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“What are you doing?” Oscar asked, eyeing Lando suspiciously when he noticed him squinting like he was trying to see right through Oscar's soul.
Lando didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes even more.
“I’m trying to look for where they saw the potential in you.”
Oscar frowned instantly. “What?”
What does that even mean?
Lando finally blinked, as if coming back to reality.
“I meant—” he waved a hand vaguely, already annoyed, “they were calling you bottom with stupid little yearning eyes.”
Oscar froze.
“I don’t see it,” Lando added flatly.
He rolled his eyes like that settled everything, then turned on his heel and walked toward the kitchen, leaving Oscar standing there with about twelve questions and a rapidly bruising ego.
“Where did you get that?” Oscar asked, following him, brows furrowed.
Now Lando had an attitude. Full-blown, zero-filter attitude.
“I don’t know,” he said, yanking the fridge open harder than necessary. “Ask your fans.”
Oscar sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s probably just a joke. Don’t ever take what people spread seriously.”
That only made Lando smile, that irritating, sharp smile that meant he was absolutely taking it seriously.
“Well, I would be pissed,” Lando said lightly, voice edged with something bitter, “if my boyfriend was trending because he’s suddenly the most bottom guy with brown yearning eyes and some famous actor said it.”
Oscar blinked. “Come on, Lan. I didn’t do anything.”
Lando scoffed, grabbing a bottle from the fridge and slamming the door shut. “Now everyone thinks you’re so endearing. Beautiful.”
He paused, quieter now, almost to himself.
“Which was true.”
Then the frustration surged back up.
“But now I have to deal with people thinking that of you,” he muttered, shoving the bottle onto the counter. “Fuck it.”
Oscar watched him, arms crossed, almost laughing.
“You’re jealous,” Oscar said calmly.
Lando snapped his head up. “I am not.”
Oscar stepped closer, voice low and teasing.
“You are.”
Lando glared at him, cheeks warm, fingers tapping against the counter like he was holding himself back.
“Shut up,” he muttered.
Oscar smiled. “You’re glaring at the counter,” he said. “It didn’t do anything.”
Lando scoffed. “It’s complicit.”
“Lan.”
“No, because explain this to me… Since when are you—” he gestured vaguely up and down Oscar’s body, like the answer was obvious, “—that?”
“That what?”
“That,” Lando repeated, exasperated. “Bottom-coded. Yearning. Whatever the fuck that means.”
Oscar blinked once. Then twice.
“…You’re mad because the internet thinks I’m a bottom?”
“I’m mad because the internet is wrong,” Lando snapped immediately.
“Objectively. Factually. Embarrassingly wrong.”
Oscar stared at him for a second.
Then he laughed.
That was a mistake.
“Oh my god,” Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t laugh. They’re making edits of you. Do you like that?”
Oscar bit his lip, trying, and failing not to smile.
“Lan, it’s just people projecting.”
“Exactly!” Lando threw his hands up.
“Projecting onto you. Do you know how annoying it is to see thousands of people suddenly decide you’re some soft little—” he stopped himself, jaw tightening.
“—thing?”
Oscar tilted his head. “You don’t think I’m soft?”
“That’s not—” Lando cut himself off, pointing at him accusingly. “You know what I mean.”
Oscar stepped closer, amused now. “Explain it to me.”
Lando hesitated, then sighed hard. “Because now everyone’s looking at you like you’re… attainable. Like you’re sweet. Like they want to protect you.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “And that bothers you.”
“Yes,” Lando said instantly. Then, quieter, “Because that’s my thing.”
Oscar’s smile faded just a touch.
“And,” Lando continued, spiraling, “don’t even get me started on the comments. ‘Oh he looks so gentle.’ ‘He has submissive eyes.’ Since when do eyes submit?”
Oscar hummed. “You look at me with those eyes.”
“That’s different.”
Oscar’s gaze darkened, something pleased flickering there.
“You saying I’m not a bottom, then?”
Lando glared. “You know you’re not.”
“Do I?”
