Work Text:
“I mean, obviously, I’m a racing driver, and I’m fortunate enough to do something I enjoy as my job, but I like to do other things too, to take my mind off the more negative parts of the sport.”
Lando is reading off of a script for an obligatory Mental Health Day video that they’re pre-recording, but he still catches Oscar off guard.
“Golf and playing games with my friends is always fun too, but when I’m alone, I do a bit of art,” he says, and Oscar is so thankful for his Formula 1-trained neck because his head would’ve fallen right off his shoulders from how fast he turned to stare at him.
“You what?”
“Yeah, Osc. You should try it sometime!”
Oscar doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lando with a drawing tablet or, fuck, paints since their portrait challenge video last year. Even so, the portraits turned out… interesting.
Nothing to hint at an ounce of artistic prowess.
“I… should not,” Oscar responds, grimacing. He likes to reserve his talents for other things like- “I like writing.”
That wasn’t on the script either.
He meant to say something plain and boring, like sleeping, as his hobby, but instead, he didn’t even think twice before exposing himself.
“Oh, yeah? What do you write?” Lando asks, smiling slyly. “Something spicy? Like the aerodynamics of an F1 car and maintaining proper balance? Or are you following in the footsteps of your mentor and writing an autobiography?”
Blushing in embarrassment, Oscar internally shudders at the thought of that much introspection. “Nothing like that. My stuff’s not nearly as serious.”
It’s not. In no world is coming up with romantic scenarios about himself and his teammate to deal with his constantly growing crush on him ever going to be considered serious.
His self-insert fanfiction, if that’s what he’s going to call it, is nothing but the effect of delusion and exposure to excess fumes from the MCL38. It’s a silly hobby, but it keeps him sane and calm. That way, his fictional scenarios remain on the page and never accidentally occuring in real life.
“You’ll have to let me read your stuff at some point, then,” Lando quips.
Hah… no way.
But Oscar can’t say that out loud, lest he raise suspicion, so he replies, “You’d have to show me your art first.”
Lando stiffens, and, much to Oscar’s surprise, his cheeks pinken. He laughs, high-pitched and a bit too loud.
“On second thought, forget I even asked!”
Someone clears their throat, startling Oscar. Fuck, he was staring at Lando again.
“I reckon we should stick to the script for the second take,” he mutters. “You’re going to say your hobby is golfing, and I’m going to say mine is sleeping, and we’re both going to hope they upload the right version.”
For once, Lando agrees without arguing.
Landoscar is what the fans on tumblr call them.
Oscar writes landoscar fanfiction, is what his Archive of Our Own account tells him.
To be completely frank, he never intended for the tag containing works about him and his teammate to blow up after posting the first ever fanfiction for it. He expected his work to fade into the void and disappear from his memory.
It was only meant to be a coping method, really, to write the scenarios down from his point of view—third person, of course, even if he had to get used to referring to himself in the third person—and post it, because it’s never going to happen in real life.
A few thousand followers on the tumblr account he hastily made later, he has fans fighting tooth and nail for a snippet of his next fic.
And, god, the art that came with it.
Oscar’s tumblr profile is nothing fancy. He uses the default HTML and a basic blue theme. His profile picture is… himself, and his handle is something stupid, like pastrycat81.
He never looks at anything race-related to stay in everyone’s good graces. It’s all the PR training he’s gone through that keeps him from yelling expletives like a keyboard warrior at his own “fans” who rag on Lando.
It’s like hiding in plain sight, honestly, and all he does is reblog GIFs of Lando blinking in slow motion from every angle possible.
He also reblogs fanart from one user in particular, mostly because he was there from the beginning too when nobody else was.
User landobottoms is a visionary.
Both for his handle and his art. There’s so much of it, too, like the person behind the screen does nothing but draw all day to satisfy the cravings of everyone else on the cursed site. It’s detailed, in a distinct semi-realistic style. Sure, there are some exaggerations, because Oscar doesn’t look that good when he stares at his reflection in the mirror, but the emotions, the feelings portrayed in each pixel nearly bring tears to his eyes every time.
And user landobottoms posts a lot of art of Lando in various scenes from Oscar’s fanfiction, like Lando smiling at him, Lando blushing at something he says, Lando kissing him, Lando engulfed in a hug, Lando spread out and naked against white sheets, and, uh, Lando pregnant.
Oscar turns pink when he sees that one, more than he does at the others.
He’s written a lot of fanfiction about Lando being pregnant, is what he realizes.
Oscar sighs when Kesha starts blasting through the thin wall separating his and Lando’s driver’s rooms.
It’s not unlike him to get himself pumped right before a session in the car, but the music is louder than usual, like Lando’s trying to use it to mask something else…
Sighing again, Oscar opens a new doc on his phone and begins typing.
Is it creepy to be writing smut about Lando while he’s right next door?
Yes, he reckons it is.
Is it less creepy than getting a hand under his fireproof bottoms and jerking it to the high-pitched moan that filters through the wall?
Yes.
Pastry: Just posted 🫡
fluro: oMG perfect timing i just got off
Pastry: Counterintuitive
fluro: oh my gOD I MEANT WORK i just got off WORK lemme read in peace u meanie >:(
Pastry: Lol
Pastry: You work? I thought art was your job ngl
fluro: art is more of a hobby really
fluro: i just dont sleep
Pastry: Can’t relate
Pastry: Enjoy your bedtime story
fluro: i will!!!
Oscar doesn’t know how good he is at this fandom thing.
On one hand, he interacts with his fans—not his fans, but his fans. The distinction is very important. On the other hand, though, he tries not to let too much of his personality bleed through. A bit hard, considering he’s always going on about how pretty Lando is in his writing, and he’s fully aware that he, as an actual person, stares at Lando longingly enough for people to catch on and create their own works about them as a romantic pairing.
When he touched Lando’s waist at Silverstone last year, they had their first major breakthrough as a pairing.
Before, Lando has been shipped with both of his former teammates, particularly Carlos, and Oscar has guiltily read his fair share of carlando fanfiction too.
It’s still his guilty pleasure when nothing new is posted to the tag he shares with Lando.
Fictional Carlos is much more pleasant than real life Carlos, and he always seems to treat Lando nicely, so.
But Oscar digresses.
He scrolls through his asks on tumblr, answering the occasional one that catches his eye because that’s what a good writer does, right? He’s doing his civic duties as a prominent member of the landoscar community, right?
Oscar wants to do something crazy again. Just to stir the shippers a bit more.
Oh, it feels so bad but so good at the same time to have such a strong grasp, a chokehold, on an entire fandom.
“Obviously, I have more rizz. Oscar doesn’t even leave his flat,” Lando says, and it’s not even that funny, but Oscar laughs anyway, bending in half.
