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The smell came out of nowhere, and yet, as he waited outside for the marshals to take his car out of the track, watching dark smoke leave its back and weave itself into the heavy clouds above him, Lando still managed to convince himself he could have done something about it. Perhaps if he had caught a whiff of it before. Perhaps if he had taken his feet out of the throttle for a couple seconds, giving the car some seconds to breathe, perhaps if he had changed the unit before the race, perhaps if he had gotten pole like he knew he should have, perhaps if he had been quicker at the start, perhaps if he hadn't had to fight off Max at every restart, perhaps if the clouds had lingered for longer and showered on them, perhaps if he hasn't pushed so much in the practice sessions, perhaps if– Someone called out his name.
Lando wanted to keep his helmet. He could feel the heavy clouds slowly entering his mind, disturbing what had happened to twist it into something sharp enough so Lando could cut himself open with. He always did that. There had never been any doubt of who was the mentally stronger driver there, though he had hoped he would be quicker in the end.
The marshals were still talking to him, muttering something he could not make out with the helmet closed like that. So he breathed in all his fears and held them inside; it was no one else’s problem.
‘What?’ He asked finally, the whispers of the approaching rain playing around with his hair, the wind kissing his cheeks; it made it possible for him to breathe, not to break apart right then.
‘We can take you back in a second,’ one of them said, and although his voice was firm enough, Norris could still see the grimace etched on his face. Pity. Good, it was exactly what he needed right then.
Lando smiled as much as he could force himself to, tilting his head to shrug. ‘Tis alright, mate. Don’t worry about it.’ He wasn’t in a hurry to go back and watch Oscar win the race.
He saw some flashes of orange now and then, the helmet he knew so well, the man he knew even better, passing through him right then, frozen in time, holding the threads of his heart for just a while longer. Oscar Piastri, the soon-to-be winner of the Dutch Grand Prix, has led it from start to finish and gotten the pole position. What Lando had seen since the first time meeting Oscar was now out in the open: he was a hell of a driver. And he had all the time in the world to improve - not that Lando thought he needed any improvements, Piastri was leading the championship on his third year racing in Formula One, just like that.
The walk down memory lane was enough to calm his rapid heart. Oscar’s uncomfortable smile the first time they were introduced, and how Lando was surprised by the firmness of the Aussie’s handshake. A kid, he wanted to say, wanted to think, but Oscar had always had a control no kid would ever be able to achieve.
He remembered the rumours around the paddock, how many people were talking about the ice-cold boy who was supposed to be replacing one of the sport’s stars. Lando was sad with Daniel’s sudden unemployment - how he chose to address it in his own mind - but the nickname attributed to Oscar seemed a bit too negative for his liking. Piastri wasn’t cold. Actually, Lando would say the complete opposite. All the moments Oscar had been near enough to touch, he had been swarmed with so much warmth and care that it had confused him.
In the beginning, it had been hard, setting the pace and being the most experienced driver around, although Oscar rarely put him in the spotlight like that. For the first months, he had taken it personally, as if Piastri had been accusing him of not being good enough to answer his question. Then, he finally began to understand. Oscar would hate to be put in the spotlight, so he refused to do it to Lando.
It was misplaced worry, naturally, Norris danced and laughed and all the eyes in the room went to him - and you would never catch him complaining - but it was worry anyway, and it warmed his heart from the inside out.
Another flash of orange and– They were racing again. He saw Max’s Red Bull chasing Oscar violently, like everyone knew he would; he saw Oscar putting his car in a defensive position, and in the end, the image was too clear for him to ignore it: those were two world champions fighting.
The gasp he let out felt a bit like dying. No one heard it, not with the noise of the racing cars surrounding them.
In the end, his drive back to the paddock went smoothly, and he looked at his own hands as Charles sighed from time to time, sitting beside him. He couldn't even muster any amount of energy to pretend to care about it. Leclerc hardly seemed phased by it.
The interviews passed in a blur of his inner voice shredding him to pieces while begging to keep it together. Oscar on the podium hurt just as he knew it would, though he forced his eyes open through the whole ceremony. He was down there and it was his own goddamned fault.
The questions were invasive, too invasive, though Lando believed he had been fair enough in his replies. He assured himself again and again that no one else could hear his heart
breaking, it was all only in his head - always only in his head, if only he knew how to ignore it.
