⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Jade⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The first time Lando brings it up, you’re pretty sure he’s gone insane.

“You’re letting the rivalry stuff get to you head, Lan,” you say softly, stroking a stray curl out of his face.

You’re sat back on your living room sofa, watching-but-not-really-watching something on the TV, and Lando’s sprawled across you, legs tangled through yours as his head rests against your chest.

“I’m telling you, I’m right,” he insists, not bothering to look up. “Oscar has a crush on you.”

You laugh, completely unconvinced, but he continues. “I’ve caught him staring at you more than once, and not just in a normal way. Do you remember in the drivers’ room in Bahrain, when you bent down to tie your laces? I’m pretty sure he stopped breathing for a second. And in Austria, when you hugged me after quali he went bright red.”

He says it all in one long rush of words. When he’s done, you shake your head, fighting not to laugh again. “Babe, he was probably just zoned out. You know how boring work stuff can get! I feel like you’re thinking too far into this.”

He tilts his chin up, stubborn as always. “I know what I saw.”

The two of you laugh it off, though, because the thought of Oscar Piastri harbouring a quiet little crush on his teammate’s girlfriend is quite silly.

It’s so silly, that the thought doesn’t cross your mind again for weeks.

Until Silverstone, when Lando wins, and you find yourself screaming at the top of your lungs as he gets up onto the podium.

You’ve giggled at pictures of yourself like this before, looking up at the podium as Lando receives his trophy. You can never manage to hide that adoring look in your eyes, like nothing matters but him, and you can feel it shining through now while you clap and cheer until your voice is hoarse.

There’s something so special about seeing your boy standing where he belongs.

The British national anthem begins, and for just a second your attention flicks to the left, where Oscar stands in his own spot on the podium.

You expect him to be staring straight off into the crowd, or perhaps tilting his head back, shutting his eyes as the anthem plays. What you don’t expect is to find him staring straight at Lando, with a far too familiar look in his eyes. The same look you were giving Lando ten seconds ago.

You blink up at him, like maybe your eyes will focus, and see that Oscar’s not even on the podium and you were just making things up. This does not happen. Oscar remains on the podium, and his eyes remain fixed on your boyfriend.

The national anthem comes to an end, and Oscar finally manages to drag his eyes away from Lando.

When he looks down into the crowd, his gaze collides with yours, and there’s a flicker of awareness in his expression, as his cheeks pink ever so slightly. It’s over in a second, though, because then the champagne is out, and there’s no time to think about anything other than celebrations.

In the garage, Lando finally seeks you out, planting a firm kiss on your lips the second he can reach you.

He pulls away to speak to you, grin spreading across his cheeks, still completely high from his win. Usually, you’d let him yap at you for hours straight after a race, but right now? Something sparked in you, seeing the way Oscar stared up at your boyfriend. Something that certainly won’t be satiated by a peck on the lips.

You wrap a hand around Lando’s neck, pulling him back towards you.

You catch him a little bit off guard, but it doesn’t take him long to melt into you, his big hands firm at your waist, pressing you against him as he lets his tongue explore your mouth. He tastes like champagne and victory, and it’s taking every ounce of restraint in you not to tear all his clothes off and give him a real winner’s reward.

Especially when you can feel the solid outline of chest through his soaked shirt.

You’re actually pretty sure you could, without anyone noticing. It’s so chaotic in the paddock right now that nobody is paying the two of you a lick of attention.

(Plus, it’s not like it would be the first time you and Lando have had sex in public… though maybe his place of work still isn’t the best time to go for a round two..?)

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself away from the kiss moments before it becomes straight up pornographic.

Lando’s cheeks are flushed, and his lips are still parted. He tilts his head, a grin spreading across his cheeks.

“What was that for?” he asks, breath hot against your ear as he leans back in, in close enough for you to hear him.

You bite your lip, not fully sure if you should tell Lando the real answer. But you do.

“I think,” you reply, “Oscar might have a crush on you.”

“Yeah?” mutters Lando.

You nod.

“Because I think,” he replies, tilting his head to the left ever so slightly, “He might have a crush on both of us.”

You follow his eyeline to where Oscar stands across the room, looking away from the two of you. His ears flush pink as both of you stare.

*

It’s not an uncommon sight, to find you, Lando, and Oscar sat around in the McLaren motorhome after a race.

Most friends and family choose to return to their hotels at this point, to avoid hours of sitting around and waiting, but you like the quiet time with the boys, listening to them recapping the race in private before they’re dragged away to do media stuff.

Today is no different. Lando is sat back on the sofa, legs spread comfortably as he explains his mindset through turn one to Oscar. You’re slotted in beside him, one arm around his shoulders, stroking his neck lazily as he speaks.

Oscar listens carefully, clinging on to Lando’s every word—like he always does—but his voice wavers when he replies. Lando asks him a question about his tyres into turn one, and Oscar starts to answer, but you lean in just a little bit closer to Lando as he does, purely to see if he’ll react.

Your hand slips into Lando’s hair, brushing a stray curl from his forehead, and when he turns his head slightly you press a soft kiss right below his ear. It’s completely innocent, of course, but it certainly does something to Oscar, because he trips over his words right away.

You drag your eyes away from Lando, to watch as a flushed pink spreads from Oscar’s neck, kissing up his freckles until it settles at his cheeks.

Lando, cool as a cucumber, pretends not to notice that Oscar has essentially turned to a babbling pile of mush, and stretches his arm along the back of the sofa behind you, brushing his fingers over your shoulder before he responds.