It’s not hard to laugh freely with Lando. He always smiles smugly afterwards, and that in itself is worth the embarrassment of being so unequivocally whipped for him.
“Not sure where the correlation is,” Oscar quips. They’re reviewing memes for a video, so he lets a bit more of his personality loose. “The next one- missing landoscar on the timeline. Well, here’s your landoscar. Don’t say we don’t do anything for you.”
Landoscar has been used time and again by their social media managers, referring to the two of them as a bromance, so Oscar thinks nothing of using the ship name. The bromance bit has him internally grimacing every time, but it’s nowhere near as bad as how much they still milk carlando.
It’s been years, for fuck’s sake.
Hell, Lando talks to Max more than he talks to Carlos in public!
When Oscar watches the video back, he’s surprised by the miniscule flinch from Lando the moment he utters their ship name.
To the normal, untrained eye, it’s barely noticeable, but to Oscar, who is well-versed in the study of Lando Norris, Formula 1 Driver of the Number 4 Car, the flinch is glaringly obvious to him.
He tries not to think too much of it, just like he didn’t think too much of saying their ship name out loud, because he’s going to feel very hurt if he does.
Lando won’t return his feelings, and Oscar will be left with nothing but his Google Docs and his Archive of Our Own account and his gaggle of tumblr girlies.
And user landobottoms, whose art captures the same depth of emotion he feels every time he looks at Lando.
Only it’s Lando looking at him in each piece with every ounce of longing that Oscar feels.
Oscar sometimes wishes fiction was reality.
Except the mpreg part… well. Kind of the mpreg part too.
Pastry: You had an idea
fluro: YES
fluro: i did
fluro: so its lando getting fucked in his sleep
fluro: very tender but very sexy
Pastry: Fuck
fluro: :D
Pastry: Yeah okay
Pastry: Let’s do that
fluro: !!
Oscar remains glued to his screen whenever he’s not in the car or in the sim or going over data from the car or the sim.
His little friend in his computer always has the most brilliant ideas, and all he can do is execute them time and again, one after the next and sometimes multiple at the same time. He never lets anyone touch his computer or his personal phone because he can’t have anyone finding the tabs upon tabs of WIPs that he has open.
“What’re you doing?”
With the speed and reflexes of a Formula 1 driver, Oscar slams his laptop shut, nearly clamping Lando’s fingers inside.
Fuck.
He is being way too obvious.
Lando pouts at him, nursing his wounded fingertips. Oscar tries not to stare at his lower lip too much as it juts out.
Who decided that Lando should have such nice, soft-looking lips, which are moving…
“Are you writing something? What’s so bad that I’m not allowed to see?”
Himself. Getting wrecked in his sleep.
Multiple times.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Then why can’t I see?”
Why is he so insistent on knowing what Oscar’s doing?
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Oscar mutters. It’s probably his fault for typing so furiously in the middle of the lounge at the MTC. “And I told you. You can read what I write once you show me what you draw.”
Miffed, Lando shakes his head and slinks away. To the other end of the couch. He pulls a slim tablet from his backpack and starts scribbling away with the matching stylus. The furrow between his eyebrows grows deeper and deeper as he continuously taps at his screen.
Oscar rolls his eyes and opens his laptop back up to the fictional Lando on his own screen. He’s in the middle of writing the moment where he—fictional Oscar—walks into their shared bedroom and immediately gets a boner at the sight of Lando face down and snuggled into his pillow, barely clothed hips slightly angled up.
He opens his chat with Fluro, just to see if he’s gotten those details right.
It’s dangerous, having a sketch of Lando in such a risqué position with actual, real life Lando sitting so close, but he types a quick message:
Pastry: What kind of underwear do you think Lando wears
He gets a reply almost immediately, and he’s too busy reading it to notice the way Lando brings his knees up to hide the way he blushes and grins at his iPad.
fluro: small ones
fluro: make him slutty
Pastry: He does that all by himself
So Oscar writes about taking Lando’s briefs off, exposing his round, perky arse, and spreading it. The words fly out of his fingers, and he has never written so enthusiastically about his desire to eat Lando out before.
He takes a screenshot and sends the snippet to his friend.
From the other side of the couch, Lando moans.
Oscar lifts an eyebrow at him.
“Everything alright?” he asks.
“Everything’s mint,” Lando mumbles right away. He arches off the couch in an almost exaggerated fashion. “Just, uh, stiff from sitting in the same position.”
It takes every bit of willpower for Oscar to stop staring at him.
Another notification slides across the bottom of his screen, turning his attention away from the way Lando’s shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of skin.
fluro: fucks sake nearly got caught by my coworker
Pastry: You moaned out loud didn’t you
fluro: haha noooo mate
fluro: neway heres what i have :D
fluro: sleepy.jpg
Oscar’s face burns.
Is it embarrassing that he wants to reach out and trace the contours of Lando’s hips on his laptop?
It’s probably more embarrassing that he wants to lick the divot where Lando’s briefs ride low.
Oscar closes his laptop and leans back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Fluro’s work is branded into the inside of his eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut.
Thankfully, he has enough self-control that he doesn’t pop a boner right then and there.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Just tired.”
Lando flips the cover back over his iPad, but not before Oscar can catch a glimpse of… rounded letters? Maybe he’s working on a comic or something.
The pencil snaps to the top with a resounding click. “Come here. We have thirty more minutes before we do that thing for Android.”
Oscar stares at him, uncomprehending.
“You can nap,” Lando emphasizes, like he’s talking to a toddler. “I’m volunteering as your pillow.”
“Oh.”
Hurriedly, Oscar whips his phone out to send a quick reply to Fluro, because it’s rude to leave such beautiful art on read. It’s a jumble of words, probably chock full of typos, but he shoves his phone deep into his backpack along with his laptop before Fluro can respond.
And then he promptly tips over, letting his head fall onto Lando’s thighs.
“Comfortable?” Lando asks, amused.
Well, yes.
But Oscar’s also thinking about how he can incorporate the slight give of Lando’s thighs under his cheek into his writing now.
The lovely sensation of fingers carding through his hair is the last thing he registers before he drifts off.
fluro: rare to see u so speechless babe
fluro: thats two typos
fluro: g2g now… looking forward to bedtime stories :)
The difficult part about being a full-time Formula 1 driver during the day and a fanfiction author at night is that Oscar is stuck posting his writing at the most inconvenient time.
And that’s approximately fifteen minutes before the race.
He’s had the fic done for about a month already after churning out finished works faster than he can upload them. It’s nothing big, just twenty thousand words of him in an alternate universe, having a crisis over Lando playing a cute barista in a frilly apron.
