
That one you didnât answer right away.
You stared at it, heart beating too fast.
Tomorrow. Dinner. With him.
It wasnât just hypothetical anymore.
âž»
You had told yourself it was just dinner.
Not a date. Not an event. Not a headline. Just⊠dinner. Two people who talked too much online finally meeting in person.
But standing in front of your mirror, you felt a pang of panic that no amount of self-reassuring pep talk could fix. Your dressâsimple, thrifted, the one that usually made you feel like yourselfâsuddenly seemed laughably insufficient. You tugged at the fabric around your waist. Too casual. Too⊠ordinary.
You glanced down at your shoes, low-heeled flats youâd chosen for comfort, not glamour. Maybe you shouldâve worn heels. Maybe nothing would ever be enough.
Your phone buzzed.
landonorris: outside.
you: youâre early.
landonorris: nervous.
That made you pause. Nervous? Him? He always looked effortless, like stepping into a room didnât cost him a second thought.
âž»
The car wasnât a McLaren, not a flashy supercarâit was just a black sedanâbut it looked far more expensive than anything you had ever even considered buying. The driver opened the door, and there he was, hoodie under a sharp jacket, hair still damp from a shower, looking casual and polished at once.
âHi,â he said, smiling. That easy, infuriating smile that made you want to both melt and roll your eyes.
âHi.â You slid into the seat beside him, suddenly aware of how plain your hands looked against the soft leather interior.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The city lights streaked past the tinted window. Then he said, âSo. Not a serial killer, then?â
You laughed too loudly. âNot tonight.â
âGood. Wouldâve ruined the evening.â
His knee bounced nervously. Your chest tightened. He seemed⊠human. Vulnerable even. But you felt anything but. You felt small, underdressed, out of place.
You noticed the watch on his wrist, the sleek glint of gold against his skin. It wasnât something you would ever dare to think about out loudâthe kind of thing that made your stomach tighten, that reminded you how far outside this world you felt. You tried to focus on your own hands, your own outfit, anything to ground yourself, but the quiet shine of it kept pulling your eyes back.
âž»
The street was quiet as you and Lando stepped away from the car. The city lights spilled onto the pavement in muted streaks, reflecting off wet asphalt from the afternoon drizzle. Each step you took felt heavier than it should, not physically, but like every thought about the night and the price of the dinner was pressing down on your chest.
Lando, oblivious to the weight you carried, walked beside you with a lightness you almost envied. âYou know,â he said, voice casual, âI read that this place has the best risotto in the city. And, apparently, the chef refuses to put more than three ingredients in it at a time, just to get it perfect.â
You smiled, though your mind had already wandered to the menu. âPerfect,â you said. âIâm⊠sure Iâll find something within⊠a reasonable range.â
He laughed. âReasonable range? You sound like youâre budgeting a vacation, not ordering dinner.â
You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the restaurantâs entrance. âSome people like to⊠be careful.â
The hostess led you inside. Warmth hit you immediately, mingling with the scent of herbs and butter. The interior was soft, mutedâdark wood, deep green accents, candlelight flickering across the walls. The tables were spaced comfortably, each with a small, understated floral arrangement. You felt out of place in your thrifted dress and flats, suddenly hyper-aware of the polished heels and designer bags surrounding you.
You sat, the chair making a faint scrape against the floor. Lando slid in opposite you, hands already brushing the table in casual confidence.
Menus were handed over, heavy and glossy, almost absurdly expensive-looking. Your stomach flipped as your eyes skimmed the prices. Half a month of your paycheck could barely cover one of the main course dishes. You laughed quietly to yourself, a sound tighter than intended.
âIâll⊠just have this,â you murmured, pointing to the cheapest option.
âJust this?â Landoâs brow lifted, amused. âYou sure you donât want to try something fancier? Itâs a special night, isnât it?â
You shook your head, smiling tightly. âNo, Iâm fine. I mean⊠cautious. I donât want to overdo it.â
He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. âFine, but Iâm getting more for you anyway.â
Conversation started easily, flowing around work, the week, and small everyday things. You joked lightly, answered his questions, and tried to anchor yourself in the normalcy of the interaction. But all the while, your mind flickered to the numbers. You calculated silentlyâyour paycheck, your rent, groceriesâand the impossible cost of one dish.
When dessert arrived, it was delicate, almost absurdly small, but perfect. You forced a laugh, commenting on the tiny portion, while internally calculating again. Then the check came.
You slid your hand across the table, pushing the entire share toward him. Each bill felt heavy, weighted with pride, memory, and a quiet defiance.
Lando looked at the money, then at you. He laughed softly at first, the sound light, playful. Then his eyes caught yours, and the amusement faltered. He realized you werenât joking.
âYou really want to do this?â he asked.
âYes,â you said, firm. âI⊠I always pay my part. I like things to be⊠even.â
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. âI asked you to meet me here, not to pay me. You came here to be with me tonight, not to hand me money.â
Shame crept up your neck, hot and sudden, your face flushing. Your eyes felt glossy, but you tucked your hands under the table, trying to hide it.
âI know,â you whispered.
He held the bills between you, lightly, teasing at first. âI canât let you do this. Not tonight. I asked. You didnât come here to pay meâyou came here to share dinner with me.â
Something in you softened, melted just slightly. The past, the old insistence on paying, the years of avoiding awkward situations⊠it all lingered like smoke, but tonight it didnât matter.
âBesides,â Lando added, mischief returning, âif I let you give me this, Iâd have to chase you down afterward⊠just to hold your hand.â
A laugh escaped you, small and real. You let your hand slip into his. The tension, the numbers, the worry about the priceâit all eased, just for tonight.
Conversation returned, slower, easier. Work, movies, memories. You joked, but underneath, a quiet anxiety lingered. Every glance at him, every tilt of his head, felt magnified.
âYou sure youâre okay?â he asked, genuinely.
âI am,â you said. Not the whole truthâyour pride masked itâbut enough. Youâd handled dinners like this before. Youâd handled worse.
And when the car ride back came, quiet, holding hands, the world shrank down to just you two. The numbers, the worry, the pastâthey all softened. For tonight, being seen, being held, without strings or judgments, was enough.
And maybe you could let someone do that.
âž»
The ride back was quieter than the drive there, but not in an uncomfortable way. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, and the soft hum of the engine filled in the spaces where words might have been. Your hand still rested against his, the warmth seeping in like it belonged there.
Landoâs voice broke the silence. âYou know⊠Iâve never been good at this, like⊠dates, I mean.â He chuckled, eyes flicking toward you. âI usually just wing it. But tonight⊠tonight felt right.â
You felt your chest tighten in a way that was almost familiar, the soft pinch of nerves and something else you couldnât quite name. âYou wing everything,â you teased lightly. âIâm impressed you got this far without chaos ensuing.â
âChaos?â he asked, one brow quirked. âYou mean⊠dinner, me, the city, the dress?â He nodded toward you, his eyes catching yours in the dim light. âBecause honestly, I think you look perfect. Youâve got⊠thisâŠâ He paused, searching for a word, then shook his head with a sheepish grin. âNever mind, that sounded dumb.â
You laughed, a sound that felt unsteady at first, then easier, freer. âTry me,â you said.
âOkay,â he said, leaning slightly closer, careful in a way that made your heart lurch. âYouâve got this⊠thing where you make everything feel normal, even when itâs not supposed to be. Like, I donât know⊠grounding, I guess. And itâs annoying, because I canât stop noticing it.â
You blinked. Blinked again. Blinked a third time, because wow, did he just⊠say that?
âI⊠I do?â you stammered, laughing nervously, fingers tightening around his. âI thought I was just⊠trying not to trip over my own feet.â
âYeah, well,â he said, shrugging, a playful smile tugging at his lips, âyou do both. Trip over your feet, and make it⊠I donât know⊠somehow impossible not to notice you.â
Your cheeks burned, and you turned your gaze to the window, the blur of neon signs reflecting in your eyes. The warmth in your chest spread, a slow, spreading glow. You wanted to say something clever, something casual, but all that came out was a soft, âThanks.â
He tilted his head, just slightly, watching you like he was memorizing the curve of your jaw, the way your lips pressed together when you were nervous. âYouâre welcome,â he said, quiet, but firm. âAnd⊠for what itâs worth? I donât care about the money, or the dress, or any of it. I just⊠wanted tonight. With you.â
The car turned onto your street, the familiar rhythm of your neighborhood grounding you. When it stopped, neither of you moved to unlace your hands. The engine ticked softly as it cooled.
You swallowed, heart thundering, then said, âIâm glad you asked me tonight. Iââ You faltered, words failing, so you just leaned in, resting your forehead lightly against his.
Landoâs breath hitched, a soft, surprised sound, and then he lowered his forehead to yours fully, eyes closing briefly. âMe too,â he murmured. âMe too.â
For a long moment, nothing else existedâno prices, no worries, no past disappointments. Just this quiet, steady presence, and the simple truth that you had finally⊠arrived.
the sequel to this fic is: Little things (make the difference)
Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader
Genre: fluff
Word Count: ~0.7k
Summary: Working for McLaren is a dream come true, but sometimes burnout happens.
Masterlist
âž»
The garage was alive with noiseâthe metallic clang of tools, the hiss of machinery cooling down, the murmur of engineers double-checking dataâbut it all pulsed in your ears like static. Youâd been on your feet since sunrise, running through meetings, strategy briefings, and endless adjustments to the car.
Now, finally still, you sat on a stool tucked behind a stack of equipment, your tablet resting limply in your lap. You told yourself you were âreviewing numbers,â but really, you were just⊠breathing. Trying to gather yourself after a day that had stretched far too thin.
It wasnât unusual for you to need a moment. What was unusual was how much harder it felt lately. Like you were carrying something heavier than just exhaustion, though you couldnât quite put it into words.
And then, as if on cue, you felt a shift in the air around you.
âFound you,â came Landoâs voice, low and amused, from behind the crates.
You glanced up, forcing a small smile. He leaned casually against the wall, still in his fireproof undershirt, curls damp from pulling off his helmet not long ago. His grin was easy, but his eyesâsharp, searchingâtold you heâd seen right through your act.
âDonât you have debrief?â you asked.
He shrugged. âAlready finished. Besides, I had a feeling youâd sneak off.â
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he stepped closer. His hand brushed over your shoulder in passing, the touch light, fleetingâyet grounding. For a moment, you felt the tightness in your chest ease.
âYou okay?â he asked gently.
âIâm fine,â you said, your voice thinner than you intended. âJust tired.â
He didnât push. Just let his thumb skim once over the fabric of your sleeve before withdrawing, as if he knew youâd noticed the absence the second it was gone.
That was the first touch.
âž»
After that, the touches kept finding their way into your days.
In the garage, when you handed him his helmet, his fingers always brushed yours just a little longer than necessary. During team briefings, when you got lost in thought, heâd nudge your knee with his beneath the table to bring you back. Once, when a crowd of media swarmed the garage doors, heâd rested a hand lightly at the small of your back, guiding you through until you were clear.
They were nothing anyone else would notice, but you did. Each small, deliberate touchâquiet, steadyâseemed to unravel the edges of your stress.
And it wasnât pity. That much you knew. It was⊠him. Lando had always been good at reading the people he cared about, even when they thought they were hiding it well.
âž»
Late one evening, when the garage had emptied out and most of the crew had gone for dinner, you stayed behind, sitting at a workbench with your laptop open but untouched. Your tea had gone cold at your elbow.
You didnât hear him approach, but you knew it was him by the way the silence softened.
âMind if I sit?â
You looked up to find Lando lingering by the bench, his hoodie pulled on over his race kit, curls messy. You nodded, and he slid onto the stool beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. He didnât say anything right awayâjust leaned on his elbows, quietly watching the dim lights flicker over the garage floor.
For a while, the two of you simply existed in the hush of the space. The world slowed, the noise finally dialed down. Then, without ceremony, his hand drifted over, his fingers brushing yours where they rested on the table. He didnât lace them together, not yetâjust let the warmth of his palm press against the back of your hand.
âYou donât have to explain,â he said softly. âJust⊠let me stay, yeah?â
Your throat tightened, but you turned your hand to squeeze his. That was enough.
Because it didnât need to be grand gestures. Not when the quiet touches said more than words ever could.
And with Lando, you knew youâd never have to ask. He already understood.
âž»
Masterlist
the sequel to this fic is: Little things (make the difference)
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Summary: Kimi and Ollieâs first date at the amusement park is memorable, in many ways.
Or: Kimi and Ollieâs first time
Masterlist
âž»
The amusement park was alive in the way only a summer night could make it â neon lights flickering over crowds, the thrum of bass-heavy ride music in the background, the faint smell of popcorn, fried dough, and sweet syrup clinging to the air.
Kimi was walking just ahead, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his dark hair catching in the glow of the carousel lights as Ollie trailed beside him, holding two empty soda cups and wearing the smug expression of a man who thought he was about to impress someone.
âAlright,â Ollie announced as they stopped in front of a game stall, âstand back and prepare to be dazzled.â
Kimi raised an eyebrow, glancing at the ring toss table. âUh-huh. Iâm already dazzled.â
âThatâs sarcasm,â Ollie accused, grinning. âYouâll eat your words when I win you that bear.â
Kimi followed his gaze to the huge white teddy hanging high above the counter. It was almost as tall as him. âYouâre gonna get that one?â
Ollie scoffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. âOf course. Tall, talented, devastatingly handsomeâwhat canât I do?â
Kimi smirked. âApparently⊠win carnival games.â
âThatâs unfair. You havenât seen me play yet.â Ollie handed a few crumpled bills to the bored-looking stall attendant and picked up the first ring.
Kimi leaned against the counter, eyes following the motion. âYour formâs already bad. Elbowâs too high.â
âDonât coach me, Antonelli,â Ollie said, narrowing his eyes in mock concentration. âYouâll jinx it.â
He tossed the ring. It bounced once, twice, then fell uselessly to the floor.
Kimi covered his mouth to hide his laugh. âWow. Such skill.â
âBeginnerâs warm-up.â Ollie picked up the next ring and threw with more force â it clattered against the bottle neck and rolled away.
âThatâs⊠two for two,â Kimi said innocently.
Ollie tried again. And again. Each attempt was a new creative failure. By the eight throw, Kimi was shaking with silent laughter.
âAlright,â Ollie muttered, stepping back and glaring at the stall like it had personally wronged him. âThis gameâs a scam.â
âOr youâre justââ Kimi paused for effect ââbad at it.â
âOkay, first of all, rude,â Ollie said, stepping closer until he was leaning over Kimi a little, the height difference impossible not to notice. âSecond⊠Iâm getting you that bear. One way or another.â
Kimi tilted his head. âHow?â
Ollie didnât answer â he just waited for the attendant to turn his back. Then, in one smooth, too-tall-for-his-own-good motion, he reached up, grabbed the bear straight off the hook, and shoved it into Kimiâs arms.
Kimiâs eyes went wide. âOllie! You canât justââ
âRun,â Ollie said simply, grabbing Kimiâs hand and tugging him into the crowd.