Piastri appeared by his side and he simply could not do it. This wasn’t on Oscar, Lando never thought, it simply hurt too much. So he allowed the touch, because he had no choice, but his eyes lacked the warmth he always presented to his teammate. Then, he slipped away, a few tears already spilling over, his back, where Oscar had touched, burning with the conflicting desire of going back in there and bringing him along. But Lando was his own mess and Oscar was more than right to stray away from it.
☆☆☆
Even months later, Piastri could taste the disappointment the first race of the year had brought him. One second, one slip, and the podium - perhaps even a win - in front of his home crowd had come to an end. Every race after that, he had made sure to remind himself how much it had hurt, how bitter it had tasted; to never make the same mistake twice.
In a sport such as his, there were a sea of different missteps they could make, and although Oscar often reminded himself that no one could make any mistakes ever, it was hard to forget how it could all boil down to the loss in a championship. And Oscar wanted the goddamned title.
It was normal, they all did. After all, it was why they were there in the first place.
When the 2025 fight had boiled down to him and Lando, he had tried his best to rein in his inappropriate feelings. There was something about Lando Norris, a shine, a glow, glimmers of laughter that always seemed to surround him. Thinking back on it, Oscar had never even had a chance against it. So, every step since their agonizing first meeting - in which Piastri had been so incredibly embarrassed by how hot Lando looked all the time and how much it impacted him, when nothing, nothing, had ever left a permanent impression like that before - had been taken as carefully as he could, avoiding long conversations, avoiding lingering touches, avoiding Lando’s eyes on him at all costs. Except, finally, he was left with no choice at all.
Whoever came out on top would do so by a fine margin, and even that proximity felt like too much. Or, at least, that was what they had both believed, up until Zandvoort. A car failure, just like that. It wasn’t that Oscar wouldn’t take the points, but that wasn’t how he wanted it to go at all. Perhaps he had gotten used to the proximity without ever meaning to.
And when they met, finally, Lando’s eyes had a glow that Oscar had only seen once before. For a moment - a second too long - he tried to recall where it was from, tried to put a name to it.
When had he last seen– Brazil. Oscar nearly gasped. Brazil 2024, that was when he had last seen that look on Lando’s face, right before he had spent two days up, eating nothing, talking even less. He was tiltering on the edge and his dismissive hug had been nothing if not a clear sign for Oscar to stay away.
And he should. Truly, if Lando wanted to be alone, he deserved to, even when Piastri was sure it was the last thing he should allow. Though, to be fair, he was probably the last person Norris wanted to see right then.
It was a split-second decision, one that would change the course of everything. Oscar was blissfully unaware of its weight while he ran down the McLaren’s corridors. Lando couldn’t have left just yet; all his things were there, and Norris would never leave his things behind. Oscar had been fast all weekend, though that was the first time he was rushing, running towards someone worth fighting for.
Lando would crash, he was sure of it. Would hit the ground so hard that it would take him months to bring himself back into one piece. And Oscar could not stand by and watch it happen. It wasn’t his problem, and it wasn’t his business, but he had never been smart when it came to Lando Norris.
If every room froze when he walked in, then Oscar moved. He breathed, his heart shook, and beat desperately. Everything moved like Lando wanted it to, and Oscar was still trying to make sense of it. There was magic in the other boy, one he did not know how to stop being mesmerized by.
Oscar knew his place. Not only in the team or the title fight, but with Norris in general. They were teammates and there would never be anything between the two. He had made his peace with it and would be happy with every single crumb he got to keep. If it was their names written down in history for that title fight, then so be it. But it would be a fight.
Piastri did not care if he had to drag Norris to the finish line with his own car, they were doing that together. Of course, he wanted to win; he wanted the title, every single one of them did. But he wanted to win it fair and square.
They were all aware of how Formula One worked. Heartbreak could be just around the corner; in less than a second, it could all go up in flames, and Oscar wasn’t naive enough to consider the fight over, not even for a moment. But Lando had gotten a taste of it and the devastation clinging to his eyes was enough to bring Oscar to the depths of desperation. That was not how that was going to go.