And then Lando gets fucked over the counter, where anyone can see through the window.
In his frilly apron.
Just as Oscar is about to leave his driver’s room, he hears a crash and a curse from the room next door.
“Uh, Lando?”
“I’m fine!”
Lando doesn’t exactly look fine, when he emerges from his room. He’s flushed and squirming in his unzipped race suit, and he keeps looking back at his driver’s room, like he left his sanity behind the moment he stepped out of it.
In a way, Oscar feels the same. His phone, probably blowing up with email notifications from Archive of Our Own, is locked away in his own driver’s room, and all he wants is the instant gratification that comes after posting.
He tries not to think about it too much once he gets in the car. He tries not to think about Lando with red dusting his cheeks, his unfinished WIP about fucking him in his sleep, or the last update Fluro sent him. Instead, he adjusts himself in his seat and waits for the lights to go out.
Oscar thinks he’s going to pass out.
Singapore is hot, for one, but the real reason he’s going to pass out is because Lando looks ethereal on the top step.
He doesn’t mean to get down on one knee.
fluro: omg omg did u see
fluro: oscarproposed.jpeg
Pastry: Damn
Pastry: D’you think Lando said yes
fluro: definatelly
fluro: *definit
fluro: *DEFINITELY fuckin hell mate
Finally back in his hotel room, Oscar frowns, scrolling up in their chat to see if there was anything he missed.
Nothing.
Not to be presumptuous or anything, but his online friend is usually one of the first people to read and comment on his fics, but there’s nothing before the picture of him lifting the camera that fell from Lando’s champagne bottle.
And then he chalks it up to the time.
Fluro lives in Europe, somewhere. It’s past midnight in Singapore, which means Fluro should be home by now because he ‘works a normal job’ and doodling away or whatever he does after work.
fluro: soz didnt get to read ur fic yet
fluro: jsut got home frm wrk
Pastry: Lol don’t worry about it
Oscar’s frown deepens.
Pastry: Isn’t it late?
fluro: boss asked me to stay back
fluro: nearly cried after i got the email from ao3 and couldnt read right away
Oscar melts a bit at that. He’s relieved nothing terrible happened to his online friend, aside from being held back at work.
And then another thought strikes him.
Pastry: Didn’t you say you worked a normal job? Does that include the weekends too?
fluro: sometimes
fluro: i get entire weeks off tho so it cancels out
Pastry: Oh
If Oscar’s being honest, Fluro’s work schedule sounds eerily similar to his own. Maybe he works in Formula 1? Like as a social media manager or something along those lines.
He doesn’t pry.
Pastry: Well I’m about to sleep, so I’ll leave you to it 👍
Oscar doesn’t wake up to any messages from Fluro.
Instead, he’s tagged in a post from his friend, a gorgeous painting of a scene from the fic he posted the day before. The meet-cute, colored and fully rendered and shaded as beautifully as every other piece of his. Oscar isn’t speechless very often, but he has to choke back the familiar emotions that rise every time he sees Fluro’s art.
Pastry: Did you sleep at all?!
fluro: just a quick sketch mate
Pastry: I wouldn’t call that quick or a sketch
Pastry: Jesus
fluro: nope just me ><
Pastry: How much porn do I owe you
fluro: keep feeding me ur brilliant writing and were good
Pastry: 👍
At the airport, Oscar greets his trainer and then Lando, who looks absolutely dead on his feet.
“No sleep for the race winner?” he jokes. In reality, his teammate looks like one little nudge would knock him right over.
But he looks so adorable, bundled up in an LN4 hoodie, that Oscar wouldn’t do that to him. Oscar wants to wrap him up in a hug. But he can’t do that either because that’s the man he regularly disrespects with his writing.
“M’tired,” Lando mumbles, fluffing his curls. “But it was worth it.”
Oscar wonders what that means. He selfishly hopes that Lando isn’t implying that he had sex all night long.
Even if he did, Oscar should be grateful because he gets to stare at Lando as he sleeps for the full duration of their trip back to Monaco. It’s better than any in-flight entertainment that first class can possibly offer. Lando looks so at peace, possibly because he’s won his third Grand Prix, and he appears vulnerable with every rise and fall of his chest.
He looks like he’s waiting for a prince to come along and kiss his sweet, slightly parted lips.
The lines between fiction and reality seem to blur for a moment.
Oscar only looks away to open the document containing his somnophilia fic, making sure to scroll back up and describe the fan of Lando’s eyelashes against his cheeks as he slumbers in great detail. It’s devastating to him, so much so that he doesn’t even feel like writing porn right now.
Porn can wait.
Pretty prose that can’t even hold a candle to how Lando looks in real life can come first.
A week after Singapore, Oscar hits the post button after spending all of five minutes editing and another twenty figuring out what to title a fanfiction about somnophilia.
Pastry: It’s up
fluro: mint gimme a min to queue the post
fluro: hehe queue is such a funny word
Oscar hasn’t seen the finished piece yet, and he’s practically vibrating in anticipation. He opens tumblr as soon as he gets a post notification from landobottoms and has to take a deep breath before viewing the art in its entirety.
The Lando on his screen is inexplicably beautiful, but the drawing of his own hand reaching out to touch him looks like it was treated with care. Every line somehow portrays Oscar’s desire perfectly.
And then the next panel: Lando on his back, mid-orgasm.
And the next: Lando, sleepily looking at Oscar with dazed, half-lidded eyes.
Pastry: You’re going to break the internet with this one
fluro: *we
fluro: confession i just wanked to ur writing
Pastry: That’s flattering
Pastry: Happy to be of use
fluro: mmm
Oscar stares at the art a bit more, just because he can, before saving it to the folder dedicated to his favorite pieces.
He scrolls through the comments that filter in, smiling to himself as he replies to Fluro’s keysmash first and then a couple more. All of the comments in his inbox will be replied to.
At some point.
There are a few hundred unread comments, but he’s determined.
fluro: god i love the way u write abt landos hole getting wrecked by oscars monster cock
fluro: never gonna get sick of it istg
Oscar blushes.
He should be used to messages like this coming from nowhere, but a compliment… is still a compliment. Little does his friend know that ‘Oscar’s monster cock’ is one hundred percent real.
Pastry: There’s plenty more where that came from
fluro: pls tell me its catboys
fluro: or tentacle sex
Oscar actually has both in his drafts. Along with other various porn scenarios.
Pastry: Do I technically have a porn addiction
Pastry: If I can’t stop writing porn
fluro: mate if u have a porn addiction then so do i 🙄
Oscar laughs a bit at that. His friend is so shameless that he kind of reminds him of Lando. And then he cringes at the thought of Lando reading his fanfiction.