They darted between families and kids holding glow sticks, laughter spilling out of them in loud bursts. The bearâs oversized head bumped into strangers as they ran, Ollie shielding Kimi with his body whenever someone almost collided with them.
They finally ducked behind a cotton candy stand, chests heaving.
âYouâre insane,â Kimi said, still catching his breath.
âYouâre welcome,â Ollie replied, smug. âNow you have your bear and a thrilling story to tell.â
âYouâre gonna get us banned for life,â Kimi muttered, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a smile.
âWorth it.â Ollieâs gaze lingered for a second, soft in a way that made Kimiâs stomach flip. âIt suits you.â
Kimi looked away quickly, burying his face into the bear to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks.
When he looked up again, Ollie was gone â but a moment later, he reappeared holding two towering swirls of cotton candy, pink for himself and blue for Kimi.
Kimi accepted it cautiously. âThis is a bribe.â
âThis,â Ollie said, mock-offended, âis a peace offering. Eat.â
They tore off fluffy pieces, laughing when the sugar clung to their fingers. Every bite left Kimiâs lips faintly blue, Ollieâs mouth streaked with pink.
âYou look ridiculous,â Kimi said, pointing at Ollieâs candy-stained lips.
âOh yeah?â Ollie leaned down just enough to make Kimi have to tip his chin up. âYouâve got Smurf mouth.â
Before Kimi could fire back, Ollie kissed him.
It wasnât slow or calculated â just warm, sweet, and slightly sticky from the sugar. Kimi froze for half a second, his brain catching up to the fact that Oliver Bearman was kissing him in the middle of a crowded amusement park.
When Ollie pulled back, grinning like heâd just won something, he murmured, âHad to. You looked too good not to.â
Kimiâs heartbeat was loud in his ears. Normally shy, normally tongue-tied â he surprised even himself when he stepped up on his toes and kissed Ollie back.
This one lasted longer. Enough to taste the spun sugar on Ollieâs tongue.
When they parted, Ollie let out a soft, almost dazed laugh. âYouâre trouble, Antonelli.â
âMaybe,â Kimi said, hiding his smile behind another bite of cotton candy.
The rest of the walk back was quiet, comfortable, their fingers brushing until Ollie simply caught Kimiâs hand and didnât let go. The bear was wedged between them, the night air cool on their flushed faces.
By the time they reached the hotel, they were still laughing â and thatâs exactly how they crashed through the door together.
âž»
Ollie flopped back onto the bed dramatically, arms stretched out like he was claiming it all for himself. âThis,â he declared, âis our victory bed. Reserved exclusively for bear-winners and their beautiful dates.â
Kimi stood frozen at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. âYou literally stole the bear, Ollie.â
âDetails,â Ollie said breezily. Then, with a sly grin, he reached out both hands toward Kimi. âCâmere.â
Kimi raised a brow. âWhy?â
âBecause,â Ollie said, wiggling his fingers like a child demanding attention, âI want you here.â
Kimi hesitated, heat rising in his cheeksâbut his lips twitched into a small smile. He sighed like he was giving in to something inevitable, then placed his hands in Ollieâs.
Ollie wasted no time. With a sudden tug, he yanked Kimi forward until he stumbled to the edge of the bed, knees bumping against the mattress. Before Kimi could react, Ollie sat up and wrapped his arms tight around his waist, burying his face right into Kimiâs chest.
Kimi gasped. âOllie!â
âYou smell good,â Ollie mumbled against him, voice muffled. âLike sugar and⊠I dunno. You.â
Kimiâs blush flared red-hot. He froze at firstâuntil Ollie pressed a lazy kiss right against the soft spot of his chest, just above where his shirt collar dipped. Then another, lower, lingering longer.
âOllieâŠâ Kimi whispered, his voice caught somewhere between flustered and fond.
Ollie just hummed, lips brushing against him, arms holding him tighter like he was scared Kimi might vanish. âYour heartbeatâs so fast,â he teased softly, glancing up with a smirk. âNervous?â
Kimi swallowed, his hands hovering awkwardlyâthen slowly, almost shyly, he threaded his fingers into Ollieâs messy hair. âYouâre ridiculous,â he murmured, but the way he stroked Ollieâs hair was gentle. âAnd youâre making me ridiculous too.â
Ollie tilted his head into the touch like a cat, smiling against Kimiâs skin before planting another kiss, right between the faint dip of his pecs. âGood. I like you ridiculous.â
Kimi let out a shaky laugh, torn between hiding his face and leaning into the warmth. He ended up doing bothâducking his head until his forehead pressed lightly against the top of Ollieâs hair. âYouâre insane,â he whispered.
âInsanely into you,â Ollie shot back without missing a beat, hugging tighter.
Kimi groaned, flustered, but instead of pulling away, he surprised himselfâand Ollieâby tugging gently at his hair, making him tilt his head back. Then Kimi leaned down and kissed him, quick but deliberate.
Ollie blinked, stunned for a beat, then broke into the kind of grin that made Kimiâs knees weak. âSee?â Kimi muttered, cheeks burning, âI can start things too.â
Ollie laughed, low and breathless, and tugged him down until Kimi was practically sitting on his lap at the edge of the bed. âDangerous,â Ollie murmured, nuzzling against his chest again. âYouâre dangerous when you do that.â
Kimiâs hands trembled slightly in Ollieâs hair, but he didnât stop. âGuess youâll just have to keep me close then,â he whispered back.
Ollieâs reply was immediate, muffled against his chest. âGladly.â
And so they stayedâOllie wrapped around him like he never planned to let go, Kimi carding slow, careful fingers through his hair while Ollie pressed lazy kisses against his chest. Sweet and teasing and clumsy and young, but somehow perfect.
Ollie shifted beneath him, his grin pressed into Kimiâs chest. âYou donât even realize, do you?â
Kimi blinked, tugging gently at his hair. âRealize what?â
âThat youâre sitting on me,â Ollie teased, voice low but shaky with laughter, âand Iâm not exactly complaining.â He tilted his head back, smirk tugging at his lips, cheeks flushed pink.
Kimiâs heart stuttered. He shouldâve scrambled off, shouldâve apologizedâbut instead, a crooked smile tugged at his mouth. âMaybe I do realize,â he said softly, leaning down until their noses brushed. âAnd maybe I donât mind either.â
Ollie groaned dramatically, dropping his head back against the bed. âYouâre killing me.â
Kimi laughed, and in a burst of daring, he rocked his hips just slightlyâjust enough to make Ollieâs breath catch. âAm I?â
The sound that left Ollie was somewhere between a laugh and a choke. His hands slipped down to Kimiâs hips instinctively, holding on like he didnât trust his body not to melt right through the mattress. âDonâtââ he warned, eyes wide and sparkling, âunless you mean it.â
Kimi leaned down, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Ollieâs head. His hair fell into his eyes, his smile was nervous but steady, and his voice dropped into something almost daring. âMaybe I do.â
Ollieâs throat bobbed as he swallowed, lips parting. For once, he didnât have a quick comeback, just a shaky laugh as his fingers flexed against Kimiâs waist. âGod, youâreââ he cut himself off, pulling Kimi down the rest of the way until their mouths met.
It wasnât smooth, wasnât practiced. Their teeth bumped, they laughed into each otherâs mouths, and Kimiâs nose squished awkwardly against Ollieâs cheekâbut none of it mattered. Because Ollie kissed like he meant it, like heâd been waiting for this forever, and Kimi kissed back with all the clumsy intensity of someone finally realizing he could.
And when they broke apart, breathless and grinning, Ollie rested his forehead against Kimiâs. âYeah,â he whispered, still laughing. âDangerous.â
Kimiâs lips were still tingling when he pulled back, but Ollie didnât let him get far. Big hands spread over Kimiâs hips, dragging him down flush against his lap, making Kimi gasp.
âSee what you do to me?â Ollie murmured, voice rougher now, heat curling under his words. He ground up just enough to make the friction unmistakable.
Kimiâs eyes went wide, his breath catchingâbut instead of pulling away, he shifted deliberately, testing. The sharp sound Ollie madeâhalf-groan, half-laughâlit him up inside. âOh,â Kimi whispered, almost smug. âSo itâs like that.â
âDonâtââ Ollie warned, but it was ruined by the way his hips bucked helplessly under Kimiâs weight. âDonât you dare look so pleased with yourself.â
Kimi leaned down, teeth catching Ollieâs bottom lip before releasing it with a shaky laugh. âWhy not? Youâre the one holding me here.â
âAnd Iâm not letting go,â Ollie shot back instantly, dragging him down harder, enough to make them both groan this time. âGod, you feelââ He broke off with a curse, head falling back against the pillows.
Kimi pressed closer, the confidence building with every sound Ollie made. His hands slipped up under Ollieâs shirt, palms flat against the warm stretch of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. âIâve never done this before,â he admitted, breathless, âbutâfuckâyou make it feel easy.â
Ollieâs laugh was shaky, his hands tightening almost desperately on Kimiâs waist. âEasy? Youâre grinding on me like youâve been doing this for years.â
Kimi rolled his hips again, slower this time, testing, enjoying the way Ollieâs jaw clenched. âGuess Iâm just a fast learner.â
That dragged a raw groan out of Ollieâs throat, his fingers digging into Kimiâs skin. âYouâre gonna kill me. Youâre literally gonna kill me.â
Kimi smirked down at him, cheeks flushed, hair falling into his eyes as he rocked against him again, more deliberate now. âThen die happy,â he whispered, and kissed him deep enough to steal what little breath Ollie had left.
Kimi was already breathless, fingers curling in Ollieâs shirt as their mouths dragged against each other in sloppy, hungry kisses. Every grind of his hips made Ollie groan louder, made Kimiâs stomach twist and heat pool lower until he could barely think.
âFuck, KimiâŠâ Ollie broke away with a gasp, forehead pressed to Kimiâs. âYouâreâshitâyouâre driving me insane.â
Kimi let out a shaky laugh, though it came out more like a whimper when Ollie rolled his hips up, grinding against him just right. âYou keep saying that like itâs a bad thing.â
âBad for me, good for you,â Ollie muttered, tugging him down into another kissâthis one deeper, messier. His hands wandered lower, sliding under the hem of Kimiâs shirt until he could drag it up over his head. He cursed under his breath at the sight of Kimi flushed, bare-skinned, sitting astride his lap. âFuck, youâre gorgeous.â
Kimiâs blush was fire-hot, but he didnât look away. Instead, he shifted again, rubbing down against Ollieâs growing hardness with a soft, involuntary moan that made Ollie snap.
âLie back,â Ollie rasped, voice low and rough, eyes dark with heat.
Kimi hesitated, heart hammering, but Ollieâs hands were gentle as he guided him onto the pillows. âOllieâŠâ
âDonât worry,â Ollie murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his throat, then lower. âIâve got you. Justâtrust me, yeah?â
Kimi nodded, swallowing hard, and Ollieâs grin was soft but hungry. His hands slid down, undoing Kimiâs waistband slowly, deliberately. When he tugged his pants down, Kimi gasped and covered his face with his hands.
âDonât you dare hide from me,â Ollie teased, pulling his wrists away so he could drink in the sight of him, flushed and spread out beneath him. âGod, youâre perfect.â
Kimi whined, kicking lightly at Ollieâs hip. âStop saying stuff like thatâŠâ
âNot a chance.â Ollie leaned down, kissing him again, deep and wet, while his hand slipped lower, wrapping around him. Kimi broke the kiss with a startled cry, hips bucking into Ollieâs fist.
âOllieâfuckââ
âThat good already?â Ollie grinned against his lips, stroking him slow. âHavenât even gotten started.â
Kimi moaned again, head tipping back, throat bared as he writhed under Ollieâs touch. âYouâreâahhâteasing me.â
âOf course I am.â Ollie kissed his chest, sucking lightly at one peaked nipple until Kimi gasped and arched. âYou make the best noises when I do.â
Kimiâs entire body shuddered. âIâve neverânever done thisââ
Ollieâs hand slowed, soothing. âHey. Itâs okay. Weâll go slow. Iâll prep you properly. Just breathe, let me take care of you.â
Kimi bit his lip hard, nodding, his thighs trembling as Ollie reached for the lube in the bedside drawer. The sound of the cap clicking open made Kimiâs stomach flip, heat spiking all over again.
Ollie kissed him softly this time, grounding him. âTell me if itâs too much, yeah?â
âYeah,â Kimi whispered, voice wrecked already. âPleaseâjustâdo it.â
Ollie groaned at the desperation in his tone, slicking his fingers before sliding one gently between Kimiâs thighs. Kimi jolted, eyes flying open.
âShh, relax,â Ollie murmured, kissing his temple. âJust my finger. Youâre okay.â
Kimi whined, hips twitching, torn between the stretch and the dizzying wave of pleasure. âFuck, Ollieâitâsâahhââ
âGood?â Ollie asked, watching him carefully.
Kimi nodded frantically, clutching at the sheets. âGoodâso fucking goodââ
âRelax for me,â Ollie murmured, voice a low coax. âJust let me take care of you.â
Kimi swallowed, cheeks blazing. âI donât know howââ
âYou donât have to,â Ollie interrupted softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. âJust trust me.â
He eased his fingers further down until they pressed against Kimiâs entrance. Kimi tensed instantly, thighs twitching.
âShh, hey,â Ollie soothed, his free hand stroking lazy circles on Kimiâs hip. âItâs just me. Breathe.â
Kimi squeezed his eyes shut, a tiny whimper escaping. âYouâreâthis isââ
âDifferent?â Ollie finished for him, grinning faintly before kissing him full on the mouth. âYeah. But youâre gonna like it.â
He pressed the pad of one finger gently against him, waiting. Kimiâs hips twitched at the pressure, his nails digging into Ollieâs shoulders.
âOh, fuckââ Kimi gasped as Ollie finally slipped the tip of his finger inside, slow and careful. His whole body clenched around it, the sensation foreign and too much all at once.
Ollie didnât move right away. He kissed along Kimiâs cheek, whispering, âGood boy⊠youâve got it. Look at you.â
Kimi let out a shaky laugh, hiding his face in Ollieâs neck. âDonâtâdonât say that, Iâll die.â
âYouâre not dying,â Ollie teased, curling his finger just a little, enough to make Kimi gasp again. âYouâre doing so fucking good for me.â
Kimi whimpered, hips jerking, legs trying to clamp shut. Ollie stopped him with a firm hand on his thigh, keeping him open. âNo, no hiding. Let me see you.â
He slid the finger deeper, then slowly out, then back in again. The burn started to fade, replaced by something that made Kimi squirm and moan into Ollieâs shoulder.
âThatâs it,â Ollie whispered, voice ragged. âYouâre loosening up already. You feel amazing.â
Kimiâs breath hitched when Ollie added a second finger, stretching him wider. âOh, fuckâOllie!â His voice cracked on the name, his thighs trembling hard.
