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He always got like this post-race, jittery, like he didn’t belong in his own skin. His clothes would always feel too tight on him; he could feel every drop of sweat soaking his body, the ache between his legs making everything sticky.
He felt dirty.
Dirty in a way that was bone-deep. Felt dirty as he stood in front of the interviewer, as he sat in the cooldown room, and he would continue to feel it until he was back in his hotel room. He wouldn’t shower, though. Instead, he’d strip meticulously before throwing himself onto the hotel bed, naked.
At this time, he’d be too wet to do anything, really. His body felt like one big nerve. There was no orgasm at this stage—he was too keyed up, too desperate. The cold air on his nipples felt like electricity shooting through his body, making his thighs clench and his clit twitch.
“Fuck,” Lando breathed out, voice hitching up into a whine. He gripped the sheets and dropped his legs back open; the cool air was enough on his oversensitive skin. He needed a second to regulate before he could touch himself, knew that if he did it now, he’d only frustrate himself more.
He was unsure how much time had passed. The sweat had finally cooled from his skin, leaving behind a pleasant chill permeating his body.
Finally, he thought to himself as he reached between his legs, fingers gently rubbing over his cunt. This was his favorite part. Call him a narcissist, but he was always gentle with himself, slow and measured. He liked to draw it out, no matter how keyed up he was. It made it better for him when he was all fucked out without even cumming—so wet and messy that every touch squelched. When he couldn’t even get the right angle because he was so wet, he’d flip himself over and fuck himself on his own fingers until he was screaming. His body would completely lock up as he shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm, breathy little mewls leaving him as his cunt clenched and gushed everywhere.
He thought back to the race—how the car felt underneath him at each turn and overtake. How it felt to completely ignore team orders and just race. The adrenaline rushing through him every time Oscar overtook him and vice versa. He had always wanted to race like that with his teammate, a proper all-out race. Wanted them to give it their all, push the car as far as it could go and then some. To win or lose and still come out of the car with the satisfaction that—yes, you did your absolute best.
He slipped a finger into himself, gasping, as his mind wandered to how it felt to cross the finish line. The racing was already turning him on (nothing new there, really), but the feeling of winning—now that was a fucking head rush. He could feel his whole body shudder as he crossed the finish line, cunt clenching almost in response to the deafening cheers. He was soaked, of course, but he’d been soaked since the second lap, frankly.
He had climbed out of the car on shaky legs, convinced everyone could tell just how fucking horny he was—how winning a race had him desperate and gagging for it, desperate to be fucked.
How he stood on the podium, and all he could think about as Alex and Oscar drenched him in champagne was how filthy he was for wishing it was something else.
Lando’s back arched as his breath hitched. He’d been steadily fucking himself to the memory of the race, and he could feel the heat coiling in his gut. He sped up, slipping another finger in as he fucked himself raw, the other hand reaching down to pinch at his clit. Tears formed in his eyes as his back bowed off the bed, breath coming out in harsh pants.
He was gonna cum—he was so close he could taste it. He was gonna cum all over himself and these sheets, gonna get them all wet and messy with his slick. Fuck.
“Cumming, cumming, cumm—”
“Lando?”
He froze.
Huh?
“Lando, mate, you there? Hello?” He heard Oscar’s voice say from his phone.
Shit.
How the hell did he even manage to call him? How did he not even realize? Was he so engrossed in himself that he didn’t even notice his phone was ringing?
He scrambled to make himself presentable (despite no one else being in the room) and to make it sound like he wasn’t just fucking himself.
“H-hi,” Lando said, voice cracking.
He was going to kill himself. Truly, this was it for him. He was going to kill himself right here in this hotel room, and they would find his naked body in the morning.
He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Sorry—hey, mate, didn’t realize I rang.”
Okay, that sounded good. He sounded like a proper human.
Oscar hummed down the line. “Yeah, I figured you weren’t aware of the call when I was calling your name for around three minutes and all I could hear was rustling.”
There was something off about his tone.
Lando wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but something in him told him to press.
“All you could hear?”
He stopped breathing as soon as he said it, the reality of what he was saying crashing down on him. He was asking Oscar if he had heard him—desperate and moaning as he fucked himself. He really needed to get better impulse control.
He was so caught up in himself that he didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone, was unaware of how Oscar was throwing the question around in his mind, unsure if he should be honest or continue the lie that he’d heard nothing. His recklessness won out.
