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In case you missed it: Interview for the McLaren drivers
"Yeah, we're good," Lando said when asked about their relationship post-race, Oscar standing beside him looking unusually relaxed. "We help each other out. You know. Whatever the other needs."
Oscar nodded. "He's good at knowing when I need—" he paused, searching for the word, "help."
A journalist pressed: "But you always seem so composed. Do you really have moments when you need help?"
Oscar paused for a second.
"That's the version you see on camera," he said, his tone was flat"I sometimes get angry or stressed too. I have moments when I can't hold it together either."
Lando added: "He just doesn't let you see it."
The journalists laughed. The tension narrative, it seemed, had been slightly overblown.
Neither of them elaborated on what that "help" actually looked like. Some things, after all, are nobody's business.
——
Lando finds Oscar in the garage after practice.
It's late. The engineers have all gone home. The lights are dimmed to that half-dark mode that makes everything look like it's underwater. Oscar is slumped in the corner by the tire racks, still in his race suit, unzipped to the waist. He doesn't look up when Lando walks in.
"You hiding?"
Oscar's jaw tightens. "Just thinking."
Lando leans against the wall opposite him, arms crossed, watching. Oscar gets his elbows on his knees,hands dangling between his legs, gripping his own wrists. His hair is still damp from the shower he must have taken an hour ago, but he's not changed into civvies. Just the suit, half-off, droplets are still visible on his collarbone.
"You've been in here forty minutes," Lando says.
"Have I?"
"You missed the debrief."
That gets Oscar's head up. His eyes are red-rimmed, not from crying—Oscar doesn't cry—but from some kind of exhaustion. "What did they say?"
"Nothing you haven't already told yourself." Lando pushes off the wall and walks closer, slow, deliberate. "P4. Not bad, right? You're acting like you crashed."
"I don't want to let the fans down."
"You were three hundredths off."
"Three hundredths is everything."
Lando stops about a foot away from him. Close enough that he can see the pulse ticking in Oscar's throat, the way his chest is moving too fast for someone who's just been sitting. Oscar's got his hands pressed flat against his own thighs now, fingers spread, like he's trying to hold himself down.
"What's actually going on?" Lando asks.
Oscar stares at him for a long moment. His eyes drop to Lando's lips, then away. "Nothing."
"Bullshit."
"You want the truth?" Oscar's voice goes sharp, he takes a deep breath to calm down again. "The car is odd. I'm fucking wired too—I've been wired since FP2 ended. No, it's wired for weeks. I can't—" He stops, exhales hard through his nose. "I can't calm down. My hands won't stop shaking. I've been sitting here for forty minutes trying to breathe and it's not working."
Lando watches the way Oscar's fingers curl into his own thighs, nails digging in through the Nomex.
"When's the last time you ate?"
"Don't."
"Drank something?"
"Lando."
"Because you look like shit."
Oscar laughs, one short, harsh sound. "Thanks."
Lando crouches down in front of him, so they're at eye level. Oscar's legs are spread just enough that Lando fits between them. He doesn't touch, not yet. Just looks.
"You need to get out of your head," Lando says.
"Brilliant. Hadn't thought of that."
"I'm serious." Lando puts a hand on Oscar's knee, feels the tremors running through him. Oscar's whole body is strung tight, vibrating like a wire about to snap.
"Let me help."
Oscar's throat works. "How."
It's not a question. They both know what Lando's offering.
Lando slides his hand up Oscar's thigh, slow, feeling the tension there. Oscar's breath catches, but he doesn't pull away. His eyes are fixed on Lando's hand, watching it move.
"You want me to tell you what's going to happen? You actually know it don't you?" Lando asks.
Oscar nods, twice.
"Okay." Lando squeezes his thigh, hard enough to make Oscar's hips twitch. "You're going to sit there and you're going to let me take care of you. You're not going to move unless I tell you. You're not going to speak unless I ask you a question. And when we're done, you're going to sleep for eight hours and stop being a dick to everyone."
"That's not..." Oscar starts.
"What did I just say about speaking?"
Oscar's mouth clicks shut. His eyes are wide and dark,looking straight into Lando. The shaking in his hands hasn't stopped, but something in his face has shifted—the sharp edge of his jaw less clenched and his shoulders dropping a little bit.
Lando stands up. "Come here."
He walks to the back of the garage and leans against a table. Oscar follows, unsteady on his feet. He stops in front of Lando, waiting.
Lando takes his time looking. Oscar's skin is pale in the dim light, a faint sheen of sweat still on his sternum. His hands are hanging at his sides now, but they're still trembling. His lips are slightly parted, his breathing shallow.