âI know, I know,â Ollie murmured, kissing him again, messy and slow, swallowing every sound. âItâs big, yeah? But you can take it.â
Kimiâs hands fisted in the sheets, his hips moving without him meaning to, trying to find more. âItâit feels weird,â he panted. âBut⊠good. Fuck, itâs good.â
Ollie grinned against his mouth. âGood weird. Thatâs the point.â He twisted his fingers, scissoring them carefully, and Kimi let out a strangled moan that made Ollieâs cock twitch hard against his thigh.
âStop smirking,â Kimi tried to snap, but it came out breathless, desperate.
Ollie chuckled low. âCanât help it when you sound like that.â
By the time Ollie eased in a third finger, Kimi was flushed to the roots of his hair, sweat beading on his forehead, his moans spilling freely now. He rocked against Ollieâs hand, the pleasure overwhelming, addictive.
âFuckâOllie, I canâtââ
âYes, you can,â Ollie coaxed, curling his fingers just right. Kimiâs back arched, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. âThatâs it. Youâre so ready for me.â
Kimi clutched at his shoulders, dizzy, his lips trembling. âIâve neverânever felt anything like thisââ
âI know,â Ollie whispered, pressing their foreheads together. âAnd I promise, it only gets better.â
Ollie pulled his fingers out slowly, making Kimi whimper at the sudden emptiness. His thighs clenched, his chest heaving, lips parted like he wanted to complain but couldnât find the words.
âYouâre ready,â Ollie murmured, stroking his side. His voice was rough, almost reverent. âI can feel it. Youâre perfect for me.â
Kimiâs eyes flicked up to him, uncertain, wide, but burning with something braver underneath. He swallowed hard. âThen⊠I want to.â His cheeks flamed red, but he kept going. âI want to ride you.â
Ollie froze for a second, cock twitching violently at the words alone. His hands gripped Kimiâs hips, tight enough to leave bruises. âFuck, Kimi⊠youâre gonna kill me.â
Kimi let out a nervous laugh, but his body trembled as he straddled Ollie properly, thighs spread wide over his lap. His knees dug into the sheets, his fingers fumbling against Ollieâs chest as he positioned himself.
Ollie reached down, guiding himself to Kimiâs entrance, the thick head brushing against him. Both of them groaned at the contact.
âEasy,â Ollie whispered, eyes glued to Kimiâs face. âTake it slow. You control everything.â
Kimi nodded, biting down hard on his lip as he lowered himself, just barely. The blunt head pressed inside, stretching him wide in a way that made his whole body jolt. A strangled gasp ripped out of him, his hands flying to Ollieâs shoulders.
âOllieâfuckââ His voice was cracked, desperate.
Ollie cupped the back of his neck, pulling him close, kissing his temple. âIâve got you. Youâre doing so good, baby. Just breathe. Let it happen.â
Kimi whimpered but sank lower, inch by torturous inch. Every new stretch had him gasping, moaning, burying his face deeper against Ollieâs neck. His thighs shook with the effort, his chest pressed tight to Ollieâs, his body practically curling around him.
âToo much?â Ollie asked between gritted teeth, holding himself as still as possible even though every muscle in his body screamed to thrust up.
Kimi shook his head violently, muffled against his skin. âN-no. Itâsâfuck, itâs a lot, butâdonât stop me.â
Ollieâs arms tightened around him, hugging him flush to his chest. âIâd never stop you. Take all the time you need.â
With Ollie rocking them gently, grounding him, Kimi pushed further down, groaning loudly as more of Ollie stretched him open. His nails raked down Ollieâs shoulders, his breath hot and shaky against his throat.
âGodâyouâre so big,â Kimi gasped. âI donâtâoh fuckââ
âAlmost there,â Ollie soothed, kissing along his jaw, his cheek, anywhere he could reach. âYouâre almost there, Kimi. Youâve got it. Youâre so fucking beautiful right now.â
Finally, with a sharp cry muffled into Ollieâs neck, Kimi sank all the way down, bottoming out. His entire body shook, clinging desperately to Ollie, his face buried deep against his skin. His chest rose and fell fast, his moans spilling against Ollieâs collarbone.
Ollie let out a guttural groan, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut. âHoly fuckâKimiâfuckââ He hugged him tighter, like if he didnât hold him, heâd fly apart. âYouâre around meâyouâre so fucking tight, I canâtââ
Kimi trembled, rocking them unconsciously in tiny movements, overwhelmed. âItâs so muchâI feel so fullâI canâtââ His voice broke into a whine.
âYou can,â Ollie whispered fiercely, dragging soothing hands up and down his back. âAnd you are. Youâre taking me so good, baby. Justâstay like this for a minute, let your body get used to it.â
Kimi nodded frantically, his breath coming in short bursts, his forehead pressed to Ollieâs jaw. They stayed locked together, Ollieâs arms wrapped tight around him, rocking them gently back and forth. The slight motion made Ollie rub impossibly deep inside him, and every time it happened, Kimi let out a muffled, broken moan into his neck.
âYou feel me, donât you?â Ollie whispered, his voice shaking with restraint. âEverywhere.â
Kimi whimpered, clinging harder. âI canât think. Itâs justâyouâitâs only you.â
Ollie groaned at that, kissing him messily, swallowing the words. âFuck, Kimiâdonât say that unless you want me to lose it.â
They rocked like that for long, torturous moments, Ollie hugging him close, Kimi trembling in his lap, adjusting to the fullness, to the heat, to the way his body molded around Ollieâs. Every little moan, every gasp, every squeeze made Ollieâs control fray thinner and thinner.
Finally, Kimi pulled back, his eyes blown wide, sweat dripping down his temple. His lips were parted, swollen, trembling.
Kimiâs voice was a broken whisper against Ollieâs lips. âI think⊠I want to move.â
Ollieâs eyes snapped open, dark and wild, his hands gripping Kimiâs hips hard enough to bruise. âFuck, Kimi⊠yeah? You sure?â
Kimi bit his lip, cheeks flaming, but he nodded. âYeah. IâI need to.â His thighs trembled around Ollieâs waist, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes.
Ollie swallowed hard, kissing him quick, messy, desperate. âOkay. Then move. Do it however feels good for you. Iâm right here.â
Kimiâs fingers clutched at Ollieâs shoulders as he lifted himself slowly, a strangled moan tearing out of his throat as Ollie dragged against every inch of him on the way up. His whole body shuddered, breath hitching like he couldnât handle the stretch and the pleasure at once.
âHoly shit,â Kimi gasped, dropping back down too fast, the full weight of him sinking Ollie deep inside again. His cry echoed off the walls, raw and needy, his nails digging red marks into Ollieâs skin.
Ollie groaned loud, his head falling back, voice low and broken. âKimiâfuckâyou feel unreal. So fucking tightâfuck.â
Kimi buried his face in Ollieâs neck again, muffling his moans against hot skin. He tried lifting himself again, slower this time, his thighs burning from the effort. When he sank back down, the angle made him sob out loud.
âOllieâoh my Godâitâs too muchâI canâtââ
âYes, you can,â Ollie whispered harshly, his arms wrapping around him, holding him close, rocking them just slightly to help. âYouâre taking me so good, baby. Look at you. Youâre perfect.â
Kimi whimpered, clutching him tighter. His hips started to move shakily, bouncing in small, desperate motions, grinding down when the angle made him see stars. Each movement pulled broken moans from his lips, his body melting against Ollieâs chest.
âF-fuck, it keeps hittingâoh my Godââ Kimiâs voice cracked into a high, needy whine, his legs shaking.
Ollieâs grip tightened on his waist, guiding him. âThereâright there, huh? You like that? God, I can feel you clench every timeââ He groaned deep, almost animal. âYouâre gonna ruin me, Kimi.â
Kimiâs face was a mess of sweat and red cheeks, his lips swollen from biting them raw. âOllie, IâI canât stopâit feelsâfuck, it feels so goodââ He rocked down hard again, his moan breaking into something almost sob-like.
Ollie kissed him through it, swallowing the sounds, whispering against his mouth. âDonât stop. Ride me. Take what you want, baby, Iâll give you everything.â
Kimi let out a strangled cry as his rhythm grew wilder, bouncing harder on Ollieâs lap. Each time he sank down, his moans grew louder, less controlled. His thighs quivered with the effort, but his body kept chasing it, chasing the heat curling tight in his stomach.
âOllieâfuckâoh fuckâI can feel youâeverywhereââ His voice cracked into a desperate whimper.
Ollieâs teeth scraped along his jaw, his own voice rough and shaking. âAnd I can feel youâgripping me so tightâKimi, youâre perfect, youâre mineâfuckââ
Kimiâs head fell back, a raw moan tearing out of him as he rode Ollie harder, faster, every sound echoing. Sweat dripped down his temple, his body trembling as pleasure threatened to swallow him whole.
âOllie, IâmâI canâtâoh Godââ
âYes you can,â Ollie growled, thrusting up to meet him now, their bodies slamming together in a messy rhythm. His arms crushed Kimi tight against him, holding him like heâd never let go. âTake itâtake all of meâfuck, youâre incredible.â
Kimi cried out, voice breaking, his body clinging desperately to Ollieâs. His thighs burned, his breath came in sobs, his moans raw and loud as he rode Ollie through every dizzying wave of pleasure.
Kimiâs movements became erratic, frantic almost, his riding turning sporadic as the coil in his stomach tightened unbearably. He clutched Ollieâs shoulders like a lifeline, nails biting into skin as he leaned forward, gasping out broken words.
âOllie⊠Iâoh fuckâI canât hold itââ Kimi whimpered, body trembling from the heat curling through him, every nerve ending screaming.
Ollieâs hands shot under Kimiâs thighs, lifting him just enough to press deeper, rocking into him with a force that left them both gasping. âThatâs it, baby⊠just like that,â he growled, voice low and rough, each syllable vibrating through Kimi. âTake me⊠ride me, fuck, KimiâŠâ
Kimiâs head fell back, mouth open, a strangled moan escaping as the pleasure clawed up his spine. âOllie⊠ohâoh God, IâmâfuckâIâm gonnaââ His hips stuttered, jerking as if the orgasm had already claimed him, waves building so fast he couldnât think, couldnât breathe, couldnât stop.
Ollie leaned forward, holding him up with a grip tight around his thighs, thrusting up with deliberate, punishing rhythm. âYes⊠yes, baby, just like thatâfeel it? Feel yourself⊠fuck!â His own body tensed, groaning as Kimi clenched around him, the pressure and warmth pushing Ollie closer to his own release.
Kimiâs breath hitched in ragged, uneven gasps, tears slipping down his cheeks as the orgasm hit him full force. He trembled violently, his whole body quivering against Ollie, shuddering as waves of release rolled over him. âOh fuck⊠Ollie⊠oh God⊠Iâmâohhhââ His moans broke into desperate cries, raw and wet, every nerve on fire.
Ollieâs eyes widened at the sight, a mix of awe and lust overtaking him. âKimi⊠youâreâfuckâyouâre insane,â he hissed, thrusting harder as Kimiâs body clenched so tight around him that he lost himself instantly. âI canâtâfuckâright there!â
The sound of their moans echoed in the room, a messy, chaotic symphony of sweat, shivering, and desperate need. Kimiâs legs shook uncontrollably around Ollie, hands gripping him like he was the only thing keeping him tethered. Each tight, pulsing contraction sent Ollie spiraling, until he too tipped over the edge, gasping and groaning as he released, heat and tension crashing through him in an overwhelming tide.
Kimiâs cries became incoherent, a mixture of sobs and moans as his body rode out wave after wave, shaking and trembling uncontrollably, tears still streaking his face. âOllie⊠oh God⊠donât stop⊠donât fucking stopâŠâ he begged between ragged breaths, voice cracking, body writhing on top of Ollie.
Ollie caught him, breathing heavy and raw, lips brushing Kimiâs temple as he whispered, almost lost in disbelief. âYouâre incredible, baby⊠so fucking incredible⊠God, I canât get enough of you.â
Kimiâs body quivered, still trembling with aftershocks, clinging to Ollie like he was drowning and Ollie was the only solid ground. He tried to speak, to apologize for the mess, for the desperate, unrestrained criesâbut it came out only as a broken, half-laughing sob.
Ollieâs hands roamed over Kimiâs back and thighs, steadying him, savoring every tremble, every shudder. âShhh⊠itâs fine,â he murmured. âAll of it⊠you⊠me⊠this⊠itâs perfect. You feel perfect.â
Kimiâs chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes, face flushed and shiny. âIâfuck⊠Ollie⊠I didnât think it could feel⊠like thisâŠâ His voice was raw, desperate, completely undone.
Ollie leaned close, capturing his lips in a soft, needy kiss, grounding him as the final tremors rolled through his body. âI know, baby⊠I know. And Iâm right here. Always.â
Kimi shivered again, leaning into Ollie, letting himself melt into the aftershocks, utterly spent and trembling, the taste of himself and Ollie lingering in the air, their bodies entwined in sweaty, chaotic warmth.
Kimi sagged against Ollie, still trembling, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His voice was a shaky, breathy whisper. âI⊠Iâm such a mess⊠sorry⊠God, Iâm sorryâŠâ
Ollie snorted, nudging him gently with a grin. âMess? Baby, that wasnât a messâthat was⊠wow.â He laughed, low and playful, and Kimiâs lips twitched into a half-smile despite himself.
âI⊠I donât even⊠look right⊠or sound rightâŠâ Kimi muttered, voice breaking into a nervous giggle, still clinging to Ollieâs chest.
Ollie shook his head, eyes twinkling. âDonât worry, youâre perfect. Hot, loud, messy⊠all of it. Honestly, itâs kinda⊠cute.â
Kimiâs nervous laugh turned into a full, shaky giggle. âCute? You think me crying and gasping like a⊠a wet noodle is cute?â
âYes!â Ollie exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. âAbsolutely! Look at youâtotally wrecked, all over me⊠and I love it. Youâre like⊠like⊠a firework that explodes everywhere at once.â
Kimi buried his face in Ollieâs shoulder, muffling another laugh. âYouâre ridiculousâŠâ
âAnd you love it,â Ollie shot back immediately, laughing too, fingers brushing through Kimiâs damp hair.
âI⊠maybe,â Kimi admitted, peeking at him with watery eyes, lips tugging into a shy grin. âMaybe a littleâŠâ
Ollie leaned down and pressed a soft, playful kiss to Kimiâs temple. âSee? Told you. You donât have to apologize for⊠anything. Weâre both messy, weâre both loud⊠weâre bothâŠâ He grinned, catching Kimiâs eye. ââŠjust young and stupid and having way too much fun.â
Kimiâs laugh cracked again, louder this time, and he squirmed just enough to bump into Ollie. âYeah⊠young and stupid. Thatâs⊠exactly what we are.â
âExactly,â Ollie agreed, holding him close as their giggles faded into soft, happy breaths. âAnd honestly? I wouldnât change a thing.â
Kimi let out a content sigh, nuzzling into Ollieâs chest. âOkay⊠fine. But only because⊠youâre ridiculous too.â
âAnd you love that about me,â Ollie whispered, grinning, making Kimiâs lips twitch into a grin of his own.
They stayed tangled together, laughing quietly, whispering teasing little comments at each other, still shaky and breathless, but completely giddy in the aftermath of everythingâthe pleasure, the mess, the thrill of it all.
