Part One
what starts as a casual movie night between friends turns into a complicated mix of desire and tension
Part Two
the group goes clubbing, things turn heated
Part Three - MINORS DO NOT READ
basically porn with a little plot - sorry. or not?
if you don't want to read the explicit part, i've added a red line where it starts and ends
Part Four/1
texting, posting, anything to avoid talking
Part Four/2
after things cooled down for a little while, you have to face lando and your feelings once again... this time with consequences.
Part Five
the consequences hit hard
Part Six
sorrows sorrows prayers - heartaches, max comes to his senses and summer break happens
here we go again guys, you know the drill! follows directly on from part 1 because of the silly word count :(
warnings: warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!)
part 2: 6.1k words
8. i have you.
“you never told me why.” lando blurts.
the sun is setting outside, the pair of you sprawled out over your hotel bed. he’d been in your room for a few hours, tangled with you between the linen sheets. it’s thursday in brazil, and he’d made a beeline for your hotel room after media day wrapped up. he couldn’t explain the anxiety he felt, pooling thickly in the pit of his belly, but it subsided as soon as he saw your pretty face, peeking through the crack in your door.
he’d stayed after, a habit that had been developing of late, when you were both at home in monaco, but it was unusual on a race weekend. you’d pulled out your laptop to do some work, and chucked the remote at him, telling him to put something on netflix. he’d just smiled and obliged, more than willing to stay with you.
“told you ‘why’ what?” you look up from your laptop, confused.
“why you haven’t really been with anyone else.” his voice is small, scared he’s overstepping but he figures he’s seen you naked one too many times to get shy.
“oh.”
you stare off into the dim light of the room for a second, collecting your thoughts, reliving it all.
“you don’t need to tell me, sorry if that was weird-“
“no, uh, it’s fine. it’s a bit tragic really, embarrassing.” you start. “there was a guy, a couple of years ago. he was on my course at uni. he was perfect, flowers on my doorstep once a week, romantic dinners overlooking the harbour.” you reminisce, smiling sadly. “we went on a few dates and he was selling it all perfectly, it was like he was telling me everything i wanted to hear. i trusted him, so i slept with him. it was my first time.” your breath hitches. “next thing i know, he’s telling everyone that will listen that he’s best friends with charles leclerc and that he’s fucked an f1 drivers sister. and, you know, monaco is small. charles and arthur beat the shit out of him.” you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are now glossed over with fresh, stinging tears.
lando slides closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm over your shoulder.
“it’s always been hard, you know? people trying to get close to me so that they could get close to charles. all my life, it’s been the same shit. i just wanted someone to want me for me, just once.”
you’re crying now, and lando wants to die for causing it.
“hey, ‘m so sorry, honey. i shouldn’t have asked.” he shushes you, pulling you close. he kisses the top of your head gently, and you snuggle further into him.
“no, it’s okay. wanted you to know. that’s why i like this. us.” it comes out just above a whisper.
“that’s why i like us too.” he murmurs. you look up at him, scanning his face.
“what’s your story? charles said something to me once about a bad breakup.” you ask softly. lando sighs.
“she wanted the lifestyle more than she wanted me.” he shrugs.
“i’m sorry.”
“don’t be. i’m better off.” i have you, he wants to add.
“i like the fact that we can’t hurt eachother that way.” you breathe, voicing the sentiment that you’ve both shared since the very first time you were together.
“i like it too, honey. more than you know.”
-
9. ache.
a weight lifts off of him in vegas.
brazil had been a shit show, one that he wanted to forget. one that left him awake for two days avoiding your calls, until you snapped him out of it by showing up at his place anyway, and giving him the best head of his fucking life. he’d slept like a damn baby after that.
he had a week off, after, which he spent in your bed more than his own, and then he was promptly off to nevada, awaiting your arrival a few days later and fixated on clawing something back after brazil, even if it was just pride.
well, that fixation didn’t amount to much, but at least you were there, somewhere, watching and waiting. charles is a wreck, though, storming away from parc ferme, which means you’ll be with him, instead of with lando. he feels selfish at the way it stings.
he’s exhausted when he leaves the track, dead on his feet in the elevator up to his room. he can’t bring himself to join max or george and celebrate. he’ll make it up to both of them another time. his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, recognising your contact. he doesn’t even fight the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.
packed something special for you. you gonna come find out what?
he’s in love with you. has been for a while.
the attention you pay to him for himl, the way you tease him and laugh with him and let him lose himself in unravelling you. your quick wit, mesmerising eyes, the way you switch languages when he scrambles your brain and you can’t think hard enough to keep speaking english. he’s a goner, and he knows it.
he doesn’t bother replying, just makes a beeline for your room. he’s spent enough time in it already this weekend to make it there without much thought. you’d even left him a keycard, which he retrieves with nimble fingers from his wallet, letting himself into your suite.
he calls your name, rounding the corner and he could die right there, just at the sight of you.
you’re lamplit, knelt on the middle of your bed, wrapped in nothing but intricate, baby pink lace.