The door to Lando’s driver's room opened before Oscar could even touch it. Lando stood there, face twisted into an emotionless mask Piastri saw right through - there were still some tears clinging to his lashes, which cut Oscar’s chest right open.
‘Osc,’ for a second, he believed it was all Lando was going to say, but then he kept going right as Oscar opened his mouth to say… something. Anything. ‘Not now. Please. I cannot do this right now.’
When he didn’t move out of the way, Lando pushed through. He grabbed his wrist a second before it was too late, though Oscar let it go before he could find the right words at the sight of burning betrayal on Norris’s face. That wasn’t how that was supposed to go.
‘Lando–’ He called out, but he was already gone.
☆☆☆
There was an infinite list of things to feel sorry for, and Oscar’s troubled expression should be at the very bottom of it. The longer Lando thought about it, the worse he felt. It wasn't Oscar’s fault, none of it. He was the one to blame and there was no working around it, and even if he felt entitled to a couple of hours to shout at himself without the perfect Oscar Piastri there to watch, he shouldn’t have pushed him out of his way.
Lando was bad with secrets, they made him antsy, nervous. Piastri must have been the only one he had managed to keep completely to himself for so long. Norris should never have allowed it to turn into what it had, should have cut it off at the very first opportunity, and yet, whenever he looked at Oscar, he looked back. And the tension-filled buzz between them had nothing to do with the close title fight - though Lando guessed it wasn't as close anymore.
The thought brushed Piastri right off his mind, his mistakes louder than the stupid infatuation. He had replayed the failure a thousand times, and in every single one, he found something else he could have done to keep it working. Or, worse yet, he was thrown back into his other mistakes, the ones that had put him in second in the fight in the first place.
It was an endless loop. If he only had heard Oscar, at least he might have found something else to obsess over.
The food Zak Brown had ordered to his room sat completely untouched. The mere thought of it made him incredibly nauseous. Lando had had all the intention to take a long and hot shower, though he found himself sitting on the cold, marble floor, staring at the front door, frozen by everything he could have done better. There was a bubble of mistakes surrounding him, all brought by his lack of control over himself. It pushed him around and the floor felt too safe - there was no falling beyond it. He liked how solid it was, there was something poetic about hitting rock fucking bottom, he guessed.
It was, truly, a miracle Oscar hadn’t caught up to his stupid crush, if he was a third as bad at controlling those feelings as he was with… well, every single other one. Every single time Oscar laughed at something stupid he had said, a current of sheer electricity would burn its way through his body. Every single smile, every single tilt of his head, every sigh and deep breath was kept in the back of Lando’s mind so he could spin it over in his mind later. Osc was a sight in and of himself, but then there was everything else, everything that turned a crush into something very very dangerous. There was kindness. There was laughter. There was so much interest in Lando's life and small quirks. There was understanding and awe. There was speed and competition and Lando was falling falling falling for the only person he couldn’t have.
The knocks went ignored; he was too deep in his own thoughts to hear them in the first place. When the door started shaking, Norris’s eyes finally snapped up. Sounds rushed back to him until he heard it; it felt too much like heartbreak all over again. Like having something he wanted so dearly dangled in front of his face again and again.
But the day Lando Norris was capable of ignoring Oscar Piastri was still to come. So, of course, he opened the door.
☆☆☆
Oh, yes he knew all about how he should not have followed Lando. And, in Oscar’s defense - and he was really focusing on that part - he hadn’t followed him straight up. They were just in the same hotel. Oscar had been more than ready to respect Norris’s wishes to be alone, because that was what good teammates did and they were hardly friends.
Until he started pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the look on Lando's face forever stuck in his head. All Piastri could think about was Brazil the previous year and how much it had gutted him hearing Norris discuss it afterwards, knowing he had been in the room beside his, asleep, while Lando tossed and turned and threw himself apart until there was nothing left.
And, suddenly, he couldn't hold back anymore. If Lando hadn’t changed his mind, then he would have kicked Oscar out, and he would have gone. He promised himself that he would go. But in the off chance that Lando had decided he wanted someone there by his side, Oscar had to try it.
At first, he had thought Lando was ignoring him, which, in itself, was something so un-Lando-like that it annoyed him. But then, Oscar had a flash of him, sitting alone, with his headphones on. He just needed to be a little bit louder.
