Chapter Text
"Red Bull, really? Off all teams?"
Oscar shruggs. Calm as always. It makes Lando's insides twist with a feral need to force an emotion on this face. Be it anger, pain, mostly a smile. Not today. Oh, today, it's pain. Anger, if he can.
"Let's be realistic, it was you or me."
That it was. Lando hates how it makes sense. Every year, he's the center of the same rumor. Every year, he wonders how it would be. What he could be. Better, faster, world champion. Or the world could be confronted with the truth: he's overrated.
"I thought we had something here!"
His voice gets whiny, every emotion is blatantly painted across his face and heard in his voice. It is like, when crossed, he goes back to his pre-puberty self. A child. He always had hated how easily he's readable, he hates it even more now, the contrast with Oscar plainly obvious. He's the immature one, always had. Before he was fun, a little spicy, now it's evident that he's just unregulated.
"You love the team."
He says, unsure if it's a question or a statement.
"I'm a racer."
It's true. Can't deny that there is two things true in Formula 1: the need to win and the need to win in Rosso Corsa. Fucking hell. And Oscar's a lot of things but he's not ambitionless, he's not letting his doubts settle him back. He's probably not doubting either. As he should be, he's quick, smart, has talent.
"The car is better than ever."
Not than ever. But it is getting better. Except that Oscar doesn't want to fight Ferraris or Mercs or whatever they call Alpha Tauri now. He wants to be a championship contender. He wants to inscribe his name alongside the greatest.
"I... listen, Lando, I don't know what you want me to say. I want to win, I can't stay here forever."
Oscar has a knack for clever thoughts. He's a smart one, this lad, a thinker. Meanwhile Lando's guided by his stupid instincts. Once, Oscar said that Lando was bright too, just more scared to let it show. Scared that if he looks smart once, people will expect something from him, giving him the opportunity to fail.
When Oscar was a rookie, people said he was too careful, not daring enough, not aggressive enough. He brought the car home, in one piece, yes, but he yielded too easily. Truth is that he's the daring one. Lando's just all over the place. Be it stroke of genius or mistakes, Lando's just acting on whatever goes in his head, unfiltered.
But Oscar doesn't agree. Says that Lando's just too self depreciative. The medias says otherwise. He's cocky, full of himself. Has just two wins under his belt. "The overhyped rookie of 2019, surpassed by his junior?" the headlines read. He agrees with them. Of course.
Oscar said that Lando was good, better than him, as good as Max, and that is quite a praise. Oscar said that Lando was just clowning around, afraid to show the truth beneath: a ruthless, talented, opinionated driver. Oscar was not holding back the praises, he says he gives what is due, straight to the point.
The last time he said it was just now, just before Lando's face had twisted in a grimace, spilling the beans. "Red Bull, really, of all teams?" he said. His face does that, it contorts in a downward grin, and his eyes get all bleaky with unshed tears. Sometimes he cocks his head, his gaze boring a hole into Oscar's.
Oscar Piastri to Red Bull Racing in 2025.
Lando was antsy, earlier. Oscar was trying to get him to settle down. Trying, being the key word. What was he anxious about anyway? Can't remember now, can he? The screen had lightened up with a notification and Lando's just a gen Z, it's a pavlovian response.
Oscar Piastri to Red Bull Racing in 2025.
Oscar was telling him that he was just as good as the rest, if not better, that he needed to be nicer to himself, that he had proven himself countless times. But Lando had glimpsed at the screen.
And while he was dead set on being the one that was hurt the most, Oscar face had just crumbled. Before going back to his stoic self. Fucking prick.
"Why do you look like a kicked puppy, huh? You're the one with the big boy's car."
Oscar meets his eyes. Lando thinks he sees hurt but he's not sure he knows the aussie this well, all things considered. It's just a tiny flicker, always had been with Oscar's negative moods. He's easily falling into Lando's antics, once you get him, having him to laugh is not hard. But he's not the kind of person that lets you get under his skin, and he doesn't show.
"I think you don't want to talk to me right now."
The voice of wisdom, Lando thinks bitterly. But maybe it goes past his lips because Oscar's hands are flexing, veins popping. He wants to kiss them, kiss it better. He wants to go back and never get closer to Oscar, but he knows he can't. He's drawn to the aussie.
"I admire you, as a driver, and your loyalty to the team. But, the world does not know me as a loyal guy, remember?"
Fuck Alpine. They probably eat frogs for lunch anyway.
"But sometimes, you are an asshole. What did you want me to do? Play second best to you here forever? Be the wittness to all the fucking self inflicted flogging you give yourself? I can't, Lando. I just can't.
- You wouldn't be second best for long, huh? Already better than me, won before me, as a rookie, remember?"