"Take it off," Lando says. "All of it."
Oscar's fingers go to the waistband of his suit, pushing it down over his hips. He steps out of it, kicks it aside. His boots next, toe to heel, one then the other. Then he pause,and pull down his underwear.
He stands there naked, feeling his face burning
Lando reaches out and puts his palm flat on Oscar's stomach. Feels the muscle there, the rapid flutter of his heartbeat, the way his abs clench at the contact. Oscar makes a small sound in the back of his throat.
Lando moves his hand down, fingers sliding down Oscar's groin, not quite touching his cock, which is half-hard already. Oscar's hips jerk forward, just slightly, and Lando presses his palm flat against his lower belly, stopping him.
"No moving."
Oscar exhales shakily. His cock twitches against Lando's wrist, and Lando can feel the heat of it, the weight.
"When's the last time you came?" Lando asks.
Oscar's face goes pink. "Three days."
"Three days." Lando raises his eyebrows. "And you've been driving like that?"
"I said I was wired."
Lando laughs, low. He wraps his hand around Oscar's cock, not stroking, just holding. Oscar's eyes close, his mouth falling open. The trembling in his legs is visible now, his knees almost knocking.
"You want me to help you coming?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"Please," Oscar breathes. "Please, Lando, I need you."
"I know it." Lando lets go, steps back. "On your knees."
Oscar drops immediately, the concrete hard under his knees. He looks up at Lando, waiting with his hands on his thighs. His cock is fully hard now, flushed dark, leaking against his stomach. Lando unzips his own jeans, pulls out his cock, strokes himself once, twice. He's not fully hard yet, but he will be. He steps closer, close enough that the head of his cock brushes Oscar's bottom lip.
"Open."
Oscar opens his mouth, tongue out, and Lando pushes in. Just the head at first, then more, watching Oscar's throat work as he takes it. Oscar's eyes are wet at the corners, his hands gripping his own thighs hard enough to leave marks. He's not gagging, not quite, but his throat is tight. Lando fucks his mouth slowly, letting Oscar set the pace. Hand caressing his hair slightly. Oscar's tongue is flat against the underside of his cock, hot and wet, and Lando can feel every tiny move.
"Look at me," Lando says.
Oscar's eyes open, meeting his. There's tears on his cheeks now. His lips are stretched thin around Lando's cock, his jaw is sore from sucking.
Lando pulls out, slowly, and Oscar gasps, his chest heaving.
"You're doing so well," Lando tells him. He crouches down, puts his hand under Oscar's chin, tilts his face up. "But you're still shaking."
"Can't help it."
"I know." Lando stands, pulls Oscar up by the elbow. "Bend over the table."
Oscar moves slowly like he's losing his mind, he turns and folds himself over on the dust cover. His feet spread apart. His back is arched, ass pushed out, his spine a long curve in the dim light. Lando can see the muscle in his shoulders, the knob of each vertebra, the way his thighs are trembling with the effort of holding still.
Lando stands behind him, puts one hand on the small of his back, presses down. Oscar pants, his hips tilt up further, his cheeks spreading slightly, and Lando can see his hole, pink and tight.
"Slut."He slaps him on his ass. Oscar lets out a moan.
"You're not going to come until I tell you," Lando says. He runs his thumb down the crack of Oscar's ass, presses against his entrance, moving slowly, feeling the resistance. Oscar's whole body goes rigid, a sound caught in his throat. "If you come before I say, I'm leaving you here. You understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, Lando."
Lando kisses his back and pulls his hand back, he reaches into his back pocket for the small bottle of lube he'd grabbed from his bag earlier. He slicks his fingers, watches Oscar's back rise and fall with each breath. He pushes one finger in, slow. Oscar's hole clenches around him, tight, almost too tight. Lando waits, feels the muscle relax increment by increment, and pushes deeper. Oscar makes a noise, muffled in his arm, his fingers curling against the table.
"Breathe," Lando says.
Oscar exhales, a long shuddering sound, and Lando adds a second finger. Crooks them, finds the spot that makes Oscar's hips jerk, his hands sliding on the cover. Lando presses there, steady, feeling the way Oscar's whole body seizes up around the pressure.
"There," Lando says. "That's what you needed, isn't it."
Oscar's response is garbled, his face pressed against his own forearm. Lando works his fingers in and out, slow, deliberate, opening him up. Oscar's hips are pushing back now, chasing the pressure, trying to fuck himself on his fingers. But Lando pulls his fingers out.