“my god.” he pants, jaw dropped. you’re ethereal, gorgeous, a delicate gift wrapped up just for him to open.
“do you like it?” your eyes are wide, daunted.
“what the fuck did i do to deserve you?” he stalks to the end of the bed, shrugging off his jacket, his hoodie, until he’s left in a white vest and team joggers. he kneels down at the foot of the bed, ready to crawl over you. “i love it.”
you flush, grinning sweetly as he crawls over you, pushing you back into the mattress.
“you did this all for me?” lando asks, stroking over a lacy bra strap.
“thought you deserved it.” you purr, but your facade slips for just a minute. “is this okay? never done this before.” you glance up at him with round, doe eyes that make him swallow hard, melting further into you.
“‘s perfect.” he promises. “you’re so perfect.”
lando kisses you softly, his warm skin pressing into yours. you moan quietly into his mouth, holding him close. he thumbs over the lace adorning your bust, stroking it. you squirm every time he brushes your skin.
“wanna be on top. wanna try it.” you pant into his mouth, watching closely as he groans, eyes fluttering as he imagines the sight.
“only if you keep this on.” he bargains, flipping the pair of you over.
you sit up on his lap, smoothing your hands over his chest as his find your hips. he steadies you, playing with the band of your panties, tracing over the pattern.
“can’t believe you did this all for me.” lando coos, taking the opportunity to take it all in, you, flustered and breathtaking, straddling him. dressed up all for him, all his.
“you deserve it.”
“do you think you’re ready for me? lemme see.” his hand skates between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against the crotch of your underwear. he applies pressure against the wet patch that he feels, licking his lips. “were you thinking about me when you were getting all dressed up? thinking about how i’d touch you?”
“yeah,” you nod frantically, grinding down on his fingers. “wanted you all day but i wanted to be good for you.” you pout. you’re gonna kill him, he thinks.
“always good for me.” he applies more pressure, toying with your clit through the lace, the sensation making you quiver, bucking your hips.
“just want you inside of me, lando. i’m ready.” you plead, palming over his sweats. your hand travels further, finding his between your legs. you tug your underwear to the side, and he feels just how wet you are for him.
“you sure, baby?”
there he goes again. baby. your tummy twists.
“yeah, lan, i want it to hurt a little.” you sound so sweet for him and it shreds the rest of his self restraint.
lando sits up just enough to rip off his vest, taps your thigh so that you lift up for a second, long enough for him to shrug off his sweats. when he’s bare, he paws at your hips, helping you to adjust. your fingers wrap around his length and he jolts, mouth falling open as you swipe the head of him through your slit. you sink down, taking just the tip, but it feels like the first time all over again, the angle creating delicious pressure that burns through your pelvis. your eyes squeeze shut and he swirls his fingers over your sides.
“take it easy for me, love.” lando urges, looking up at you with concern.
“i like it. promise.” you choke out, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, the burn.
you continue to slide down on him, sinking further and further until you’re flush against his pelvis. you roll your hips experimentally, your clit brushing against the thatch of hair at his base and you squirm, sensitive.
“want me to help?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“wanna do this for you.” you pant, rocking your hips against his.
the angle is brutal, so intoxicatingly good, and you can already feel yourself leaking all over him. you build up a rhythm, slow and steady, watching the ripple of his abs everytime you sink back down on him, the way his curls fan over his forehead, the veins in his arms bulging as he grips at your waist tighter and tighter.
“you look so pretty, baby, taking me like this.” lando sighs, helping you pick up the pace. you cry out, leaning backwards, fingers gripping his firm thighs.
“it’s so good, you feel so good.” you whine, arching your back.
he’s entranced by the way your breasts bounce, fighting against the skimpy bra and he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily. one hand leaves your waist and travels to the cups of your bra, tugging so harshly that you hear the threads break. he frees your tits, watching in delight as they fall out of the lace confines.
“you’re so sexy, honey, look so beautiful. you’re all mine, aren’t you? this is all for me, right?” lando’s eyes roll back in his head when he feels the way you clamp down around him at his words. he’s gonna fill you up, he thinks, mark you as his from the inside out.
“yeah, lan, all yours.” you slur, fighting the urge to cum. “‘m all yours.”
he can see that you’re tiring, the ache setting in, so he pulls you forward, until you’re chest to chest, wrapped up his his thick arms.