Or catching him jerking himself to lewd art.
Because that’s exactly what he does as soon as he gets in bed later.
“Osc!”
Oscar should be used to Lando popping up and scaring the living hell out of him, but in return, Lando should be used to Oscar slamming his laptop closed on his fingers.
He still grabs Lando’s hand the moment he begins whining and massages his fingertips without thinking twice.
Lando blushes, staring at him, wide-eyed, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I was going to show you my art too!” he complains, and Oscar’s heart immediately starts beating faster.
He can’t deny that he was also a bit curious about Lando’s hobby, but not to the point where he’d show him his own stuff first. Alarm bells go off in his brain when he realizes that he’ll have to show Lando his writing now.
“You don’t have to-”
But Lando is already pulling his hands out of Oscar’s, much to his dismay, and grabbing his tablet.
“I painted the ducks we saw at the MTC,” he says in a rush. “And now you have to show me your writing!”
Oscar’s face must do a thing because Lando falters, losing a bit of his initial enthusiasm.
“I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. I’m not forcing you to-”
“Those are really cute ducks,” Oscar says softly. “Um, give me a few days, and I’ll send you something of mine. Eventually.”
Shaving away at his dignity is worth the soft, excited look in Lando’s eyes.
Never has Oscar ever struggled to write something before.
He knows he can’t show Lando his actual writing, or he might have to find a new job. As a result, he’s sweating literal buckets with his fingers poised above his keyboard and staring at a blank document.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, realizing his head is only ever full when he’s thinking about Lando’s hole.
Oscar opens Discord as his last resort, after typing out a description of Lando’s arse as a means to get rid of his writer’s block. Obviously, it doesn’t work. He still saves the snippet for something that isn’t going to be shown to the owner of the butt he thinks about too often.
Pastry: Hypothetically
Pastry: If someone at work asked you to show them your art and you can’t just let him see the lewd stuff what would you do
fluro: gm to u too
Pastry: I think I’m going to have a panic attack
fluro: fuck uh write a poem?
Pastry: Please I’ve never written a poem in my life
Pastry: Not even in literature classes
Pastry: I can’t just wax poetic about Lando’s eyes and show it to my coworker
fluro: i mean
fluro: cant u? ur coworker wont kno its abt lando’s eyes if u write it well enuf
fluro: wait ppl at ur work know who lando is???
Pastry: Ah yeah…
It would be kind of hard for people at Oscar’s job to not know who Lando is. He feels a bit of tension release as he exhales at the irony.
Pastry: A lot of us are F1 fans
fluro: :0 fans of lando too?
Pastry: Well, I don’t know about the others
Pastry: But I’ve been a fan of him for a long time
Pastry: You know this though
Pastry: The bloke I like isn’t a fan of him
Lando is, in fact, his own biggest hater, and Oscar wishes he wasn’t.
fluro: sounds like a miserable guy
Oscar frowns.
Pastry: He’s actually really sweet
Pastry: A bit unpredictable but
Pastry: Yeah
fluro: is this the one pestering u abt ur writing
Pastry: Yeah…
fluro: sounds like u rlly need to write a poem but abt his eyes instead of landos
They’re the same damn thing.
Well. Oscar can certainly try.
Pastry: I have an idea now
Pastry: Thanks
fluro: np go get ur man
Pastry: Oh God
The poem is attached to an email addressed to Lando and promptly deleted, never to be seen again.
Until Lando brings it up at the MTC when they’re supposed to be doing sim work.
“I thought you liked writing?” he asks, perplexed.
“I never said I was good at it,” Oscar replies flatly. “You didn’t like the part where I used the word ‘ocean’ six different times?”
“No! I didn’t not like it! I honestly expected, like, some crazy fantasy romance if not a car manual with how secretive you were acting.”
Oscar laughs awkwardly. “I don’t think I’m creative enough for a crazy fantasy romance. I mean, clearly, I’m not great at the romance part in general.”
Freezing, Lando only gapes at him.
“You wrote about flowers, Oscar. Actually, you listed about ten different hues of blue and green.” He squints at his phone. “Wait, is that really how cerulean is spelled?”
“Yeah?”
“Huh.”
There’s really no going back from here. Of all the ways Oscar wrote about confessing his undying love for his teammate, this isn’t how he imagined it would go.
In fact, he didn’t expect to be confessing at all.
“I thought it was romantic!” he exclaims, turning bright red at the incredulous look he’s given. Shyly, he mumbles, “It was about your eyes.”
Lando’s breath hitches. “Oh.”
Oscar usually has a great many words at his disposal, but he remains quiet now, waiting for Lando to make his next move.
“Oh my God, wait here.”
Still riding on the residual adrenaline coursing through his veins, Oscar nods stiffly and can only stare at Lando’s retreating back as he dashes off in a flurry of blushing cheeks and fluffy hair.
In just a minute, Lando comes back, clutching his iPad to his chest. He bends over to catch his breath for another minute, and Oscar wants nothing more than to kiss him while he’s still breathless, just to see how much redder his cheeks can get.
That’s not what he does.
He just stands there like an absolute idiot, unable to take his eyes off of Lando, who flips his iPad open and hurriedly scribbles something with his pencil.
When he turns it around, it’s an extremely lopsided heart with-
“LN and OP,” Oscar reads out loud. “Why are we in a heart?”
He blushes when Lando looks at him like he’s actually an absolute idiot.
“Why are we in a heart?” Lando puts a hand on his hip expectantly. “You tell me, mate.”
Oh.
Oscar is being given an out, not that he wants one.
The plot needs to continue, after all, even after every turn it took, throwing him for a loop.
Good thing he’s used to going along with it.
“That shitty poem is not actually what I write,” Oscar blurts out. It’s impossible to resist the way Lando’s face softens into a sweet, slightly shy expression once he realizes he isn’t being rejected. Neither of them have been rejected. “Just- my real stuff is more of a fifth date thing.”
Lando smiles a bit. “Presumptuous, are we?”
“Um-”
“I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet. Or properly asked me out on a first date! Who knows, maybe we’ll be sick of each other before we make it to…” He trails off, blinking and wide-eyed.
Oscar takes a step closer and cups Lando’s cheeks, trying not to cry at how many times he’s imagined this moment, in a multitude of different situations and universes.
Time seems to stand still when he finally kisses Lando.
Lando makes a soft noise against Oscar’s lips and winds his arms around his neck, and, fuck, nothing has ever felt more right. Oscar drifts a hand down to his waist to bring him closer, deepening the kiss.
As he catches his breath, he tips his forehead against Lando’s, simply closing his eyes again and taking in the fact that this is, in fact, reality.
“You dream about kissing me?”