“Yes! And it pisses me off that people who don’t even know you get to fantasize about some version of you that doesn’t exist.”
Oscar studied him for a long moment.
“So you’re jealous,” he said calmly.
“No.”
Oscar smiled slowly. “You don’t like them wanting me.”
“No,” Lando admitted. “I don’t.”
“And you don’t like them being wrong about me.”
“Also no.”
Oscar leaned in, voice teasing. “And you don’t like that I’m getting more admirers.”
Lando rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Why?” Oscar asked softly. “It’s true.”
Lando muttered, “You already had enough.”
Oscar chuckled, then reached out, hooking a finger into the hem of Lando’s shirt, stopping him from pacing away again.
“Don’t touch me,” Lando snapped, yanking himself free. He folded his arms like that might keep everything in his chest from spilling out. He was stubborn. He knew it. He didn’t care.
Oscar raised an eyebrow, chuckling.
Lando shot him a glare. “You think this is funny?”
“Baby, you know I’m not a bottom.”
“Whatever.” Lando scoffed, not even looking at him. “It’s already there. So go on. Find someone who can deal with your very submissive, very bottom, very yearning little eyes.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Just abandon me. You wouldn't want another bottom if you're a bottom, right? Go look for some… some stupid top.”
“And if I did?” Oscar challenged suddenly.
That only fueled Lando’s annoyance.
“Fine! I’ll just have to find someone who’s gonna do me real good.”
“Don’t say that,” Oscar warned immediately.
“What?” Lando shot back. “You don’t fuck someone when you’re a bottom, right? That’s how everyone sees you. And apparently you’re fine with it.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to be,” Oscar said, voice clipped.
“Whatever,” Lando muttered. “Go ahead. Find someone.”
Oscar exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.
“Baby, I didn’t start any of this.”
“Well, it started because of your eyes,” Lando snapped. “You look at people like that.”
“What do you want me to do?” Oscar shot back.
“I don’t know—close them! Stop looking at anyone!” Lando burst out.
“You don’t give me those… those stupid looks. When you look at me, you look like you want to slam me into a wall. But in those tweets you look like some kicked puppy.”
Oscar could only stare at him, blinking, caught off guard. This was going to turn into a real argument, Lando was more than just irritated now.
“Come here, Lando,” Oscar said, his voice suddenly serious.
“Forget it. It’s stupid,” Lando muttered. He turned away, shoved the bottled water back into the fridge, and refused to look at Oscar again. He brushed past him without a glance.
Oscar grabbed him before he could get away, fingers closing around Lando’s wrist and pulling him back. He turned him and backed him into the counter, crowding his space.
“Just… drop it, okay? It’s no big deal,” Lando sighed, his voice weary. “I’m going to sleep.”
He tried to shoulder past, but Oscar didn't budge. Every time Lando applied pressure to break away, Oscar simply leaned in firmer, pinning him.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a massive deal,” Oscar countered, his gaze searching Lando’s.
“Since when do you decide to go to bed at seven o'clock?”
Lando rolled his eyes, looking everywhere but at Oscar’s face.
“Maybe I’m tired of looking at your face, Oscar. Ever think of that?” Lando shot back, his petty side coming out in full force. He was picturing the hundreds of edits he’d scrolled past today.
“Lan… please. Don't be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad!” Lando yelled, then immediately dropped his voice to a hissed whisper.
“I just don’t want to look at you right now. Get. Off.”
“Lando.”
“Oscar!” Lando snapped back.
“Let's not shout, please?”
“Then let me go! Do you seriously not understand?!” Lando shoved at Oscar’s chest again, his frustration finally boiling over into words he couldn't take back.
“It’s pathetic. They’re out there calling you a bottom, acting like you’re some—”
Oscar leaned in, his nose brushing against Lando’s, his presence suddenly very large.
"You're the one currently trapped because I won’t let you leave. Doesn't feel very 'bottom' of me, does it?"
Lando’s face went scarlet. "Shut up. You're so annoying. Let me go."