“i’ve got you, baby.” he swears, holding you close as he rolls his hips, fucking up into you.
it’s all too much like this, the constant pressure on your clit, the head of his cock tapping against your cervix, the thrumming of his heart, the cold sweat of his chest peaking your nipples. you let out a strangled cry of his name, and you see white, your nerve endings overstimulated and fried. all you can hear is his voice, pulling your through it and out the other side.
“did so good for me, baby, such a good girl. took it all so well, love.”
you’re limp on top of him, a dead weight curled around him like a life force. there’s nothing that could make him move you, and wouldn’t let you go unless you asked. you lay there in silence, your mixed release leaking out of you. your heart rate steadies, about as much as it can with him around, and you feel yourself blinking away sleep, exhausted. lando notices, of course he does.
“let’s clean up.” he suggests, sitting up carefully with you on his lap.
“carry me?” you request sleepily, a lazy smile painting your face.
“as you wish.” he jokes, bowing his head.
your legs wrap around his waist as he shuffles off of the bed, and he walks to the bathroom, setting you down on the marble sink top. he leans into the shower, adjusting the temperature and turning the water on. he lets it heat up and turns back to you. no words are exchanged as he peels your ruined panties off, as he unhooks your bra and drops its all onto the counter. he tugs you off of the side, guiding your under the stream of water, the warmth making you relax into him. he’s more than happy to prop you up.
“my legs ache.” you giggle, resting your cheek against his shoulder.
“was it worth it?”
“definitely.”
“good.”
he cleans you, massaging soap into your skin, and washing it off. you stay close while he does the same for himself, passing him different products as you clean up together. it’s quiet, nothing needs to be said, and you wonder if this is what life with him would be like. domestic and easy.
“stay.” you let yourself ask, croaking the request out into the silence. you’re both drying off, and he’s gathering he’s clothes.
“i thought you’d want me to go.” he looks like a deer in headlights. cute.*
“stay.” your repeat, and this time it sounds like a plea. he slides his boxers on.
“okay.”
he’s like a furnace under the covers and you can’t help but curl into his side, legs wrapping around eachothers. there’s no going back from this, you fear. he’s thinking the same thing. you kiss his chest as you fall asleep, just a quick press of your lips to his pec, but it makes him hot all over. if the lights were still on, you’d see him blushing. he returns the favour with careful peck to your hairline. you both nuzzle impossibly closer.
“has it ever been like that for you?” you whisper into the darkness. you hear the change in his breathing.
the question is loaded; have you ever felt like this before? was that just sex to you? what are we? what is this? do you want me how i want you?
“never.” it’s barely a whisper
you fall asleep with a smile on your face.
-
when you wake up, he stirs, bronzed arms tightening around you.
“go back to sleep.” he grumbles, pulling your back to his chest.
“i need to catch my flight.” you reply, turning around to face him.
you’re stunned when you see him smushed into the pillow, lips pouty, eye lashes fluttering to clear away sleep. he looks so pretty in the morning light, and you wish you’d asked him to stay the night sooner.
“just fly with me.” lando mutters. you freeze.
“lan, you know i can’t do that. what would that look like?”
“who cares?” he half shrugs behind you, and you wriggle away, sit up in bed.
“uh, me? i care, lando. i can’t be seen flying around with some other driver, do you know how much that would complicate things?”
“some other driver.” he huffs. that gets his attention, and he sits up. “what so we can sneak around, and you’ll let me fuck you, but being on an airplane together is crossing the line?” he grunts sarcastically. you narrow your eyes at him.
“don’t say it like that.” you scold.
“how should i say it, then? i thought maybe this meant something more to you.” he’s standing from the bed now, hurt thick in his voice, and you panic, reaching out for him, but he’s finding his clothes.
“it does! it does mean something to me but… lando, i can’t put charles in that position. i can’t put myself in that position.” you reason weakly, standing and rapidly moving towards him. you pull him to face you, holding onto his shoulders. “don’t go, please.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.
he stares down at you, dejected, a wounded animal, and pushes your hands off of him.
“i, uh. i care about you. a lot. too much, i think. i can’t go through this again, and you can’t hurt your brother. so…” he breathes shakily.
“so?” you plead, shaking your head. “don’t do this, we can…”
“i’m not gonna be ‘some other driver’, honey. ‘m sorry.”
“lando-“
“its okay. this was good while it lasted, and i know you’re gonna find what you’re looking for, without all of the, uh,” he gestures around blindly. “the complications.”
“don’t go.” you whisper, catching his hand. tears pool in the corners of your eyes, distorting him.
“go catch your flight.” he smiles sadly, finally dressed, and then he’s gone.
you stand frozen, taking stock of whatever the fuck just happened.
i care about you.
good while it lasted.
you’re gonna find what you’re looking for.
complications.
you choke out a sob, stumble backwards onto the foot of your bed when it hits you.
you’d already found what you were looking for, and now, he was gone.