Apparently, Oscar uttered that last bit out loud, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Not when Lando kissed him back.
“Only when we’re not fighting on track,” he jokes, still a bit breathless. “Papaya rules say I can’t fantasize about you during the race.”
And Lando laughs, like he finds Oscar hilarious, wriggling a bit to make himself comfortable in his arms. He ducks his head, pressing his cheek against Oscar’s shoulder, and mumbles, “I thought about kissing you too. A lot.”
Oscar just hugs him tighter. He’s not letting go anytime soon, and hopefully, Lando doesn’t want him to.
“I’ll show you my real art too, someday. But only if you show me your real writing first. After the fifth date.”
He reckons that’s fair.
Wait.
“Um, Lando, aren’t you dyslexic?”
Pastry: Sorry I haven’t been active
Pastry: Posted tentacle porn
fluro: no worries mate x
fluro: hopefully tumbly boi doesnt take my art down like last time :(
fluro: omg wait does that mean u got ur guy
Pastry: 🤧👍
fluro: oMG :D !!!
fluro: actually same
fluro: !!
Pastry: How come I didn’t hear about this earlier?
fluro: aaaa we just went out on our first date like two days ago
Oscar squints at his laptop. He… went out on his first date with Lando two days ago. It’s just a coincidence, right?
fluro: kinda fell in love w him a while back yno hes just rlly sweet n stuff
fluro: didnt think he was into me tho lik i didnt want to get my hopes up if he actually was straighter than a pole
fluro: my job’s not that gr8 w ppl like me so
Relating quite heavily, Oscar feels for his friend. It’s not easy for him either—a single wrong move will set millions of people off—but he still considers himself fortunate enough to have a support system and his cute boyfriend.
He smiles inwardly and glances across the room. Lando is really cute, especially right now, as he taps away at his iPad.
Pastry: Feel for you, mate
Pastry: Hope your bloke treats you well
Pastry: Does he know you spend your free time drawing gay porn
fluro: aaaa noooo he thinks i draw cute animals
fluro: showed him a couple ducks n thats it
Oscar tilts his head in confusion.
Ducks?
“Does this count as a date?” Lando asks, shuffling into Oscar’s flat with two bags of takeaway.
Oscar takes them from him and greets him with a kiss on the cheek. “Sure. We’re not anywhere near the MTC or a paddock, so I think it counts.”
He itches to write about the casual affection, the way Lando cuddles up to him on the couch while they simultaneously stuff their faces with Chinese food and watch a silly animated movie.
His laptop is right there on the coffee table, and he knows he already has a new document pulled up, ready to be filled with fluffy shenanigans.
Is it bad that Oscar’s thinking about fanfiction when he has the real Lando right here with him?
“Are- are you staying?” he whispers, turning pink. “The night, I mean?”
Lando curls into a tighter ball, tucking himself closer into Oscar’s side, but the blush that spreads across his cheeks is still visible under his tan.
“If you want me to?”
“God, yes,” Oscar exhales, the words leaving him in a rush.
Lando peeks up at him with a smile.
And then Oscar feels it pressed right up against his own.
He’s dreamed of this moment for months. Years, if he’s being honest.
Lando, perched on his bed, waiting for Oscar to get him naked, and then pliant and open for him.
Oscar touches him gently, running his fingertips over every ridge and bump, over the soft curve of Lando’s arse, the dip of his waist. He feels sorry that no work of art, no piece of writing will ever compare to having the real thing.
“This is unfair,” Lando breathes, tugging at the hem of Oscar’s shirt. “I’m naked, and you’re still fully dressed.”
“Sorry.” Oscar grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, earning himself a soft moan.
Lando’s eyes are glazed already, and Oscar hasn’t even pushed him into the mattress and taken him yet.
He quickly changes that, finding the lube and condoms he so hopefully purchased a while ago, after their first date. They remained unused for the duration of the triple header.
Soon, Lando’s begging for more, for his cock, and Oscar is very determined to give it to him. He pushes into Lando until he bottoms out, tight despite how thoroughly he prepared him.
But Lando keens, arching into his touch the moment he pulls out and slams back in, hitting his prostate head-on.
It’s dizzying, how pretty Lando looks under him.
“This would be a great reference,” Oscar groans, without stopping to think about what leaves his mouth. “Fuck.”
But Lando’s answer has him screeching to a halt.
“Yeah, it would,” he breathes, moaning. “Oh, God, right there.”
Oscar stops, mid-thrust, and gawks at his boyfriend, who lets out a little whine.
“Wait, what?”
Lando opens his eyes and blinks away the haze clouding it. His ankles remain firmly crossed behind Oscar’s back, preventing him from pulling out. “What, what? Why’d you stop?”
“Why’d you agree with me?” Oscar asks, still buried deep inside Lando’s arse.
“Are we really going to have a conversation with your cock practically in my throat?” Lando retorts. He looks embarrassed, though, like agreeing with Oscar about sex and references was the last thing he expected to do.
Oscar figures they can have a conversation afterwards.
“Good point.”
“Good point- ah!”
Lando screams when Oscar resumes fucking him in earnest. The bed rocks, but Oscar continues snapping his hips up, thrusting deeper into Lando until he comes inside him, filling the condom.
He reaches between them, committing the expression on Lando’s face to memory as he strokes him to completion.
Drunk on pleasure, Lando tips his head back and moans as his body trembles with the force of his orgasm.
Oscar is going to have inspiration for his writing until the end of time.
But right now, he almost hurriedly pulls out, momentarily soothing Lando by rubbing his side when he makes a small noise of discontent, and ties off the used condom.
They’re both regularly tested, as racing drivers, but Oscar can wait until Lando’s comfortable enough before doing him raw.
“So,” he begins, “you owe me an explanation.”
“You owe me an explanation,” Lando mumbles into the crook of Oscar’s neck. “Cuddle another minute, and then I’ll get my iPad, you get your computer.”
Oscar hums in agreement.
“Your heart’s beating faster, Osc.”
“Just nervous, I reckon.”
Lando pulls back to look at him softly. “It’s just me.”
“That’s the whole point.”
Oscar tugs him back in, hoping this won’t be the first and last time he gets to have Lando like this. If Lando leaves him after learning that he’s written the craziest smut about the two of them, it would be nothing but fully justified.
“Too tight,” Lando wheezes, patting the arm around his waist. “You’re hugging me like I’ll disappear if you let go.”
Oscar slips a hand down to squeeze Lando’s butt for good measure.
He needs to do that at least one more time.
For good luck.
“Okay, time’s up,” Lando says. He briefly tilts his head up to place a small kiss on Oscar’s lips before shoving him away.
