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The club was jammed—like properly jammed. Lights flickered in seizure-inducing bursts, bass lines shook the floor, and it smelled like sweat, spilled alcohol, and overpriced cologne. It looked expensive as hell too.
Oscar hated clubs. Everything about them was icky. Too many bodies, too much noise, too much forced fun. And this one had the added bonus of looking like someone vomited designer labels all over it. Yeah, he was a millionaire, so what? He wore plain t-shirts and owned exactly two pairs of jeans. All this glitz wasn’t impressing him.
He beelined to the bar, shoulders tense, jaw set. No way he was dealing with this place sober. The second he reached the counter, he barked out, “Rum and coke.” Whiskey was disgusting, and rum was only slightly less so, but it would do. He downed the drink in one go. The burn made his eyes water, but at least it shut out the world for a second.
Drivers were scattered across the club, he spotted a few on the dancefloor, grinding on strangers or each other. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.
Except, his body was already reacting to the alcohol—heat blooming up his chest, face flushing. His head buzzed in that dangerous way that made bad ideas seem like fun.
He was here for a good time, not a long time. Whatever that meant tonight.
A hand slid along his shoulder, fingers tracing lightly down his spine. He tensed.
“What’s a hot guy like you doing here all alone?” a voice purred.
Oscar turned. A blonde girl—long red nails, shiny lips, tight dress—smiled at him like he was dessert.
He almost laughed. Did that line ever work?
“Drinking, obviously,” he replied with a smirk.
“Mind coming with me?” she asked, gesturing toward a cluster of dark cherry-red sofas nestled in the shadows.
“What- you wanna give me a lap dance?” he asked, amused.
She grinned, unbothered. “Maybe more, if you behave.”
Definitely a stripper. Or a con. Or both. Whatever.
Oscar followed her. She pushed him down onto a sofa and swung a leg over to straddle him. His hand settled lazily on her hip, the other draped behind her on the backrest. Her perfume was sweet—too sweet and she moved with practiced ease, grinding into him slowly, teasingly. Her hands wove into his hair, tugging lightly, messing it up.
He let her. He was bored. Or drunk. Or maybe just trying too hard not to think about—
Oh.
There.
Across the club, Lando.
Surrounded by two girls. One had her arms looped around his neck, kissing her way up to his jaw. The other one was running her hands under Lando’s shirt, mouth near his ear, saying something that made him laugh. Or maybe groan. Oscar couldn’t tell from here.
Their eyes met across the room. Like magnets snapping into place.
Lando’s gaze was locked on him, unreadable, but intense. His arm tightened around the brunette at his side, lips brushing her temple.
Oscar’s chest tightened.
“Eyes on me, pretty boy,” the blonde whispered, pulling his face back to hers with sharp, manicured fingers.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Oscar murmured, breath catching.
She smirked. “Want a show?”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, daring her.
She responded by grinding harder, rolling her hips with more intent, lipstick-stained mouth trailing down his neck. Oscar’s hand tightened on her hip on instinct, but his gaze flicked back to Lando—who looked absolutely murderous now.
The brunette had climbed into Lando’s lap. Her hand was creeping lower—definitely lower—and Lando let it. He wasn’t stopping her. But his eyes never left Oscar. Not once.
Oscar’s pulse stuttered. The girl in his lap dragged her nails down his neck, hips moving with increasing rhythm. He barely noticed.
Because Lando—Lando was smirking now. One of those crooked, smug ones that made Oscar want to punch him or kiss him, maybe both. Lando tilted his head, leaned into the girl on his lap, whispering something into her ear while staring dead into Oscar’s soul .
Oscar’s mouth went dry.
The blonde in his lap leaned in, lips brushing his jaw, biting gently.
He closed his eyes, tried to pretend, to feel something.
Nothing.
He opened them again.
And Lando wasn’t smirking anymore.
He looked… pissed.
And fuck, Oscar was hard now.
Not because of the girl in his lap. But because of that look.
That look said mine .
