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The hum of the air conditioning in the Singapore hotel room was the only sound cutting through the thick, post-race exhaustion. Well, that and the rapid tap-tap-tap of Oscar’s thumbs across his phone screen.
Lando, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and entirely too much caffeine, was pacing. He hated the quiet, and he particularly hated when Oscar ignored him to play the role of the devoted boyfriend from halfway across the world. He’d already aimlessly kicked at a stray pair of trainers, flipped through a magazine he couldn't read, and raided the minibar for a water he hadn't opened. Nothing was holding his attention. Nothing except the maddeningly calm Australian on the couch.
"What are you telling her?" Lando chirped, throwing himself onto the plush hotel sofa right next to Oscar.
When Oscar didn't immediately respond, his eyes not even flicking away from the bright screen, Lando huffed. He slid over, completely ignoring the concept of personal space, and shamelessly threw a leg across Oscar’s thighs to crowd him.
"Let me guess," Lando pressed, leaning his weight onto Oscar's shoulder. He pitched his voice up in a mock-sweet tone. "'Race was tough, babe. Track was so hot. Miss you so much. Going straight to sleep like a good boy.' Are you using the little angel emoji? You definitely seem like an angel emoji kind of guy when you're lying."
Oscar sighed, a slow, heavy exhale through his nose. His expression remained maddeningly neutral, thumbs never breaking their rhythm. "Something like that, Lando. Mind your knees."
"My knees are fine right where they are," Lando retorted, deliberately pressing his kneecap sharper into the outside of Oscar's thigh. "Is it an essay? You’ve been typing for ten minutes. Just tell her you're exhausted and want to go to bed. It’s not even a total lie, is it?"
But Lando was in a mood. He had known Oscar’s secret for three months now, ever since he’d accidentally caught Oscar slipping out of a stranger's hotel room in Monaco looking thoroughly rumpled; hair wild, collar askew, a faint, undeniable flush high on his usually pale cheeks. Since then, Lando had treated the secret like a shiny new toy. He loved poking the bear, entirely convinced that Oscar’s stoic, perfectly controlled facade was impenetrable. Oscar never reacted, never snapped, never even broke a sweat. So, Lando thought he was completely safe to be a menace.
Oscar shifted his screen slightly away from Lando's prying eyes. "I'm just catching up, Lando. Can you sit still for two minutes?"
"No," Lando replied immediately. Taking the screen-tilt as a direct challenge, Lando shifted closer. He swung his other leg over, practically straddling Oscar's lap now just to peer over his broad shoulder at the phone. He braced a hand on the back of the sofa, shifting his weight and grinding down entirely by accident as he tried to get comfortable on top of Oscar's thighs.
"Oh, look at that. Three red heart emojis," Lando observed, thoroughly amused. "Very convincing."
"Lando. Off." Oscar's voice was a fraction lower this time, a quiet warning rumble in his chest that vibrated right against Lando's core, but Lando was too caught up in his own game to notice the danger signs.
"You're such a liar, Osc," Lando teased, his voice dropping into a sing-song whisper right by Oscar's ear. He wiggled again to find a better center of balance, his hips pressing flush against Oscar's. "Playing the perfect, domestic boyfriend. It must be so exhausting, keeping all that locked up tight. Pretending you're just going to tuck yourself into bed with a cup of tea."
Lando leaned back just enough to look at Oscar's profile, a wicked, bratty grin spreading across his face. Oscar's jaw was locked tight, a small muscle ticking near his ear.
"Never letting off steam," Lando continued, his tone dripping with fake sympathy as he dragged a finger lightly down the collar of Oscar's team shirt. "Unless, of course, you're sneaking around the paddock, finding some random guy to let you–"
Oscar’s thumb hit Send.
The phone screen went black.
Before Lando could finish his sentence (before he could even draw his next breath), a large, heavy hand clamped down on his hip. The grip was sudden and bruising enough to make Lando gasp, instantly freezing the bratty smirk right off his face.
TThe air seemed to get sucked right out of Lando’s lungs. He looked down, a teasing laugh still half-formed in his throat, fully expecting to see Oscar rolling his eyes in mild, put-upon annoyance. Instead, he found Oscar staring back at him, utterly motionless.