Grumbling the entire time, Oscar gets out of bed, ogling Lando shamelessly as he does the same. Especially when he bends over to rifle around in the bag he brought to stay overnight.
“After you mentioned your hobby was drawing, I don’t think I’ve seen you once without that thing,” Oscar comments as he fires up his PC.
“Never brought it to the MTC or to races before that.” Lando sighs, tapping on the screen a couple times. “After all, it’s risky when I draw- I guess, turn it around on the count of three?”
Oscar just wants to get it over with, so he shakes his head and replies, “Let’s just do it now.”
Lando shrugs and simply shows Oscar the site loaded on his screen, and it’s-
“Tumblr?!” he shrieks. “Wait, you’re-”
“What the fuck.”
Oscar doesn’t get to say anything else because Lando practically launches himself at him, attacking his lips in a kiss. He stumbles, but he still catches him as he wraps all four limbs around him.
Lando moans around the tongue Oscar slips into his mouth, and Oscar feels just as insane.
“I would recognize that awful color palette anywhere,” Lando breathes, still clinging to him. He laughs incredulously, like he can’t believe that Oscar is pastrycat81.
Just like Oscar can’t believe that Lando is, well, landobottoms.
Very concise. And apparently very true.
“Fucking hell,” Oscar groans, tipping his head forward to rest against Lando’s shoulder. “I- I texted you about fucking you.”
Lando laughs brightly, and Oscar has never wanted to kiss his dimples so badly before. “And all that writing paid off,” he purrs. “Now I have amazing references to draw you mid-fuck. You’re so hot from that angle, babe.”
Oscar squeezes his boyfriend’s arse again, smiling at the squeak he lets out. And then he blushes all over again, reminded of just how many times he’s written about Lando making all sorts of noises. He’s getting emotional whiplash.
“This is actually so embarrassing for me. I wrote about-”
“Do you really daydream about kissing me?” Lando asks, pinkening. He ducks his head, shy, and Oscar is so relieved he’s not the only one at least a little humiliated. “Once, Jon thought I was coming down with something when I read that because, well, fluff.” It’s self-explanatory. He does seem rather bad at hiding his emotions, but this version of him, soft and pliant after an orgasm is quickly becoming Oscar’s favorite. “And, oh, I really wanted the things you wrote, minus the angst, to happen in real life.”
So Oscar kisses him. How could he not? He’s going to do anything Lando wants from now on, as long as it’s within his ability. Tentacle sex… he reckons there might be a way if Lando is really into it. At least he wasn’t reading that fic in particular when Jon caught him.
“Fuck, do you really read my stuff in public?”
“Well, not the explicit stuff!” Lando sniffs. “If someone calls me out because they recognize what AO3 looks like on my phone, then they’re calling themselves out too. Never taking my chances out in the paddock, though.”
“Fair enough.”
Another squeeze.
“Round two?”
“Yeah,” Lando gasps, just as Oscar slips a finger back into him. “And then I’m finding a different theme for your tumblr.”
Oscar presses a kiss to his neck. “Fine. Technically, this was our fifth date too, so I’m glad everything worked out in our favor.”
Lando’s frustrated scream filters into the kitchen of Oscar’s flat.
“Babe!”
Oscar hurries to the bedroom to find him glaring at his tablet. “What’s wrong?”
“Tumblr frickin’ took my shit down. Again!” Lando exclaims, tossing his iPad onto the bed and flopping back onto his pillows. He props himself up again. “It wasn’t even that NSFW!”
It still feels surreal that they’re having this conversation to begin with.
Oscar sits down behind him and pats his head before leaning in to nuzzle his cheek. “I keep telling you, AO3 is better. Post censored versions on tumblr and upload uncensored versions on AO3.”
Lando turns to look at him, widening his eyes pleadingly.
“Help me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
If someone told Oscar that sending his Alpine tweet and then driving for a Formula 1 team would lead to him sitting in bed with his boyfriend in his arms, who drives for that same Formula 1 team, while uploading lewd fanworks to the Internet, he would probably stare at them like they’re insane but not change a single thing.
Lando yanks on his hoodie strings, making him look kind of like a marshmallow, as Archive of Our Own loads on his iPad.
“Whoa,” Oscar mutters, peering over his shoulder. “What’s with the font?”
“It’s Comic Sans,” Lando sniffs. “It makes reading with dyslexia easier or whatever.”
“Your commitment is astounding. Why not just use text to speech software?”
That earns Oscar a deadpan look.
“‘Oh, Oscar, yes, that feels so good! Ahhhh!’” Lando moans in the most robotic voice possible. Somehow, it still makes Oscar’s cock twitch in his sweatpants, and he hopes Lando can’t feel it where his back is pressed right up against him. “Very sexy.”
“And Comic Sans is?”
“Being able to read the smut you write is, in fact, very sexy, Oscar.”
“Touché.”
“I’m going to touché you if you don’t stop judging me long enough to help me!”
Oscar can’t help the laugh that bubbles up at his angry marshmallow of a boyfriend. “You can call it, I dunno, ‘Fluro’s NSF1W Art’.”
Lando looks at him for a long moment before typing it into the title box.
“I didn’t think you’d actually go with that.”
“I’d be stuck trying to come up with something if I didn’t.”
Oscar muffles his snicker in Lando’s shoulder. “You understand the pains of uploading fic now.”
“Mm, poor Oscar,” Lando coos, reaching back to cup his cheek and kiss him sweetly. “Must be so hard.”
Yes, Oscar is hard.
Of course, Lando notices.
Hard not to, when there’s an erection pressing into the cleft of his arse.
“No. Upload art now, fuck later,” he reprimands, even as he wriggles mischievously, testing Oscar’s patience. “Do I tag as I add more chapters, or what?”
“Sure, that works. Switch to the rich text editor,” Oscar says. “The little picture. Paste the link and change the width to one hundred percent. Yeah, that’s good.”
Lando squirms. “Ugh, keep talking dirty to me, baby.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Upload art now, fuck later,” Oscar repeats sarcastically, but he lifts a hand to pinch Lando’s nipple through his hoodie. “Come on, Lando, the post button is right there.”
Whining. A lot of it. But the art does get uploaded.
And then Oscar drags Lando’s tiny shorts down smooth thighs to take his weeping cock in his mouth.
“Why do you have a whole camera setup next to your bed?” Oscar wonders.
“Refs,” Lando replies simply. “How do you think I know exactly what my own arse looks like?”
Oscar imagines him putting on a show for the camera, spreading his arsecheeks to snap a picture of his pink, fluttering hole. Just thinking about it makes him drool.
“So when we did that somno thing-”
“Oh, I just had it on while I took a nap. Apparently I am that slutty in real life.”
“What about references for me?” Oscar asks, curious.