“That’s interesting, mate. Think it’s one we could both work on, but I definitely think you managed it better there.” He says, though it appears to go in one ear and out the other.

The best reply Oscar can conjure up is a small nod paired with a large gulp. He attempts to continue, talking about his best lap time of the race, and the incident with the cars at the back towards the start of the race, but his voice shakes each time one of you shifts in your seat.

You try very hard not to laugh, because it is a little bit cruel, but you can’t help that you’re a bit like cats sometimes, playing with your prey before you pounce.

When a member of the media team appears at the door, clipboard in hand, and announces that it’s ‘Interview O’Clock,’ Lando sighs dramatically, and attempts to cling onto you a little bit longer.

You manage to stand from the sofa despite his attempts, leaning down to kiss him quickly before you go. Then, you turn to Oscar, bending down across the sofa, and press a light kiss to his cheek. It’s a perfectly friendly goodbye.

A perfectly friendly goodbye that manages to turn Oscar an even more neon shade of pink. He freezes for half a second as the blush spreads, before managing to mumble a soft “bye,” under his breath. Lando watches this with a smug grin, and his eyes briefly flick to yours as you walk out the door.

You smile back, pretending not to notice that Oscar still hasn’t managed to recover.

*

There’s two weeks until the next race, and somebody at McLaren decides that this means Monday night is a perfectly acceptable day of the week to go out drinking.

You’d love to be able to say that you weren’t expecting to end up six cocktails deep clinging to Lando’s bicep at the VIP table of a ridiculously exclusive club, but unfortunately you know yourself far too well for that, and you’re not sure you and Lando have ever managed to go for ‘just one casual drink’. What you might not have been able to predict, however, is that Oscar Piastri would decide to join you for the night.

Oscar Piastri, who gags at the smell of vodka and takes an hour to finish half a pint.

It’s that part of the night, where everyone is either drunk or politely excused themself an hour ago, where your skin is warm and sticky and your options are to dance or take a nap.

Most of the remaining team have chosen to take themselves to the dancefloor, but you, Lando, and Oscar remain sprawled out across the plush purple booth.

Lando’s arm is around your shoulders, fingers softly tracing lines up and down your bare skin. You’re a touchy couple on an average day, but a few drinks in? you couldn’t pay Lando to take his hands off you.

Oscar sits opposite you, stirring a deep golden drink as he avoids your gaze. His cheeks are once again flushed, partially from the alcohol, partially from the warmth of the room, and maybe a little bit from simply being around you and Lando. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to expose the sharp rise and fall of his collarbones as he breathes, and you don’t try to hide the way your eyes trace his freckles.

Lando leans in closer to you, his lips brushing against the edge of your jaw. You keep your eyes on Oscar but lean into his touch. The smell of Lando’s cologne always does something to you, and this many drinks in you’re melting like butter for him. When his hand runs up your thigh to rest at your hip, you don’t hesitate to turn to him.

The kiss starts out warm and familiar, almost like you’re whispering that you love each other over the music. It doesn’t stay like that though. Maybe it’s the music, or the drinks, or Oscar’s eyes on you, but something heats up the kiss.

Your hands wander up and down Lando’s arms, his back, his thighs as you kiss, desperate for more contact. You actually moan into his mouth when he grabs a handful of ass, like you’re starved of his touch or something, and didn’t literally fuck him six hours ago.

When you break for air, Lando’s grin is lazy as he looks at you in that way that tells you he’s got about thirty minutes of this left in him before he bends you over the nearest flat surface and makes you cum until you cry.

Part of you considers that this club could use a bit of entertainment, and maybe you should test it out? The rational part of you agrees that you’ll keep it to the bedroom tonight.

But not quite yet.

You glance across the table and catch Oscar’s expression. He’s caught somewhere between fascination and guilt, lips parted in a half gasp as he glances away, eyes never meeting yours.

He tries to act casual, fingers tapping the side of his glass as his eyes dart over to the bar then back to you and Lando. It’s almost endearing.

You tilt your head slightly, and Lando takes it as an invite to trace your jaw with his teeth, drawing a soft whimper—silent against the pounding club music—from your lips.

When his lips meet yours once more, his tongue is greedier as he nips at your bottom lip, hands tangling through your hair as he pulls your head back, granting him further access to your mouth. The burning heat of Oscar’s gaze only spurs you on, rocking your body against Lando’s as you continue to kiss. 

It’s Lando who pulls away this time, with a low murmur of, “It’s time to go.”

As much as you love being a little bit of a brat sometimes, when Lando’s voice sounds like that, and you know exactly what’s waiting for you back at the hotel,you’re certainly not putting up a fight.

You follow Lando out of the booth, pausing to say goodbye before you go.

“Don’t stay out too late, Osc,” he shouts over the pounding music, slapping a hand against Oscar’s shoulder before finding your hand once again.

You run a hand up Oscar’s arm, giving the solid muscle a quick squeeze. “Goodnight, Oscar,” you say, in the sweetest voice you can produce, like you haven’t just sat and tortured the poor guy for an hour.   

And then you leave him, flushed and tipsy, to his own thoughts.

*

When you get back to your hotel room, there’s not much talking.

Not until you’re naked, adjusting yourself above Lando’s dick.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as you grind down onto him him. “So pretty like this, baby.”

You steady your hands against his chest, tracing lines up his tanned skin. He’s still wearing his white shirt, but he’s unbuttoned it completely.

He sits up, trying to shrug off the shirt, but you catch his wrist before he can get it off.

“Leave it on, please?” You ask, words broken into a half-moan as you feel him shift in his seat again, pressing himself deep inside of you.

He raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, breathy, rocking your hips against him, chasing any friction you can find. “Looked so fucking good today, Lan. Couldn’t stop thinking about this all night.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Did you see the way Oscar was staring at us?”

You nod. “Couldn’t take his eyes off us.”

Lando thinks before he speaks again, rocking his hips up, forcing another moan out of you. “Do you think he’s picturing us now?”

And suddenly there’s an image in your head, of Oscar, all alone in his hotel room, whimpering as he finds his climax but it’s still not enough to satisfy him, not now that he’s had the thought of the two of you using him like a toy.

“I think he’s fucking his hand,” you reply, voice a soft whisper, “wishing he was here with us.”

And you feel the way Lando’s body responds to that—jaw clenching, hips snapping up into you, as he pictures the two of you having your way with his sweet teammate.

“I bet he’s never had a threesome,” he says once he’s able to form a sentence.

“We’d treat him so well,” you gasp, fully riding him now.

Lando pulls you down against him, his movements becoming far less patient and controlled. “We’d ruin him.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, when you reply, “Maybe we should.”

His response is a soft hum, which he lets out right before lifting you off him like you weigh absolutely nothing. You gasp at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but it doesn’t last long, because then he’s flipping you onto your stomach and lining himself up with your entrance from behind.

“You’d love it, wouldn’t you baby?” He groans, as he pushes himself into you, not giving you that achingly slow moment to adjust this time, fucking in and out, hard.

He grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he pounds into you, the new angle allowing him to hit an even deeper spot than before.

You can barely find it in you to form the word, “Yes,” but you manage it, and it comes out a desperate, pleading sob. “I’d love it.”

“I know, my love.” He replies, planting a kiss at the base of your neck before dropping a hand to rub slow circles against your now-throbbing clit.

It’s devastating—the combination of Lando thrusting into you, so hard and so unrelenting, paired with his hand, so gentle as it guides you towards your orgasm. You don’t have to tell him when you’re close, because he already knows it, and he is too.

His hand speeds up, pace not faltering until jolts of pleasure are coursing through your veins and you’re seeing stars.

The feeling of you clenching around him as you moan out his name is just enough to push Lando over the edge too.

His thrusts slow to a deep, final stop, and he presses his fingers into your thighs hard as he reaches his climax.

He’s still for a moment, before he pulls out, just taking in the sight of you underneath him. When he does, you roll over, panting heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you lock eyes with Lando, he leans over to kiss you once again, softly this time.

Before his lips meet yours, you whisper, “You’d love it too.”

“Of course I would,” he replies. And that’s that decided.

*

Date night, a week and a half into summer break, you’re just on the verge of being tipsy as you and Lando make your way home—both of you agreeing to walk through the warm streets of Monaco rather than bothering to wait for a driver to pick you up.

Lando’s hand rests on your waist, always a steadying presence by your side. He leads you round a familiar corner, just a few streets away from your apartment.

And that’s when you see him.

Oscar, looking so perfectly sweet, lovely Oscar, in shorts and a dark hoodie, hair flopping down into his eyes as he walks right into you.

He notices you just a second after you notice him, but that second is enough for Lando to give your waist one tight, firm squeeze, a silent agreement between the two of you.

“Oscar!” You call out, arms extended wide for a hug. You relish in the pink tinge that stains his cheeks when you release him.

“Hello, mate,” adds Lando, slapping him on the back. “How’ve you been?”

“Yeah, alright,” he says, “Just resting up, you know how it is.”

“Course, I do, Osc,” Lando replies, and you’re sure Oscar’s blush deepens at the use of that nickname. “So you’re not busy, then?”

“Nah, not particularly.”

“Great!” smiles Lando “So you’ll come back to ours for a drink?”

Oscar blinks. “What, like, now?”

Lando grins. “Like, now.”

“Ah, you know, I should probably be getting home—”

You cut him off, running a hand up his bicep, doe-eyes blinking hard. “Come on, Oscar, it’s just one drink and we’ve missed you so much this week.”

He swallows, hard, then says, “alright. Just one.”

“Just one,” echoes Lando.

*

When you’ve returned your wine glasses to the kitchen, after the one drink Oscar agreed to, you settle back down on the sofa next to Oscar, who’s wedged between you and Lando.

Your short skirt shows off most of your bare legs when you’re sat like this, and Oscar stares straight ahead, blinking at your wall as he avoids looking at all the skin you’ve got on display.

Lando catches your eye, and you nod, one final yes.

“Babe,” he says, faux concern laced through his voice. “You have something on your lip. Come here.”

You lean forward across Oscar, enough so that the neckline of your shirt drops, exposing far more cleavage than before.

Lando leans forward too, and before you can register what he’s doing, he licks the corner of your mouth.

You laugh, head tilting towards Oscar, which leaves your neck exposed. Lando takes that chance to scatter open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to scrape his teeth along your pulse point.

You lock eyes with Oscar, a gasp of pleasure slipping from you, and he holds your gaze for a second, pupils blown wide. When he looks away, he’s blushing, hard.

You let the hand closest to him snake along his back, and he’s burning hot against your touch.

Oscar parts his lips, like he’s right on the cusp of saying something that’s on his mind. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts in his seat silently.

Lando stills against you, breath still warm against your neck as his lips curve up into a smile before he pulls away.

“Sorry, Oscar,” he says, sly grin only growing wider, “Are we bothering you?” 

You can’t pull your eyes away from Oscar now, the way the flushed pink of his cheeks spreads right up to the tip of his ears, and right down below the collar of his shirt.