“I mean, it wasn’t all I heard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
So that’s it then. Oscar likely heard everything, which—regardless of this being an accidental call—was unprofessional in levels Ferrari could only dream of being. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from talking.
“Well, what’d you hear?”
“You.”
Oscar’s voice was deeper, huskier now. Lando wondered if their conversation was affecting him as much as it was him.
“I could, uh, I could hear you when you were, um—”
Oscar was stuttering now. Lando could see him, in his own hotel room, face bright red as he tried to tell Lando how his pussy sounded over the phone. Lando knew he shouldn’t, but—
“When I was?”
He couldn’t help himself.
Oscar was fun to tease and push. It was even better when it was so risky. Lando never claimed to not be an adrenaline junkie.
“Touching yourself, Lando. I could hear you touch yourself.”
The words were harsh on Oscar’s tongue, made harsher by the iPhone speaker. He sounded wrecked. Lando wondered if it was because he was imagining it.
“Then why didn’t you hang up?”
He heard a sharp intake of breath and then—nothing. For a second, he was concerned Oscar had hung up, finally realizing just how insane this was. But when he pulled his phone from his ear to check, he saw Oscar’s name, bright on his screen still.
Huh.
“Oscar?” Lando tried again, voice a tad bit more hesitant. He felt the worry seep into his tone and was unaware of how to stop it—prayed it wasn’t obvious.
It spurred Oscar into action, realizing he was going to have to put his shame away if it meant Lando stopped feeling like shit about this.
“I couldn’t.”
It felt like a confession, like something more.
“Couldn’t?” Lando pried, desperate now to know the answer.
“Yeah. I couldn’t. I didn’t realize at first when you called, but then I heard it, and I couldn’t move. All I could hear was the way your breath would hitch slightly and how you kept letting out the prettiest moans. I wondered for a bit if someone was with you, but the longer I listened, the easier it was to tell you were by yourself. And just—fuck, Lando, you sounded so pretty. What was I supposed to do?”
Oscar’s voice got desperate towards the end, a whiny little thing. The brat. He was always like that—whiny when he thought he was right or defending himself. It turned Lando on more than he’d like to admit, hearing that same desperate tone in Oscar’s voice. It made him want to be mean.
Lando had never been good at denying himself anything (frankly, no one was—McLaren’s golden boy, they called him), so he pushed.
“Did I make you hard?”
He asked it coyly, voice soft and lilting. Lando could make himself sound so sweet when he wanted to.
He heard Oscar gasp wetly on the other end. He bit his lip and smiled as he waited for his response.
Oscar whimpered before softly responding, “…Yeah. I just—you sounded so good, and all I could think about was if I was there and how pretty you would sound up close. How I’d make you cry on my fingers before eating you out until my face was soaked. Wanna taste you on my tongue. Wanna fuck you so hard you’re still feeling me days later, and you have to walk around knowing you let your teammate fuck you so hard you saw stars.”
Lando couldn’t breathe.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He wanted.
His body was on fire. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything as badly as he did now. He needed Oscar to fuck him. Wanted to know if he was as good as he said or if he was all talk.
“Prove it,” he said. Challenged, really.
It was suspended in the air for what felt like forever, both their hearts racing.
“Yeah,” Oscar finally answered. “Room number?”
It had been ten minutes since Lando hung up the phone, and his heart still hadn’t slowed. He hadn’t even moved, still laid out on top of his mattress as the chill of the air conditioning steadily became too much—his body no longer overheating, allowing the cold to seep in. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move.
His mind was moving a mile a minute. Where was Oscar? Was he still coming? Had he been joking about the whole thing? Would he wake up to Zak banging at his door about workplace misconduct? He literally had no idea.
He felt like an idiot, felt silly in a way he hadn’t since he was fumbling and fresh into his F1 seat—when he looked at Carlos like he hung the moon and the stars, holding on to every word the older man said. He would have done anything for Carlos. He thinks Carlos knew it too. Sometimes, he thinks it scared him.
He remembered how, when he finally gave in to the urge he had—figured out he had nothing to lose and, worst come to worst, Carlos would have hated him (please, please don’t hate me)—but he still had to try, didn’t he?
It was after a race. He was still in his rookie year, so as Charles would say, he was fresh-faced. The race had been shit—truly shit (at least, he thought so). They were almost at the end of the season, and he just felt like he was failing. Sure, he wasn’t expecting to dominate, but fuck, he wanted to win at least once, yeah? He allowed the feeling to swallow him.