Well, wasn’t that just amusing.
The blonde in his lap started unbuttoning his dress shirt—not all the way, just enough to expose his chest, her red nails working with practiced ease. She leaned down, mouth trailing across his skin. Kissing. Licking. A few soft bites that made Oscar’s breath hitch and his eyes flutter involuntarily.
It felt good he’d give her that. She knew what she was doing.
It just… wasn’t doing it for him. Not really. Not where it mattered.
Because he wasn’t sexually attracted to her in the slightest.
Bummer, right?
His gaze drifted back across the club. And yep, Lando was still staring—jaw tight, eyes dark, hands clenched on the thighs of the girl straddling him. One of her arms was around his neck now, the other tugging at his shirt like she wanted it off, lips whispering at his ear.
But Lando didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even glance at her.
He looked two seconds away from marching across the club and ripping the blonde off Oscar’s lap.
Oscar smirked.
God, he’d kill to see that.
Oscar smirked, eyes locked with Lando’s across the sea of bodies and strobe lights. He lifted his glass lazily, took a slow sip of nothing—just air now, long gone, but it was all about the gesture .
The blonde in his lap must’ve thought the smirk was for her, because she grinned like she’d won something.
Then without warning she dragged her tongue up his chest and leaned in to bite his collarbone. Harder than before. Enough to leave a mark.
Oscar hissed softly, breath catching. She giggled, pleased with herself.
Then she reached down and palmed him through his jeans.
Oscar stiffened.
Oh. Oh she was really going for it.
Her voice purred against his ear. “Still thinking about your little boyfriend?”
Now how the hell did she clock that so fast?
Oscar didn’t even have time to answer.
Because suddenly her hand was inside his shirt, trailing up his bare chest, and her mouth followed—wet and open and messy—and her hips rolled down again, slow, too slow, like she was trying to milk a reaction from him.
Oscar’s head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched. Not from pleasure. From the fact that he could feel Lando’s eyes on him, burning hotter than her mouth.
So he looked again.
And oh.
Oh.
Lando was standing now.
Shoving the girl off his lap like she weighed nothing. The other one was trying to hold him back, saying something, Oscar couldn’t hear it, but Lando wasn’t listening.
He was storming through the crowd. Focused. Eyes locked. Dead silent fury written across every inch of him.
Oscar’s smirk widened.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.
Just leaned back, spread his legs a little more, as if to say, Go on, mate. Do something about it.
Oscar saw Lando pushing through the crowd like a man possessed—no hesitation, no pause, just a straight line of stormy intent headed right for him.
He tilted his head, exhaled slowly, then leaned in toward the blonde, whose mouth was still working its way up his chest like she was earning a tip. She wasn’t going to get him off—but she could absolutely help him make a point.
He slipped a folded note—crisp and large—into the neckline of her dress, tucking it between her breasts.
Then he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear over the music, “Kiss me.”
She stilled for half a second, then smiled—sharp and knowing and leaned in. Lips parted, red as sin, breath warm against his face.
Oscar didn’t close his eyes. He was watching Lando.
The second their mouths were about to touch—barely a breath away—
A hand yanked the girl back by the arm, hard enough that she stumbled off Oscar’s lap with a yelp of protest.
“What the fuck-?” she started, but Lando didn’t even look at her.
His eyes were on Oscar.
And they were furious .
Oscar blinked up at him, all faux-innocence, lips still parted. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, mate.”
Lando didn’t answer.
He just reached down, grabbed Oscar by the collar.
The blonde scrambled back to her feet, adjusting her dress with a scowl. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Lando turned on her, jaw tight, eyes blazing. “ Fuck off, bitch. ”
He didn’t even yell it—it was sharp, cold, and loud enough to slice through the music. A few people nearby gasped, others turned to stare, a chorus of “yo”s and “damn”s echoing around them.
Oscar just raised an amused eyebrow, still lounging on the sofa like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened all week.
The blonde huffed, eyes flicking between the two of them, then stormed off with a dramatic toss of her hair and a middle finger shot over her shoulder.