It wasnât serious. It wasnât heavy. It was just themâyoung, silly, and utterly infatuated.
Ollie shifted a little under Kimi, still buried deep inside him, the both of them sticky, messy, overheated. He smoothed a hand down Kimiâs spine, grinning faintly at the way Kimi clung like he never wanted to move.
âBath?â Ollie murmured, his voice low and rough.
Kimi made a sleepy, half-whining sound against his shoulder. âMhm⊠but⊠donât wanna moveâŠâ
Ollieâs lips curved into a smirk. âGood thing Iâve got you, then.â His hands slid under Kimiâs thighs, lifting him easily. Kimi gasped, arms flying around Ollieâs neck as he realized Ollie was carrying himâstill inside him, their bodies joined, sticky heat pressed together.
âOllie!â Kimi squeaked, his face flaming as his hips shifted just from the movement. âYou canâtâoh my Godââ
âYes, I can,â Ollie teased, voice warm against his ear. He adjusted his grip, careful but firm, making sure Kimi was snug against him. Every step sent a subtle jolt through them both, a deep grind that made Kimi shiver and whimper into Ollieâs neck.
They made it into the bathroom, Ollie kicking the door shut with his foot. He set Kimi carefully on the edge of the tub, never pulling out, their hips still locked together. With one hand, he reached to twist the tap, hot water rushing out, steam filling the room quickly.
Kimiâs cheeks burned crimson, eyes wide and shy as Ollie kissed his temple. âWeâre really⊠still like this?â he asked, voice breaking into a nervous laugh.
âWhy would I pull out now?â Ollie murmured, rocking his hips just a little, enough to make Kimi bite down on a gasp. âFeels too good.â
Kimiâs legs twitched around Ollieâs waist, but he didnât argue. Instead, he buried his face against Ollieâs throat, letting out a soft, desperate sound.
When the water was high enough, Ollie climbed in carefully with Kimi still wrapped around him, both of them sinking into the warmth. The water lapped against their skin, soothing the ache in their muscles, but the closenessâthe stretch, the constant pressâwas enough to keep heat curling low in Kimiâs belly again.
Ollie leaned back against the edge of the tub, keeping Kimi perched on his lap, snug and filled. He tilted Kimiâs chin up, kissing him slow, soft, the opposite of the frantic need theyâd shared before. Their lips brushed lazily, tongues sliding together in messy, tender kisses that stretched into forever.
Kimiâs hips shifted unconsciously, grinding down just enough to draw a moan from them both. âOllieâŠâ he whispered, voice hazy, lips kiss-swollen. âIt feels⊠different like thisâŠâ
Ollie kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, down to the damp curve of his neck. âSlower,â he murmured. âSweeter. Just us.â
Kimi nodded faintly, his head dropping to Ollieâs shoulder again, hips rolling gently, chasing sparks that flickered but didnât overwhelm. His breaths grew slower, softer, peppering Ollieâs neck with small pecks, each kiss lazier than the last until his eyelids began to flutter.
âDonât fall asleep on me,â Ollie teased softly, though his lips curved into a smile as he felt Kimiâs body grow heavier in his arms.
âMmm⊠canât help it,â Kimi mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion, nuzzling into Ollieâs chest. âWarm⊠full⊠youâre⊠too muchâŠâ
Ollieâs chest tightened at that, something tender wrapping around his heart. He kissed Kimiâs damp hair, then his temple, then the softest press to his cheek. âSleep, baby,â he whispered. âIâve got you.â
Kimi hummed faintly, already drifting, his breathing evening out, lips parted in the faintest of smiles.
Ollie leaned back fully, the hot water lapping around them, one arm wrapped firmly around Kimi, the other brushing through his damp hair. He pressed another kiss to Kimiâs cheek, lingering there, admiring the flushed, softened lines of his face as he slept.
Still joined, still connected, Ollie closed his eyes tooâcontent, protective, completely gone for the boy dozing in his arms.
Summary: Kimi cries during sex and Ollie discovers something new about himself.
Masterlist
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The hotel is too quiet after a race weekend. That kind of silence where the adrenaline hasnât faded yet, where every nerve in Ollieâs body is still crackling, begging for something to burn it off.
He doesnât bother knocking hard when he slips into Kimiâs roomâjust a soft rap of knuckles before the door opens, because he knows Kimiâs expecting him.
Kimi is already stretched out on the bed, hair damp from a late shower, wearing nothing but loose shorts and that guarded expression Ollie always wants to break through. The bedside lamp casts him in gold, skin glowing, chest rising and falling in that measured, controlled way that makes Ollie ache.
âYouâre late,â Kimi murmurs, voice low, almost teasing but not quite.
âGot caught with media shit,â Ollie answers, shrugging off his hoodie. He doesnât miss the way Kimiâs eyes flick down his chest, then away again, pretending not to look. âBut Iâm here now.â
Kimiâs lips twitch, almost a smile. âLucky me.â
Ollie climbs onto the bed without hesitation, bracketing Kimiâs hips with his knees. âYeah, lucky you.â His mouth finds Kimiâs almost immediately, urgent and hungry, like heâs been starving all week. Their kisses are always this wayâmessy, teeth clashing, a little too desperate. Like both of them know they shouldnât, but neither can stop.
Kimi melts under him fast, one hand fisting in Ollieâs shirt, the other sliding into his hair. He sighs into Ollieâs mouth, a sound so quiet and broken that Ollie swears it shoots straight through his body.
He pulls back, lips swollen, breathing hard. âFuck, youâreââ he canât even finish. Instead, his hand slides down, palming Kimi through his shorts. âAlready hard for me?â
Kimi huffs, embarrassed, cheeks pink. âShut up.â
But Ollie only grins, kissing his jaw, his throat, down to the sharp line of his collarbone. âNot gonna. Not when youâre like this for me.â
His fingers tug the shorts down, slow enough to make Kimi squirm. His cock is flushed, already leaking, and Ollieâs chest tightens at the sight.
âGod, look at you,â he whispers, stroking him once, then again, slow and deliberate. Kimi gasps softly, eyes fluttering shut.
Thatâs when Ollie notices itâthe way Kimiâs lashes are damp already. Not crying, not really, just⊠shining. Like his body canât hold all of it in.
Ollie swallows, cock twitching. He leans closer, murmuring against Kimiâs ear. âGonna let me open you up? Take care of you?â
Kimi nods, silent. He never begs, never asksâbut the way he spreads his thighs wider says everything.
Ollie slides a slick finger inside him, slow, careful, watching Kimiâs face as he does. Kimiâs lips part, a small, stifled sound escaping. His hand fists in the sheets, knuckles white.
âGood boy,â Ollie breathes, curling his finger just right. Kimi gasps again, louder this time. His eyes squeeze shut, and thatâs when the first tear slips freeâtiny, barely there, tracking down his cheek.
Ollie freezes for half a second, stunned. Then, almost without thinking, he leans down and licks it away.
The taste of itâsalty, warm, realâmakes something dark snap inside him. His cock throbs, his whole body going tense.
âFuck,â he whispers, against Kimiâs skin. âYouâre crying for me?â
Kimi shudders, embarrassed, trying to turn his face away. âIâdonâtââ
âNo, no, look at me,â Ollie says, adding a second finger, stretching him wider. Kimi gasps, a quiet moan slipping out, and another tear slides free. Ollie chases it with his tongue, groaning at the taste. âGod, thatâs so fucking hot.â
Kimi whimpersâsoft, broken, almost silent. The sound makes Ollieâs cock leak into his boxers.
âYou donât even know what youâre doing to me,â Ollie mutters, fucking his fingers deeper, faster. âYouâre killing me, Kimi.â
Kimi arches off the bed, face twisted in something between pleasure and shame, another tiny sound spilling from his lips. His thighs tremble, his chest rising in sharp bursts.
Ollie is undone. Heâs never wanted anyone like this. Never wanted to wreck and worship someone in the same breath.
Ollieâs fingers are moving steadily inside him now, scissoring, stretching, his other hand never leaving Kimiâs hip. He can feel how tight he still is, how his body clenches around him, but also how pliant heâs becoming, how every careful push drags another soft gasp out of his throat.
Kimi turns his face toward the pillow, embarrassed by the way his breathing is coming out in uneven stutters. But Ollie wonât let him hideâhe leans down, kisses the corner of his mouth, gentle where everything else feels raw and urgent.
âHey,â Ollie whispers, voice rough with want but tender at the edges. âTalk to me.â His fingers still inside him, holding him open. âDo you want me to keep going?â
Kimiâs lashes flutter. He swallows hard, throat working, and Ollie can see him hesitate, can feel the tension in the muscles beneath his skin. For a moment, thereâs only the sound of both of them breathing. Then Kimi forces himself to meet Ollieâs eyesâdamp, dark, but steady.
âYes,â he says softly. The word is shaky, but thereâs no mistaking it.
Ollie exhales, forehead dropping against Kimiâs with relief. He presses another kiss to his lips, whispering against them, âGod, you donât know what that does to me.â
Kimi lets out a tiny huff of a laugh, almost bitter. âYouâll ruin me.â
Ollie smiles, teeth scraping gently over his lower lip. âThatâs the point.â He twists his fingers, and Kimi gasps, another tear slipping free. Ollie kisses it from his cheek this time instead of licking it, murmuring, âSo fucking perfect like this.â
Kimiâs thighs twitch, and his hips lift ever so slightly, like heâs silently begging for more. Ollie groans, withdrawing his fingers slowly, watching Kimi wince at the loss. He strokes himself once, hard, precum smearing over his hand, and lines himself up against Kimiâs entrance.
But he doesnât push in yet. He holds still, cock pressing hot against him, and forces himself to breathe.
âTell me,â Ollie whispers, voice ragged. âTell me you want this. Say it so I know.â
Kimiâs eyes flutter open, glassy and wet, his chest rising and falling like heâs run a race. He grips Ollieâs shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and for a second he looks like he might not say it. But thenâ
âI want you,â he breathes, words trembling but certain. âInside me. Please, Ollie.â
The please nearly wrecks him. Ollie groans like the sound has been punched out of him, his hips jerking forward on instinct before he steadies himself again. He cups Kimiâs face with one hand, kissing him fiercely, swallowing the soft sound Kimi makes against his lips.
âOkay,â Ollie whispers, forehead pressed to his. âIâve got you. I promise.â
And then, slowly, he pushes in. The heat, the tightness, the way Kimiâs body clenches around himâitâs almost unbearable. Ollieâs vision blurs for a second, his cock throbbing painfully as he sinks deeper, inch by inch.
Kimiâs breath catches, a choked sound slipping free, and his nails dig harder into Ollieâs skin. Another tear streaks down his cheeks.
Ollie freezes, panting hard. âFuckâare you okay?â
Kimi nods frantically, eyes still shut, voice breaking. âDonât stop. Please donât stop.â
Ollie groans, hips pressing forward until heâs buried to the hilt. His head drops into the crook of Kimiâs neck, every muscle in his body trembling with restraint. âJesus Christ. You feelââ He canât even finish, just lets out a strangled sound and kisses Kimiâs damp skin again and again.
He holds still for a long moment, letting Kimi breathe through it, letting his body adjust. Then, when Kimiâs hips shift ever so slightly beneath him, Ollie pulls back and thrusts in again, slow and deep.
Kimi moansâsoft, broken, almost a whimperâand another tear spills free. His thighs tremble around Ollieâs hips, his hands clutching at his back.
Ollie kisses his jaw, his cheeks, murmuring against his skin with every slow thrust, âSo good. Taking me so well. Youâre perfect, Kimi.â
Ollie moves inside him slow at first, dragging his cock deep, every push making Kimiâs thighs twitch around his hips. The silence in the room is broken only by the creak of the mattress and Kimiâs breathingâuntil his breath catches and spills out in a shaky, unsteady moan.
âGod,â Ollie groans, forehead pressing to Kimiâs. âThat soundâfuck, donât hold it back. Give me that.â
Kimiâs lips part again when Ollie thrusts, this time a louder gasp slipping out, almost a whimper. âOllieââ His voice cracks, and the sound of it makes Ollieâs cock twitch inside him.
âYeah,â Ollie whispers, hips grinding down deeper, angling to hit that spot. âSay my name again.â
Kimi shudders, nails digging into Ollieâs shoulders. Another moan tears out of him, rough and breathless. âOllieâfuckââ
Ollieâs head tips back with a groan, chest heaving. âThatâs it. Donât stop. I want all of it.â
When he pushes deeper, Kimi chokes on the sound that escapes him, a high, desperate noise heâd never let slip anywhere else. His back arches off the bed, eyes wide and wet, tears threatening at the corners.
âFuck, you feelââ Kimi cuts himself off with another moan, his thighs clamping around Ollieâs hips. âSoâso goodââ
The words hit Ollie like a punch to the gut. He grips Kimiâs jaw, forcing him to look at him even as another broken whimper escapes. âSay it again.â
Kimi shakes, voice trembling. âGoodâfuck, Ollie, it feels so good.â
Ollieâs hips snap harder, driven by the sound, and Kimi cries out, head falling back against the pillow. Not silent this timeânot hiding. The noise echoes low and sharp in the quiet hotel room, every syllable of his unraveling branded into Ollieâs brain.
âThatâs it, baby,â Ollie pants, kissing him hard, swallowing his moans even as more spill out against his tongue. âSo fucking perfect for me. Youâre mine.â
Kimi breaks on another sobbed-out moan, tears slipping free, his body tightening around Ollie. His voice, raw and pleading now, pushes Ollie over the edge of control.
âDonât stop,â Kimi gasps, nails scratching down Ollieâs back. âPlease, Ollieâdonât stopââ
Ollie groans like heâs about to come undone, hips snapping with desperate precision, every thrust dragging another sharp, needy sound from Kimiâs lips. Heâs louder now, messier, and Ollie canât get enoughâevery gasp, every cry, every broken syllable feeding the fire until heâs shaking with restraint.
âYou sound so fucking good,â Ollie growls against his neck, teeth scraping his skin. âKeep moaning for me. Donât you dare hold it in.â
And Kimi doesnâtâcanâtâevery thrust wrecking another moan out of him, raw and unfiltered, his body trembling under Ollieâs.
Ollieâs rhythm grows rougher, harder to hold back, every thrust driving another sharp sound out of Kimiâs throat. Heâs losing himselfâbecause Kimi is no longer quiet, no longer hiding. His voice breaks free with every push, moans spilling unrestrained, his body trembling and clinging to Ollie like heâs the only anchor in the room.
âFuck, listen to you,â Ollie pants, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his temple. His cock throbs deep inside Kimi, so tight, so warm, every squeeze threatening to undo him. âYouâre fucking singing for me.â
Kimi gasps on the next thrust, voice cracking. âI canâtâahâOllie, I canâtââ
âYes, you can.â Ollie kisses the sound from his mouth, lips crushed against his as he rolls his hips just right, grinding deep. Kimi moans into the kiss, high and broken, another tear sliding down his cheek. Ollie swallows the sound, groaning at how sweet, how wrecked he is.