His eyes don’t meet yours or Lando’s when he replies, shakily, “No.”

You let your fingers trace down the curve of his spine, pausing as you find his shirt has ridden up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of his back.

When your fingers, whisper soft, press against the warm skin, he inhales.

It’s tiny—so quiet—but it’s like music to your ears

“Lan?” You say, as casually as if you were about to ask him to add tomatoes to his shopping list.

“Hmm?” He replies, equally as casually. 

“I think,” you continue, emphasising the I, “Oscar might like it,”

“Do you think so?” Lando asks, though the way he says it tells you it’s not really a question.

He turns his head, so he’s perfectly in line with Oscar’s throat.

“I think you’ve got a crush on my girlfriend, Osc.” He murmurs, breath soft against Oscar’s neck. You watch as his jaw clenches in response, eyes fixed ahead of him, desperately holding onto some shred of control.

Lando brings his hand up to Oscar’s face, cupping his cheek. He keeps his mouth so close to his neck that when he speaks again, voice sure and steady, his teeth graze the sensitive skin.  

“Do you want to kiss my girlfriend?”

And that’s when you see Oscar lose the shred of control he’d been holding onto. His eyes snap down to meet Lando’s, and he nods silently, the movement so subtle you’re sure you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying such close attention to him.

Lando doesn’t miss it though.

Using the hand cupping Oscar’s cheek, he tilts his head towards you, an invitation you’re more than willing to accept.

Your fingers ghost against his face, finding Lando’s hand and settling over it as your lips meet Oscar’s.

The first thing you notice is how soft Oscar’s lips are. His lips part in a whisper of a gasp as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping just hard enough to sting.

Kissing Oscar feels just like kissing a girl usually does. He’s so pliant, so ready to let you take the lead, which you do, tongue pushing into his mouth, tasting the sweet wine from before.

You almost have to remind yourself not to reach for a handful of tit—though, judging by the way Oscar’s turning to mush at your touch, he’d probably quite like that.

You adjust your weight, knee brushing against Oscar’s leg, and he actually whimpers into your kiss, both of his hands now resting at your waist.

A smile curling at your lips, you pull away ever so slightly and take in the sight of him, cheeks already flushed pink, lips parted as he catches his breath. You lean in again, but don’t quite let him have another kiss yet. 

“The thing is,” you whisper, lips brushing against his. “I think you might have a crush on my boyfriend, too.”

Oscar’s breath catches as you run your fingers through his hair, barely giving him a second to think before you’re gripping it, turning him to face Lando, who hasn’t stopped staring since you got your hands on his teammate.

“Do you want to kiss my boyfriend, Oscar?”

Lando doesn’t hesitate for even a second to take that invitation.

His mouth finds Oscar’s with a determination that flushes your cheeks pink, like he’s been picturing this moment just as much as you have. You bite your lip, not bothering to hide exactly how hot the image of the two of them kissing is to you.

Lando’s hand never leaves Oscar’s cheek, thumb pressing lightly into the hinge of his jaw as he deepens the kiss, and then, with a shift of his body and a firm tug, he’s pulling him closer, guiding him easily until he’s straddling his lap.

It’s so seamless, so natural, if you’d have blinked you might have missed the movement altogether.

You decide you love the way Oscar doesn’t resist at all. His body completely yields to Lando’s, knees resting against Lando’s thighs, hands still clumsily grasping your waist until one finally moves, uncertain, to Lando’s shoulder.

He lets Lando take complete control of the kiss, lets himself be tilted and pulled into exactly the position Lando wants him in; completely melts against him.

Then, a sound slips from Oscar’s throat. It’s small and broken, almost a whimper, and it makes Lando smile against his mouth, letting out a satisfied hum. You recognise that smile, because it’s one you’ve prompted on many occasions. It’s the smile that says, yeah, that’s right, I’m the one who makes you feel good.

And oh, how right he is.

Lando kisses Oscar like he owns him, like he’s known all along that this moment was waiting, and Oscar gives himself over to it so easily it almost makes you dizzy to watch, his body softening against Lando’s touch, knees tightening around his thighs as though he needs an anchor.

He’s probably never been kissed quite like this before. You certainly hadn’t, before Lando.

You’d once told him he ruined other men for you forever. Though you quickly took that back after your first threesome together, as it turned out he was quite capable of making other men very pleasant indeed.

Your gaze wanders down Oscar’s chest to his waist, where Lando’s hands hold him steady. The gasp that escapes you is completely involuntary, when you realise Lando can very nearly touch his fingers together around Oscar’s waist.

The size difference between the two boys is almost as erotic as the sight of them lapping up each other’s tongues. Oscar, so much bigger than Lando, yet looking so unreasonably tiny as he completely hands over control.

You decide you could stay and watch this forever, the two of them locked together, but then Lando finally breaks the kiss, dragging his mouth away just far enough to look at you over Oscar’s shoulder, eyes dark and shining with triumph. His lips curve, breathless but steady, and his voice is low when he says, “Look at us, having all the fun without my beautiful girl… Come here, Baby.”

Lando’s words are a command, not really a question, you know that, so you find yourself moving before your brain has fully processed his words, leaning into their burning space.

Lando’s hand is still firm against Oscar’s jaw, so it’s easy for him to guide the angle when you press closer, tilting Oscar’s face just enough to allow you access to him. The brush of your lips against his is different this time, wetter now from Lando’s kiss, his breath stuttering hot against your mouth as he struggles to process this fantasy of his coming to life.