“I had to, um, estimate, based on your descriptions and how you looked when you wore tight-ish clothes. Turns out you weren’t exaggerating about your cock.”
Lando still blushes as he says that, and Oscar has never wanted to ruin him more.
Thank fuck the season’s over, which means they can lounge around in bed, writing and drawing and torturing the fandom by depriving them of content… as themselves. And they can loosen up on their strict diets and training schedules for about a week before they get hounded on.
But for now, it means Lando is a bit softer, a bit sexier than usual, and his legs will look great in the stockings on his dresser.
Oh wow, he has stockings on his dresser.
“You actually went out and bought lingerie,” Oscar chokes out. “For our next thing.”
“No, I bought it online, you muppet. I already get stalked wherever I go, so there’s no way I’m getting myself into trouble by walking into a lingerie store.”
“Can I fuck you in it first?”
Lando winds his arms around Oscar’s neck. “Stupid question. Get me nice and messy in my pretty panties too, and I’ll draw exactly that for you, so you can hang my art up in your bedroom and wank to it whenever you want.”
“I’ll just keep you in my bed instead,” Oscar murmurs. “No need for all that when I could have the real thing whenever I want.”
Moaning softly, Lando pushes his arse backwards into Oscar’s hands, silently begging to be groped. “You have such a way with words, babe.”
“And you’re the biggest fan of them.”
“Mhm.”
“I love you.”
Lando kisses him.
Lando’s neat equipment setup proves useful when Oscar needs to figure out the… logistics… of sex.
Having Lando himself there with him is even better.
“Did you know there’s a sex position called ‘pole position’?” Oscar asks, one day, completely out of the blue.
His boyfriend coughs around a spring roll.
“That’s a bit on the nose,” he quips. “What does it look like?”
Oscar shows him the article he has open in an incognito tab. “I’ve actually written a lot of these without knowing they had names attached.”
“The name, ‘pearly gates’ doesn’t get you all hot and bothered? Damn. But ‘pole position’ looks easy enough.” Lando grimaces. “Definitely easier than it actually is.”
He wipes his greasy fingers on his shorts, and Oscar would definitely point that out if they didn’t immediately fly off his body.
Dumbstruck, Oscar just stares at the curve of Lando’s hips in his briefs, a sight he’ll never get tired of, and gets on the bed after he’s given an expectant look.
It shouldn’t be sexy.
They’re fully clothed.
But Lando’s arse is hovering right above his dick when he snaps a picture, and he’s wearing briefs, just like he said over Discord message all those months ago.
And this position gives Oscar the perfect view of what his cock would look like as Lando’s greedy hole just takes him in.
He grabs Lando’s thigh, spreading it a bit, and fuck-
“Were you telling the truth about your flexibility too?” Oscar stutters helplessly, resting his hands on his boyfriend’s hips.
Lando hums and arches his back like a cat, tipping his head onto Oscar’s shoulder. “You tell me,” he purrs. “Want to bend me in half? Make me suck my own cock?”
Moments later, Oscar slides right into him, practically forcing him to bounce on his cock while simultaneously humping his thigh.
“Oscar!”
It turns out that Lando is extremely flexible.
Oscar has photographic evidence of that now, as though Lando being folded in half as he was worked to completion hasn’t already been burned into his memory.
Oscar calls it character development when his boyfriend’s fingers remain fully intact the instant his cute face pops up over the top of his screen to take a peek at what he’s writing.
“What are you cooking now?” Lando asks. He probably didn’t manage to read a single word while he was upside down. “Or, ooh, what am I wearing?”
Quickly, Oscar highlights the entire thing and switches the font from his usual Times New Roman to Comic Sans before turning his laptop around and letting his boyfriend read what he’s written. The melty look on Lando’s face is worth it.
“I love you,” Lando says happily, eyes sparkling as he hungrily devours the words on Oscar’s screen. “Oh! I’m wearing your hoodie.”
“Yup. You look cute in it.”
Lando makes another happy noise and settles close to him, doodling something on his iPad.
It’s him, round and squishy, in a distinctly chibi style. Oscar only knows the term from the other guys back in school, when he took Japanese for fun.
And mini Lando is wearing an OP81 hoodie.
Oscar finishes his last sentence and watches Lando draw. It’s mesmerizing, the way he creates art from absolutely nothing, and, in a blink of an eye, there’s a mini Oscar with swoopy hair and wearing a matching LN4 hoodie, hugging the mini Lando.
Humming thoughtfully, Lando adds a cat, just because he can.
“Alternate universe, where we shrink into tiny versions of ourselves,” Oscar jokes, frowning when Lando makes his forehead extra shiny. “My forehead is not that big, mate.”
“It really is. But don’t worry, I still love you, big forehead and all.”
That’s sweet.
“I love you too, I guess…”
“Oh, come on, babe, you know what they say about people with big foreheads!”
Oscar looks at him blankly. “I’m sure I don’t.”
“They’re always full of big ideas!”
Lando smacks a dramatic kiss against the big forehead he allegedly loves so much while his pencil rolls off the table, never to be seen again.
When Lando announces that he’s personally designing his newest merch line, the first thing Oscar feels is concern.
“I feel like your art style is pretty distinct?”
“Osc! Have some faith in me!” Lando exclaims. “I’ve experimented with many styles, and the stuff I put on tumblr is just the tip of a very large iceberg.”
“Somehow, that feels ironic,” Oscar says dryly. “You’d think the art that the public sees first would actually be safe for work.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Good point.”
fluro: babe ur lingerie porns too hot (i had to copy paste that from ur fic to make sure i spelled it right)
fluro: εつ(‿ˠ‿) ?
Pastry: Lando
fluro: ugh fine 🫱(‿¤‿)🫲
Pastry: Oh my God what
fluro: learned it from tiktok
fluro: someone commented it on an edit of u
Pastry: For fuck’s sake
Pastry: 🫸(‿|‿)🫷
Pastry: Calm yourself
fluro: :3 no
fluro: naughty.jpg
Pastry: Okay, on second thought
fluro: :3?
Pastry: (••)(‿ˠ‿)
Pastry: Did I do that right
fluro: my arse is trembling in anticipashun
fluro: *anticipation
fluro: get over here u muppet
“Landoscar fans are going crazy over this picture,” Oscar says, showing his boyfriend the photo of them posing with a random baby. “Again.”
Lando looks smug. “I remember when the Internet threw a fit over it. Very fondly.”
“Mm.”
“It’s all the mpreg you write, Osc,” he continues nonchalantly. “Now everyone in the fandom wants to see me pregnant.”
Unintentionally, Oscar’s gaze wanders to Lando’s exposed stomach when he yawns and stretches. “Mm.”