Kimiâs thighs lock tighter around his waist, dragging him in deeper. His cock is pressed between them, slick and leaking against Ollieâs stomach, twitching with every thrust.
Ollie feels it, feels him trembling on the edge, and his hand slides down between their bodies. He wraps around him tight, stroking in time with his thrusts, dragging moans out of Kimi that echo sharp in the quiet hotel room.
âFuckâfuck, Ollieââ Kimi cries out, hips bucking helplessly into his hand. His voice is raw now, pleading, his body arching into every touch like he canât get enough.
âThatâs it,â Ollie groans, forehead pressed to his, voice rough and desperate. âLet me hear you. Donât hold back. I want it all.â
Kimiâs eyes flutter shut, lashes wet, mouth falling open on another cry. His cock twitches in Ollieâs grip, spilling precum down his hand. Heâs shaking apart, gasping his name over and over.
âOllieâfuckâOllieââ
The sound nearly kills him. Ollieâs hips snap faster, rougher, his cock driving deep and relentless. His hand works Kimi harder, tighter, pumping him with the same rhythm until Kimiâs voice breaks completely, shattering into sobbed-out moans.
âIâmâIâm gonnaâfuckââ Kimi gasps, words tumbling out between cries. His nails claw down Ollieâs back, dragging sharp lines into his skin.
âYeah, baby, yeah,â Ollie pants against his mouth, every thrust brutal with want. âCome for me. Make a mess, Iâve got you.â
And Kimi breaks. His whole body seizes, a sharp, choked cry spilling from his lips as he comes hard against Ollieâs stomach, hot and messy between them. His thighs shake around Ollieâs hips, his chest heaving, every tremor wracking him as he sobs out Ollieâs name.
The sight, the sound, the feel of Kimi breaking apart beneath himâOllie loses it. His cock throbs inside him, the tight clutch of Kimiâs body dragging him over the edge.
âFuckâfuck, Kimiââ Ollie groans, hips slamming forward one last time before heâs coming hard inside him, spilling deep with a ragged cry. His whole body shakes with it, forehead pressed to Kimiâs, teeth gritted as he rides it out, buried to the hilt.
They cling to each other through itâKimi trembling and moaning softly, Ollie groaning low and broken as his release pulses inside him. The bed creaks with the force of it, their bodies slick with sweat and come, every nerve alight.
When it finally ebbs, Ollie collapses forward, chest pressed to Kimiâs, both of them gasping for breath. He kisses him blindlyâhis jaw, his damp cheek, the corner of his swollen mouthâmurmuring between every press of lips.
âSo good. So fucking good. You killed me, Kimi.â
Kimi shudders, eyes still wet, voice quiet and raw. âYouâre insane.â
Ollie chuckles weakly, pressing his lips to his temple. âInsane for you.â
They lie there tangled, sweat cooling on their skin, the silence of the hotel no longer heavy but fullâthick with the sound of their breathing, their heartbeats still racing in sync.
Ollie doesnât pull out yet, doesnât move, just holds Kimi close, brushing damp hair from his forehead. âTold you Iâd take care of you.â
Kimi hums faintly, half-exhausted, half-ruined, his voice muffled against Ollieâs shoulder. âYeah,â he whispers. âYou did.â
Ollie doesnât pull away. He stays right where he is, chest pressed to Kimiâs, their legs tangled under the sheets. Every little shift makes Kimi whine softly, not in pain, not even from too muchâjust from the sheer feeling of Ollie still filling him.
Kimiâs lips twitch into a smile, small at first, then blooming into something brighter, freer than Ollieâs ever seen on him. He lifts a shaky hand, tracing the curve of Ollieâs jaw. âYouâre⊠heavy,â he teases, voice quiet, raspy.
Ollie chuckles, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. âYeah? Want me to move?â
âNo.â The answer is immediate, sharp around the edges, but softened with a grin. âStay. Donât go anywhere.â
That pulls a laugh from Ollie, warm and surprised, and he kisses Kimi properlyâslow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that feels like it stretches on forever. When they part, theyâre both laughing quietly, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
âYouâre smiling too much,â Ollie murmurs, brushing his thumb along Kimiâs cheekbone, collecting the last faint trace of dampness there.
âNot my fault,â Kimi says, still grinning. His eyes are half-lidded, dreamy. âYou make me.â
Ollie swears his chest might burst. He kisses him again, softer this time, lips barely grazing. âGood. I like you like this.â
Kimi snorts, shifting under him just enough to make them both gasp. âCareful,â he whispers, eyes sparkling with mischief. âYouâll make me blush.â
âToo late,â Ollie shoots back, laughing as Kimi tries to bury his face in his shoulder. âYouâre already red.â
âShut up,â Kimi mumbles, but heâs giggling, the sound muffled against Ollieâs skin.
Ollie holds him tighter, one hand stroking slowly through his damp hair, the other resting on his waist to keep him close. Every time Kimi squirms, every little movement inside, it drags another low moan from Ollieâs throat. âFuck, Kimi,â he groans softly. âI could stay like this forever.â
âForever,â Kimi echoes, sleepy but smiling, pressing a soft kiss against Ollieâs collarbone. âIâd let you.â
The room is filled with the sound of their soft laughter, gentle kisses, and the steady rhythm of their breathing as they slowly sink into the warmth of each other. No rush. No pressure. Just closeness. Just them.
Ollie stays buried deep, refusing to move away, and Kimi stays wrapped around him, smiling like heâs never smiled before.
Ollie shifts just enough to tuck the blankets higher around them, his hand never leaving Kimiâs waist. He presses a line of lazy kisses across his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouthâlike he canât help himself.
Kimi hums at the attention, tilting his head to follow Ollieâs lips. His eyes are half-closed, heavy with exhaustion but still glittering with that smile. âYouâre clingy,â he mumbles, voice already soft with sleep.
âClingy?â Ollie repeats, grinning against his skin. âMate, youâre literally holding me hostage right now.â
Kimi giggles, the sound light and muffled, his arms tightening around Ollieâs shoulders. âMaybe I like it,â he admits, cheeks pink even in the dim light.
âMaybe?â Ollie teases, brushing his nose against Kimiâs. âThatâs all I get?â
Kimi rolls his eyes but keeps smiling, tugging him down for another slow kiss. âFine. I like it. Happy?â
âEcstatic,â Ollie says with a laugh, kissing him again and again until Kimi breaks into soft laughter, swatting at his chest.
Their giggles fade into silence, but itâs the good kindâthe safe kind. Kimi buries his face in Ollieâs neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin. He shifts just slightly, a sleepy whine slipping out when the movement reminds him Ollie is still deep inside.
âYouâre not moving, are you?â he whispers, half-plea, half-drowsy question.
âNo chance,â Ollie answers instantly, voice low and certain. He strokes his fingers lazily through Kimiâs hair, keeping him close. âNot when youâre this perfect around me.â
Kimi sighs, the smile still tugging at his lips even as his eyes finally flutter shut. âGood. Stay.â
âIâll stay,â Ollie promises, kissing his forehead. âIâve got you.â
The room grows quieter with each passing second, the faint city sounds outside muted by the thick hotel walls. Inside, itâs only the rhythm of their breathing, their bodies fitted together like theyâve been built for this exact moment.
Kimi drifts first, his grip loosening only enough to grow comfortable, his face slackening against Ollieâs neck. Just before he fully slips under, he murmurs, voice barely audible, âYou make me happy, Ollie.â
The words knock the air from Ollieâs lungs. His heart pounds, a stupid grin spreading across his face even though Kimi canât see it. He presses one last kiss into Kimiâs hair and whispers back, âYou make me happier, sunshine.â
Kimi doesnât answerâalready gone, soft and safe in his arms. Ollie stays awake a little longer, just holding him, savoring the weight of him, the warmth of him, the unbelievable fact that he gets to be the one Kimi smiles like that for.
Still joined, still wrapped up together, they drift into sleep, the night folding gently around them.
Summary: Oscar knows he shouldnât want Lando like this, but he doesnât care.
Masterlist
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The knock comes soft, almost guilty, but Oscar is already awake. He doesnât need to look through the peephole to know who it is.
He opens the door anyway.
Lando stands barefoot in the hallway, hoodie slouched over his frame, curls messy like heâs been dragging his hands through them all night. His eyes lift, glassy in the dim light, and Oscar feels the floor tilt.
âYou shouldnât be here,â Oscar says. His voice is quiet, steadier than he feels.
âI know.â Lando steps inside before Oscar can move. The door clicks shut behind him. He smells faintly of hotel soap and adrenaline. âBut I couldnât⊠not tonight.â
Oscar swallows hard. âAnd you think this fixes it?â
âNo,â Lando admits, stepping closer, breath catching. âI justâfuck, I canât stop thinking about you. About this.â
The air between them is charged, dangerous. Oscar feels his resolve slipping with every inch Lando steals.
âYouâre going to ruin everything,â Oscar whispers.
âThen stop me,â Lando breathes, lips ghosting Oscarâs cheek. âTell me you donât want this.â
Oscarâs hands clench at his sides. His heart slams against his ribs. He triesâGod, he triesâto push the words out, but they stick like glue in his throat.
And then Lando kisses him.
Itâs brutal at first, teeth clashing, mouths open, both of them gasping against each other like drowning men. Oscar stumbles back, hitting the wall with a soft thud, and Lando presses in harder, hands gripping his waist like heâll disappear if he lets go.
âFuckââ Oscar moans into the kiss, pulling at Landoâs hoodie until it bunches at his fists.
âYou tasteâGodââ Landoâs voice breaks between kisses, every word wet and hungry. He pushes his knee between Oscarâs legs, earning a sharp gasp. âDo you know how long Iâve wanted this?â
Oscarâs head falls back against the wall, Landoâs mouth tracing down his jaw. His voice is ragged. âYouâre insane.â
âYou make me insane,â Lando groans, biting lightly at his throat, grinning when it pulls another sound from Oscarâs lips. âSay it. Say you want me.â
Oscar grabs his face, kissing him so hard their teeth knock. Between kisses he whispers, breathless: âI want you.â
Thatâs all it takes.
Clothes fall fastâhoodie yanked over curls, Oscarâs shirt tugged over his head, sweatpants kicked away. Their mouths barely part for air, the kiss messy and gasping, spit-slick and bruising.
Lando guides Oscar onto the bed, pressing him down against the sheets. Hovering over him, curls damp with sweat, lips swollen, he stares like heâs never seen anything so perfect.
âGod, look at you,â he murmurs, voice hoarse. âLaid out for me.â
Oscar flushes, shifting restlessly under the weight of his gaze. âThen stop staring and do something.â
Lando smirks, but itâs shaky with restraint. He kisses him slow and deep, hands sliding down his sides until they hook under his thighs, pushing them apart. Oscarâs breath stutters.
Lando trails kisses down his chest, his stomach, until heâs kneeling between his legs. He meets Oscarâs eyes, almost reverent. âIâll take care of you.â
Oscarâs throat bobs as he swallows, nodding. âYeah. Okay.â
The first press of Landoâs slick finger has Oscar tensing, a gasp spilling out before he can stop it. Lando murmurs against his skin, low and steady, âShh, Iâve got you. Breathe, love.â
Oscar forces himself to relax, clutching the sheets. The stretch burns, sharp and intimate, but Landoâs mouth is on his thigh, kissing gently, grounding him.
âGood boy,â Lando praises, pushing in slow, careful. âYouâre doing so good for me.â
Oscarâs cheeks burn, breath shaky. âDonâtâsay it like that.â
âWhy not?â Lando grins, curling his finger until Oscar shudders. âYou like it.â
Oscarâs moan betrays him, high and broken. He bites his lip hard, trying to muffle the sounds, but Lando only works him more, sliding a second finger in, twisting, scissoring.
The stretch makes his back arch off the bed. âFuckâLandoââ
âThatâs it.â Lando kisses up his thigh, watching his face as he pushes deeper, brushing that spot that makes Oscar choke on a moan. âYouâre opening up so perfectly for me. Can you feel it?â
Oscar nods desperately, eyes glassy. âFeelsâso muchââ
âYeah?â Lando croons, voice ragged with his own arousal. He adds a third finger, stretching him wider, fucking into him slow and deliberate. Oscar gasps, nails raking down the sheets. âGod, youâre so tight. Canât wait to be inside you.â
Oscar whimpers, covering his face with his arm, too undone to hold himself together.
Lando pulls it away gently, pinning his wrist to the mattress. âDonât hide from me. Let me see you.â
When Oscar finally meets his eyes, Landoâs chest achesâhe looks ruined already, flushed and trembling, mouth swollen from kissing. And heâs beautiful.
âPlease,â Oscar breathes, voice cracking. âI need you.â
Lando groans, pulling his fingers free, slick and shaking with want. He lines himself up, kissing Oscar hard, almost desperate. âTell me if itâs too much.â
Oscar wraps his legs around him, pulling him closer, voice fierce despite the tremble: âJustâfuck me, Lando.â
And when Lando pushes in, slow and steady, Oscar gasps loud, nails clawing at his back, body clenching around him.
âFuck, you feelââ Lando groans, burying his face against Oscarâs neck as he sinks deeper, inch by inch. âGod, youâre perfect.â
Oscar moans helplessly, head falling back, legs tightening around his waist. âOh my GodâLandoââ
Lando kisses him through it, every thrust drawing more broken sounds from his lips. He doesnât stop praising him, doesnât stop holding him open, fucking him deep until Oscar is trembling, gasping, begging without words.
Lando buries himself slowly, hips pressing flush to Oscarâs, and the tight heat around him nearly knocks the air from his lungs.
âJesus Christââ Landoâs voice cracks against his neck, breath hot and shaking. âYouâre so fucking tight. Youâre gonna kill me.â
Oscar clutches at his shoulders, nails leaving shallow crescents in his skin. His voice is ragged, high with the stretch: âGod, Landoâtoo muchââ
Lando stills immediately, fighting for control, kissing along his jaw. âShh, Iâve got you. Just breathe, love. Iâm here.â He rubs circles on Oscarâs hip, grounding him, forcing his own body to stay still even though every muscle screams to move.
Oscar pants, thighs trembling around his waist. Then, slowly, his grip softens, head falling back against the pillow. âMove,â he whispers. âPleaseâjust move.â
Lando groans, pulling out an inch and sliding back in, slow and deliberate. The drag makes Oscar choke out a moan, head tossing side to side.
âFuckâthatâs it,â Lando whispers, voice low and filthy. âTaking me so good. My perfect boy.â
Oscar whimpers, wrapping his legs tighter around him. âHarder.â
The request shatters Landoâs restraint. He pulls back, thrusts deeper, hips snapping against Oscarâs ass. Oscar cries out, nails digging into his back, every thrust brushing the spot that makes his whole body jerk.