“Shame,” Oscar said, all fake regret. “I was starting to like… what was her name? Lana ?”
Lando’s fists clenched.
Oscar reached toward where she’d left a lipstick-stained napkin behind, fingers brushing it with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll give her a call later. We were just getting to the good part—”
Lando snapped .
He didn’t say a word—just grabbed Oscar by the arm, yanked him up with enough force to knock the smirk sideways, and started dragging him through the club.
Oscar laughed. Actually laughed. Loud and shameless and echoing over the music.
“God, you’re so possessive, ” he called, stumbling a little as Lando shoved past a couple on the dancefloor. “At least buy me a drink first, Norris!”
But Lando didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
And Oscar let himself be dragged away, still grinning like the bastard he was.
The door slammed shut behind them with a sharp bang , the bass of the club now muffled to a dull thump through the walls.
Dim lighting flickered overhead, casting shadows along the narrow hallway behind the VIP section. It smelled like cologne, cleaning spray, and trouble.
Lando shoved Oscar back—rough, but not enough to hurt—just enough to pin him against the wall.
Oscar hit it with a soft thud , still laughing, breathless and smug. “Wow,” he said, mock-impressed. “Didn’t know you were into public freak-outs. Want me to add that to your list of kinks?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Lando snapped, voice low and taut like a fraying wire.
Oscar tilted his head, not remotely fazed. “Touchy.”
“You were doing it on purpose,” Lando hissed, stepping in closer. “All of it. Her. The—whatever the fuck that was. The kiss.”
Oscar licked his lips slowly, eyes dragging up and down Lando like he had all the time in the world. “Didn’t think you were watching so closely.”
“I wasn’t watching—”
“Right,” Oscar interrupted, raising a brow. “That’s why you stormed across the club and played the jealous boyfriend card in front of half the grid.”
Lando didn’t say anything. His jaw was clenched, fists tight at his sides. Oscar could see the vein in his neck pulsing, and God, it was almost funny how mad he looked.
Almost.
Oscar leaned in just a little, voice dropping. “She had no idea what she was doing, by the way. Too soft. Too slow. Kept missing the spot entirely.”
“Shut up .”
“What?” Oscar teased, lips curving. “You jealous, Norris?”
Lando’s hand slammed into the wall next to Oscar’s head.
Oscar didn’t flinch.
They were too close now . Chest to chest. Breath mingling. That charged, electric pause where everything could tip either way.
Oscar smiled.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re jealous.”
Lando didn’t answer.
He just grabbed him by the collar again Oscar’s back hit the wall again, harder this time, Lando’s fist still planted beside his head, jaw clenched like he was holding back something violent. Or maybe desperate. Maybe both.
Oscar, ever the menace, just kept smiling.
“You know,” he said lightly, voice brushing the edge of mockery, “this is very unprofessional behavior.”
Lando didn’t move.
Oscar leaned in a fraction, his breath brushing Lando’s cheek. “We are teammates, after all.”
That did it.
Lando moved so fast it made Oscar’s breath catch—not from fear, from shock .
He grabbed Oscar’s face with both hands and kissed him. Hard. Furious. Like he wanted to shut him up, shut him down , drown in him all at once.
Oscar froze for half a second, stunned—then melted right into it, hands grabbing at Lando’s shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.
The kiss was messy, teeth clashing, lips bruising, a breathless tangle of frustration and want and weeks— months of unspoken tension exploding all at once.
Lando groaned into his mouth, deep and low, like something broke open inside him.
Oscar’s laugh got swallowed between kisses. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, lips dragging across Lando’s jaw.
“Shut up,” Lando breathed, already diving back in like he couldn’t get enough.
And Oscar let him.
Because fuck it.
He couldn’t either.
Lando kissed him like he was starved—like he’d been holding back for too long and now couldn’t remember why he ever had.