Oscar can't say much. Twas a sprint, sure, still it was P1. Then he got another win and Lando refuses to acknowledge it, but he's afraid another one will come.
"So you go to play second best to Max Verstappen, how is that better?"
Usually, Lando's the firecracker one. And, sure, Oscar is presently not jumping around or breaking stuff OR crying like Lando could. But there's something behind those brown eyes that warns Lando to back a little off.
Or should have warned Lando, had he been a little less angry.
"Because I can't race you when I see you all the time, I can't race you in good faith when I know how much you will kick yourself for each tenth of a second lost. As soon as I'm out of the car, your face is in the garage and you look devastated half the time!
- Big words, devastated? What a smart lad."
Oscar does that weird pacing, when he just takes one big step toward a random direction, and seems to be stopped halfway. He then just froze on the spot.
"There is no team order not to race each other.
- No, but it's not the problem. The problem is that I see you all the time. All the time. The car's shit half of the season, sure it gets better, but it's not the car, is it? It's the fact that you can never forgive yourself, never. And it's worse if I'm the one in front. I hate it, hate the guilt."
There is less venom, and more of something else that goes way past Lando, who got lost at the first part.
"You don't want to see me? That was not the car, you are right! Fuck, it was me?!"
Oscar, to his merit, looks absolutely shocked.
"What?"
Sensible question.
"You can't fucking stand me! And here I was, gloating that we had the best relationship, that we were the strongest pairing!"
His voice is shrill. The tears are no longer unshed. It's pathetic. It hurts like a bitch, it doesn't hurt like Carlos leaving, like staying behind Daniel. It hurts like personal loss.
"No, Lando, no. That... You refused to leave, no matter how shit the car was, every season was the same circus. The car is shit, then better, yet every race you think that you are the sole problem. I... wanted you to take Horner's offer. I wanted you to get an out. To have a chance to see for yourself that you have what it takes.
- I don't get it.
- I know! Because you refused the offer, I think you will never leave McLaren. But I can't. I've got too much affection for you to stay and see you race after race destroy yourself. Oh, I'm no saint."
He says, and he smiles. A tiny, sad smile. An olive branch. It makes Lando queasy. In this field, there is brotherly affection, rivalry and friendship, there is sometimes love and hate too, it coexists easily in the paddock. But Lando harbours something else for Oscar, will be hidden inside himself, a little secret he wears in his heart. A little secret that lights up, dreams to be free in the world, that perks up at Oscar's words. Imbecile hope.
A sentiment that has no place in a team. Worst of all, no place in the grid when you drive for the rival team.
Lando falls backward, finding a chair behind him, just when Oscar tries to reach out and grab him, save him from the fall. He looks like Rose trying to get Jack back at the surface.
"I don't get it. You care for me because I'm sad, so you just... abandon me?
- It'll be easier that way.
- For who?
- You're being cruel."
The switch goes off. Oscar's hurt, and it is unacceptable. Lando would rather see him go to Red Bull than be sad. Lando would rather feign happiness rather than what he sees. What he thought he wanted to see.
"Are you leaving because you don't want to see me sad?"
Oscar stays mute.
"Oscar, are you leaving because you don't want to see me mop around?
- That is worse than moping, you are always anxious, Lan...
- Why did you not say it?! I'm not sad! Shit, I am, but I... I am not sad because of you.
- Doesn't change the fact that I see you crumble almost every week or so.
- I'm better with you."
There's defeat in both their shoulders. They are low, slumped. Oscar is searching his words, he acts like a carp, opens then closes his mouth, producing at best silence, at worst little sounds that makes him blush more and more.
"Do you... I'm not just not... fond of seeing you sad?
- Yeah, the car, gotchu."
Lando says dryly, but his heart his trumping, might there be something else? He refuses to think about it, but he's not great at not letting his mind run.
"I like you. It kinda makes me not super happy to see you sad. And since I can't find a solution, I'm just... fleeing."
He shrugs, but Lando has left the chat some words ago. He goes offline for quite a time, because Oscar's gone full white, fidgeting. There's some emotion, good, gooood.
"I shouldn't have said it, I didn't want to make it awkward. It just... I don't want to be the bad guy. Guess I am anyway.
- Am I getting it wrong?
- What?
- You like me, like me?"
OScar's brows wiggle. He groans.
"I like you as in "if I say it out loud, I'll be in trouble". Got it?"
Lando passionately nods, splashing parts of his brain around his skull.
"Yep, yep."
He grins. Oscar looks more and more bewildered, not following nor liking Lando's antics.
"You like me as "you know I like you too?" and kinda "okay that was a dumb decision and I'm still hurt, but you could have told me first and that would have led to a better idea", right?