âRight thereâfuck, Lando, right thereââ
Landoâs eyes nearly roll back at the sound, his rhythm messy, desperate. He grips Oscarâs thighs, fucking into him harder, groaning into his neck. âYou feel so good, Os. So fucking good around me. Gonna make you come just like this.â
Oscarâs voice is wrecked, breathless between moans: âDonâtâdonât stopââ
Lando never could. He pounds into him, the slap of skin against skin filling the room, Oscarâs broken cries spilling out with every thrust. Sweat drips down his temple, curls sticking, but he canât stop, wonât stop.
Oscar arches under him, face flushed, lips parted. âGodâLandoâfeels so goodââ
Lando grips his jaw, forcing him to look at him. His thrusts slow, deep, grinding against his prostate until Oscarâs whole body trembles. âLook at me when you fall apart,â Lando growls. âWant to see your face when I make you come.â
Oscar moans loud, eyes wide and wet, unable to hold it back. His cock leaks between them, smearing slick against their stomachs.
âTouch yourself,â Lando orders, voice rough. âCome for me.â
Oscarâs hand wraps around his cock, stroking fast, in rhythm with Landoâs thrusts. His voice is wrecked, breaking apart: âFuck, fuckâIâmââ
And then heâs gone, spilling hot between them, clenching so tight around Lando that it drags a guttural moan from his throat.
âJesusâfuck, Oscarââ Landoâs hips stutter, pace collapsing as he thrusts erratically, chasing it, needing it. The tight heat pulsing around him rips him apart. With one final thrust, he comes deep inside him, shuddering hard, teeth sinking into Oscarâs shoulder as he gasps out his name.
For a moment, thereâs only the sound of their ragged breathing, the heavy press of their bodies, the sweat and mess and heat between them.
Lando stays buried, forehead against Oscarâs chest, still trembling. âHoly fuck.â
Oscarâs hand finds his hair, tugging weakly, voice still shaking. âYouâre insane.â
Lando grins against his skin, pressing a lazy kiss just above his racing heart. âYou love it.â
Oscar chuckles breathlessly, kissing the top of his curls. âYeah. I do.â
It should feel wrong. It should feel dangerous. It should feel like something to bury.
But it doesnât. It feels like oxygen.
Oscar stares up at the ceiling, blinking back the sting in his eyes. Because he knows what morning will bring. The cameras. The press. The pretending.
For now, though, he lets himself picture it: a world where Lando doesnât have to slip into his room at 2 a.m., where âmiss youâ isnât sent at 3 in the morning, where thisâwarmth, closeness, safetyâdoesnât have to be hidden.
George swallowed, cheeks flushing a little. âYou⊠you do realize I have a vagina, right?â
The words hit Max like a splash of cold water.
For a second, his brain short-circuited.
Then a strangled groan escaped him, low and ragged â like he almost came just hearing it.
His face burned crimson, eyes wide as if heâd just been caught daydreaming in the worst way.
Or: the one where George has a vagina.
Masterlist
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The end-of-season party was more performance than celebration.
Every driver knew it. The sponsors knew it. Hell, even the bar staff knew it.
It was the yearly illusion: all the rivalries melted away, everyone smiling in one big family photo while the alcohol blurred the edges enough to make it seem real.
George was thriving.
Heâd claimed one of the high tables near the center of the room like it was his own personal stage, leaning back on his elbows while he scanned the crowd with that infuriatingly knowing look â the one that made people wonder if heâd just thought something dirty about them. His tie was hanging loose around his neck, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair slightly messy from the humidity and the amount of times heâd run his fingers through it.
Max had been watching him for⊠longer than heâd admit.
At first it was just in that âkeep tabs on the loud oneâ kind of way â George had a tendency to stir up trouble, and Max wasnât exactly in the mood to deal with it tonight. But then George caught him looking.
And smirked.
Max immediately looked away, pretending to study the drink menu. The effort lasted about thirty seconds before he felt a shift in the air, a presence too close, and Georgeâs voice, warm with amusement, slid into his ear.
âYouâve been staring for a while, Verstappen. Should I be flattered or concerned?â
Max didnât flinch â heâd had just enough champagne to be braver than usual. âI was just making sure you werenât about to spill someoneâs drink.â
âMhm.â George leaned against the bar beside him, unreasonably close, the heat of him pressing through the thin fabric of Maxâs shirt. âYou were watching my hands then.â
Max turned his head slowly, meeting Georgeâs eyes â that irritating mix of innocence and provocation. âYouâre annoying.â
George grinned, and Max was pretty sure it was because he didnât deny staring.
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The night blurred into rounds of champagne, PR photos, half-sincere toasts. George seemed to orbit Max without ever officially sticking to his side â one moment heâd be across the room making a group laugh, the next heâd be at Maxâs shoulder again, stealing a sip from his glass without asking.
âYouâre going to get lipstick on that,â Max muttered when George leaned in for another sip, despite not wearing any.
George just licked his bottom lip slowly, eyes holding Maxâs for a beat too long. âNot unless you put it there.â
Max choked on his drink. âYouâreââ He cut himself off, shaking his head.
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At some point, the music turned up, the lights dimmed, and the crowd shifted toward the dance floor. Max wasnât much of a dancer â everyone knew that â but George was. Not in a technical, polished way. No, George danced like someone who knew eyes were on him, who liked it, who leaned into it.
Max had no idea when he ended up out there too, maybe dragged or maybe lured, but suddenly George was there in front of him, moving to the beat, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
The crowd pressed in. Max could smell the cologne on Georgeâs collar, the faintest hint of sweat from the heat of the room.
George leaned in, lips brushing close to Maxâs ear to be heard over the music. âNot much of a dancer, huh?â
âIâm here, arenât I?â Max shot back, his voice lower than he expected.
Georgeâs grin widened. âTrue. For someone who doesnât dance, youâre doing a decent job of keeping up with me.â
They werenât quite touching â just enough space for plausible deniability. But every sway, every subtle shift forward, closed that space for a heartbeat before it opened again. It was deliberate. Max could tell.
It wasnât lost on George either how close Maxâs hand hovered when he gestured, or how Maxâs gaze dipped to his mouth mid-conversation. He noticed everything. And Max, just tipsy enough to stop overthinking, didnât bother hiding it anymore.
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When the song changed, George leaned back slightly, eyes glinting. âYou want to get out of here?â
Max shouldâve hesitated. Shouldâve remembered that half the paddock was still watching, that this party was for show. But instead, his answer came quicker than he meant it to.
âYeah.â
George didnât smirk this time. Didnât tease. Just gave a sharp nod, like heâd been waiting for the invitation all night.
And Max followed him out.
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The cool night air hit like a shock after the heavy warmth of the party.
Max shoved his hands into his pockets, breathing deeper now that the music was muffled behind the closing doors. George was a few steps ahead, glancing back with that same deliberate, measuring look â the one that seemed to check if Max was keeping up, both literally and in whatever unspoken game they were playing.
They didnât speak for a block. The sound of their shoes on the pavement was strangely loud in the empty street. Finally, George glanced sideways, voice casual but laced with something that wasnât casual at all.
âSo, VerstappenâŠâ he dragged out the name like he was tasting it, ââŠwhat exactly made you say yes back there?â
Max kept his eyes forward. âMaybe I didnât want to watch you flirt with the rest of the grid all night.â
George laughed, low and genuine. âJealous?â
âNo.â Maxâs answer was instant, maybe too quick. âJust⊠tired of watching.â
That made George slow down, the corner of his mouth curling. âSo youâd rather⊠what? Do something else with me?â
Max met his eyes now, the streetlight catching in the amber. âI didnât follow you out here to talk about the weather.â
Georgeâs eyebrows lifted in mock surprise, but his grin betrayed him. âAnd here I thought you were the sensible one.â
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They cut down a quieter street, the hotel looming at the end like a promise neither of them wanted to say out loud. Georgeâs steps were lazy, almost strolling, but his hand brushed against Maxâs twice â not an accident either time.
âYouâve been drinking,â George said finally, though there wasnât judgment in it. âNot a lot, but enough.â
Maxâs lips twitched. âSo have you.â
George tilted his head in concession. âTrue. Makes things more interesting though, doesnât it?â
Max didnât answer, but his silence wasnât dismissal. It was focused, the kind of silence that came with deciding.
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At the hotel doors, George held them open with exaggerated politeness, bowing slightly. âAfter you, champion.â
Max rolled his eyes but stepped through, catching the way Georgeâs gaze lingered â not on his face.
They didnât head for the elevator immediately. Instead, George slowed in the lobby, glancing at the plush chairs in the corner. âWe could sit for a bit,â he said, tone light. âOrââ His gaze flicked toward the lifts. âWe could not.â
Max looked at him for a long moment. âYouâre not as subtle as you think.â
George leaned closer, enough for Max to feel the warmth off him. âGood. I wasnât trying to be.â
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The elevator was quiet except for the low hum of machinery. George leaned back against the mirrored wall, watching Max like a cat watches a moving hand. Max stood straight, hands still in his pockets, but his shoulders were tense.
âYou keep looking at me like that,â George said softly, âand people will talk.â
âThey already do,â Max replied, just as soft.
Georgeâs mouth twitched, almost into a smirk, but not quite. âGuess we should give them something worth talking about, then.â
The bell dinged. The doors opened.
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Max didnât remember much of the walk down the carpeted hallway â only the warm blur of adrenaline and the faint scent of Georgeâs cologne trailing just ahead.
The door had barely slammed shut behind them before Georgeâs back hit it with a dull thud.
It was clumsy, unplanned â Max half-tripped on the carpeted threshold, his hand catching the wall beside Georgeâs head, but it didnât matter. The momentum of it shoved them close, close enough that George could feel the heat of his breath fan across his lips.
âYouââ George started, voice already rough, ââcouldnât wait two bloody seconds, could you?â
Maxâs grin was a crooked, drunken thing, his pupils blown wide.
âNot when you keep looking at me like that,â he murmured, and then he leaned in and swallowed whatever George was going to say with a kiss.
It wasnât polite. It wasnât careful. It was all teeth and tongue and the faint, sharp tang of the gin Max had been nursing at the bar. George let out a startled sound into his mouth â something between a laugh and a moan â before his own hands came up, curling in the fabric of Maxâs shirt to drag him closer.
Max pressed forward until there was no space left between them, the firm, full line of his body flush against Georgeâs. He could feel the subtle shift of muscle in Maxâs shoulders as he pinned him there, and then â oh â the slow roll of Maxâs hips forward, grinding their clothed fronts together just enough to make Georgeâs breath catch.
âChristââ George muttered against his mouth, fingers sliding into Maxâs hair. âYouâreââ another involuntary noise slipped out of him when Max did it again, ââyouâre drunk.â
âMm,â Max hummed, like he didnât care, like that was part of the fun. âSo are you.â
George huffed a laugh that broke off into a sharp inhale when Maxâs hand slid down from the wall to grip his hip, thumb pressing into the waistband of his trousers. The pressure sent a little shock straight to his stomach, and he gave an involuntary thrust back into Maxâs hips, their groins grinding together again.
The sound Max made â a low, surprised groan â hit George square in the chest. It was raw and pleased and made him want to pull that sound out of him again and again.
âBed,â George breathed, shoving at his chest lightly.
âMm, no,â Max murmured against his jaw, nipping once before kissing down the side of his neck. âNot yet.â
They stumbled toward the bed anyway, mouths finding each other in between uneven steps. Maxâs hands roamed now â over Georgeâs back, around to his sides, brushing the soft skin just above his waistband, lingering there like he was testing how far he could go before George stopped him.
By the time the backs of Georgeâs knees hit the mattress, both of them were panting. Max nudged him down, and George sat, pulling Max into the space between his thighs.
The kiss broke for the first time in minutes, both of them staring at each other like theyâd been caught doing something forbidden. Maxâs lips were already swollen, his hair a mess from Georgeâs hands.
George smirked faintly, but there was a flicker of something else there â a flash of hesitation, as Maxâs fingers caught in the hem of his shirt and started to push it up. For just a second, Georgeâs shoulders hunched like he wasnât sure if he wanted to be seen. His gaze darted away, jaw tightening.
Max didnât give him time to retreat.
âHey,â he said quietly, drawing Georgeâs eyes back to him, âyouâre gorgeous. Stop thinking.â
And then the shirt was gone and Maxâs mouth was on him again â but lower this time, dragging slow, wet kisses down over the warm skin of his chest, across the soft curve of his stomach, until George felt the heat of his breath right at the waistband of his trousers.
George swore softly, his hand dropping into Maxâs hair on instinct.
âFuckâs sake, MaxâŠâ he muttered, but there was no conviction in it, just anticipation.
âMm,â Max hummed again, sounding positively smug as he pressed one more kiss just above the button of Georgeâs pants.
âGonna show you something,â he said, voice dropping into something husky, âeven if Iâm shit at it.â
George laughed â short, breathless â and tugged lightly at his hair.
âBetter not be.â
Maxâs fingers grazed the waistband of Georgeâs trousers, slow and deliberate, ready to pull them down. But just as his hand curled under the fabric, George tensed, suddenly pulling back with a nervous flicker in his eyes.
âWait.â His voice was low, almost breathless.
Max blinked, caught mid-movement. âWhat?â
George swallowed, cheeks flushing a little. âYou⊠you do realize I have a vagina, right?â
The words hit Max like a splash of cold water.
For a second, his brain short-circuited.
Then a strangled groan escaped him, low and ragged â like he almost came just hearing it.
His face burned crimson, eyes wide as if heâd just been caught daydreaming in the worst way.
George burst out laughing, that wicked, breathless laugh that made Maxâs pulse thud harder.
âRelax,â George teased, reaching up to ruffle Maxâs hair. âIâm not gonna bite. Unless you want me to.â
Max chuckled, shaking his head as the flush spread from his cheeks down to his neck.
Without thinking, he lunged forward and kissed George hard, desperate to cover up his sudden embarrassment. His hips pressed forward, grinding roughly against Georgeâs own crotch.
âFeel that?â Max murmured against his lips, breath hot and ragged. âThatâs how hard youâre making me.â
George smirked, hands tangling in Maxâs messy hair, tugging lightly as if to keep him exactly where he was. âGood. âCause Iâm not done with you yet.â
Maxâs lips pressed fiercely to Georgeâs again, a fierce, frantic kiss full of hunger and hesitation. The taste of George, salty and sweet, flooded Maxâs senses until all rational thought fell away. Their breaths mingled, uneven and ragged, and Maxâs hands moved with a trembling urgencyâsliding under Georgeâs shirt, fingers grazing hot skin, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
Breaking the kiss, Maxâs mouth dipped lower, lips brushing along the sensitive curve of Georgeâs jaw, trailing slow, teasing kisses down to the hollow of his throat. Georgeâs breath hitched, a soft, needy moan vibrating against Maxâs lips. âMax⊠pleaseâŠâ
Max pulled back just enough to look up into Georgeâs eyes, wide and shining with a mix of desperation and trust. âI want to taste you,â Max whispered, voice rough, breath shaky.
Georgeâs fingers tangled in Maxâs hair, tugging gently. âDo it,â he urged, voice raw, low. âDonât stop.â
Maxâs heart hammered as his hands slid down to the waistband of Georgeâs trousers, fingers trembling with excitement and nerves. He carefully, almost reverently, pulled the fabric just enough to expose the damp heat beneath. The scent of George â musky, intimate, intoxicating â hit Max like a wave.