Grimacing, thinking about how much Brown would kill him if he ended up on the front page of a random gossip magazine, smashing down his teammate’s door, Oscar kept going. For someone as quiet as he was, he was entitled to some gossip before his team principal decided to kick him out. Not that Andrea would be particularly proud either, but Piastri had bigger things to occupy his mind with. Namely, his teammate.
He breathed in pure relief when Lando finally opened the door. It did not, however, last long. Norris's face was tainted with so much regret and pain that it would have cut anyone’s heart open.
‘Please, don’t kick me out,’ Oscar breathed out, sounding exactly like the plea he had meant. He was still trying to convince himself to stick to his words.
‘I can’t kick you out of the hallway,’ Lando muttered, forcing a humour-filled smile upon his face. Oscar’s heart froze.
‘Don’t do that,’ he whispered, reaching forward to smooth out the smile with his slow fingers before he could give himself time to think it over.
Lando breathed out a surprised gasp and Piastri pocketed it, like he did with every single one of his reactions, trying to put them in the right order, hoping then he would be able to create a story he would enjoy. Like Oscar could somehow rearrange Lando’s feelings to match his own. It was silly; he did it anyway.
‘What?’ Lando asked so quietly that Oscar would have missed it if he wasn’t staring straight at his lips. It was the wake-up call he had needed, driving his eyes back up to meet Lando’s.
‘Smile like that. Don’t do that. Not for me,’ because he could understand the urge to do it for the press, to avoid unnecessary headlines as much as possible, they had both been media-trained, but there was no media. It was only the two of them.
There were so many reasons why his demand was foolish. An unending amount of them. And Oscar had done it anyway, because he was always tripping towards the edge when it came to Lando, desperate not to fall, dreaming of a situation where he could enjoy the trip down.
It was a story that had already been written for them. It would end badly. It couldn't even begin. There was no such thing as dating your teammate, not in a sport such as Formula One. It didn’t stop him from dreaming and wishing, though. Piastri had never been a fan of falling stars, but then he had met Norris and gotten a handful of things to ask for.
Now, he was unsure he would ever be satisfied. There would never be a point where he had gotten enough of Lando, he would always greedily want more. More and more and more and more until they breached every single contract they had ever signed.
Though Oscar wanted the real Lando. The one he had slowly got to know over the years, not the picture-perfect smile he reserved for the snapping cameras. Oscar had no use for that shit. None at all.
‘It’s just a smile, Osc. Aren’t you happy to see me happy?’
He wanted to laugh nearly as much as he wanted to cry.
Instead of pointing out the clear as fuck bullshit, Oscar cleared his throat and pointed to the room with his chin, ‘Can I come in?’
Lando seemed to turn the request over for a while before silently nodding and stepping away, a parallel with their earlier encounter Piastri couldn't help but make.
‘Did you shower?’ He asked when his eyes fell to the discarded towel on the floor. Lando closed the door noisily and spun around to meet his concerned gaze.
‘Nope. Didn't have time with you smashing down my door, did I?’ Oscar was about to reply when the untouched food came into view. His eyes flew back to Lando’s. ‘I ate something else,’ he quickly said, but Oscar knew that lie already.
‘Lando,’ and it was only that, only his name, a quiet request to be let in.
Norris swallowed thickly. ‘You wouldn’t want to eat, either.’
There were all sorts of names for the moment a puzzle fell into place. Oscar came up with a name for them all. It was a current occurrence in his life, that split second when something that should be obvious had been completely missed by him, and it finally slapped him across the face. It had never felt like that, though, not ever. Because, for the first time since Lando’s car had spat smoke up into the afternoon, Oscar understood that Norris blamed himself. A car failure and Lando thought it was his own fault.
‘Lando–’ But he was pressed both palms against Oscar’s mouth before he could finish, shaking his head vehemently.
‘No.’
Just that. Just no. Just no, I don’t believe whatever you’re about to say. Just no and Oscar was falling apart right beside him. So fucking be it. They could be a mess together, then.
