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They were waiting in their shared dressing room for their turn. Oscar was sat on the couch, watching Lando pace around the room, touching everything, clearly too bored to sit still. Oscar just watches and reacts to whatever Lando says as he loves speaking out loud when it’s just the both of them together.
“Osc, d’you reckon we would be stuck here any longer? I’m getting bored,” Lando asks from across the room, toying with his curls in the mirror.
They're meant to go up on stage, but their scheduled appearance wouldn't be in another hour. Lando has apparently now found some sponsored hair products by the dressing table fascinating and is jabbing his fingers into everything he could get his hands on.
“I could tell,” Oscar replied his teammate with a smirk, locking eyes through the mirror, earning him an eye roll from the Brit.
“Look, Osc, this one smells so good,” Lando says as he gets up and walks across the room with a tub of hair gel in his hands.
He stops right in front of Oscar and takes a seat on the coffee table in front, knees carelessly bumping into the younger who instinctively extends his hands out, just in case, and just about shoves the opened tub of hair gel into his face.
“Let me style your hair. It’s getting longer now, it could do with some gel.” Lando already has his fingers dipped into the tub to scoop some gel out into his hands.
“Mm, this does smell good. But no, Lando, I don't like my hair to be messed with, you know that,” Oscar says as he pushes the tub away and tries to pry Lando’s hands off the tub, in which he fails to do so because Lando has successfully gotten a tiny bit of product and is now attempting to put it on his hair.
“Just a little bit on the sides, I think you’ll look good and all the attention will be on you,” Lando grins, leaning forward with both hands on either sides of Oscar’s head, smoothening out the sides of his hair.
Oscar attempts to duck away, hands tightly gripping his teammate's wrists, “wha- no, Lan! I’m perfectly fine with you having all the attention,” he struggles.
They’ve come to a playful banter, mainly because Oscar is starting to feel ticklish and Lando is finding it amusing. Both are grinning at each other, not realising how Lando has his kneecaps leaning against the couch and nestled in between his teammates’ knees because he adamantly keeps trying to style his teammates’ hair into something more decent for a stage appearance.
“Fine, I think it looks a bit better now anyway,” Lando exclaims smugly and sits his ass back down on the coffee table, wrists still caged in Oscar's grip because Oscar knows very well the shenanigans his teammate gets up to if he lets his guard down for even a second.
“You won’t let anyone touch your hair but-” Lando’s smiling eyes dropped lower “-but would you let me kiss you?”
Oscar froze and felt his cheeks and ears immediately flush pink.
Oh.
He didn't expect to hear that, or like hearing that. And from Lando Norris, his fucking teammate, of all people.
“Would you?” Lando asks again, biting his lower lip as hazy eyes jump to and from the younger’s eyes and lips.
After a moment of his brain possibly short-circuiting to process the information he had just heard, Oscar’s composure falters as he allows his eyes to drift down to those plump lips and back up. He’s not a stranger to checking his teammate’s features out, but he usually does it sneakily, not openly; and certainly not when Lando’s paying attention.
And Lando has very kissable lips, he has once thought.
“Oscar, I wanna try something,” Lando mumbles and gets off the table, moving forward to climb on and rest his knees on either side of Oscar’s on the couch, straddling him, hands on his shoulders for balance.
Oscar's hands naturally fly to his waist because what. the. fuck. is happening.
“L-.. Lando, not here. Anyone could just enter,” Oscar pants exasperatedly as he whips his head up, cheeks flushed so red that Lando finds it so endearing. “We’re about to go on stage and the door’s-”
“Please say yes,” Lando interjects impatiently.
“I-..” Oscar takes a beat.
“..Alright, yes,” he exhales. Oscar realises there's no point going against Lando because Lando Norris always gets what he wants and Oscar always gets Lando what he wants.
Oscar momentarily blacks out as he shuts his eyes upon feeling Lando’s plush lips on his, instinctively groaning out loud and sliding his fingers underneath the latter’s shirt to grip onto the warm skin of his teammate, feeling innate heat starting to pool at his lower abdomen.
Lando grins into his mouth as he presses deeper, pleased at Oscar’s instant and very positive feedback. His hands make its way to snake up and around Oscar’s head and into the soft waves of his hair, slightly tugging at them as he finds himself melting into the very thick and delectable thighs of Oscar Piastri; their heavy breaths, teeth, noses, and spit colliding into an obscene symphony of practiced choreography and explicit sound and dear lord, Oscar is such a good kisser, he thinks.
They break away begrudgingly only to catch their laboured breaths, foreheads and noses touching, parted lips connected by a string of shared spit. If Lando isn’t already aroused, he finds himself hardening even more at the sight.
“We should stop,” breathes Oscar, his roaming hands already fully creeping under Lando’s shirt and softly caressing his skin, not fully present and aware of his physical reaction to having Lando actually all over him.
“Do you want to, Osc?” Lando whispers in between pecks of the younger’s lips, pausing for a reply, as Oscar’s instantly inch its way back to find his, yearning for another taste.
“Not really,” Oscar groans as Lando then grinds low into him, feeling all of him down there, and it drives him insane. His hands fly down to grab onto Lando’s ass and he subconsciously humps back up to meet wood to wood.
Restraint be gone, he leans forward to sink his teeth into Lando’s plush lower lip, want turning to need. Lando moans hard, as hard as they both are now in that moment. Both of their needy hands seek purchase, suckling lips not once parting, if only for gasps of air.
Oscar learns he loves his hair being tugged at; it’s euphoric and it sends him into a high. Lando realises this is what was missing from their relationship as teammates, as they are now sharing each other’s warmth with an unholy level of unrestrained touch.
When the time comes for their appearance on stage and the host compliments Oscar on his hair all done up for once, Oscar attributes it to getting “the Lando treatment” because Lando insists he should appear more put together at such an important event. The crowd reacts positively to the papaya teammates’ good relationship.
No one but Oscar knows how Lando has had to re-style his hair after messing it up.
Also, no one but Oscar notices the older's eye contact slightly faltering down; the constant licking of lips at hearing the Aussie just about confess deadpan to the whole auditorium the implicit innuendo of their pre-show preparation.
Oscar has to continuously suppress himself from glancing downwards at his teammate’s large hand gripping onto a dedicated handheld mic, where only he knows was gripping onto something else just a moment ago, as he gulps and nods at whatever the host was sharing to the audience.
This “Lando treatment”, his mind wanders, inadvertently plays a positive effect by minimising his usual stage fright and pre-show jitters, and he catches Lando throwing him a knowing glance; a calloused thumb slowly stroking up the mic with that very same hand.