He pressed his lips to the fabric of Georgeâs underwear, soft and warm, and thenâhesitant but growing bolderâMax dragged his tongue carefully along the damp cotton, swirling just over Georgeâs clit through the thin barrier. George gasped sharply, hips pressing forward.
âMore,â George whispered, voice a ragged plea.
Maxâs confidence wavered for a moment, then with a shaky inhale, he dove in, pulling the fabric aside and pressing his mouth fully to Georgeâs slick skin. His tongue flicked clumsily at first, unsure but desperate to give pleasure. Georgeâs hands tangled fiercely in Maxâs hair, tugging and guiding, his hips rocking urgently, pushing into Maxâs mouth.
âFuck, MaxâŠâ George moaned, voice breaking. âJust like that⊠yesâŠâ
Maxâs mouth was a mess â wet, messy, warm, suffocating, overwhelmed by the taste and the desperate sounds George was making. But he didnât stop. He sucked on Georgeâs clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud with reckless eagerness, tongue swirling with growing confidence and hunger.
Georgeâs moans grew louder, desperate and raw, filling the room with sound. His hips jerked, pushing harder against Maxâs face, grinding with need. âMore, Max⊠donât stop⊠pleaseâŠâ
Max kept going, lips and tongue working in sloppy rhythm, lost in the sound of Georgeâs cries, the trembling of his body beneath him. He added fingers, slipping two inside slowly, scissoring gently, teasing, wanting to give everything he could. George shuddered, overwhelmed, whines turning to breathless sobs.
âOh god, MaxâŠâ George gasped, body shaking. âIâm gonnaâfuckââ
Georgeâs hips convulsed violently, shuddering in waves of release as he squirted warm and wet all over Maxâs hands and face. The mess was undeniable â slick and sticky â but Max stayed, swallowing every desperate moan, every broken cry, his own breath ragged and wild.
George collapsed against him, trembling, eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat. âMax⊠Iâmââ
Max kissed the tears away, soft despite the chaos. âShhh, Iâm here.â
When Max finally pulled back, his own chest heaving, he was soaked with Georgeâs release, lips swollen, senses overwhelmed. He slid his own trousers down, feeling every nerve sing, every touch amplified. The sensitivity was unbearable, but beneath it all burned a desperate craving for more.
He looked up at George, who was watching him with eyes dark and hooded with need, trembling still from the overstimulation.
Max swallowed hard, a drunken thought flickering through his mindâcould he really get George pregnant? The idea was wild and absurd, but the heat pooling in his gut made it feel possible. His fingers trembled as they trailed over Georgeâs slick folds, warm and inviting, the slickness soaking his fingertips.
Georgeâs breath hitched, eyes dark with need as Maxâs cock pressed softly against him, sliding slowly between those sensitive folds. Max paused, heart hammering, feeling every inch of skin, every shudder that ran through Georgeâs body at the teasing touch.
âMax,â George gasped, voice shaky but urgent, fingers tangling deeper in Maxâs hair. âDonât tease me.â
Maxâs lips curled into a lazy, messy smile as he pressed a kiss to Georgeâs temple. âNot teasing. Just⊠savoring.â
With one slow, deliberate movement, Max pushed forward, sliding inside Georgeâs heat inch by inch. The warmth swallowed him whole, tight and slick and perfect. Georgeâs back arched, a strangled moan ripping free as Max settled deeper, hips rolling instinctively to find the right angle.
âFuck,â George breathed, hands clutching at Maxâs shoulders, pulling him closer. âDonât stop.â
Maxâs mouth found Georgeâs again, kiss sloppy and desperate, matching the frantic rhythm building between them. Every moan, every shiver, every whispered plea drove Max wildâhis own cock pulsing with need, his hands roaming over Georgeâs trembling skin.
When George whimpered, arching up into him, Max pushed further, lost in the messy, beautiful chaos of it allâoverstimulated, trembling, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over them.
Max wasnât sure how much longer he could hold back, but when George cried out, wet and shaking, fingers tangling fiercely in his hair, begging for more, Max lost all restraint. He dove in deeper, kissing, sucking, and thrusting with reckless abandon.
His hips drove hard inside Georgeâs tight heat, each slam pushing deeper, filling him with wild urgency. One hand gripped Georgeâs hip to steady himself; the other found its way to Georgeâs clit, rubbing firm, slow circles that made Georgeâs whole body quake. The slick, slick friction sent shockwaves rippling through both of them.
âFuck, Maxâright thereâdonât stop,â George moaned, voice ragged, breath trembling. His hips bucked violently against Maxâs hand, pressing back with desperate need.
Maxâs pace sped up, slamming in harder, rubbing, fucking, worshipping every inch of Georgeâs trembling body. Then Georgeâs hips jerked uncontrollably as a hot, wild gush spilled out over Maxâs cock and hand, soaking them both.
âShitâGeorge, youâreâfuckââ Max groaned, breath hitching, mouth opening in a messy gasp as he swallowed the slick warmth, the taste overwhelming and raw.
George was trembling, tears streaking down flushed cheeks, voice breaking as he whispered, âMax⊠if you come inside me⊠promise me⊠promise me youâll put a baby in meâŠâ
The raw need in Georgeâs voice sent a feral growl rumbling deep in Maxâs chest. He slammed his hips harder, chasing his own release, âI swear it, George. Iâm gonna put a baby in you. You and meâweâre gonna make that happen.â
Their bodies moved together in a frantic, messy rhythmâGeorgeâs moans mixing with Maxâs guttural growls, hands clutching, pulling, needing. Maxâs breath broke free in ragged pants as he came deep inside George, hips jerking, grip tightening on Georgeâs hip and his own cock slick with release.
George cried out again, squirting anew, soaking Maxâs thighs and stomach, trembling beneath him. Max leaned down, biting and kissing fiercely, voice raw and low. âYouâre mine. All mine. And Iâm gonna make you a father.â
George smiled through tears, chest heaving, voice a shaky whisper, âI want that⊠I want you, Max.â
The rush of their climax slowly softened, waves of trembling pleasure giving way to warm, languid aftershocks. Max collapsed beside George, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling as the tension drained from his body. George lay beneath him, slick and spent, eyes glistening but glowing with a fierce kind of joy.
They lay tangled, limbs entwined like a knot no one could untie, and the silence between them was thick with meaning.
Max brushed damp strands of hair from Georgeâs forehead, lips brushing softly against the skin, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses. Georgeâs eyes fluttered closed, a small, contented sigh escaping him.
âThat wasâŠâ Georgeâs voice cracked, breathless and awed, âthe best⊠the best Iâve ever had.â
Max chuckled low, a warm rumble vibrating through his chest. âMe too. I didnât know it could be like thatâlike this.â
Their gazes locked, sharing a moment so intimate it felt almost sacred. Max leaned down, lips capturing Georgeâs in a slow, tender kiss that deepened with every second. The messiness of sweat and slick skin, the echoes of their wild criesânone of it mattered now. All that existed was this: the softness of their mouths moving together, the steady beat of their hearts matching in quiet harmony.
Georgeâs hands found Maxâs face, fingertips tracing his jaw, pulling him closer as their kiss grew sweeter, slower, filled with unspoken promises.
When they finally parted, breath mingling, Max whispered, âWeâre young. Weâve got time. But⊠whatever happens next, I want it to be with you.â
George smiled through a shaky breath, eyes bright and warm. âMe too. No rush. Just⊠this.â
Max curled around George, holding him close as their bodies settled into a comfortable, peaceful embrace. Georgeâs head rested against Maxâs chest, heartbeat steady beneath his ear, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt exactly right.
âI could stay like this forever,â George murmured.
âMe too,â Max agreed, kissing the top of his head.
âž»
The soft light of morning spilled through the curtains, painting gentle stripes across the bed where George was nestled against Maxâs chest. His cheek rested just above the steady thump of Maxâs heart, warm and comforting beneath his skin. The slow, even rise and fall of Maxâs breathing was the only sound filling the quiet room.
Georgeâs eyes fluttered open, taking in the peaceful expression on Maxâs faceâthe slight crease of his brow, the way his lips parted ever so slightly as he slept. A soft chuckle escaped Georgeâs lips, low and amused, as he traced a finger gently over Maxâs temple. âYou look ridiculous when you sleep,â he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
Max shifted slightly but didnât wake, still holding George close as if to keep him safe. George smiled, heart swelling with affection at the sight of someone so completely relaxed and vulnerable in his arms.
Leaning in, George pressed a tender kiss just above Maxâs heartâthe spot where his pulse was strongestâand lingered there, feeling the warmth radiate beneath his lips. The moment was intimate and slow, a quiet celebration of the connection that bound them.
He let his cheek rest once more against Maxâs skin, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothe him. Georgeâs smile deepened as he imagined all the mornings yet to come, each one filled with this simple, perfect peace.
Outside, the world began to stir, but hereâwrapped in the calm embrace of Maxâs armsâGeorge felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
Not sure if youre accepting requests but can you do a sequel to sweet tooth? Something about lando's green tongue from the mclaren video today and oscar being seen with green on his mouth later?
You asked, and you shall receive đ«Ą
Sucker Punch
A sequel to: Sweet Tooth (And Other Weaknesses)
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Lando Norris
Genre: Smut, NSFW, 18+!!!
Word Count: 2.9k
Summary: The aftermath of decorating waffles in Spa, with a little more green than intended.
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Summary: The aftermath of decorating waffles in Spa, with a little more green than intended.
Masterlist
âž»
The next time they were on camera, it was supposed to be safer. No innuendo, no sugar-coated proposals â just decorating Belgian waffles like good little brand ambassadors. Easy.
Lando still found a way to get his tongue dyed neon green.
The culprit? Some food-coloring gel in a squeeze pen. Heâd licked it off his hand off-camera with zero shame, then pulled his tongue out and wiggled it like a kid at recess. Oscar had blinked, caught off guard by how green it was â had even said so aloud, a clipped little âyour whole tongue is green, by the way,â while side-eyeing him like he wasnât about to combust in public.
And Lando, cheeky as ever, had only giggled. âSo are my hands! Hehehe!â
The crew moved on. The segment wrapped. The green faded from the conversation â but not from memory.
Or, well. Not from Oscarâs, at least.
âž»
Back in their driver room, away from the waffle-sticky chaos of media duties, the air was different. Dense. Laced with anticipation. It wasnât silent, but it was loud in a different way â in the way their breathing subtly changed when the door clicked shut, in the heavy drag of Oscarâs eyes across Landoâs body, in the electricity that vibrated in the space between them like something just waiting to detonate.
Lando had sprawled on Oscarâs bed like he owned it, hoodie bunched up just enough to show skin â that unfair sliver of lower stomach, smooth and golden, the elastic waistband of his sweats dipping just slightly too low. His legs were lazily spread, foot bouncing, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didnât notice what it was doing to Oscar. But he noticed.
God, he always noticed.
Oscar stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded tight across his chest like if he didnât hold onto something, heâd fucking lose it. His jaw was tense, teeth clenched, eyes raking down the line of Landoâs body like it personally offended him.
âYouâve still got green on your tongue,â he said, voice low and sharp.
Lando didnât even blink. He licked across his teeth slowly, the tip of his tongue poking out â yes, still stained faintly from the green gel. âYeah? Gonna do something about it?â
Oscarâs mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. Like he was trying not to snap. But restraint only lasted so long.
He was on the bed in the next breath, climbing over Lando like gravity pulled him there. His thighs straddled Landoâs hips, the weight of him solid, hot, and unmistakable. His fingers gripped the hem of the hoodie and pushed it up without ceremony â revealing more skin, more heat.
âYouâre such a little shit,â he muttered, voice fraying.
Landoâs grin was lazy, but his eyes had darkened. âStill here though.â
Oscar didnât waste another second. He dragged him into a kiss like it was overdue â like heâd been holding back for hours. Rough, open-mouthed, no teasing, no warm-up. Their teeth clacked once, but neither of them cared. If anything, it just lit the fuse.
Lando gasped, and Oscar used it â tongue licking into his mouth, searching for something he already knew, something familiar. There was still a faint echo of artificial apple sweetness, but underneath it was all Lando â warm, slick, messy. Addictive.
Oscar groaned, deep and guttural, as he sucked on his tongue with slow, deliberate pressure.
Lando whimpered, hips jerking up involuntarily, friction sparking as they pressed together. âFuck,â he gasped, voice cracking. âYouâreâJesus, Oscarââ
âStill sweet,â Oscar mumbled against his mouth, before trailing kisses down his jaw. He bit gently at the skin there, tongue chasing the sting. âAnd loud. As usual.â
Lando let his head fall back into the pillow, chest rising in quick little bursts. âYou literally climbed on top of me.â
âYou didnât stop me.â
âI was gonna offer.â
âDidnât need to.â Oscarâs hand slid beneath the hoodie, splaying across warm, twitching skin. His palm dragged up over ribs, fingers curling at his side. âYou always offer.â
Lando bit his lip, brows furrowing. His voice shook when he spoke. âYou gonna keep talking or actually do something?â
Oscarâs grin was sharp. âOh, Iâm doing something.â
He kissed him again, slower now â deliberate and filthy. He sucked on Landoâs bottom lip like he wanted to ruin it, wanted to wear the imprint of it all night. Lando moaned into it, soft and breathless, arching his back slightly.
Then Landoâs hands found the front of Oscarâs hoodie, fisting the fabric to yank him closer, their bodies flush now. Hips ground up against him and the friction made them both curse.
Oscar groaned into his mouth. âYouâre hard.â
âYouâre heavy.â
âYou love it.â
Landoâs voice caught. âIâfuckâyeah, I do.â
Oscar shifted his weight, pressing down deliberately, and Landoâs eyes fluttered shut at the pressure. His breath hitched, stuttering in his chest.
âTell me,â Oscar murmured, mouth at his cheek, nose brushing his skin. âYou want me to stop?â
Lando opened his eyes slowly, pupils blown wide. âIf you stop, Iâll kill you.â
Oscar chuckled, low and wrecked. âSay please.â
âYouâre such a fuckingââ
He rolled his hips again.
Lando gasped, choking on a moan. âPlease. Jesus. Fucking please.â
That was all it took.
Oscar surged forward, kissing him like he couldnât help it anymore. His hands roamed without direction â up under the hoodie, over Landoâs chest, thumbs brushing over nipples and dragging soft, desperate sounds from him.
âShitâOscarââ Lando panted, arching into his touch, grabbing at his arms, at his hair. âGod, youâyour handsââ
Oscarâs mouth moved downward, greedy now. He licked a stripe across Landoâs throat before sucking a bruise into the dip of it, his teeth dragging against flushed skin. âYou taste like sugar and sweat,â he muttered.
Landoâs hands threaded into his hair, tugging. âYouâre obsessed.â
âI am,â Oscar growled, biting down on the edge of his collarbone.