So there he was, in his motorhome, on the floor, biting back tears at his own incompetence—when Carlos found him. Came over in his fumbling glory and tried to comfort him. It kinda felt like a lion trying to convince a kitten everything was fine—which is to say, Carlos couldn’t comfort him for shit. Still, he laughed at the absurdity. Carlos had looked so pleased with himself for making him laugh, eyes crinkling as he smiled at him.
Lando thought he looked a bit like the sun and, well—
“Can I suck your dick?”
Yeah.
(Carlos agreed—once he was through sputtering and making empty excuses about Lando’s age. It did nothing to hide the way his pupils disappeared the moment Lando said it.)
He was jolted from his memories by the sound of a knock on his door.
Shit.
He scrambled off the bed, grabbing the biggest shirt he could find—because fuck knows where his boxers were—and went to open the door.
He was then face to face with Oscar. Oscar, who, for some reason, was bright red and smelled like lemon.
Ah.
“Did you take a shower?” Lando asked, giggling slightly.
Oscar flushed before nodding his head.
Still chuckling lightly to himself, Lando let him in and locked the door.
Of course Oscar had showered. Knowing him, he probably brushed his teeth too—serious about smelling good when he came to fuck Lando.
Oscar hovered awkwardly before sitting on the bed. Lando trailed behind him, momentarily distracted by the mess on the floor.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, bending over—finally spotting his lost boxers.
Oscar let out a truly tortured sound. Fucking hell. He was right in front of his face.
Perfect, pink pussy and ass on display, still glistening from when Lando had been fucking himself earlier, still puffy.
Oscar wanted to taste.
“C’mere,” Oscar growled, really—too turned on for his vocal cords to do anything other than make caveman-like sounds.
Lando straightened up, red in the face when he realized he’d basically been presenting himself. He stepped toward Oscar, biting his lip as he wrung his fingers together.
Oscar couldn’t help himself. He held Lando by the hips, pulling his cunt to his face before taking a deep sniff.
Fuck, he smelled divine. He bet he’d taste even better.
He rubbed his nose along the hem of the shirt, entranced by the way it got wetter and wetter with every brush against Lando’s pussy. He could feel himself getting spacey—the only things he could focus on were the thrum of blood in his dick, the pulse in his ears, and the wet, hot cunt in his face.
He felt hands in his hair, tilting his head upward. He looked up, and his breath stopped.
Lando was a vision—biting his lip, eyes glassy with unshed tears, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He looked fucked out, and Oscar hadn’t even touched him yet. Not really.
“Please,”Lando whispered, looking down at him.
“Yeah,” Oscar responded, gently maneuvering Lando onto the bed before crawling between his legs. He hooked his hands under Lando’s thighs, spreading him open—and what a sight it was.
Vaguely, he heard a sharp intake of breath—unsure whether it was him or Lando.
Up close like this, Lando’s pussy was even prettier. Wetter than earlier, pearly white slick dripping from his cunt as he clenched around nothing, his clit an angry red as it throbbed. He was so fucking worked up—all that from a little sniffing?
Fucking hell.
Oscar couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head between Lando’s legs, mouthing at his thighs, sucking soft bites into the malleable flesh. He wanted to worship him. Needed to worship him.
Lando was so fucking beautiful. He had to make sure he knew it.
“Baby,” the word left him, punched out and truly mourning, “Baby you’re so fucking pretty”
Lando gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he forced his breathing under control.
Oscar sounded reverent, like Lando was his god and he was at the altar on his knees. He said it like it was a fact of nature.
The sky is blue. Grass is green.
And Lando was so fucking pretty.
He wasn’t sure he would survive this.
Regardless, he still wanted this more than ever, so he watched intently as Oscar kissed and bit along his thighs. His breath hitched at every touch, the wet heat of the younger’s mouth searing against his skin. He could feel himself getting wetter, surprising even himself. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on, this needy.
He had never been the older one before—usually fucking around with his teammates, and, well, you’ve seen Carlos and Daniel. This was new to him. Looking down at Oscar between his legs, he recognized this level of worship. The kind you could only really have if you looked up to someone.