"No. I think I like this," Oscar said, his hand sliding from Lando's chin to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there. He used his weight to press Lando firmly into the counter.
"If you want to be petty, we can be petty. But you're not going to sleep. You're going to stay right here and tell me exactly which made you the maddest so I can show you just how wrong they are.”
“Stop being a jerk,” Lando bit out.
“Now I am the jerk, baby?” Oscar leaned in, his nose brushing against Lando’s, his breath hot against his lips.
Oscar’s other hand came down, gripping Lando’s waist and hoisting him up until Lando was forced to sit on the counter, his legs dangling uselessly. Oscar stepped into the space between Lando's knees, effectively reclaiming every inch of territory.
“You wanna keep showing me that attitude?” Oscar whispered, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind Lando’s ear.
Oscar leaned his weight forward, forcing Lando to lean back on his elbows, completely vulnerable on the counter.
“Go away,” Lando snapped, though the bravado was leaking out of his voice. He could feel his heartbeat thundering against his ribs. He twisted, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the counter, trying to wrench his body away from Oscar’s frame.
Oscar didn't push back this time. He just exhaled, and before Lando could register the shift, Oscar’s hands were already under him.
Oscar grabbed Lando’s wrists and hauled him upward. He caught Lando under the thighs and hoisted him into the air, carrying him.
“Okay! Okay! Oscar! Put me down!” Lando’s voice rose, a sharp note of panic finally cutting through his pettiness. He thrashed his legs, his hands fluttering uselessly against Oscar’s shoulders as he realized he was being marched straight toward the bedroom.
“Oscar, I’m serious! Let go!”
Oscar didn't answer. He reached the bed and, instead of setting Lando down, he practically dumped him onto the mattress. Lando scrambled to get away, his hands diving for the pillows to haul himself back, but Oscar was faster. He caught Lando by the ankle, dragging him back toward the center of the bed, and that made Lando’s heart stop.
“You just can't behave yourself,” Oscar murmured, crawling over Lando until he was looming over him, a dark silhouette against the dim room. He pinned Lando’s hands above his head, his grip much tighter than before.
He leaned down, his chest crushing Lando’s lungs.
“Now, I want you to be very quiet,” Oscar whispered, his lips grazing Lando’s ear, “and you’re going to let me show you exactly how I am not what the internet thinks of me.”
Lando swallowed hard, his throat tight. He tried to twist his wrists, but the movement only made Oscar lean harder into him, pinning him deeper into the mattress.
Oscar’s gaze dropped to Lando’s mouth, then back up to his wide, glossy eyes. His free hand sliding down Lando’s side, his fingers digging into the soft skin of his waist.
"Does this feel soft? Does this feel like I'm yearning for your permission?"
"N-no," Lando breathed, his back arching instinctively under Oscar’s touch.
"Good. Then keep that mouth shut," Oscar commanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.
Oscar leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of Lando’s neck, right where the pulse was thrumming.
“Osc—wait, no!” Lando’s voice was a panicked, breathless mess. He thrashed his head to the side, trying to shield his throat, but Oscar’s grip on his wrists only tightened, stretching him out further.
Oscar paused for a fraction of a second, his breath hot against Lando's skin, but he didn't pull away.
“The fragrance shoot,” Lando hurried out, desperate now. “They—they’re doing close-ups of my neck tomorrow, Osc.”
Oscar let out a low, dark chuckle that sent a shiver of pure dread down Lando’s spine. He lifted his head just enough to look Lando in the eye, his expression completely unbothered.
“Should've thought of that earlier, no?” Oscar murmured, his hand sliding up from Lando’s waist to firmly cup his jaw, forcing him to stay still.
Oscar’s gaze hardened, his thumb pressing into Lando’s lower lip.
“Who said you’re even going to that shoot, anyway? Maybe you’re too exhausted to make it to the studio tomorrow. Maybe you need to stay right here, in this bed, until I’m satisfied that you’ve learned.”