When Lando’s hands dropped off his face, they left a permanent burning feeling behind, like it always happened whenever they touched. Oscar had tried to convince himself he was used to it, but every single time it happened, it took him at least a couple of seconds to reorganize his thoughts - and every driver knew two seconds was an entire world. In two mere seconds so much could happen - did happen! Lando’s car had stopped working, Oscar’s heart had broken alongside his teammate’s and he had fallen even more deeply in love. It took a hell of a lot of courage to be doing what they did, and even more so to walk out of a situation like that and find it upon yourself the blame.
Oscar could count in his hand the number of drivers who would do the same. A DNF like that brought anger not sadness. And still, there was Lando, always crucifying himself, always believing he could do better. Piastri could not take it.
‘I think you should eat. And take that shower. I’ll wait here.’
Lando’s face showed how little he wanted to do either, but Oscar truly did not give one single fuck. Norris had let him into the room and he would have to physically put him out if he didn’t want him there anymore.
‘Perhaps later.’
‘Not later. Now, Lando.’ Norris opened his mouth. Closed it. Pressed his palms against his eyes, and it took Oscar a second to notice his breath getting shorter. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, there he went, making him fucking cry!
‘I don’t want to be alone.’
Oscar felt himself biting the insides of his cheeks not to react. Because, oh God, was that what this was?
‘It’s alright. I’ll sit by the door. You can shower, Lando,’ and he tried to smile. It came out so sad, he was surprised Norris hadn’t laughed at the stupid attempt.
‘I don’t want to think anymore, Osc, and when I–I can’t think anymore.’
Oscar had the intense urge to give everything up. Every single thing that did not matter, because nothing else had ever mattered so much as saying the right thing. As standing close but not too close just close enough.
It was a goddamned catch-22; there was no way out.
Lando did not want to think and Oscar could not form one single coherent sentence to make it better. Quite the pair, they were.
He sighed. ‘Alright. Alright, Lando, it’s okay,’ and he should have done it better because Norris spun on his heels and walked away.
☆☆☆
There was something slightly rewarding in the way Oscar’s eyes snagged on his back muscles as he got rid of his shirt. He couldn't even see it, but he felt it well enough, his skin burning right where Oscar’s eyes traveled.
It made him feel the slightest bit better, even more so when he heard the Aussie clearing his throat and turned around to see the bright pink brush across his face. Sweet Oscar.
The thought of standing alone in that cold, unknown bathroom made him want to throw himself into his arms. But Piastri was right, he needed a goddamned shower, if only to wash away the sweat and the desperation off his skin.
He didn’t have to ask for Oscar to sit by the door, to be there while hot water showered down on him. Because he never had to ask anything of Piastri, the younger driver merely knew exactly what to do, what to say, how to be. How Lando was.
Like no one ever had before.
And so he showered and Oscar talked, even when Lando was sure he heard the catch on his breath, even when he knew Oscar physically hated speaking when he had nothing to say, and yet he did, all throughout Lando’s shower he talked of anything and everything, calling out his name whenever he felt like Lando was slipping back into his own mind.
His hair was dripping water onto the floor when Oscar’s hand touched his back. It should have startled him, Piastri’s fingers were freezing, although it only flared something he had no right feeling right then. He buried it deep inside with everything else he was hiding.
‘Lando?’
He hummed and smiled weakly. He couldn't explain to Oscar that, that once, when his mind had called him back, it had been to dissect how pretty his teammate looked, how perfect. So he simply nodded, hoping it would be enough.
Lando pretended not to notice when Osc pulled his hand back.
Once they were safely back in his room and he was wearing more clothes - though safely would imply his eyes hadn't flown immediately to his bed, as he forced himself to step back from Piastri, creating much needed distance between the two, even though he refused quite openly to put on a shirt because flirting with danger was fun and Piastri followed him around with his eyes and it was the least he had thought about the car failure since it had happened- Oscar gaze kept shifting back to the food. Not subtle at all.
Lando groaned.
‘It’s cold now.’
But Oscar smiled, as if he already knew what Lando was about to say, ‘I’ll order something else. For both of us. I didn't eat either.’ And check-fucking-mate. Piastri knew Lando wouldn't allow him to leave until he, too, had eaten, and Oscar had no intention of putting one single spoonful of food in his mouth if Lando didn’t do it too.
Motherfucker.