Oscar used to like all his Instagram posts—he had seen it on Twitter once. A compilation of all his old posts, almost 90 percent of them marked Liked by oscarpiastri. Max used to joke that he had a crush on him. Seeing him now, Lando wondered if there had been some truth to that.
Finally, Oscar’s kisses trailed higher, his mouth nearing his pussy. Lando felt himself clench around nothing.
“Oscar,” he mewled, impatient. “Please.”
That seemed to do the trick. Oscar looked up at him before smiling, those pretty bunny teeth on display. Against his will, Lando felt himself smile back. He was a lost cause anyway.
Oscar giggled. “Desperate?”
Lando didn’t have enough shame to stop himself from frantically nodding in response.
He felt Oscar smile against his thigh. What the hell was his problem? Truly, Lando was already a lost cause. After this, he didn’t think he’d be able to fuck anyone else—like, ever. And they still hadn’t even actually touched.
Oscar finally began kissing along Lando’s cunt, feeling the slick against his skin. He ached to get his mouth properly on him but wanted—needed—this to be as drawn out as possible. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get a chance like this again, and he needed to savor it.
He felt Lando’s thighs trembling, flexing under his hands. He ignored it, choosing instead to lightly suck on his cunt, almost like he was trying to give him a hickey (not that Lando would have minded).
“Osc—” Lando gasped before letting out a high-pitched keen, his thighs locking around Oscar’s head.
Fuck.
Lando just came.
Lando just came from Oscar teasing him—he hadn’t even properly gotten his mouth on him yet. Hadn’t even spread him open, hadn’t even tasted him. And yet, here he was, thighs locked around Oscar’s head, pulsing beneath him.
Oscar couldn’t help himself—he let out a low, disbelieving laugh, gently prying Lando’s legs apart before thumbing his cunt open, staring in awe at how pretty his milky cum looked. Oscar wanted to fuck him, needed to fuck him so bad. But first, he had to eat him out—had to feel that pussy clenching on his tongue before it milked his dick.
Lando was hiding his face in his arms, making these pathetic little noises, his face flushed bright red.
Oscar barely resisted the urge to coo. “Angel, look at me, please?” he asked, rubbing soothing circles into Lando’s thigh.
Lando frantically shook his head.
Oscar didn’t remember the last time he had been this endeared.
“C’mon, baby, lemme see you. I’ve been looking at your pretty pussy this whole time—I’ve missed out on seeing your face.”
Lando was helpless to refuse this time. He peered down at Oscar, his face scrunched up, tear tracks lining his cheeks. “M’sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t mean to cum.”
“Baby, the only thing you’re supposed to do right now is cum.”
Lando whimpered at that. He knew Oscar was right, but it was still so fucking embarrassing that he was that sensitive.
Oscar climbed up, peppering kisses along Lando’s stomach, feeling it flex beneath him. He gently nipped at his neck before kissing over his face, soft and slow. By the time he was finished, Lando was giggling sweetly. Oscar was satisfied—happy he had made his boy laugh. (His boy? He was gonna ignore the wording there. Since when was Lando his?)
“Fucking stop, mate, I get it.”
“Don’t call me mate. I was literally just between your legs.”
“Yeah, and you didn’t even do anything, really.”
“Oh yeah?”
That was the last thing Lando got out before Oscar practically slithered down his body like some kind of fucking snake, wrenching his legs back open.
Lando stared in disbelief. What the hell was his issue?
“Oscar!” he admonished, watching the other man smile between his legs.
“What? You said I didn’t do anything, so I have to prove you wrong, yeah?”
He raised a challenging eyebrow, laughing when Lando grumbled before making a get on with it, then motion with his hands.
“There’s something really cringy I wanna say right now.”
“Oscar, I swear to fucking—”
“Ikadakimasu.”
“You’re so fucking annoying, holy sh—” Lando cut off with a gasp, feeling the first broad swipe of Oscar’s tongue, finally on him.
“Shit,” he gasped out, hands reaching down to fist the sheets. His body was a live wire. He was always more sensitive after cumming, and Oscar was relentless. Instead of setting a fast pace, he held tightly onto Lando’s thighs, licking into him with firm, broad strokes. Somehow, it was worse.
“Osc—” he gasped, reaching for his hair and tugging. He felt Oscar moan into him and shivered. Fuck, he was already so worked up again.
Lando tried to grind up into his mouth, desperate for more friction to chase his high, but Oscar took one of his hands and pressed it down onto his stomach, effectively pinning him in place. Lando shuddered. Fuck, that was hot.