Oscar makes a sound like a sob.
"Please," he whines, his voice cracked. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?"
"Your cock. Please, Lando, just..."
Lando lines himself up, pushes in. One thrust, all the way, and Oscar's back bows, his mouth open, his hands fisting on the dust cover. Lando holds there, buried to the hilt, feeling Oscar's body clench around him, the heat, the tightness.
Oscar is making sounds now, small broken noises, his legs shaking so hard the table is rattling. Lando pulls back, pushes in again, slow, and Oscar cries out, his fingers scrabbling against the fabric.
"Too much?" Lando asks.
"No," Oscar gasps. "No, more, Lan—"
Lando gives him more. Harder, faster, each thrust pushing Oscar's hips into the table, Oscar's fingers twist helplessly, trying to grab something but fail. Oscar's moans are getting louder, less controlled, his whole body opening up under Lando's hands. The angle of the table feels hard against his abdomen, making it ache from every thrust. He won't tell that he actually like this kinda hurt. Lando's hands are grabbing his waist so hard that Oscar almost cries out because of enjoyment. He wants it harder, he wants to behave well like a good boy, he wants to be bruised.
Lando wraps his hand around Oscar's cock, finds it slick with precome, leaking onto the cover. Oscar sobs when he touches it, his hips jerking between Lando's hand and Lando's cock, caught in the rhythm.
"You want to come," Lando says. It's not a question.He turns Oscar over to see his face.
"Yes, fuck, yes—"
"Not yet."
Oscar whines, high and desperate. His body is shaking, . Lando can feel him clenching, trying to hold back, the muscles in his thighs quivering. Lando fucks him harder, his hand still on Oscar's cock, thumb rubbing over the head on each stroke. Oscar is leaking steadily now, slick over Lando's fingers, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Please," Oscar pants. "Lando, I can't—I'm going to—"
"Then look at me okay, babe?"
Oscar opens his eyes, tears running down his face, his eyes blown wide. His mouth is open, his lips wet, his whole expression stripped bare.
"My pretty boy. Come on." Lando says softly.
He comes.
His body seizes, his back arching, a sound torn out of him that's almost a scream. His cock pulses in Lando's hand, semen hits his stomach and chest. His hole clenches around Lando's cock, rhythmically, impossibly tight, and Lando fucks him through it, watching Oscar's face, the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his whole body goes slack at the end, boneless, spent. Lando pulls out, and comes on Oscar's abdomen, hot stripes landing on his hips, slowly dripping down his thighs.
For a moment, neither of them moves. Oscar is slumped over the table, his breathing ragged, hiding his face in his arm. Lando stands behind him, watching the come cool on Oscar's skin, watching the slow rise and fall of his ribs.
Lando finds a towel, wipes his own hand, wipes Oscar's body, and clean the table. Oscar doesn't move, just lets Lando clean him, lets Lando pull him upright, lean him against the table and look at him.
Oscar's eyes are half-closed, his lips are swollen from bitten. His skin is flushed, hair plastered to his forehead. He looks like he's about to fall asleep standing up.
"Better?" Lando asks.
Oscar nods, a small movement. "Yeah."
Lando pulls him in, holds him against his chest. Oscar's arms come up around his waist, slow, like they're heavy. His face presses into Lando's neck, his breath warm and even.
"Quali..." Oscar mumbles against his skin.
"Tomorrow," Lando says. "You think about it tomorrow."
"Mm."
They stand there for a long time. Lando feels Oscar's heartbeat slow against his own chest, feels the last of the tension drain out of him.
"You need to eat something," Lando says eventually.
"Later."He murmurs,kisses Lando's collarbone slightly.
"You haven't got lunch and dinner,have you?"
"Later."
Lando pulls back and looks at him. Oscar's eyes are glassy, but there's color back in his face, and the sharp, brittle edge is gone. He looks relaxed and satisfied,then cuddle Lando in his arms again.
"Come on," Lando says. "Shower. Go back to hotel. Then bed."
Oscar lets himself being led, his steps slow but steady. They take a shower,change their clothes, then get into the same car. Oscar holds Lando's hand, he doesn't let go all the way back to the hotel, all the way up to the room, all the way into bed. When Lando wakes up, Oscar is still there, his face pressed into Lando's shoulder, his hand curled against Lando's chest. He's still asleep, his breathing deep and even, his body loose and warm against Lando's side.
Lando looks at the clock. Seven hours until qualifying.
He doesn't move.
——
The next day, Oscar puts it on pole by two tenths.