This time, Lando doesn’t just watch as you kiss Oscar.

No, he drops his hand to your panties, completely exposed under your short skirt and presses hard against you, until the tiniest bit of friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you. At the same time, he grinds his hips up against Oscar, forcing soft whines out of both of you at once.

Lando continues his movements, revelling in the sight of you and Oscar moaning into each other’s mouths.

You’re just about to lose your patience with his barely-there touch, when Lando abruptly pulls Oscar off his lap, separating the two of you completely.

Oscar blinks at Lando dumbly, eyes glassy and hair a mess.

“On your knees,” says Lando.

Oscar follows his instruction obediently, dropping to his knees.

You’re not expecting Lando to drop down with him, so they both kneel at your feet, but you’re certainly not complaining when it happens.

You let Lando be in control here, like he always is, and so does Oscar.

Lando continues, “pull down her skirt.”

Oscar brings his hands up to the tiny thing, and does as he’s told, delicate hands working quickly to pull the tight fabric down your legs.

You lift your hips up to help him, and when they’re off his hands shoot right back up to pull down your little red thong—already soaked through from just kissing the two boys.

You can’t help but laugh at his eagerness, and your eyes lock with Lando’s as his lips quirk upwards.

“Look at you,” He purrs against Oscar’s ear. “So eager. Do you want to make her feel good?”

He nods, and you spread your legs for the two of them, revealing your soaked core.

Lando touches you first, fingers swiping achingly slowly from your entrance up to your clit. He brings the fingers to Oscar’s mouth, where he parts his lips obediently and sucks your wetness off Lando’s fingers.

“Doesn’t she taste perfect?” Lando asks.

Oscar just nods again.

“Go on,” he continues, “You can taste.”

It’s like Oscar is made to serve, like making you feel good is the only thing keeping him ticking, like he needs it more than oxygen.

The way he laps you up, two fingers fucking into you hard and perfectly deep.

You let your head drop back, eyes fluttering shut as he finds a steady pace, fingers curling up into you until he finds that spot that has your hips twitching up into him. He smiles against you at that, but doesn’t slow down, so eager to please.

Lando notices it too, the way he reacts to your pleasure, because a second later you hear his voice, low and calculated, murmuring words of encouragement for him.

“That’s it, Oscar. Good boy,” he says, and Oscar whines against you, the feeling of his stuttering breath almost enough to send you over the edge.

He pumps his fingers in and out again, but when his pace stutters for a moment, another whimper slipping from him, you notice it, and your eyes dart down to where he kneels.

There, you find Lando, palm pressed flat against Oscar’s cock as he continues to mutter words of encouragement for Oscar.

And that, the sight, the feeling of Oscar desperately moaning into you while he squirms under Lando’s touch is far too much for you to handle.

Your head drops back against the sofa once again, and you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the way Oscar’s tongue flicks against your clit, and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then you’re right there, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your hips pushing up against Oscar’s mouth, as his little noises of pleasure blend together with yours.

You fall back, catching your breath. You don’t open your eyes right away—instead, you give all your energy to your other senses. To the feeling of the two men kneeling at your feet, their shoulders brushing your knees as they move against one another. To the sounds Oscar is making, so perfectly desperate, as Lando strokes his cock.

Dragging an eye open, your gaze finds Lando, peppering open-mouthed kisses along Oscar’s jaw, left hand gripping the back of his neck just hard enough to make him gasp, while his right hand continues to work up and down his length, which is no longer concealed by layers of soft fabric.

You keep your eyes glued to them as Lando’s mouth finds Oscar’s again, licking into his mouth, teeth catching against his flushed lower lip as they kiss hungrily, and messily.

Just as Oscar begins to rock his hips up against Lando’s firm hand, he pulls away—from both the kiss and Oscar’s cock, a grin spreading across his cheeks.

“Desperate for it, aren’t you, Osc?”

If this embarrasses Oscar, he certainly doesn’t show it, simply nodding, wide-eyed, at Lando.

“Been picturing it for a long time?” Lando continues, tracing a finger down Oscar’s pale, exposed neck.

Again, Oscar nods. But this time, he allows a soft shade of pink to tint his cheeks.

“Did you touch yourself, thinking about us?”

Oscar hesitates, then chokes out, “Yes—Fuck. After that night at the club.”

Lando’s eye’s snap up to meet yours, and he drops his hand back down to Oscar’s cock.

“We pictured you, too, Osc. Talked about you while we fucked that night.”

Oscar doesn’t reply, simply drops his head to Lando’s shoulder and whines, melted to a puddle under Lando’s touch.

He pulls away again, to Oscar’s visible disappointment, though this time he guides the Australian to his feet, positioning him next to you on the sofa.

“Come here, baby.” He says, attention back on you now. He gestures for you to join him, kneeling on the floor in front of Oscar.

“How about you show Oscar just how badly you wanted him?” He says once you’re on the floor next to him, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

You nod, taking Oscar’s length in one hand. It rests for a moment at the base of his cock, barely moving. He takes a deep breath, and it’s perfectly shaky.

Lando’s hand snakes across yours, interlocking your fingers, before he drags both of you up and down Oscar’s length.

Oscar’s head drops backwards immediately, a groan spilling from his lips as his hands cling to the edge of the sofa.

“That’s it, beautiful,” says Lando, and you’re not completely sure if he’s talking to you or Oscar, until he pulls his hand away from yours, and whispers, “You want to make Oscar feel good, don’t you?”

You nod, continuing to work Oscar’s cock while Lando stands up, unbuttoning his trousers.