-
you’re supposed to go straight to qatar with charles, but you beg him to get you a flight home instead.
he can hear that you’ve been crying, and tells you that he’ll kill anyone that you need him to. you promise it’s fine, through even more tears, tell him that you’ll fill him in when he’s got a minute to breathe.
the ticket lands in your inbox and you flee. you spend the twelve hour flight watching love actually, crying into a glass of wine, and wondering if you should get gracie abrams’ lyrics tattooed on your forehead.
i love you, i’m sorry would be quite fitting right about now.
when you land, you don’t even go home, making a beeline for alex and charles’ apartment instead. when alex lets you in, confused to see your face, leo does laps around your feet. you drop your bags and fall into her arms, sob until your throat is raw and your eyes are bloodshot.
“i fucked up.” you wail, breathing hard.
“lando?” she asks, tentative. she has a knowing look, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.
“what? how did you-“
“well let’s just say that we saw the DM he sent you, and arthur was actually sat opposite me when you said you were with him.” she admits. you gasp.
“does charles… does he…?”
“oh, sweetie, charles knows nothing. although he did ask me what shoe size you wear after coming to your place a few weeks back. he said something about a pair of birkenstocks that looked huge compared to your other shoes, and i told him that was just the style.” she snorts, and you slap your hand over your forehead.
“oh, jesus.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.
“wanna tell me what happened?”
“i don’t even know, he asked me to fly with him and then i said it would complicate things, that i couldn’t been seen with, quote on quote, ‘some other driver.’” you sigh.
“some other driver? oh, girl.”
“yep.”
“were you guys dating…? or?”
“no! lately things had been a bit more,” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “intimate? i don’t know. i definitely have feelings for him.”
alex looks at you sympathetically, strokes your knee soothingly.
“have you told him that?”
“no, i didn’t know how and now he’s done with me.” you wince, a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes.
“maybe not, sweetie, maybe you if you told him how you felt, he’d understand. is charles what you’re worried about?”
“charles, the fans, all of it.” you whimper.
“the fans can be, well, intense, but take it from me, if lando’s worth it, none of that matters. is he worth it?”
you pause, weighing it all up. the way he’d been with you, so gentle and caring, considerate and interested in you. he’d made you feel safe and satisfied, and everytime you caught him looking at you, you felt that first initial spark all over again. you could laugh with him, push and tease and not just be charles leclerc’s little sister. you look forward to seeing him, feeling him, speaking to him. all of this together feels heavy, but you want to bear it.
“he is.” you whisper, looking at alex nervously. “oh, god, what do i do?”
“i think there’s a paddock pass with your name on it that you should make use of.” she tells you, wrapping you in a tight hug. “and if charles has a problem, tell him he has to go through me.”
-
10. pizza and pasta.
max fewtrell sips his coffee in the hotel lobby, waiting for keegan to join him. it’s hot in qatar, dry and bright, ornate.
his phone buzzes.
message request from: yourusername
HI SORRY ARE YOU IN QATAR????
he probably looks like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his skull.
another message comes through.
this sounds insane and i’m sorry that this is like, the first time we’ve ever spoken, but i need a huge favour. like a really really huge favour.
max scratches the back of his head, pulling a face at his phone. baffled wouldn’t even begin to cover how he feels.
he picks up his phone, and opens the messages.
-
lando over exerts himself keeping away from you. the sprint race had been a breeze compared to staying away, out of your reach. it hurts like hell, but it’s a necessary evil for both your sakes.
he wants to sleep, do nothing else but collapse onto his mattress, phone silenced and curtains drawn as tightly shut as they can go. he unlocks the door to his hotel room. the light flashes green, and he relaxes, finally. until, he doesn’t.
there’s a faint sound coming from down the short corridor that separates his front door from his sleeping area. it’s not max, he’s just left him outside his own hotel room, and it’s not keegan, either, for the same reason. he wonders if he has another stalker, braces himself and picks up the first thing he can find. a shoe. useless, he thinks.
lando creeps down the corridor, poised and ready, jumps out of his skin when you round the corner before he can get there. you yelp, bracing yourself against the wall.
“what the fuck, i thought you were a murderer!” lando huffs, throwing his head back.
somehow, the sight of you is worse than any murderer could ever be.
“putain! god, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you squeak.
“how did you get in here?”
“funny story,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look harmless. “max let me in.”
“verstappen?” lando asks, face twisting with confusion.
“no, idiot. fewtrell.” you reply, duh-like. “i can go, i know this is crazy and weird and a total violation, but i had to talk to you.” your voice softens and lando seems to finally relax. he’ll kill max later.