Lando cried out, legs shifting under him, thighs tense. âFuckâharderâdonât stopââ
Oscar obliged. His fingers found the waistband of Landoâs sweats, teasing just under it, fingertips ghosting along the crease of his hip.
âYou want more?â he asked, voice low and dark.
âMore,â Lando begged, completely undone. âOscar, please, pleaseââ
Oscar kissed down to the hem of his hoodie and pushed it up even further, finally exposing the full length of his torso. âCan lock the door,â Lando gasped.
Oscar looked up through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips pink and swollen. âI already did.â
Landoâs laugh cracked in the middle. âYouâre dangerous.â
âOnly for you.â
Oscarâs mouth was everywhere now â over his chest, down his stomach, dragging his tongue along the faint trail of hair leading lower, biting just above the waistband until Lando squirmed and cursed and moaned his name like it was the only word he remembered.
And then Oscar looked up at him again, voice ruined, eyes glazed with lust.
âLift your hips,â he said, and Lando obeyed immediately, the trust in the motion making Oscarâs chest twist.
Because there wasnât any pretending now.
This wasnât about teasing. This wasnât even about payback anymore.
This was them â frantic and filthy and honest â letting it all fall apart just to put each other back together again.
Landoâs hips lifted easily, pliant under Oscarâs touch, breath hitching as Oscar dragged the sweats down inch by inch. Not fast. Not greedy. Just slow, like he wanted to memorize every reveal, every twitch, every sound.
And fuck, there were sounds.
Landoâs breath caught, a broken gasp falling from his lips when the cold air hit him. His thighs tensed beneath Oscarâs hands, already shaking with anticipation, chest heaving like he couldnât get enough air into his lungs.
Oscar dropped the sweats to the floor without looking away from him â eyes raking down his body, slow and reverent and so full of hunger it made Landoâs toes curl.
âLook at you,â Oscar breathed, almost like it hurt. âFucking wrecked already.â
Lando swallowed hard, cheeks flushed, voice raw. âBecause of you.â
Oscar leaned in again, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his hip, across his inner thigh â tongue dragging across skin so sensitive Lando jolted like heâd been shocked.
âJesus, Oscarââ
âMhm.â Oscar licked a stripe back up, meeting his eyes. âIâm right here.â
Landoâs hands shot to the sheets, gripping them tight, like he needed to hold onto something or heâd float right off the bed. âDonât teaseâpleaseââ
But Oscar was already leaning in, already mouthing at the crease of his thigh, already humming against his skin like he wanted Lando to fall apart. He was slow â methodical â lips brushing everywhere but where Lando ached.
And Lando was fucking shaking.
He bucked his hips once, a soft, helpless noise leaving him. âOscarâcome onâfuckâI canâtââ
âYou can,â Oscar whispered, breath hot and damp and right there. âYou always say that. Then you fall apart for me anyway.â
Lando choked on a moan. âI hate you.â
Oscar finally licked a stripe right up where heâd been avoiding.
Lando yelled.
âNo, you donât,â Oscar murmured, tongue circling once â maddeningly slow. âYou love me.â
Landoâs head hit the pillow hard, one arm flinging out like he could swat the intensity away. âShut the fuck upââ
Oscar sucked.
Hard.
Lando gasped â loud, hoarse, desperate. âFUCKââ
Oscar pulled back just long enough to say, voice shredded and hungry, âI could spend all fucking night down here.â
Lando looked down at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. âThen do it.â
Oscar did.
He made a mess of him. Used his mouth like he was starved. Sucked and licked and moaned into him like he was the one getting wrecked, like every noise Lando made fed something feral inside him.
Lando was gone.
One hand buried in Oscarâs curls, the other fisting the sheets, head thrown back, thighs trembling around Oscarâs shoulders. He couldnât keep quiet â breathless, ruined whimpers tumbling out between curses and Oscarâs name like a prayer he didnât know he was saying.
He wanted it â the sound, the shake, the complete, involuntary unraveling of Lando beneath him.
Landoâs hips jerked once, twiceâthen he froze, fingers gripping Oscarâs hair like a lifeline, mouth falling open with a silent cry that only turned audible when the wave hit full-force.
âFuckfuckfuck, Oscarââ
Oscar groaned against him, swallowed, and didnât move for a second too long.
Lando collapsed back against the bed in the aftermath, chest heaving, hand sliding bonelessly from Oscarâs hair.
It took a full thirty seconds before he could speak.
When he did, it was wrecked.
âYouâre⊠insane.â
Oscar crawled back up his body, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his ribs, his chest, his throat, then finally his mouth. âYou love it.â
Lando blinked up at him, still dizzy. âI do,â he admitted, almost laugh-drunk. âI love you. And I hate how good you are at that.â
Oscar grinned, brushing a thumb over his cheek. âGuess Iâm just naturally gifted.â
Lando snorted weakly. âShut the fuck up.â
Oscar kissed him again â slow this time. Tender. Not demanding anything. Just anchoring them.
Lando tugged him close, hands sliding up under Oscarâs shirt now, breath still shaky.
âYouâre not getting out of this, you know,â he murmured.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. âOut of what?â
âYour turn.â
Oscarâs breath hitched.
And Lando â still dazed, still undone, still flushed from the high â smiled like a threat.
âLie down.â
Landoâs breath hitched as his fingers slid hesitantly between his thighs, eyes locked on Oscarâs dark, steady gaze. His skin was warm and slick with sweat, every nerve ending buzzing with anticipation.
âWait,â he whispered, voice trembling but determined. âI want to open myself first. Make sure⊠everythingâs ready.â
Oscarâs smile was slow, full of heat and encouragement. âTake all the time you need. Iâm not going anywhere.â
Landoâs fingers pressed gently at first, teasing the tight, sensitive place inside him. A sharp shiver ran up his spine, and his lips parted on a soft, shaky gasp. He swallowed hard, letting a slow, deep finger slip in, inch by inch.
âFuck,â Lando murmured, cheeks flushing deep pink. âGod, that feels⊠intense.â
Oscarâs hands cupped Landoâs hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles that grounded him, whispered assurance in every touch. âYouâre doing so well. So good.â
Encouraged, Lando slid a second finger inside, curling them slowly with delicate, controlled movements. His breath hitched again, louder this time, a broken moan escaping past his lips.
âGood?â Oscar prompted softly, eyes glinting with desire.
âYeah,â Lando breathed, biting his bottom lip to hold back a cry. âSo good.â
After a moment more of that delicious stretching, Lando withdrew his fingers, slick and trembling. His chest rose and fell rapidly, body aching with need.
âIâm ready,â he said, voice low and thick.
With surprising strength and determination, Lando pushed off the bed with his hands, shifting to roll Oscar beneath him.
âTime for you to watch,â Lando said, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. âIâm in control now.â
Oscarâs breath hitched, eyes darkening with want, as Lando settled his weight on top. Their skin brushed, every nerve on fire.
Lando aligned himself carefully, slow and deliberate. When he finally sank down, a gasp tore from his throatâdeep, raw, and trembling. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, thrilling.
Oscarâs hands gripped Landoâs hips like an anchor, fingers digging in gently, his voice rough as he moaned, âGod, you feel incredible.â
Landoâs hands braced on Oscarâs chest, fingers splaying as he began to move. His hips rolled forward and back, slow at first, savoring every inch, every delicious burn.
âOhâfuckâOscar, listen,â Lando whispered, voice thick with need, âI want to do all the work. Let me show you.â
Oscarâs breath caught, a low moan vibrating in his chest. âShow me, Lan.â
Lando pushed down harder, a deep groan rumbling from his throat, hips picking up a steady rhythmâpowerful, possessive, hungry.
âYeah,â Lando moaned, head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, âjust like that.â
Oscarâs fingers slid up to tangle in Landoâs hair, tugging gently as he whispered, âYouâre perfect. So fucking perfect.â
Landoâs breath came faster, moans spilling out uncontrolled. âIâm yours, Oscar. Iâm yours, Iâm yoursââ
Oscar kissed him deeply, pulling him closer, matching his pace, their bodies moving in perfect, heated sync.
âRide me,â Oscar gasped, voice cracked, âRide me all night.â
Landoâs hips moved faster, harder, every muscle flexing, sweat pearling on his skin, moans and whispered curses filling the room like a storm. His body arched, riding every thrust as if trying to reach some impossible edge.
âOh fuckâOscar, Iâm so closeâcanâtââ
Oscarâs hands gripped his waist, pulling him down harder, groaning into his neck, âCome for me, baby. Let go.â
And with a shuddering cry, Lando shattered, riding the wave of pleasure crashing through him, every sound raw and beautifulâmoans, curses, breathless gaspsâfilling the quiet room as he collapsed, trembling, utterly undone.
Landoâs body trembled against Oscarâs, chest heaving as the aftershocks rolled through him. His skin was flushed, every nerve still humming with heat and pleasure. He stayed sunk down for a long moment, letting himself feel utterly spent and completely held.
Oscarâs hands didnât leave himâslow, steady, groundingâtracing lazy circles over his hips, down his back. âYou okay?â His voice was soft, low, almost a whisper.
Lando nodded, breath shaky. âYeah⊠yeah, Iâm good. Better than good.â He gave a tired, shaky laugh that turned into a breathless sigh. âFuck, that was⊠insane.â
Oscar smiled against his temple, lips ghosting over the skin there. âYouâre insane.â
âYeah,â Lando said, voice rough, eyes fluttering open to meet Oscarâs. âBut Iâm yours.â
Oscarâs grin deepened. âAlways.â
Slowly, Lando shifted, sliding off Oscarâs body with care, still trembling but wanting to hold onto the closeness. He curled back against Oscarâs side, their legs tangling naturally.
Oscar wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. âYou rode me like a goddamn menace,â he murmured, breath warm against Landoâs hair.
Lando snorted softly, nuzzling into the crook of Oscarâs neck. âHad to. Someoneâs gotta show off.â
Oscar laughed quietly, tugging Landoâs arm around him tighter. âYouâre impossible.â
âYou love it.â Landoâs voice was thick with contentment, his fingers tracing patterns on Oscarâs chest.
Oscarâs fingers found Landoâs curls again, threading through them gently. âMore than anything.â
They lay there for a long time, breaths slowing, hearts still racing but tethered tightly to each other. The quiet between them was warm, full of unspoken promises and lingering desire.
Landoâs eyes fluttered closed, a sleepy smile on his lips. âNext time⊠I might let you do some of the work.â
Oscar chuckled softly, voice a tender whisper. âIâm holding you to that.â
And in the soft dark, with only the steady rhythm of their breathing, they fell into a peaceful, tangled sleep â together.
âž»
The next morning, Oscar showed up to media duties with a faint green tinge still clinging to the corner of his mouth â subtle, but there.
Lando? Lando didnât stop smiling once.
And the internet?
The internet lost its mind.
âž»
Top Comments:
@/wafflewifebehavior: WHY IS HIS MOUTH GREEN. EXPLAIN. RIGHT. NOW.
@/landosgreenass: so what Iâm hearing is oscar made out with his waffle wife after hours
@/oscarstopthat: not him SUCKING THE GREEN OFF HIS TONGUE BYE??? this is actually so illegal
@/papayawag: at this point the Ring Pop was the ceremony and the food dye was the honeymoon
@/landowecanbeworldchampions: imagine kissing your crush so hard you absorb the evidence
Summary: A night in a hotel room turns heated fastâMax has George right where he wants him, begging and undone under every deep thrust. Itâs perfect. Until the minibar fridge decides to make a dramatic escape attempt. George canât stop laughing. Max absolutely refuses to stop fucking him.
Masterlist
âž»
The room was warm and quiet, the only sounds coming from the wet slap of skin and Georgeâs broken, desperate moans.
Max had George sprawled on his back, one long leg hooked over his shoulder. The angle let Max slam in deepâso deep that Georgeâs back arched clean off the mattress with every thrust.
âFuckâMaxâahâdeeperââ Georgeâs voice cracked, his nails clawing at Maxâs arms as if trying to anchor himself.
Maxâs eyes were dark, focused, lips parted in a ragged grin. âYouâre taking me so wellâlook at youâsuch a good boy for me.â
George whimpered, face flushed, his cock twitching untouched against his stomach. âIâoh godâpleaseââ
Max pushed Georgeâs leg even higher, folding him almost in half, pounding into him harder, deeper. âYeahâright thereâfeel me? Youâre so fucking tight around meâso perfectââ
Georgeâs head lolled back, eyes rolling. âFuckâfuckâyesâharderââ
And thenâ BANG.
Both of them froze for half a second.
The minibar fridge door had popped open, and a single tiny bottle of prosecco rolled out, spinning dramatically before coming to a slow, pathetic stop in the middle of the room.
George blinked at it, chest heaving.
Max didnât move, still buried to the hilt inside him.
Georgeâs lip twitched.
Then he snorted.
Max shot him a look. âDonât.â
George broke. His body shook as he started laughing uncontrollably, tears forming in his eyes. âIâholy fuckâit just rolled out like it was escapingââ
Max ran a hand down his thigh, grinning despite himself. âUnbelievable.â
But instead of pulling outâMax just thrust in hard.
Georgeâs laugh caught in his throat, turning into a breathless moan.
âStill think itâs funny?â Max teased, slamming into him again, deep and rough.
Georgeâs laugh came out broken, each giggle turning into a sharp gasp as Max kept up his relentless pace. âM-Maxâfuckâahââ
Max leaned forward, letting Georgeâs bent leg press against his chest, giving himself leverage to fuck him even deeper. âLaugh for meâyeah, like thatâso fucking tight every timeâgodââ
Georgeâs giggles became incoherent moans, his hands scrambling for purchase on Maxâs shoulders. âF-fuckâMaxâpleaseâharderââ
âBeg for it,â Max growled, his thrusts brutal and precise.
âPleaseâpleaseâdonât stopâfuckâI need youââ
Max kissed him hard, tongues sliding together as he ruined him. George felt like he was coming apart completely, every deep thrust pushing him closer to the edge.
Georgeâs orgasm hit hard, his body clenching tight around Max, milking every drop from himâ
But Max didnât stop.
âMaxâfuckâIâtoo muchââ George gasped, squirming, overstimulated and wrecked.
Maxâs grin was dark, unrelenting. âNot done with you yet.â He shifted slightly, his thrusts deeper, sharper, making George cry out helplessly.
âP-pleaseââ Georgeâs voice was raw, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as pleasure and sensitivity tangled.
âLook at youâso perfect like thisââ Max groaned, hips snapping faster. âCanât get enough of youâgonna make you come again.â
Georgeâs body trembled, overwhelmed but desperate, moans spilling freely as Max pounded into him until his cock twitched again, spilling weakly against his stomach.
Max buried himself deep, groaning as he finally came too, filling George completely before collapsing over him, both of them shaking.
George was still breathless, sweaty, flushed to the tips of his ears.
Max kissed along his jaw, smug and soft. âBetter than a bottle of prosecco, yeah?â
George let out a wrecked laugh. âFucking hell⊠remind me to lock that fridge next time.â
Max smirked, kissing him again. âNo chance. I like the way you laugh when Iâm inside you.â