He had been played, and yet the grimace on his face was nothing but fake. Oscar kept his distance just as Lando had hoped he would, even when it hardly made him feel better.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ It was such a simple question, yet it demanded the most complicated answer. Because Lando did not want to talk about any of it at all ever. And still, something inside his body shook with the need to let all the words out and allow Oscar to glue him back together carefully, like he cared for the outcome.
‘There’s little to talk about, Piastri,’ he hated the flinch Oscar did when he heard his last name; it was too late to take it back. ‘You’ve basically won it now.’
‘What do you mean?’ It was the honestly puzzled expression that made him stop. Because there was no way Oscar wasn’t thinking it too; the championship had probably been decided right when he had fucked u– when the car had stopped.
‘The championship. Congrats, Os,’ it sounded bitter and Lando despised himself for it. He had hoped that, if it came to that, he would be able to congratulate Oscar honestly for the title, and yet there was no denying the badly contained bitterness of his tone, the sharp edges of it.
He hadn't even realised Oscar had gotten so close until he spoke, scoffing, ‘The championship is not over, Lando. Stop this. You know that.’
But Lando didn't know. His gaze flicked down at Piastri’s pretty lips for half a second. And if the fight was over, then it surely would be no harm in– No. No, he wouldn't go there. He didn't get to have someone like Oscar when he kept making those mistakes. If Oscar ever decided to have someone by his side, it would be someone who won, and not someone who broke apart at every single mistake as he did.
‘Let’s agree to disagree…’ and if he had anything else to say, it got lost the second Oscar pushed him. Oscar Piastri pushed him.
‘Stop with this shit, Norris. You’re better than that. I have no trophy, they didn’t name me shit, because it’s not over,’ and quieter, a lost whisper, ‘It’s not over yet.’
It made no sense at all. Shouldn't Oscar want that? Shouldn't he leave Lando alone to skip hours of sleep and meals and tangle himself in the mess he had made until there was nothing left? If there was someone who should take advantage of it, it was him. Not try and fix it. Not get him food and stand by as he showered.
He couldn’t understand Piastri. He fucking couldn’t.
‘What’s wrong with you, Piastri?’ He flinched at his own words.
‘You! How can you even say these things, Lando? What, like it was your fault?’
He shrugged, ‘Or maybe like I deserved it.’
That shut him up rather quickly.
‘Lando. That’s not true.’ He shrugged once more, thankful when their food arrived, using the seconds of Oscar thanking someone to pull himself together. This wasn’t a pity party, and Oscar shouldn't have to be there with him.
They ate in silence, and Lando tried to pretend he didn’t notice how closely Oscar was watching him. Once they were done, he lay down, ignoring him altogether. Perhaps he would leave. Perhaps he would finally give up.
He couldn't help wishing he wouldn't though, one more thing that was wrong with him.
‘What can I do, Lando?’
It was a question nearly as much as it was a whisper.
He shrugged, unsure. There was no making it better. ‘I just don’t want to think anymore,’ he laughed, there was no amusement in it, and he felt rather than saw Oscar flinching at the sound, ‘How do you do it, anyway? Stoic Oscar, always brushing things off.’
‘I don’t know, Lando.’
He scoffed. Of course, he didn't. He didn't even know why he had asked in the first place. He sat up and stared at Oscar. He stared right back.
‘Pity. I was hoping you could teach me your ways.’ He had meant it as a joke, yet it came out as the cold truth that it was. He pressed his eyes closed, not wishing to see anything on Oscar’s face. On top of everything, he managed to embarrass himself in front of the man he couldn't stop thinking about. Fucking great.
It was Oscar’s soft fingers touching his cheeks that made his eyes snap open once more. They were sitting so close, he could feel Oscar’s deep breathing on his face; it was addictive.
‘What do you want, Lando?’
What he wanted, he couldn’t quite have it, could he?
‘To forget this. I– Shit, Oscar, I can’t do Brazil again. Not again. And I feel it coming, I swear, I feel it and I don’t know how to fucking stop because it was my fault and I keep hearing it and seeing it in my mind and I don’t–’ know how to stop was going to be the end of the sentence, until Oscar decided to stop it for him by pressing their lips together.
And Lando was done for.