“this is batshit, actually, but i respect the grind.” lando shrugs. “what do you want?” he sounds harsher than intended, closed off, but you suppose you deserve it.
“i’m sorry about what happened last weekend.” you inhale shakily. “i… i care about you a lot, too, and i have done for a while but i was too scared to say it. i realised as soon as you left that i never ever wanna hurt you like that. never want you to feel like i don’t lo- care about you… like that.” you catch yourself, not ready to say certain words. he gets the gist.
“i don’t wanna be some hookup anymore. it was fine at first, when i thought that’s all i could have from you, but i know that it’s not. i want you.” lando states, his words poignant. “whatever pace you need, whatever you want from me, i wanna give it to you.”
the space between you dissipates.
“i saw you, you know, watching me from your garage all those months ago, like you were trying place me.” your voice is barely above a whisper. “admittedly, i kinda wanted to punch you for ruining that dress, but i also, really really secretly thought you were cute.”
“well, if we’re being honest, i really wanted to fuck you the first time i saw you.” he jokes crudely, and you slap his chest. “in my defence, i was blackout drunk.”
“asshole.” you mutter. you’re so close now that his nose bumps yours.
“i think you like it.” he whispers.
“yeah, i really do.”
your lips meet his urgently, homecoming. it’s been too long since you’ve had him in your hands, touched him and felt him breathe against you. the kiss is passionate, frantic, and you know you’re in love with him. you’re certain.
-
an hour later, you’re tucked into bed with him, a movie that you’re not paying attention to playing idly on the tv. pizza crusts lay on a plate, the leftovers of your impromptu dinner date.
you’ve covered your degree, how he got into racing, what you do for work, who you’re friends are, family dynamics.
you learn that his favourite colour actually is yellow, and he learns that you’re favourite drink is red wine. he prefers pizza, you prefer pasta. you like flat whites, and he doesn’t like coffee at all.
“after abu dhabi, i’ll take you on a real date. i promise.” he sounds excited as he says it, and you melt into his side.
“oh yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, your cheeks smushed against his shoulder. he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. he just hums in response, gazing down at you.
“gonna talk to your brothers as well.” he murmurs, dipping down to peck your lips.
“not just yet.” you whisper. he furrows his eyebrows.
“why?” he doesn’t sound upset, maybe a little deflated.
“i wanna enjoy this a bit longer, at least go on a real date before, you know, they kill you.” you keep your tone serious, holding it together well. he bursts out laughing, squeezing you closer.
“and here i was worried that you were ashamed of me.” he’s grinning toothily, boyish and pure, and you kiss him again, deeper.
“never.” you coo.
-
11. daylight.
abu dhabi is a distant memory by the time you get back to monaco. you were happy for your brother and your boyfriend.
yeah, that’s what you get to call him now.
your first date had been effortless and yet so intricately perfect, lando planning it down to the last detail. flowers delivered to you the morning of, picking you up at the door, telling you just how beautiful you looked. your table had been waiting for you, candlelit, dressed immaculately. a bottle of red wine served as the centrepiece, your favourite kind. swoon.
he orders pizza, you order pasta. halfway through, you switch plates.
you wake up the next morning in his arms, content and satiated, still bare from the night before. your phone is buzzing, stirring your both out of your deep sleep. you ignore it.
“c’mere.” he begs, breath fanning out across your neck and you wriggle backwards, further into his arms. your naked skin moulds with his, and you can feel him, ready and waiting against the curve of your ass. he’s still half asleep, and so are you, but you spread your legs just enough for him to swipe himself through your folds and slip right in.
you groan at the stretch, he shushes you soothingly, clinging to your frame. everything is so warm and heightened.
“so ready for me.” he whispers, kissing over your shoulder, hips making the most minimal, languid thrusts that make you dizzy.
“want you like this every morning.” you purr, hiking your top leg up even further. he’s basically on top of you now, his body half covering yours.
lando drags your hips back to meet his, breathing heavily against the back of your neck.
“anytime you want me ‘m here. ‘m yours.” lando mutters, eyes rolling back in his head when you clench around him. lewd sounds are exchanged between your lazy bodies, so worked up, two powder kegs desperate to explode.
it happens in waves, powerful orgasms washing over your bodies like the sunlight through the curtains. it’s bright and warm and leaves you buzzing underneath him, electrified.
“good morning.” you smirk, rolling over to face him.
he’s already sunk back down into the mattress, a satisfied grin on his face, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks where his eyes have fallen shut. he looks angelic, and if it wasn’t for his devious ways, you’d hail him a saint.
“very good morning, baby.” lando pants, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“you look so pretty.” you breathe, raking your nails through his hair. he groans, shivers of pleasure radiating through his scalp and down his back.