- I don't follow.
- Oh, you do, you're the smart one."
Lando jumps on his feet, marches toward Oscar, way too happy considering there's still tears on his face. Oscar backs up.
"Did I get the wrong idea?"
Lando's sure he did not, he's smart with people. He understands confessions, even half admitted. Now, he feels a little stupid because he saw the looks Oscar gave him, him only, but part of him couldn't understand why would Oscar "like" him. Now he sees the effect he has on his younger teammate. He sees that he's not retreating with disgust or discomfort. He's bright red, trying not to look at Lando's fully on giving a seductive look.
"Did I, Oscar Piastri?"
And he's in Oscar's space, who puts his hands on Lando's chest, not pushing, just trying to find an escape. Not wanting to escape.
"Maybe I did, Lando, are you joking or f..."
He stumbles on his words.
"Oh, I am so flirting, Oscar."
He enjoys himself, teasing Oscar always had been is little treat, but this blush? This stutter? This warmth radiating from Oscar's hand? Oh, blimey, what a treasure.
"I so fucking love you."
Oscar's head falls on his shoulder, it makes Lando laugh. He feels so light, so light. He kisses Oscar's hair, grinning when he feels his arms embracing his waist. He does the same around Oscar's shoulders, petting his head with his left hand.
"I'm still leaving."
Lando freezes, Oscar tightens his hold. Lando whimpers, Oscar mumbles an apology.
"I can't see you hurt, I...
- So, you won't see me? Won't da..."
He can't finish, there's a lump in his throat that strangles him. Fuck, he's into breathplay, but this one's not consensual. Shit.
"You'd want to?"
Oscar pushes him at arms' length, his hands on Lando's biceps. His gaze questioning.
"Mate, I'm obsessed with you."
Lando's head drops, ashamed.
"I'd go home to you and be sad, so it doesn't change shit, right?"
Back at step one. Oscar leaving Lando. It's worse, maybe, cause there could have been something.
"Home?"
Lando scoffs. That's so embarrassing. Home?
"Would it help you?
- It did, yeah. Kind of. Before you left me.
- I'm not gone yet.
- You'd be.
- Would it help to have me? Home?"
Lando's voice breaks, it's like a gurgle.
"You could kick me in the shin and it would help, as long as you're here.
- I wouldn't kick you in the shin."
Not the point.
"But I want to be here.
- And you won't say "thong" to talk about your shoes?
- No."
Oscar says, flatly. There they go, easy banter. Just what makes him fall head over heels.
"You'd wear one for me?
- Oh wow."
Lando giggles, proud.
"Maybe."
Lando chokes.
"I think we're doing it in the wrong order.
- What?
- Shouldn't we... kiss first?"
Lando's face is a wide, big cheshire shit-eating smile. Oscar is trying to match a Ferrari's livery.
"Oh yeah, kinda forgot.
- ... kinda forgot...
- Come here, ya goof."
He tries with a horrible Aussie's accent, before cupping Oscar's face and kisses him badly, because it's hard to kiss, smile and giggle at the same time. When he gives up, Oscar's eyes are so fond, so soft, that it calms him down instantly, giving the younger man the opportunity to give him a proper kiss.
"You make everything better."
Chapter 2
Summary:
I lied, there's another chapter!
Chapter Text
1. Blue
Oscar looks good in blue, sue him. Red Bull has a way to create a fireproof suit that looks just like “Villain era [insert name of the driver]”. And somehow, Oscar doesn’t look like a puppy or a koala, he looks proper villain era. It makes Lando feels all fuzzy and something toes curling. In a good way.
In a good, horny way. He’s young, ‘kay?
When Oscar comes back home, after who knows what meeting, Lando’s thirsting, sloped in the couch, phone up his head. He flinches, the device falls on his head. Square in the nose. He yelps.
“What’s happening?”
Nothing, Lando wants to say, but Oscar is already looking at the screen. He looks really cocky, a single brow raised.
“Was curious.
- Mh, curious, yes.”
Oscar hums noncommittally.
2. Red
He sends that to Alex, and is surprised to receive an answer from Oscar’s phone.
Lando double checks, his message sits just after a silly meme he sent to Oscar. Shit, fuck, damn, ananas. And what's up with that weird ass typed in emoji?
When Oscar comes home, he apologizes that he couldn’t steal the suit, but he’s still wearing the team’s polo, which is not the suit, but close to it, blue and with a high neck. Lando doesn’t think twice, embarrassment can suck a nuke, he jumps on Oscar.
3. Beige
It’s hot in Bahrain. It’s hot in Lando’s suit and it has little to nothing to do with the heat of the car.