“Let me.”
Lando made a confused noise in response. Let me do what? But his confusion didn’t last long—Oscar had moved up to his clit now, circling it with his tongue before slowly fucking him with two fingers.
Lando felt like he was dying, truly and honestly. He was on the verge—of cumming or passing out, he really couldn’t tell. Everything was just too much. Oscar, beautiful, brilliant Oscar, was destroying him.
And he was so gentle about it. He had been gentle this entire time, never rushing him, taking his time breaking him apart, holding him tightly to ensure it all happened at his pace—not Lando’s.
His second orgasm was building. He could feel it down to his toes—knew it would be more intense than the first (they always were).
“M’gonna cum,” he whined, fingers tightening in Oscar’s hair as his back arched off the bed.
Oscar drew his head back just enough to speak (and when he did, the vibrations ghosted over Lando’s skin).
“Yeah, c’mon, angel. Let go for me.”
And Lando snapped.
He wasn’t loud when he came—never had been. Instead, he made these pathetic little sounds, keening and mewling. When he came on Oscar’s fingers, all he could do was sob. These big, heaving sobs as Oscar slowly fucked him through it, fingers pressing into his g-spot while he lightly lapped at his clit.
It felt like it lasted hours. He just couldn’t come down from it—wave after wave kept crashing over him, and there was no escape. Not when Oscar was pinning him to the bed, holding his legs open so he could keep fucking him through it.
Finally, it became too much,his sobs shifting from pleasure to overstimulation. Oscar immediately drew back, his hands moving to make soothing motions over Lando’s hips as he whispered praise into his skin.
“You did so good, baby. Fuck, you were so good for me. Loved watching you cum, hearing you sob out my name, feeling you clench around me. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”
Lando felt the praise wash over him, pulling him under gently. He knew he had a soft smile on his face, feeling well and truly sated—but Oscar still hadn’t come yet. A small frown tugged at his lips, an inkling of guilt creeping in.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Oscar’s thumb pressing between his brows, smoothing out the crease. It made his nose scrunch up.
“Stop thinking so much,” Oscar whispered, voice soft.
“You didn’t cum?” Lando hadn’t really meant for it to be a question, but his vocal cords weren’t exactly cooperating.
“Doesn’t matter. You did.”
Lando frowned at that.
“Fuck me.”
He felt Oscar freeze.
“Lan—”
“I said fuck me.” This time, his voice was firm, challenging. “I can take it.”
Oscar’s eyes darkened. “Yeah? You sure, angel?” His voice was mocking now. He held Lando’s gaze as he reached between his legs, thumbing his clit—watched as Lando’s mouth fell open with a breathy gasp.
“Hmm?” Oscar teased, rubbing in slow circles, watching Lando’s face screw up in pleasure, his hands white-knuckled from how hard he was clutching at Oscar’s t-shirt.
Lando opened his mouth to say something,to retort in some way,but all that came out was a moan. Oscar’s thumb was a firm, unrelenting pressure on his clit, unavoidable. He wanted to squirm away from him, but that would mean he had lost. Plus, Oscar was looking at him like he wanted to devour him, pupils blown wide, panting like he was the one being fucked—all while maintaining direct eye contact.
He was watching him intently, cataloging every micro twitch in his expression, every gasp and moan, committing to memory exactly what Lando looked like when he was fucked out.
“Fingers, please,” Lando murmured, and Oscar readily complied, easily sliding three in—groaning to himself when he saw Lando’s back bow from the stretch.
He continued his torment, though it was a bit more difficult now that three fingers were inside him and one was still circling his clit—but Oscar was nothing if not dedicated. He wanted to watch Lando fall apart on his fingers.
So he timed it—slow, deliberate thrusts in tandem with his thumb drawing steady circles over his clit. The wet sounds of Lando’s cunt spurred him on. He listened as Lando’s moans climbed higher and higher, watched his face flush red from the shame of holding eye contact, knowing he was about to cum all over Oscar’s fingers.
Oscar could tell he was close. Lando had started panting now—unconsciously, it seemed—and his eyes had gone hazy, like the pleasure was too much for him to focus. He just needed a little push.
Oscar had no issues being that push.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he crooned. “You’re doing so good for me. You gonna cum for me? Hmm? Make a mess all over my fingers?”
That was all it took.