Oscar makes the most perfect sounds when you’re stroking his dick, and you focus in on that while Lando rises to his feet and undresses himself, testing what makes him squirm.

You trace a gentle finger along his tip, gathering the drop of precum that has pooled there. Oscar manages to breathe out a soft, “Please,” at that, which only makes you grin harder.

You still your hand, and look up at him through your lashes. “Is that what you want, Oscar?”

He nods, jaw tense.

“You’re going to have to use your words, baby.”

Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenched, and shakily manages, “right there, please.”

“Good boy,” you reply, letting your fingers caress the soft skin again. His hips buck up as you move, and you settle into a rhythm again.

Lando is fully naked now, and you realise this as he lines his length up with your face.

You look up at him, still grinning.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,”

“Want something to do with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You nod, because for some reason, despite being able to produce a whole string of commands for Oscar, when it comes to Lando your brain melts back down into putty.

He hums as you stick your tongue out, swirling it against his tip before taking in his whole length.

You know the size of him so well, know exactly what you can handle, so you don’t have to think as you bob your head up and down. You find a steady beat, hand moving up and down Oscar’s length as you take Lando’s.

You continue for a little while, until the three of you are a mess of spit and groans, and you’re pretty sure you could cum at least once from the pure eroticism of making the two drivers feel this good.

Your brain is short-circuiting in that way it often does when Lando’s dick is in your mouth, and you desperately want to just shut your eyes and let him use you.

He must notice the way your eyes flutter closed, hand still steadily working Oscar’s throbbing cock, because he threads his hand through your hair and seconds later is snapping his hips forward into you, finding a steady rhythm.

There’s something so perfect about the way the two men react to your movements—Lando, pushing your head down as far as he knows you can take it, muttering just how good you are for him, while Oscar fists his hand into the sofa, a whining, twitching mess. You feel completely in control of Oscar, yet you couldn’t feel less in charge with Lando.

But that’s what’s so perfect about your relationship with Lando, and why it works so well when you invite someone new to the bedroom. The two of you know each other’s bodies so perfectly, that it gets to be a game of discovering what the new person likes together.

When your jaw is beginning to ache, Lando slows his movements to a stop before he pulls away from you. A string of saliva connects you still, and you try to chase it, not quite ready to be done yet, but Lando stops you with a firm hand, turning you back to Oscar.

“Good girl,” he says, when you speed your hand up again, pumping up and down until Oscar is shaking, jolting with each movement, and you pull your hand away completely, leaving him twitching up against nothing.

Then Lando’s hands are on you, lifting you up onto the sofa, where Oscar sits trying to catch his breath.

“Think he’ll sit there like a good boy while I take care of you for a bit, baby?” Says Lando, voice low and hoarse.

You nod, immediately, and when you look up at Oscar, he’s nodding too.

“That’s right,” Lando continues. “Sit on your hands for me, Osc. No touching yourself for a bit, okay?”

He nods, cheeks flushed a brighter shade of red than you’ve ever seen them. Lando manhandles you into the position he wants you in—ass up, face down, resting on Oscar’s lap.

When you get your hands on Oscar’s thigh, he lets out the tiniest whimper, already tortured by not being able to touch himself. You begin to say something, to praise him, tell him what a good little toy he’s being for you two, but then Lando begins to tease at your entrance, and then you’re the one whimpering pathetically.

You’re not quite sure how you continue to be surprised by the sheer size of Lando, after so many years together, but when he bottoms out in one slow, delicious thrust, it has you crying out, weak at the knees, barely able to steady yourself over Oscar.

Lando gives you a second—just a second—to adjust, before rocking back into you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “So perfect, Lando.”

Lando grunts, hips rolling hard against you, hitting your G-spot once more, forcing another choked half-moan from your lips.

And poor Oscar doesn’t know where to look, eyes darting between you—mouth dropped open into a silent ‘O’, eyes fluttering, barely open, rocking forwards into Oscar’s lap each time Lando’s hips snap against yours—and Lando, all toned, tanned skin, one hand digging bruises into your waist as the other tangles through your hair, fucking you hard and deep at this ridiculous angle that hits exactly the right spot.

Oscar shifts, hands still firmly tucked underneath him, his cock throbbing against his pale chest.

Lando yanks your hair back, ripping a moan out of you. The way Oscar’s dick twitches at the noise has you right there on the verge of another climax.

You clench around Lando, head falling forward to rest on Oscar’s thigh, and you’re not sure which of the two men groans louder.

“That’s it, Baby,” grunts Lando, “So fuckin’ close. You gonna come for me?”

You just about manage to hum in agreement, which is enough for him to drop the hand laced through your hair down to your clit, his skilled, practiced fingers rubbing quick, tiny circles that have you rocking back onto him.

Each brush of pressure sends a jolt of pleasure right up your spine until you’re dizzy and the only thoughts on your mind are Oscar’s strong thigh underneath you, and Lando’s warm, solid body behind you.

It feels like Lando is fucking into you even deeper than before, and it’s almost too much for you to handle, the feeling is too good. A moan threatens to rip from you, but you cut it off, teeth sinking, biting, into Oscar’s leg. And once again, he whimpers, hips bucking up into thin air, cock painfully strained.

Then you’re tumbling over the edge, vision blurring as tiny explosions go off in your stomach, Lando’s own thrusts becoming far more erratic as he brings himself to his climax.

“Gonna come, fuck—course I am, seeing you all over Oscar like this.”