Oscar barely had time to breathe before he was being shoved harder into the wall, Lando’s body pinning him there, all heat and tension and shaking hands. His thigh slid between Oscar’s legs and pressed , and Oscar swore , head tipping back with a choked sound that was definitely not a laugh anymore.
“You’re insane,” Oscar hissed, voice wrecked.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Lando shot back, lips dragging down his neck, teeth scraping over that spot that made Oscar’s knees damn near buckle. “You knew what you were doing.”
“Yeah,” Oscar breathed. “I did.”
Lando growled— growled —hands sliding up under Oscar’s shirt, dragging it up his chest, fingernails leaving faint red lines in their wake. Oscar’s stomach clenched, hips grinding forward instinctively and that got him a hiss from Lando, one hand flying down to grip his waist tight .
“I should’ve done this the first time you opened your mouth tonight,” Lando muttered against his collarbone, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.
Oscar’s hands tangled in Lando’s curls, tugging, just to be difficult. “Would’ve saved you the embarrassment.”
“You’re a dick,” Lando said, then bit him again.
“Yeah, but you’re the one grinding on me like it’s your last night alive,” Oscar shot back, but his voice cracked at the end, because Lando’s hand had found his belt and he was definitely not bluffing.
They were making a mess of each other—clothes wrinkled, breath ragged, touches frantic like they didn’t know what they wanted more: to fight or fuck.
Oscar gasped when Lando pressed even closer, hips grinding down, rough and absolutely filthy.
“Tell me to stop,” Lando whispered, voice shaking, lips at the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “And I will.”
Oscar looked him dead in the eye.
And grinned.
“Not a fucking chance.”
Lando didn’t look up for permission when he dropped to his knees—he didn’t ask . He just went.
Oscar’s breath stuttered. “Oh, fuck .”
Lando’s hands were already working his belt open, fingers fast and shaking slightly with urgency, like he couldn’t stand the barrier between them for one more goddamn second. His mouth brushed the outline of Oscar’s cock through his jeans, and Oscar let out a shuddering breath, his free hand flying into Lando’s curls and gripping tight.
“Didn’t think you’d actually—fuck,” Oscar hissed, words cutting off into a gasp as Lando mouthed him again, harder this time. Tongue flat and pressing through the denim, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to burn the shape of it into his mouth before he even got skin.
Lando glanced up through his lashes, a dark flicker of challenge in his eyes, and bit down—just enough pressure to make Oscar twitch, just enough to say who’s really in charge here?
Oscar groaned, head thudding against the wall. “You’re such a little shit,” he muttered, hips shifting forward involuntarily.
“Shut up,” Lando rasped, voice rough. “Just shut up and let me.”
And then he had Oscar’s jeans shoved down, briefs following in a harsh tug, and suddenly everything was real . Oscar was exposed, flushed, already half-hard from the mess of earlier, and Lando didn’t even take a second to admire.
He dove in.
Hot, wet heat wrapped around him—Lando’s mouth sealing over the head of Oscar’s cock, tongue swirling slow, deliberately obscene. Oscar choked out a curse, every muscle in his thighs tensing as Lando took him deeper, inch by inch, his mouth slick and greedy and maddening.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful.
Lando was fucking feral .
His hands gripped Oscar’s hips, thumbs digging into skin hard enough to bruise as he pulled him forward—Oscar’s spine arching off the wall, head tilting back with a broken moan.
Lando set a rhythm—fast, purposeful, filthy. He let spit dribble from his lips, let it smear along Oscar’s cock as he bobbed his head, pushed deeper, sucked harder . Every time Oscar gasped, Lando hummed, pleased and smug, mouth so goddamn wet , tongue flicking against the underside on every drag back.
Oscar tried to hold on. Tried to keep some kind of control. But then Lando moaned around him—low, needy , like he liked this, like he wanted this mess as much as Oscar did and Oscar snapped .
His hands flew to Lando’s head, fingers curling tight in his hair, and he rolled his hips forward, shallow, testing.
Lando didn’t stop him.
Didn’t pull back.