“not as pretty as you.” he surges forward, pinning you to the bed, the pair of you a hazy mess of limbs and laughter, so wrapped up in eachother. he’s peppering you with kisses, all over you face and your chest, further and further down your body.
round two is about to commence, and you’re more than excited, ready to welcome him back between your thighs, when you both here a loud, repetitive thud coming from faraway. lando pulls back, trying to pinpoint the sound.
“is that the door?” he says to himself. “sorry, baby. need to get that.” he frowns apologetically. you sigh, waving your hand in understanding, watching as he grabs a robe.
-
charles nearly chokes on air and fury when he gets the all caps message from arthur, followed by one from lorenzo, then his publicist.
arthur: HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER? i don’t know if i should laugh or cry
enzo: be nice to her, don’t be a little bitch
publicist: Charles, we will need to address this news immediately and conclude whether the photos are out of context or not. Meeting scheduled on the shared calendar.
first question: what fucking photos? did someone catch him picking his nose in public?
second question: who does he need to be nice too?
third question: can he not go five fucking minutes without some impending media crisis?
he opens twitter and doesn’t need to look hard, because there on his screen is a picture taken the night before of his precious baby sister, and there is lando fucking norris with his tongue down her throat.
alex asks him where he’s going, watching him storm out keys in hand. he doesn’t respond with anything but a growl and a mutter of your name. alex’s eyes go wide, reached for her phone.
to: your number
girl he knows! idk how but he KNOWS!
for once in your life PICK UP THE PHONE
JESUS OKAY i just saw twitter…
OKAY im tracking charles location rn and looks like he’s near lando’s?
MISS LECLERC PLEASE! HELLO?????
it was nice knowing you babe.
-
you pick up your phone as lando leaves the room, scrolling absentmindedly through your notifications. your interest peaks, however, when you see about a million texts from alex, and even more missed call. in fact, you have literally thousands of notifications, and your blood runs cold.
you’d been so careful last night, surely it hadn’t leaked. your blood runs cold when you open your text chain with alex. the aggressive knocking on the door suddenly makes harrowing sense and you spring from the mattress just in time to hear the front door click.
“is she here?” you hear charles bellow, voice laced thickly with anger.
“uh… who?” lando tries, he really does, but he’s not a good liar. you wince, grabbing anything to cover your dignity: lando’s sweats and a t-shirt. you scramble out of the bedroom, sliding down the corridor from the sheer speed you’re moving at.
“fucking hell.” charles sighs, wincing at the sight of you. “of all the people on the planet, you pick my rival? you pick him?” charles barks at you. you close your eyes, focusing on your breathing as your chest constricts. “i told you. i specifically told you not to mess around with him, and c’mon, i don’t ask you for much.” charles throws his hands out in frustration.
“charles, listen to me,” you keep your voice calm and steady. “we’re not messing around, we… we’re together.” you confirm, watching his jaw tick.
“together? with him? do you know how many girls probably think they’re in a relationship with him? half of the portuguese modelling industry is linked to him.” charles laughs incredulously, disgusted. your eyes narrow, watching lando crumble into a million pieces in your peripheral.
“don’t you dare ruin this for me! and how can you come into his house and speak to him that way? my god, charles, you don’t get it, do you? i can never be happy with anyone because of you! everyone, everyone, uses me to get to you and, god, i finally found someone who cares about me and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are and you don’t approve? shall i stay single and lonely and in your shadow forever? should i go for some greasy hedge fund legacy who wants to fuck any leclerc he can get his hands on? huh? i’m sorry if you don’t approve, truly, i am, but you will not have a say in this.”
charles stays silent, as does lando, the only sound in the hallway being your heavy breathing, a symptom of your monologue. you feel the ghost of lando’s touch on your waist, soothing you from your outburst, and you lean into his touch, looking up at him. his eyes are reassuring, the only source of comfort.
charles watches intently, the silent communication between you both, and it knocks him for six. ultimately, he wants you to be happy, but it begs the question: can lando make you happy? the way you truly deserve? he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a muttered string of expletives.
“will you look after her?” he stares daggers at lando, watches the way the brit straightens up.
“i will.” lando nods firmly, eyes sincere.
“and you won’t hurt her? you won’t fuck her around?” charles looks like he’s desperately pleading, but his voice is commanding, no margin for error.
“i promise.”
“and you’ll make her happy?”
“i’d do anything for her.”
your head snaps towards lando, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking the dam. charles watches closely, steps backwards towards the door. there isn’t space for him here right now.
“okay. i- okay.” you watch the way charles backs down, and he finally meets your eyes again. “ma chére, je suis désolé.” he tells you solemnly. you nod, lips in a thin, hard line. you can feel lando nudge you forward.