You don’t have the words to tell Lando exactly how fucking hot this is for you, too, watching him play with his teammate like a toy, feeling him so deep inside you that you can barely breathe, but you do manage to turn your head to look at him. To catch a glimpse of him as he loses control, eyes squeezed tightly shut and jaw clenched, hard.

Warmth spreads through you, and that feeling, that fullness you can never get enough of is suddenly the only thing on in your brain, which is foggy and without thoughts once again.

You keep your face pressed into Oscar, as you whine out a pathetic, “Lando,”

“I know,” he says, soft and gentle as he pulls out of you.

You roll onto your back, searching for his face. He pulls you up against him, then slowly, as you catch your breath, tilts your head to look at Oscar.

Oscar, who is squirming, hands shoved underneath him, beautiful brown eyes watery as he tries to maintain control.

And holy fuck, the sight of Oscar like that, so pathetic, clears the fog in your brain. Enough that you think you might quite like to have a little bit more fun with him.

You stare at Oscar, who’s blinking at you dumbly, presumably waiting to be told exactly what he can and can’t do. Lando must interpret it this way too, because he lets out a light chuckle, and pats your shoulder.

“Got him all stupid,” he says.

“Exactly how I want him,” you reply, standing up so you’re towering over him despite your still shaking legs.

“Oscar,” you say sweetly, placing one hand on each of his shoulders, steadying yourself more than anything.

“You gonna sit nicely a little longer, while I get myself off on this big, strong thigh of yours?”

He swallows, hard. And you’re fairly sure you even hear Lando suck in a breath.

Oscar starts to nod, but, like he knows you’re going to tell him to use his words, manages to choke out a strangled, “Yes. Please.”

You let the grin spread across your face again and lower yourself onto his thigh.

And oh, you weren’t exaggerating when you called him big and strong. The muscles of his thigh tense as you settle on it, and it’s close enough to rock solid underneath you.

Oscar groans at the contact, at the feeling of you, so wet against him, still dripping with Lando’s cum.

Lando settles himself on the sofa next to you, and begins to stroke his cock lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world.

You rock your hips forward, the tiniest bit of friction enough to spark a moan from your lips.

Oscar’s hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, a silent request to get you just as naked as them, and you nod, letting him pull it up over your head. You have to pause your movements for a second, when your shirt covers your face, but once Oscar has managed to get it off you’re right back to it, hips rolling forward into him.

You use his shoulders to steady yourself, and find your fingers tracing the solid muscle at the base of his neck.

Formula one drivers and their necks.

You bring your lips down to his neck, and run your tongue along it. Oscar hisses in a breath, and you let your teeth nip at his sensitive skin just a little.

Somewhere next to you, Lando laughs.

“Knew you’d be all over his neck, baby.”

In silent agreement, you scatter a few more bruises along Oscar’s jaw.

His hands find your hips, and move you back and forth, speeding up until you’re moaning, loud, in his ear. You’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm, and Oscar is so desperate to make you feel good, you’re sure you’ll be close to another within seconds at this rate.

You toss your head back, unashamedly bucking your hips into him, squeezing your eyes tighter and tighter until the only thing in your brain is your next climax rapidly approaching.

The pads of your fingers press into his shoulders—hard, but you can barely spare a thought for any pain he might be in, and he certainly doesn’t complain as you fuck yourself against his thigh.

You’re sure you see stars, this time, as you come, panting hard, nails digging harsh marks into Oscar’s back.

You stay like that for a moment, heart racing, head tipped back.

As you let your head straighten, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, a pair of hands grips at your waist. They’re too big to be Oscar’s, you think, and far too familiar as they run up and down your bare skin.

“Hey,” comes Lando’s voice—soft, and gentle in that way it always is when you’re coming down from a climax. “Do you want to fuck Oscar like this?”

At that, you manage to pry your eyes open, breath still shallow and uneven.

You take in the way Lando still looks so relaxed, despite his arousal, and the casual sing-song to his voice when he asks you these questions designed to drive you mad.

Then, you shift your eyes across to where Oscar sits patiently underneath you. And the way he looks almost knocks the breath right back out of you.

His cheeks are flushed, the pale pink a stark contrast against the pale of his freckled cheeks, and his eyes are glassy, barely focused on you as you take him in. His lips part ever so slightly, and you think, for a moment, that he might speak.

But he doesn’t. He just continues to stare dumbly at you.

Then, finally, you let your eyes drop down.

Oscar’s cock is painfully hard against his chest, precum leaking from its tip. You trace a gentle line up its base, and he shudders, pleading doe-eyes snapping up to meet yours. 

You feel yourself soften at the edges a little. Lando always loves to play with his food a little bit before he eats it, but you can’t help but take pity on Oscar.

“Is that what you need, baby?” you ask, fingers still feather-light against his tip. “Need me to take control? Ride you properly?”

He buries his face in your shoulder, voice barely a whimper, and nods.

You glance up at Lando, and his grip on your waist tightens, before lifting you. You adjust yourself above Oscar, then sink down onto him, a sharp gasp falling from you as you do.

Oscar bites his lip, humming out a half moan as he fumbles to keep you from moving for a second while he regulates his breathing.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, “we can go slow.”

Oscar nods, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your thigh when you grind against him. It’s a gentle, barely there movement, but it has him whining in your ear.

“Fuck,” he pants out, “feels good.”

Lando, sat so close next to him that their whole sides are pressed together, runs a hand down Oscar’s arm.

“Yeah?” he says, letting his thumb rub circles across Oscar’s bicep. “You love it?”

You roll your hips forward again, and Oscar whimpers. “Yes, Lando—” he inhales sharply. “Love it.”