He looked up with fire in his eyes and swallowed Oscar down deeper, taking him nearly to the back of his throat—and then held there, throat fluttering, mouth stretched wide, spit slick and dripping down his chin.
Oscar made a noise he didn’t recognize—something wrecked and desperate and broken. “Holy fuck , Lando.”
But he wasn’t the only one fighting for control.
Lando’s nails dug in again, trying to hold him steady, stop him from thrusting, but Oscar just laughed breathlessly. “You started this.”
Then he thrust again, slower this time, watching Lando’s mouth stretch, cheeks hollow, his throat working around him.
It was filthy. It was hot. It was two seconds away from crossing the line into pure ruin.
Lando pulled back with a wet pop , panting, lips swollen and slick with spit. “You’re gonna fucking come if you don’t stop,” he snapped, voice hoarse.
Oscar smirked, flushed and dazed. “That’s kind of the point , mate.”
Lando growled and dove back in, mouth sloppier now, less finesse, more need —hands tugging Oscar in, messy and fast and vicious .
Oscar couldn’t take it. He was panting, cursing, one hand pounding the wall for balance, the other buried in Lando’s curls, pulling, anchoring, trying not to completely fall apart.
“Lando— shit —I’m—” His voice cracked. “I’m gonna—”
Lando didn’t stop.
Didn’t slow down.
He looked up as Oscar broke, as his whole body tensed and his grip turned bruising, hips jerking forward once, twice—
And then he came. Hard. Deep in Lando’s throat. With a sound that echoed off the hallway walls.
Lando took it— every bit of it and didn’t pull back until Oscar sagged completely, legs barely holding him upright.
When he finally leaned back, Lando’s mouth was still shiny, his cheeks flushed like he’d been in a fight—and in a way, he had. He was looking up at Oscar with that smug post-victory expression like he’d just won something important.
“You wanna go dance now?” he asked, voice casual, like he hadn’t just sucked the soul out of Oscar’s body two seconds ago.
Oscar let out a shaky laugh, still catching his breath. “You’re a menace.”
“Yeah,” Lando smirked, wiping his mouth again, “and I told you to shut up.”
Oscar hummed, stretching lazily as he tucked himself back in, like they hadn’t just defiled a wall in the back hallway of a very public club. “Hmm, yeah. Let’s go. I wanna see if I can find Lana again.”
He said it too sweetly, purposefully—like a knife between Lando’s ribs.
Lando’s face changed.
Just froze for a second, then twisted. The warmth dropped clean off his expression, replaced by something darker—possessive and wild, jaw clenching, pupils blown wide again, but this time with something sharp beneath it.
“Try it,” he said lowly. “See what fucking happens.”
Oscar turned, smug grin on his face, but didn’t even make it one step toward the dance floor before Lando was on him again—one hand grabbing his wrist, the other flattening against his stomach to shove him back into the wall.
Their lips were almost touching, Lando’s breath hot and furious. “You want her?” he growled. “After everything I just did to you?”
Oscar blinked, playing innocent, all wide eyes and parted lips. “She is pretty.”
Lando shoved a thigh between his legs again, pressing just enough to make Oscar feel how hard he still was. “Do you think she could do what I just did?” he hissed. “Make you come like that? Make you fall apart ?”
Oscar’s cocky little smirk cracked into something needier. “Maybe I just wanna see you get mad again.”
Lando laughed , but it was dark and filthy and dangerous. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m fucking furious .”
He leaned in, biting at Oscar’s jaw, possessive and brutal. “You’re mine,” he said, quiet and rough and dead serious. “I don’t share.”
Oscar exhaled shakily. “Didn’t ask you to.”
“You even look at her again,” Lando muttered, “and I’ll bend you over the nearest table—don’t think I won’t.”
Oscar was definitely hard again.
And grinning.
“Tempting.”
Lando groaned, fingers curling into Oscar’s hip like he didn’t know whether to kiss him or slam him into the wall again.
“Fucking menace,” Lando whispered.
Oscar smirked. “Yeah. Right back at you .”