Lando folded in on himself, cunt gushing as he sporadically clenched around Oscar’s fingers. His breath came in ragged, heaving gasps, his whole body shaking.
Oscar was right there, cooing in his ear, murmuring soft praise—telling him how pretty he was, how proud he was of him.
Lando couldn’t stop his body from shaking—everything felt like too much. A whimper built up in his throat as he burrowed his head into Oscar’s chest. Fuck, it was like his orgasm refused to end. Every time he thought it was over, his cunt gave another pulse—he was in hell, and he loved it.
This was what he needed. Needed to be fucked so hard his skin didn’t feel like his own. Needed to be fucked so hard it felt like he was being flayed apart and laid out—vulnerable, shaking, and yet still so enticing.
That could have been his porn-addled brain talking. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but think about how pretty he would look in front of a camera. Sex was a performance for him in a way—he needed to be seen as alluring, needed to captivate. So he would always angle his hips a certain way, bite his lip, look back over his shoulder. Let out pretty, high-pitched moans, murmur and coo under his breath about what a good job they were doing fucking him and how their dicks felt so big—until they were fucking up into him, and he was gushing all over their cock.
He loved it.
Frankly, in his opinion, sex was boring if you weren’t performing.
But with Oscar, nothing felt like a performance. He had been out of his depth from the moment they started. Oscar had completely overwhelmed his senses. He was inescapable. And Lando needed him to fuck him.
Needed to feel his cock, slowly working him open. Needed him to fuck him in missionary—wanted to look at his face as he did, needed to see every expression he made. Needed to know just how good his cunt felt to Oscar.
Oscar, who was still steadily rubbing circles into Lando’s back, fingers threading through his hair, soothing him—seemingly unconsciously.
Lando thinks he loves him.
Fuck.
“Lando?” Oscar inquires softly, still stroking him.
Lando makes what could vaguely be recognized as a response.
“You done, baby?” Oscar asks, giggling to himself.
“No.”
“You sure? That was pretty intense there, angel.”
There’s that damn nickname again. Angel. Oscar says it like he means it. Not like it’s just a term of endearment, but like it’s an epithet. As though it’s a part of him. Like Lando being an angel just makes sense.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
Oscar hasn’t denied Lando anything—couldn’t bring himself to, really—and he has no plans of starting now. So he obliges.
He kisses all over Lando’s body as he makes his way between his legs. He knows he doesn’t need to—Lando’s wet enough that all he’d really need to do is sink his cock in—but…
Lando’s pussy is a sight. The dim lighting in the hotel room makes him look fucking pornographic. He’s so fucked open, he’s gaping—gaping from Oscar’s fingers. And his pussy is so puffy and red, it looks almost painful. And his cum—fuck, his cum is so milky, sticky white all over him, between his thighs, on Oscar’s fingers.
Oscar needs to admire.
He hears himself coo—coo—at Lando’s pussy, reaching to spread him open with his fingers. Watching as he clenches around nothing. Listening to him whimper and plead for Oscar to “just fucking get on with it.”
He’d look all night if he could. Wishes he could look forever. He wants—
“Can I take a picture, sweetheart?”
Fuck.
He wasn’t supposed to say that. Clearly, his brain hadn’t gotten the memo. He makes eye contact with Lando, an apology already on his tongue, and—
Lando’s blushing.
What.
But no, Oscar is, in fact, seeing clearly. He just asked Lando if he could take a picture of his pussy, and Lando is blushing, eyes so dilated he can’t even see the green in them. And he’s looking at Oscar—
Fuck, he’s looking at Oscar like he’d let him destroy him if it meant Oscar would be the one putting him back together.
Oscar shudders. He can’t breathe suddenly, his brain struggling to grasp the implications, unable to focus on anything that isn’t the man right in front of him.
“Can I?” he reiterates, realizing he hadn’t gotten an answer.
Lando nods.
Oscar quickly reaches into his back pocket for his phone, hastily snapping a few pictures. He knows he’s going to use them later—probably wank over them for years, really.
Finally, he removes his sweatpants, sticky from Lando’s mess. He hadn’t put on any underwear, and Lando makes a hurt little sound at the sight of Oscar’s dick.
“Hm?”
“Big,” is all Lando can bring himself to say, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
Oscar’s dick is an angry red, steadily leaking precum and thick. Lando’s salivating at the thought of it entering him, wanting to feel the pleasure-pain of being stretched out on his cock.