“come here, loser.” you groan, opening your arms for your brother. charles meets you half way, squeezes you tight. he gently kisses your forehead and turns to leave, not before shooting lando a look that says ‘i’m watching you.’
you turn back to your newfound boyfriend, tears still falling, but you pay them no mind.
“well done, baby.” he affirms, thumbing away your tears.
“i love you, lando.” you whisper, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you.” his eyes glaze over, total adoration swirling in the pools of green.
“so glad you said that because i absolutely love you too.” he laughs, hauling you in for a kiss. it’s a mess of tears and laughter and a weird sense of serenity.
“you might wanna call your publicist. pictures of last night leaked.” you mumble against his lips.
“at least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he shrugs. “i’ll call later. got things to do.” he picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder. you squeal, and he teasingly slaps your ass.
you catch sight of the apartment as he walks you through it, and you think about the first time you saw it, under the cover of darkness, covert and clandestine.
you much prefer it in the light of day.
you prefer lando in the light of day, too.
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thank god that’s over lmfao - thank you for reading!!
in which you just can’t help yourself and neither can lando…
I’M BACK BITCHES!!!! hi sorry it’s been a while but we are back with what i hope is a bang lol. i’ve missed writing so much and as stressful as this was, i’m so so glad to be uploading something! i worked hard on this one and, of course, now i hate it whoops, but my girlie @lavenderlando made this possible and worth it. that’s my hype woman fr fr. N E WAY enjoy! lemme know what you think, and use some imagination for the timeline…
songs to set the vibe: i love you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams, 2hands by tate mcrae, love in the dark by adele, illicit affairs by taylor swift, think twice by suki waterhouse
warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!),
part 1: 10.3k words
1. oncoming traffic
“hey, osc, who’s that girl hanging around leclerc? thought he was still with alex.” lando tries his best to sound nonchalant, but oscar can see through him like a freshly buffed window, the way lando clears his throat and nervously ruffles his unruly hair.
“mate, i know you’re not the sharpest but i didn’t think you were that slow.” oscar laughs, side-eyeing the brit. he was baffled that lando was even asking. lando just shoots him a glare. “wait, you really don’t know?” lando’s glare hardens further, his eyes demanding an answer and oscar just laughs. “that’s his sister, you idiot. how have you never seen her?”
lando didn’t know how he’d never seen her. this year had been nonstop, what with the pseudo-championship battle and the never ending media shitstorm that rained on him whenever he reared his head. he’d also learned in his years of racing never to look too closely at the women in another drivers entourage. that’s how you ended up in the wall during a race. but charles’ sister? how had he never noticed?
“maybe i should go and introduce myself.” lando trailed off thoughtfully, his voice remaining playful. oscar snorted beside him, adjusting his racesuit.
“ooh, yeah, send twitter into a frenzy. it’s been boring lately.” the aussie driver drawls sarcastically, successfully dodging lando’s rapidly approaching elbow to his ribs.
“glad to know that you take pleasure in my never ending public humiliation!” lando grins maniacally, sauntering out of the garage, no longer any intention of seeking out the pretty girl in the short, black skirt. it was for the best.
he’s passing through the pit box, immersed in a groupchat thread with max and p about a trip to portugal that he didn’t really want to go on, and bam! like the idiot oscar had just accused him of being, he slams blindly into oncoming traffic.
oncoming traffic: the pretty girl in the short, black skirt.
“are you incapable of looking where you’re going?” your accent comes out thick, low with rage. it tickles his brain, like he’s heard it before. lando opens his mouth, like a fish out of water, closes it again pathetically. “seriously, for a pilot you have abysmal spacial awareness!”
“sorry… what the fuck.” lando mutters. why is this woman shouting at him like she knows him? like he regularly barrels into her?
“lando, yes?” you’ve calmed down a bit now, but you still speak through gritted teeth.
“…yes?” he replies like he’s not so sure.
“learn to look where you’re going.” you wrinkle your nose, composing yourself before stepping around him and strutting down the pitlane as if nothing had happened.
lando stands there, fixed in place, watching her walk away in utter confusion.
“smooth!” oscar calls from inside the garage, flanked by several laughing mechanics.
“go fuck yourself!” lando’s flushed red, now, and beeline’s for the pit wall.
he’s out of earshot when oscar says it.
“think he just met his wife, boys.”
-
lando is staring at the data on the screen when it hits him, will’s voice somewhere far away all of the sudden.
the mysterious leclerc had every right to reprimand him, because she was right. he did need to learn how to look where he’s going.
she’d told him that already, during their actual first meeting.