The placid, polite mask was gone. In its place was something entirely unfamiliar. Oscar's eyes were dark and completely stripped of his carefully cultivated 'Good Boy' disguise. The relaxed slouch of his shoulders had vanished, replaced by a coiled, dangerous tension that made Lando's breath catch.
Then, Lando felt it. It was impossible to ignore now that he had stopped moving. Pressed right against the thick denim seam of his own jeans, hot, heavy, and incredibly demanding, was the undeniable proof of exactly what Lando’s oblivious squirming had achieved. Oscar was hard. Straining-against-the-fabric hard.
Lando froze, every muscle in his body locking up as a sudden, thrilling spike of pure panic shot straight down his spine. Oh. He hadn't been annoying Oscar. He'd been turning him on. Oscar’s jaw worked, his gaze dropping to Lando's slightly parted lips before snapping back up to his eyes. "You talk a lot of shit," Oscar finally said, and the sound sent a shiver straight through Lando. His voice had dropped an entire octave, losing its usual measured, media-trained cadence. It was rough, dangerously quiet, and vibrated with a suppressed intensity. "...for someone who has absolutely no idea what they're doing."
"I–I was just joking, Osc–" Lando stammered, his brain desperately trying to reboot.
His trademark bratty confidence evaporated in a split second, replaced by a sudden, frantic urge to flee. He tried to scramble backward off the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of the danger he had casually wandered into. But Oscar was an athlete with lightning-fast reflexes. Before Lando could even shift his weight, Oscar’s free hand shot up, joining his right to grip both of Lando's hips. His long, strong fingers dug into the soft skin just above the waistband of Lando's jeans, pulling him back down and pinning him firmly against that unyielding ridge between his legs.
"No. Don't move," Oscar commanded. It wasn't a request.
He leaned back deeper into the plush sofa cushions, settling into his dominance with a terrifyingly calm intensity. He let Lando struggle for a fraction of a second against his iron-clad grip before squeezing his hips just hard enough to make Lando let out a breathy, involuntary whine.
"You're suddenly very quiet," Oscar murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching up into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You had so much to say about how I let off steam a minute ago. About how exhausting it is keeping it locked up." Oscar tilted his chin up, a dark, expectant gleam in his eyes. "You clearly think you know exactly how this works, Lando. So. Show me."
Lando swallowed hard, his throat dry, the sound clicking loudly in the quiet room. His heart was hammering a frantic, erratic beat against his ribs, loud enough that he was sure Oscar could feel it vibrating through their connected chests. He had spent three months happily fucking around, treating Oscar like a harmless, captive target. Now he was rapidly, breathlessly finding out.
The sheer, quiet power radiating from Oscar was intoxicating, stripping away all of Lando's defenses. He was completely trapped in a web of his own making, suspended over the cliff edge by a man who looked very, very eager to watch him fall.
"Take your clothes off," Oscar murmured. The command wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable, heavy authority that seemed to vibrate through Lando's very bones. To emphasize the point, Oscar shifted his grip, his thumb dragging slowly, deliberately across the exposed sliver of sensitive skin just above the waistband of Lando's jeans. The touch sent a cascade of heat straight down to Lando's stomach. "Unless..."
Oscar let the word hang in the air between them, tilting his head slightly. His tone softened into something dangerously mocking. "...you're going to chicken out now that I'm actually paying attention to you."
That hit the exact, raw nerve Oscar knew it would. Lando was terrified, his heart beating a frantic staccato rhythm against his ribs, but he was also incredibly, desperately competitive. The sheer audacity of the challenge flared Lando's pride just enough to burn through the paralyzing spike of panic. He wasn't about to back down now. He couldn't.
"I'm not chickening out," Lando managed to bite back, though the slight, breathy tremble in his voice entirely ruined the effect.
With fingers that suddenly felt numb and entirely too clumsy, Lando reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as he tossed the fabric onto the floor. The cool air conditioning hit his flushed skin, making him shiver instantly under Oscar’s unwavering stare.
Moving on to his jeans was harder. He was still straddling Oscar's lap, forced to balance awkwardly as he fumbled with the metal button and the stiff zipper. He expected Oscar to reach out, to take over, to impatiently tear the clothes off him the way people usually did when adrenaline was running this high. But Oscar didn't help. He didn't even twitch.