☆☆☆
Oscar wouldn’t lie, he had imagined himself kissing Lando so many times he had lost count. And yet, in none of those scenarios had it even crossed his mind that Norris would be crying. Oscar wished to take it back the second he did it; it had been a knee-jerk reaction to seeing the tears spilling over and the catch in his breath as the words spilled out. He wanted it to stop and Oscar had stopped it for him.
Though when a second later Lando still hadn’t reacted, Oscar considered running off. He started pulling back, getting all his apologies ready, when Lando’s hand dipped into his hair and brought him close again.
And that was a kiss. Slow but firm, like they were both fighting against their instincts; Oscar afraid of making a mistake when Lando needed the least and Norris worried he would let himself go and dig the hole even deeper.
But the thing about falling quietly in love was that it couldn’t stay quiet forever. At some point, it would boil over and they would both get burned. Though Oscar guessed he did not mind it in the least, even less so when Norris pushed him back onto the bed. Far off, he heard the shatter of their plates onto the floor and the clinging sound of the cutlery meeting the floor right after, though with the way Lando was kissing him, Oscar believed it was asking too much for him to care.
Lando was addictive, the way he kissed like he had all the intention in the world of unmaking Oscar, tearing him apart. Perhaps that would be how it all ended, and he still couldn’t muster one single drop of worry.
Oscar felt the way Lando shook against him and it brought everything rushing back. He was as careful as he could, putting some distance between them, although Lando was still fisting his shirt desperately.
‘I don’t think we should be doing this,’ he forced himself to admit. Not when Lando was falling apart. Not when he would reach out for anyone who offered. Not when it meant everything to Oscar.
‘Let’s do it anyway,’ Lando asked, already arching his back so his body tangled itself with Oscar’s. They rolled around until he was the one staring down at those pretty eyes, his heart slamming in his chest, begging him to just enjoy the moment. But he couldn't. Not when Lando was like that.
‘Lando,’ he said firmly, ‘You’re upset. This is not how– I shouldn't have kissed you. I’m sorry. I was out of line and you’re upset,’ he kept repeating in a feeble attempt to convince himself how bad the whole thing was, though his body was not getting the memo. He was about to go on when Lando started kissing his neck.
His arms gave out, and he nearly fell face-first onto Lando, managing to hold himself up in the last possible second. Lando laughed against him and Oscar shivered. How was that fair? How was he supposed to put a stop to this when it was everything he had ever hoped for?
‘Lando,’ he groaned, a warning he had no idea what meant. ‘This is reckless.’
‘It’s not,’ he protested, grimacing when Oscar got a hold of his chin and tilted it up so they were looking at each other. It was hard to breathe; Norris was too pretty. ‘Alright. But if it makes you feel better, I’ve been thinking of kissing you for a couple of years now, so.’
And Oscar might as well have died.
‘You can’t say shit like that,’ he whispered, not waiting for a reply before kissing him.
Lando did not lose one single second, reaching under Oscar’s shirt to drag his nails through his chest, swallowing his whimpers hungrily. Oscar pulled at Norris’s curls in warning, earning himself a moan, Lando spinning them around to press their bodies together.
Everything about that was a bad idea. But it was Lando and Oscar could never find it in himself to regret it. To regret him. The more they kissed, the more desperate Lando seemed to become, pulling and scratching at Oscar, pulling his shirt up until Piastri found himself chuckling.
‘Tell me “no” then,’ Lando challenged.
Oscar smiled. Yeah, as if. ‘You know I won’t.’
Lando shrugged, no need for words. Of course, he knew it, and if Oscar’s starry eyes didn’t make it clear, the way he was kissing him would have.
The thing about Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris was that they would crash and burn a million times still, side by side, against each other, but mostly for each other. Lando would break, and Oscar would lose, and if, at the end of the day, they had the other, Oscar wouldn’t care about anything else.
‘Promise you’ll tell me if you need help, Lando,’ he begged. Because it was important. Because he wanted the chance to be there.
‘Why? You’ll come running, Osc?’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah. I will.’
That time, when Lando smiled, it wasn’t his usual smile, though it wasn't the media-approved one either. No, it was the one he saved only for Oscar.
For the first time ever, Oscar did not need to rearrange anything, things fell into their places rather perfectly, and he held Lando until he fell asleep, until his heartbeats calmed down, until things morphed and changed. Oscar Piastri did not let go.