“Oscar, you can’t—I have to go, it’s a contract—”
“Watch me,” Oscar hissed. He leaned down, ignoring Lando’s whimpered pleas, and sank his teeth into the exact spot where the camera would have focused. He bit down, hard, claiming the skin that made Lando cry out.
He didn't stop at one. He moved a fraction of an inch and did it again, making sure the marks were high, dark, and utterly impossible to mask. He was ruining the shoot on purpose.
Lando’s breath hitched into a broken, jagged sob. His brain was screaming about the Ralph Lauren contract, the millions of dollars on the line, and the furious emails his manager would send.
"Oscar, please—stop, they’re going to kill me," Lando whimpered, even as he instinctively tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat to the very person he was begging to stop.
Oscar didn’t even flinch. He sank his teeth into the sensitive skin just below Lando's jawline, a sharp, punishing nip that would definitely leave a dark, blooming purple mark by morning.
Lando let out a high, needy whine, his fingers twitching in the sheets.
The internet thought Oscar was a soft bottom with yearning eyes? They had no idea.
Well, maybe he really has those stupid yeaning eyes...
"You're being so mean," Lando breathed, though his hips moved involuntarily, trying to get closer to the heat of Oscar's body.
Oscar leaned down again, his tongue licks over the marks he’d just made before he bit down again, even harder this time, right over the pulse point.
"You're going to stay in this bed," Oscar whispered, his hand sliding from Lando's wrists to tangle in his hair, pulling just enough to keep him looking up.
"And tomorrow, when your phone is blowing up with missed calls from the studio, you're going to look at these marks in the mirror and remember exactly who put them there.”
“Damnit, Osc,” Lando choked out, his eyes glistening.
“Have I ever been what they said?” Oscar’s voice dropped to a whisper.
Lando’s face was a mess of heat and shame.
“N-no.”
“In all the time we’ve been together, have I ever given you a single reason to think I was the one who followed your lead? Or did you just let a bunch of teenagers on the internet get into your head so much that you forgot who actually handles you behind closed doors?”
“Fuck,” Lando sobbed, his pride finally snapping like a dry twig. “Fine…. Fine, sorry! You’ve never been like that…”
“Damn right,” Oscar said, his eyes scanning the dark bruises he’d already carved into Lando’s skin.
He moved back down to Lando’s neck, but this time, instead of biting, he pressed a series of slow, searing kisses over the bruises he’d just made. It was almost worse, the contrast of the soothing touch on top of the sharp pain made Lando let out a long, broken moan.
“You’re so beautiful when you finally stop fighting me,” Oscar whispered, his tongue tracing the curve of Lando’s ear before he moved back to his lips, kissing him with hunger.
Lando returned the kiss without hesitation, leaning in to chase the contact the moment Oscar tried to pull away.
"Please," Lando breathed out, the words desperate and low. "Just... fuck me."
Oscar let out a dark, breathless chuckle. "I thought you were so convinced I was a bottom?"
Lando shook his head immediately. After the way he’d been manhandled tonight, thrown onto the bed and pinned firmly beneath Oscar’s weight, he wasn't about to make that mistake again.
Oscar’s smirk widened. He didn't move to release Lando’s wrist, instead, he shifted his weight, pressing his knee between Lando’s thighs to force them further apart.
"Nothing to say now, Lan?" Oscar murmured, his voice dropping as he leaned down until their noses brushed. "You were so loud about it in the kitchen."
Lando swallowed hard, his back arching instinctively against the mattress.
Oscar didn’t give in. Instead, he let a slow, maddening smile spread across his face. He reached out, his thumb tracing the darkening marks he’d just left on Lando’s neck, before leaning down to press a lingering, mocking kiss to the heated skin.
Then, the weight was gone.
"Go to sleep, Lan," Oscar said, chuckling as he rolled off and settled comfortably onto the pillows beside him.
"You’re tired, right?"
Lando stared at the ceiling for a heartbeat, his body still humming with unspent adrenaline and his mind reeling from the sudden abandonment.
"I hate you!" he yelled, his voice cracking with pure, indignant frustration.