He wishes he’d sucked it. Wishes he had fallen to his knees when Oscar arrived, mouthing over his cock through his sweats, soaking them. Feeling him fill out before he took his bare cock into his mouth. Oscar would drag it across his lips, getting them slick and shiny with precum before telling him how pretty he looked, tightening a hand into his curls before he fed him his cock.
At least, he hoped he would.
Oscar is still staring. He’s going to give Lando a complex at this rate. Lando lets out an impatient whimper before kicking him.
“Fucking ow.”
“Can you hurry up and stick your fucking dick in me? I promise my cunt’s not gonna, like, disappear if you stop maintaining literal eye contact with it.”
“But it’s winking at me.”
“What is your fucking issue, I swear to God.”
Oscar laughs—full-on—because Lando sounds so put out he can’t help himself.
Anyway.
Slowly easing it in—don’t cum, don’t cum—a fucking mantra in his head because shit, Lando’s tight. Tight and so fucking hot around him, pussy practically sucking him in. Oscar needed to at least make this last longer than a minute.
Lando was no help (as usual). The moment he felt the head of Oscar’s dick push in, he let out a punched-out groan, screwing his eyes shut before moaning, “Shit, you’re bigger than I thought.”
Which—yes, very flattering—but on the flip side, if Oscar was actually supposed to fuck Lando, then he really needed him to shut his fucking mouth.
“Lando, please shut the fuck up. Please, baby, I need—”
“How fast can you get it up?”
“What.”
“If you cum right now, how quickly can you get hard again?”
“…Five minutes?”
“Oh, okay. You can cum then.”
You can cum, he says, smiling up at him as though he’s some kind of benevolent entity.
Ah, yes. Oscar Piastri, please cum after you’ve gotten your dick in me for a second. No, it’s okay. You can fuck me full of cum if it means you can get it up in like five minutes. It’s totally fine that you’re a quick shot.
Oscar hated Lando sometimes.
He snapped his hips up—hard—fucking Lando into the damn mattress. Lando let out little uh, uh, uhs in response to every thrust, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“Look at me.”
Oscar’s head snapped up. Lando reached out, motioning for him to come closer before wrapping his arms around Oscar’s neck, locking his thighs around his hips.
He let out a pleased little sound, satisfied that he’d essentially trapped him. He wanted to tip Oscar over the edge the way Oscar always did to him. He wracked his brain for what he could say—until it finally hit him.
“Breed me.”
Oscar froze.
Delighted, Lando continued.
“C’mon, you know you want to. Breed me. Fuck me full of cum, baby. Want you to watch it leak out of me—know that it’s your cum that made me all messy.”
And Oscar was gone.
He fucked up into Lando two more times before stilling, dropping his head to Lando’s neck with a deep whine. Lando pulsed around him, milking him for everything he had.
Oscar just kept rubbing his face into Lando’s neck, whining—small, pitiful little sounds. Lando was so endeared.
“You sound like a puppy, baby.” He had said it as a joke, but then he felt Oscar tense up before letting out an even more embarrassed noise.
Ah.
“You like that? Hm? Being my puppy?”
Oscar shuddered, nodding slightly.
Lando cooed. “You did so good, baby. Bred me so well. I’m gonna be feeling you leak out of me for ages. My sweet puppy.”
Oscar could feel himself getting floaty. He wanted to keep his head clear—if both of them slipped, then who was going to do the fucking?
Still, he lay there, letting Lando whisper sweet nothings into his hair, peppering his face with kisses.
It was nice being taken care of.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he could feel his dick start to harden again, the edge of overstimulation fading. He was still buried inside Lando—it was comforting in a way. He loved feeling him around him, being connected like this.
Lifting his head, he met Lando’s gaze, and his breath stuttered. Lando was looking at him with so much adoration, like Oscar was something special, something important. He lifted a hand, cupping Oscar’s face.
“Hey,” he whispered, smiling softly.
Oscar felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest. The tenderness in Lando’s gaze was too much.
“Hi,” he whispered back, his voice croaky.
He felt like he could cry. The whole thing was so soft, so gentle. Oscar couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this careful with him—when he’d been able to care for someone like this, too. There were no set dynamics between them, no roles, and it made his head spin.