He just leaned deeper into the cushions, letting his hands fall away from Lando's hips to rest casually on the sofa on either side of him. An expectant smirk played on his lips as he watched Lando do all the work, struggling to push the heavy denim and his boxers down his own thighs. Oscar’s gaze was a physical weight, heavy, consuming, and so intensely focused that it made a hot, creeping flush spread violently across Lando's chest and up his neck. Every millimeter of skin Lando exposed felt immediately claimed by that predatory stare.
Lando finally managed to kick the tangled mess of his clothes away, leaving himself completely bare, shivering, and entirely vulnerable across Oscar's lap. He felt incredibly small suddenly, exposed to the elements and to the calculating gaze of the man beneath him.
Only then did Oscar finally move. Without breaking eye contact, Oscar's large hands went to his own waist. The sharp, metallic click of his belt buckle sounded impossibly loud in the quiet room, followed immediately by the harsh rasp of his zipper. Lando watched, his mouth going completely dry, as Oscar pushed the fabric of his trousers and dark briefs down, freeing himself.
Lando’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he stared. Thick, heavy, and slick with pre-come, it pressed up against the inside of Lando's bare thigh, radiating an intense heat. It was a reality check, undeniable proof of just how long Oscar had been sitting there, quietly enduring Lando's bratty behavior, waiting patiently for the exact right moment to snap the trap shut. Lando swallowed hard. He was so incredibly out of his depth.
“Turn around. Face the window," was all Oscar said.
Lando obeyed without question, his movements clumsy with adrenaline. He swung a leg over, positioning himself with his back to Oscar's chest, his knees sinking into the sofa cushions on either side of Oscar's powerful thighs. This new position left him feeling even more exposed, his back arched and vulnerable. He could feel Oscar's hot, rigid length pressing against the cleft of his ass.
"Good boy," Oscar murmured, the praise sending a shiver down Lando's spine. One of Oscar's hands splayed across Lando's lower stomach, holding him in place, while the other disappeared from view. Lando heard the wet, unmistakable sound of Oscar spitting into his own palm.
Then, a slick, thick finger was probing at his entrance. Lando jolted, a choked gasp escaping him as Oscar circled the tight ring of muscle before slowly, deliberately pushing inside. It was a strange, intrusive feeling, but not painful. Oscar's finger was relentless, pressing deeper, crooking just so until Lando saw stars.
"Fuck!" Lando cried out, his head falling back against Oscar's shoulder. A bolt of pure pleasure shot through him, making his cock twitch where it lay hard and heavy against his stomach.
Oscar just hummed, a low, satisfied sound. He added a second finger, the stretch more intense now, a delicious burn that had Lando squirming. He scissored them, working Lando open with a patient, maddening expertise. Lando was a mess of whimpers and moans, his hands clutching at Oscar's forearm, his hips rocking back involuntarily, trying to take more.
"Please, Oscar," Lando begged, his voice wrecked. "Please, I need... I need more."
"Need what?" Oscar taunted, his fingers stilling deep inside Lando, curling to press against that sensitive spot again. "Use your words, Lando. You had plenty of them a minute ago."
"You! I need you," Lando sobbed, his pride completely obliterated by the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, just fuck me."
Oscar's hand withdrew, leaving Lando feeling achingly empty. Oscar then gripped Lando’s hips again. “Turn back around.” Lando obediently did so, though clumsily. Oscar spat into his palm again, running his hand onto his cock. With one of his hands still on Lando's waist, he guided him onto himself. Lando cried out as Oscar breached him. It was a shock, but the prep work had done its job. The stretch was intense, a deep, full-body ache, but beneath it was a searing pleasure that had Lando's toes curling. He sank down slowly, whining a high, tight sound as Oscar's thick length filled him, stretching him until he had to stop, bracing his hands heavily on Oscar's shoulders, panting.
"Fuck, Oscar..." Lando breathed, tears of sheer sensation pricking at the corners of his eyes. "So full..."
"Sit all the way down, Lando," Oscar said softly, though there was no room for argument in his tone. "You wanted this. Take it."
Lando bit his lip and forced his hips down, taking Oscar to the hilt. A shudder ripped through his body, and he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. He was impaled, stuffed to the brim, and every tiny shift sent a new wave of pleasure-pain through him.
When Lando finally tried to set a pace, clumsily lifting his hips and sinking back down, Oscar immediately took over. Large hands locked around Lando's waist, steering his hips, forcing a grueling, relentless rhythm that had Lando entirely at his mercy. The slick glide was perfect now, each deep stroke hitting that spot inside him that made his vision go white.