Lando grins, settling himself back into the sofa and running a lazy hand over his cock, which is already getting hard again.

He’s far too comfortable like this – sprawled across his sofa, at his house, watching his girlfriend ride his teammate.

“Thought you would.” He replies, after a long pause. “Pictured how good you’d look under both of us. All needy and pathetic.”

This time it’s Oscar thrusting up into you, the soft moans from both of your mouths blending into one. He finds a steady rhythm—him, fucking up into you as you grind your hips against him, both drawing tiny little noises of pleasure from the other.

Oscar brings a hand up to your tits, eyes fixated on the way they bounce up and down as you ride him, the sight almost pornographic. He rolls a nipple between two fingers, harder than you’re expecting, and the moan it drags from you is a surprise to even you.

“Fuck,” says Lando—still thrusting up into his own hand—as Oscar brings his mouth to join his hand, tongue flat against your nipple, “We might have to keep him.”

“Fuck him in every position,” you reply immediately, voice breathy.

That has Oscar bringing his mouth back to yours, swallowing your moans as he presses his tongue into yours, hands completely unable to decide where to rest as they explore your naked body.

Lando chokes out another moan. When you look at him again, he says, “I want you to make him come.” It’s nearly enough to make you choke on thin air. “Wanna watch him fill you up, too,” he continues, voice hoarse, hand still pumping lazy strokes up and down his flushed cock.

Then he looks at Oscar. He doesn’t meet his eyes. Not until Lando’s hand grabs his jaw and tilts it towards himself.

“Does that turn you on, Osc?” He asks, and you clench around Oscar, forcing a deep groan out of him before he can reply.

“Yes, fuck, please. Gonna—” He interrupts himself with another sharp moan, hips snapping up into you harder, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you feel so good over and over.

Your nails dig into his shoulders again, and you bring your mouth right up to his ear, so your breath warms his cheek when you whisper, “Please, come for me baby.”

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become uneven, his whimpers becoming louder and far more pathetic, and then he’s lacing his fingers through yours before his final, deep thrust.

There’s something so deeply intimate, about the spreading warmth of Oscar coming inside you, where Lando has already filled you up.

Oscar pants, as his cock throbs, and all you can do in response is press your mouth up against his cheek again and tell him how perfect he was for you.

“Made me feel so good, Oscar. Filled me up so nicely.”

He practically purrs in response, eyes half lidded, brain so clearly dazed and foggy, leaving him completely pliant. You wait a moment, before getting up, letting Oscar ride his high a little longer.

You wince at the emptiness when you do get up, but Oscar’s mouth simply drops open, face blank and seemingly completely devoid of thoughts.

You raise an eyebrow to Lando, who seems perfectly content to sit and fuck his own hand, as he watches you do whatever you want with Oscar.

You look back at his open mouth, and his soft pleading eyes.

Your thumb slips into his mouth far too easily, and when it does, it’s like it ignites something in Oscar’s brain. He sucks your finger, humming as he does.

And it’s a bit like looking in a mirror. You know exactly what he needs, because it’s exactly what you need when you get like this.

“Want something in your mouth?” you ask, voice oh so gentle now.

He nods, and you guide him to his knees in front of Lando, where you join him. Oscar drops his mouth open, blinking up at Lando, who doesn’t hesitate to fuck into it, earning a whine of thanks from Oscar.

Lando laces his fingers through Oscar’s hair and uses his mouth like a fuck toy, the only sounds filling the air the wet, hot grunts of pleasure from both men, and the soft sound of gagging as Oscar desperately tries to fit more of Lando’s impressive length down his throat.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching them like this, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, when Lando pulls away from Oscar,

But suddenly he’s fucking into your mouth, and Oscar can’t even bring himself to whine about his mouth being empty, because then Lando’s switching back and forth between the two of you, edging himself closer and closer to a second climax.

You can barely think, once again, so desperate to please Lando when he’s like this, so turned on by the feeling of choking on his cock, but both you and Oscar still far too sensitive to touch yourselves, reduced to existing just to make Lando feel good.

You’re sure Lando’s followed this train of thought too, because he’s not going to last long, muttering jumbled words of praise to both of you as his thrusts become more frantic.

“Gonna play nice?” he asks, breathily. “Gonna share?”

He doesn’t need to ask, not really, because he knows you’d both say yes to just about anything right now, but you’re both whimpering out pleas of yes, Lando, anything anyway as he strokes his cock above your faces.

When he finally fucks himself over the edge, warm come spills across your face, your eager tongue, your chest, and Oscar’s too.

And it’s sticky, and disgusting, and so erotic when Oscar starts to lap at your face like he’ll die if he doesn’t get to taste Lando again, waiting patiently for you to reciprocate. When you do, you let your tongue explore all the way back down his chest, not sparing a drop.

You share another kiss, as Lando watches, and it’s salty and hot. You run your hands along his thighs, and he gropes hungrily at your ass, neither of you quite ready to take your hands off the other yet, all three of you very aware that this won’t be the last time you fuck. Not even close.

*

You’re not quite sure how all three of you manage to fit in the shower, but you do, and whilst you’re in there Lando insists it’s entirely unfair that Oscar’s only had one orgasm, before sinking to his knees and sucking him off until he’s gripping onto you, and the bathroom wall, desperately willing his legs not to give in, even when faced with the totally, stupidly, ridiculously hot sight of Lando swallowing his come.

After that, the three of you, mostly clean and dry, return to the sofa.

“Reckon we’ll let you stay the night,” says Lando, swinging his feet over to rest on Oscar’s lap.