Lando leaned in, kissing him—gentle at first, smiling when Oscar gasped into his mouth. Then he deepened it, fucking his tongue into him, messy and wet. It was like Lando was really trying to fuck him with just his tongue.
Oscar moaned, drool dripping from his lips as his dick twitched inside Lando—Lando clenched around him in response.
Fucking hell.
Oscar pulled back, panting, rolling his hips in slow, deep strokes. He had to make this last. Lando still had his hands on his face, panting into his mouth, body twitching every time Oscar bottomed out.
He pulled out until only the tip was inside before sinking back in so slowly. It was excruciating, watching Lando take him like this, his body stretched so perfectly around him.
“Puppy,” Lando breathed out, giggling when Oscar stuttered, snapping his hips forward harshly like he couldn’t help himself.
Lando felt a little dizzy with power.
“Puppy,” he repeated, more deliberate this time. “I love how you fuck me. You’re the biggest I’ve ever taken, you know that? I can feel you in my fucking womb.”
“Lando—please, baby. Please, fuck, I need to last this time. Please.”
“But don’t you wanna know how big you are? How fat your cock is? How—”
Oscar shut him up the only way he could think of.
By shoving his fingers into Lando’s mouth.
Lando moaned around them, gagging, and Oscar nearly lost it. He wanted to shove his dick down his throat until he was choking on it, drool leaking everywhere. He wanted to slap his face with it before cumming all over him, rubbing it in until it lingered.
The thought made him fuck into Lando harder. He grabbed Lando’s hand and pressed it over his stomach, over the place where he could feel himself inside.
He was making sure Lando could feel it too.
“You take me so well, angel. Fucking hell, it’s like your pussy was made for me. Made for my dick.”
“Fuck—that’s ‘cause I am.”
The sound Oscar made could hardly be considered human.
“Yeah? You were made for me?”
“Mhm. Made for you to fuck. Don’t you see how good you fit inside me? How good you fuck me? It’s like I’m a virgin again—‘cause clearly, I haven’t been fucking before I met you.”
“Yeah? You my little virgin angel? Saved yourself for me?”
Oh, of course Oscar had a virginity kink. Fucking freak.
But Lando was nothing if not a slut. He made his eyes big, bit his lip, and forced Oscar to look at him—shivering at the intensity of his gaze.
“Fuck—yeah, I wanted you to fuck me. Wanted you to fuck my pretty pussy since I met you. Needed to feel you cum in me. Knew you were the only dick I’d ever want.”
The grip Oscar had on his hips was bruising now. Lando knew he’d have fingertip marks for at least a week. He was glad. He wanted something to remember this by.
“Jesus fucking Christ, your mouth—shit, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me cum.”
“Please?” Lando blinked up at him, making his eyes wide and sweet. “Want you to get me pregnant.”
Oscar snapped.
He changed his grip, flipping Lando onto his stomach, hoisting his hips into the air. He pressed his head down into the mattress, holding him there by the back of his neck.
Then he fucked him.
The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his balls slapping against Lando’s cunt filled the room. Lando was a mess beneath him, babbling incoherently, fingers clutching at the sheets in a weak attempt to ground himself. His legs were shaking so badly that the only thing keeping him up was Oscar’s grip on his hip.
“Please, please, please—please, fucking cum in me, please, I can take it, Oscar, fucking please—”
“Shh,” Oscar cooed, stroking his hip as he fucked him harder. His orgasm was building, dangerously close—
Lando turned his head, struggling against the hold on his neck just to look at him, eyes wet and desperate.
“Please.”
And Oscar was gone.
He let out a strangled groan as he came, felt like it was being wrung out of him, pulse after pulse of cum filling Lando up, seemingly endless.
Lando made soft, satisfied sounds, smiling dopily into the pillow.
Oscar had enough sense left to flip him over before collapsing on top of him.
Lando’s legs were spread open, too weak to do anything else. Both of them lay there, shivering. That was the best sex Oscar had ever had in his entire life.
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed.”
Then they both dissolved into giggles.
They’d have to clean themselves up later, but right now, the only thing that existed was each other.
So Oscar pulled out, hushing Lando softly as he reached for his discarded t-shirt and cleaned them up as best as he could. He licked Lando clean for good measure—he would have wrung another orgasm from him if Lando wasn’t already fucked out. The only thing he got was pitiful, overstimulated mewls.
Satisfied, he grabbed the sheets, curled up against Lando, and let sleep take them both.