"That's it," Oscar praised, his voice a low rumble against Lando's back. "Taking me so well. Look at you."
Lando was completely overwhelmed. Every time he tried to slow down or pull away from the deep, bruising friction, Oscar's grip tightened, pulling him back down hard. Lando's head fell forward against Oscar's shoulder, breathless, loud moans spilling from his lips as he chased the high. He was being thoroughly taken apart, bouncing on Oscar's lap while Oscar watched him with dark satisfaction, perfectly composed even as he thrust up into Lando.
"Thought you were brave a minute ago?" Oscar taunted lightly, one hand moving up to grip the back of Lando's neck, keeping him close. "Keep going. Don't stop."
Lando couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. The pleasure was pooling hot and heavy in his stomach, winding the coil tighter and tighter. He was sobbing softly, chasing the friction, completely wrecked by the boy he had thought he could tease.
"Oscar–please–I'm close, fuck–" Lando babbled, his nails digging half-moons into Oscar's shoulders.
Oscar thrust up hard, hitting that one spot that made Lando's vision go white. Lando shattered with a loud, messy cry, his climax spilling over their stomachs as his muscles clamped down tight around Oscar. A second later, Oscar let out a rough groan, his hips bucking up one last time as he finished deep inside Lando, his composed facade finally cracking for a split second.
Lando collapsed forward, entirely boneless, his face buried in the crook of Oscar's neck. He was panting, sweating, his brain completely melted. He couldn't move.
The room fell quiet again, the sudden silence heavy and thick, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing. Lando was entirely boneless, his forehead resting heavily against the crook of Oscar's neck. He could feel the rapid, thumping beat of Oscar’s pulse slowly beginning to level out beneath his cheek. The cool air conditioning washed over his sweat-slicked back, a sharp contrast to the burning, sticky heat trapped between their flush, tangled bodies.
For a long, hazy minute, Lando couldn't form a single coherent thought. His brain felt like it had been scrubbed clean, completely melted down by the sheer intensity of what had just happened.
Then, the sudden, harsh buzz of a phone vibrating violently against the glass coffee table cut through the quiet like a knife.
Lando flinched, his entire body jerking slightly at the jarring noise. He forced his heavy eyes open and lifted his head, his muscles trembling in protest as he looked over his shoulder. The phone screen was lit up, casting a sharp, blue glow across the dim hotel room.
Lily: Love you! Have a good night sleep, you earned it! xoxo
Lando stared at the bright notification banner, the sweet, domestic innocence of the words feeling like a physical blow. A sudden, cold spike of guilt and stark realization crashed into him, chasing away the last lingering warmth of his high.
He had spent months treating this like a game. A fun, dangerous little puzzle where he held all the cards and got to pull all the strings. But staring at that text, still intimately wrapped around Oscar's waist, the reality of the situation locked into place. He wasn't a spectator anymore. He was an active participant in the betrayal.
Lando swallowed hard, his heart rate picking up again for an entirely different reason. He looked down at Oscar, fully bracing himself for the fallout. He expected to see the stoic mask finally crack with panic or regret. He expected Oscar to shove him off, to scramble for his phone, to urgently start covering his tracks and scrubbing Lando from the room like a dirty mistake.
Instead, Oscar’s chest continued to rise and fall in a slow, perfect rhythm. Oscar turned his head lazily, his dark eyes casually tracing the bright text on the screen. He read it without a single flinch. No guilt. No panic. Not even a flicker of hesitation. Then, his gaze slid away from the phone, slowly traveling back up to meet Lando’s wide, anxious stare.
A slow knowing smirk spread across Oscar’s face. It was the same expression he wore right before overtaking someone on the track, the look of someone who had already won the race three laps ago.
Oscar didn't push Lando away. He reached up, his hand gentle and possessive as he traced the side of Lando's face, his fingers casually brushing a damp curl off Lando's sweaty forehead. The tenderness of the gesture, paired with the calm in his eyes, made Lando shiver.
Oscar didn't say a single word, but the message vibrating between them was crystal clear. The power dynamic had permanently shifted. Lando wasn't holding a shiny, dangerous secret over Oscar's head anymore. Lando was the secret now. And judging by the way Oscar was looking at him, he was never going to let him go.