“I’m too young to carry babies! We can try for one after we retire.”
Oscar has a very well-practiced poker face. He’s very composed, not batting an eye when he reads or writes the filthiest smut in existence. He wrote about himself eating Lando out countless times, and, yes, he blushes a little when he reads fluff, but at least he doesn’t giggle to himself and kick his feet like Lando does.
He chokes on his own spit as his boyfriend so casually flutters his lashes at him.
“Um.”
“I blame you for this fantasy in particular. Didn’t even know I had a thing for being bred until I read it with my own eyes.”
“Can we please circle back to the picture?” Oscar croaks. His voice definitely doesn’t break in the middle. No, it shatters like glass. “I thought it was sweet, like we were a family, and you just had to twist such a pure moment into being about breeding kinks.”
“So you didn’t get yourself off to the thought of me, round, helpless, and swollen with your babies?” Lando asks, pouting. “Boo.”
“I- obviously, I didn’t say that.” Oscar groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck, now I’m going to be thinking about that when I get in the car later.”
Lando’s watery expression morphs into a sly one in an instant as he blows Oscar a cheeky kiss.
“Don’t get too hard. It’ll drag you down.”
Just before he disappears into his own driver’s room, Lando pushes his palm against Oscar’s crotch for a split-second, barely long enough for him to react.
“Lando.”
For the second time in his life, Oscar stares at a blank document, feeling entirely uninspired.
He feels like he has exhausted every bit of creativity he has, and now, he’s left squeezing toothpaste from an empty tube. For a moment, he thinks about his boyfriend, the way his face never fails to light up in excitement whenever he receives an email from AO3.
There’s no way he can take that away.
But his empty document.
Oscar has no idea what to write.
His laptop has seen everything: catboys, lingerie, requited unrequited love, coffee shops, ballet studios, the paddock more times than he can count, private jets and FIFA in the hotel room, Lando’s driver’s room, his own driver’s room. Soulmates. Omegaverse. Tentacle sex. Twice.
“Fuck.”
He wishes Lando were here with him. His presence is like a balm, if balms inevitably ended up making him horny.
So he settles for the next best thing.
Pastry: Can we talk?
fluro: ????
Pastry: Oh God, no, not like that
Pastry: You’re stuck with me unfortunately
fluro: oh thank fuck
fluro: for the record i was never gonna let myself be broken up w without a fight (ง •_•)ง
Pastry: Yeah me neither
fluro: so whats wrong babe
Pastry: Writer’s block
fluro: be rite there w spring rolls
Pastry: Are you going to cuddle the inspiration back into my stupid brain
fluro: smth like that
Oscar smiles, blushing. He’s going to cuddle the shit out of his boyfriend when he gets here.
It’s a hard decision, honestly.
Not a sudden one, but it’s been weighing on his mind more than it should. Writer’s block. It’s terrible.
“I think I’m going to take a hiatus,” Oscar tells Lando, once he successfully pulls him aside, away from all the cameras and distractions. “From, um, my hobby.”
Lando’s eyes soften. They’re really the prettiest color—Oscar wasn’t lying all those months ago, when he confessed with a shitty poem.
“What brought this on?”
“Just. I originally started posting my work because I had such a big crush on you that I felt like I couldn’t function unless I did something about it,” Oscar explains. “I’m way more of a coward in real life than I am in any of my fictional universes. I couldn’t just confess, y’know?”
“And?” Lando prompts, rubbing Oscar’s hand.
“And I have you now. Writing was more of a coping mechanism, to be honest. I definitely felt guilty, especially when my work took a very explicit turn, but it was fun, and I somehow still had you along the way, so. In a soulmate universe, you would definitely be mine.”
“Don’t take a hiatus.”
Of all the things Oscar thought he’d hear from his boyfriend, that wasn’t it. There have been a great many things he’s managed to convince Lando of since they’ve gotten together, like how he should weaponize his self-hatred if he’s not going to try to get rid of it, or that they should get two cats instead of just one when they move in together.
Right now, Lando looks one second away from crying, and his lips tremble, even as he squares his shoulders stubbornly.
He seems very determined to make sure Oscar doesn’t lose interest in something he loves to do.
“Fandom… is meant to be fun,” Lando says at last. “Your fics don’t always have to be about, I don’t know, debilitating crushes or pretty prose about my eyes or whatever. How many times have you written from my point of view? Falling so hard for you over the course of months that I could hardly breathe in your presence without wanting to kiss you while trying to convince myself that you look at everyone the same way you look at me so I didn’t accidentally give us away? How many times have you written about us getting married?”
“I haven’t.”
“Exactly. It’s your hobby, Osc. So stop trying to box yourself in and write something new if you’re not feeling inspired by what you have right now, and you have me. You don’t need to write at such an alarming rate and burn yourself out either-”
“Says you.”
When Lando puts his hands on his hips and glares at him, Oscar immediately shuts up.
“What was I saying- oh. And maybe- maybe I’m being a little selfish because I’ve wanted to draw us getting married since the fucking beginning.”
“That’s a really long time,” Oscar manages to get out.
Lando looks at him rather belligerently. “We’re going to stay together for a really long time, if I can help it.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not writing vows or a proposal, though,” Oscar says quietly, pulling his boyfriend in by the waist and inhaling the familiar scent of his curly hair products. It’s nice, simply having him in his arms. “I’m saving that for the real thing.”
The soft giggle Lando lets out will be enough to fuel Oscar’s writing for the rest of time.
He has never once considered that Lando knows exactly how to make him fall in love all over again.
Notes :
For landobottoms
First time writing Lando’s POV! I had some help with this one…
“I mean, obviously, I’m a racing driver, and I’ve been fortunate enough to do something I enjoy as my job, but I like to do other things too, to take my mind off the more negative parts of the sport.”
It’s been years of racing in Formula 1, and Oscar is ready to say goodbye.
Behind the camera, Lando—his fiancé—gives him an enthusiastic double thumbs-up.
“I reckon, um, a decade ago, I’d have said ‘sleep’ as my favorite way to pass the time,” Oscar jokes, laughing a bit to himself. “And, yeah, it actually is one of my favorite hobbies, along with writing. Writing’s actually been my favorite, favorite activity outside of racing, not that I’ve published anything…”
He smiles at the camera. At Lando, just beyond the lens.
“... unless you know where to look.”
A week later, Oscar dusts off his tumblr, briefly running a finger over the familiar croissants and cats in the header that Lando drew for him, to queue a post:
Something cheesy about closing old books, beginning new chapters, and never losing the plot.
- Lando and Oscar
wedding.jpeg
(Don’t knock writing in Comic Sans until you’ve tried it)