He’s sitting in P3, with Max and Oscar on the other parking spots. And Oscar is getting rid of his helmet and balaclava, sweating like never. He’s sure he’s gonna self-combust. But he’s also feeling naughty.
When Oscar goes to the interview just after Lando, the brits manoeuvrers just in order to be on Oscar’s line of sight. Oscar sees his mischievous face, tries to warn him off, not knowing what was about to happen, still knowing Lando enough to think it’s going to be stupid.
Lando dunks a whole bottle on himself, making a show to let the water slide on his face, poking a tongue out to lick it. His gaze is hot, looking at Oscar, not hiding what he feels, and want. Oscar’s eyes zeroes on Lando’s damp skin, he stutters, reddens, and suddenly he’s unable to continue the interview. What he says, neither catch, but it’s full of nonsenses. And Max is crackling, direct witness of the circus.
Max empties a whole sparkling bottle on Lando’s head on the podium.
“To cool your head.”
He finds it hilarious, the mad man. Lando stays dumbfouned, until he gets a better idea. He sprays Oscar, drench him in rose water while Oscar fails to make his do something rather than just… doing little white bubbles that falls miserably.
“There you go, all wet and hot. I’ll lick it off of you tonight.”
Lando adds, Max strangles himself with a laugh, Oscar falls over. Literally.
4. Orange
They collide and Lando’s tire gets punctured. He swears. The race is ruined, for him at least. Oscar goes up to 4th.
He goes to the hotel room, pacing, not knowing how to handle this.
Oscar kisses it better.
5. Grey
“Is that Oscar’s car?”
The radio stays silent, he gets antsy.
“Yes, it is Lando. Improve your last sector.”
Lando wants to crash and find Oscar. He pushes the throttle. He put the car on pole.
He finds Oscar in his driver’s room, smiling.
“I’m fine, just a little disappointed.”
Lando climbs on Oscar, ignoring when he winces. The aussie guides him toward the sofa. Lando’s face finds a way into Oscar’s neck, he feels him sniff his skin, which might smell gross, but Lando’s a weird one. It makes Oscar giggle.
“I like you, weirdo.”
Lando bites him. Oscar gets to have his head petted that night. Next day he drives and puts his car in P2, next to Lando’s P1. On the podium, Lando tells him that he could have stayed, this is McLaren’s year.
6. White
Lando adds a very suggestive thirst trap of Oscar’s ice bath to his message.
It makes Lando’s equally fuzzy and very, very awkward.
This time it’s Max. Lando’s an imbecile.
7. And a huge rainbow
It’s not something to say in the media pen, but Lando just overheard Oscar say: “oh, no, I don’t feel threatened by Lando, he’s ahead of me now, and it’ll be difficult to close the gap. He’s a very good driver, amongst the best, and the car is completely different from the McLaren, so I need a little adjustment. I will give my best, Lando is still a rival, but I will cheer for every podium and victories he gets, he’s such a good person that it makes it hard not to feel happy for him.”
So, he comes to Oscar, and whispers: “Let’s get married.”
Lando’s past the mortification point, he doesn’t get embarrassed by his outbursts, it’s too fun to see Oscar panicked state anyway. If Lando got past the awkward stage, Oscar is still two feet deep in it, he stutters, he blushes, he loses his composure. Sure, he’s better at regaining it, which Lando finds a bit sad, but he still spills the water he just ingested, looking at Lando as if another head had grown.
Well, Oscar would like that, it would mean a little more brain space in Lando. Can’t say it would be unneeded.
The Aussie looks around, trying to avoid Lando’s proud gaze, ruffling his metaphorical peacock feathers. It’s hard, since Lando is desperately jumping around to put his face right in front of Oscar’s eyes.
“I think you are doing it in the wrong order, again.
- You want a pash first? In front of the media? Oh, Oscar!”
Lando mocks him, and Oscar really wants to strangle him. Not really. He loves it a bit too much when Lando’s playing him so easily.
“You’ll get your pash if you behave like an adult.” He ignores Lando’s screech. “Shouldn’t we move in together before?”
Lando grins, which is always a bad sign, takes Oscar’s upper arms in his hands and properly shakes him like a tree. He’s crackling like a maniac.
“Oscar regrets leaving me!”
He yells, then flee, leaving Oscar absolutely flabbergasted, his PR agent fuming and Oscar’s agent in a state of panic he had never seen. Truth is, Lando’s staff is used to PR nightmare, but Oscar’s? Not so much. The journalists are pointing various devices at him. Questions and enquiries fly past him. Sideration is a very potent emotion.
“Well done, mate, you’ll get an earful from Christian.”
Max says, very merrily, clapsing his shoulder.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Oscar says flatly, but beside the medias, there is no one to hear him.