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2. the first collision
the music was too loud, suffocating him along with the overbearing smell of cheap perfume, but the alcohol in his system and the outpouring of validation kept lando going.
three time race winner, lando norris.
five years of clawing back points and grabbing at podiums with two impatient hands had built up to this, to the incomparable glory of gracing that prestigious top step, and lando wasn’t about to let go of this moment just because of a pressing headache. max and pietra were waiting for him in a booth, surrounded by the rest of lando’s touring entourage. he was wracking up quite the tab, but it was all worth it. every slap on the back, seductive grin sent his way, made it worth it.
he’s stumbling over his feet, wasted, or close to it, grinning lazily, peering through hooded eyes. the vodka cranberry in his hand is sloshing dangerously around in the glass, his careless movements propelling him towards disaster.
lando hears the splatter of liquid, first, the scoff of disgust immediately after. long hair whips against his face as she turns, eyes wide with fury, set into a face that was never meant to look angry. he can smell vanilla, flowers. she’s an angel, turned devilish under the strobe lights, her delicate face morphing when he takes in the sight of him.
“are you fucking serious? mon dieu!” her accent twists his tummy, as does the increasingly see-through material of her tight white dress, layers of chiffon turning transparent with the stark red liquid. it’s all over her back, running slowly down the length of her exposed thighs, sticky. lando stands there, utterly transfixed and useless. she looks like she might slap him; he kind of wants her to. “of course, just stand there. fucking pilots.”
she mutters the last part and lando gulps. what does she know about other drivers? the implication makes his skin crawl for no reason, the idea of this nameless, mystery woman being familiar with his co-workers. he’s flushed with embarrassment for a multitude of reasons, opening his mouth just to close it again.
“‘m sorry!” he finally calls out to her, over the music. can the dj turn that shit down? “can i buy you a drink?” she just glares at him, gesturing at her ruined dress. “or… a new dress?” lando tries again, flashing what he hopes are puppy dog eyes.
he wants to take her back to his hotel room, lick the sweet liquid off of her frame, lap at her til she’s clean and crying. he wants to peel the stained white material off, tear it a little - it’s already ruined anyway! he can’t, though, because she’s wrinkling her nose at him, eyebrow raised, judging, and he’s awash with embarrassment all over again. the club spins and he feels nauseous. he finds max’s eyes on him, his friend stifling laughter at the tragic scene.
she’s gone when he looks back, seems to have disappeared into a cloud of distinctly expensive perfume, and her friends are curling their lips up at him, dismissive. they don’t care who he is. he wonders if they’re redbull fans, ferrari fans, perhaps.
he’s met with hoots of laughter as he slumps into the booth. he grabs a shot without a thought, doesn’t even register what liquor it is as it slides down his thick throat.
“can’t believe you just did that. only you would spill a drink all over leclerc’s sister.” max teases, elbowing him playfully.
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3. the watchful eyes of the big, black horse
your arm is linked with kika’s, giggling with her as you walk through the paddock.
“what about him?” kika whispers, pointing her chin towards one of the passing alpine mechanics. he’s blonde, pale, eyes dark. “pierre said he heard that he’s good with the ladies.” she wiggles her eyebrows and your cheeks heat up, swatting her playfully.
“i am not about to get a reputation for sleeping my way through the paddock.” you scoff. “plus, he’s not my type.” you shrug.
“you need to start putting yourself out there more, you keep saying you want someone.” the portuguese girl reasons. you nod sheepishly.
“i don’t wanna look for something, i want it to find me. is that pathetic? i just see how you are with pierre, how alex is with charles, and that’s what i want. something… real.” you sigh. kika sees the way your eyes gloss over with sadness.
“it’s never as easy and as perfect as it looks, babe, trust me. and anyway, maybe just focus on… the thing you were telling me about.” kika lowers her voice, giving you the look.
“shut up!” you squeal. “god, i am not discussing that here!”
“discussing what?” you hear pierre before you see him, hot with embarrassment. you’ve know him since before you could even walk, which is why you have no problem voicing your deepest, darkest shame.
“how i’m not getting laid, apparently!” you drawl sarcastically, slapping your hand over your forehead.
a poorly concealed laugh that you don’t recognise has you whipping around, eyes wide with bewilderment. it’s hearty, smooth, surprisingly warming. you practically growl when your eyes land on the source of the noise, standing next to pierre who looks embarrassed for you, his lips pressed thinly together to prevent himself from cackling.
“why is he here?” you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes so tightly shut that you feel a pang in your temples.
“as polite as ever.” lando smirks. you open
your eyes just in time to catch him eyeing up the skin of your thighs that your skirt doesn’t quite cover. is he checking you out?
“says the drink spiller.” you bite back, rolling your eyes.
“hey, i tried to pay for the damage.” lando looks utterly amused, pink lips still twisted into a punch-worthy smirk.
“so, you’ve met lando, then.” pierre grins, staring between you both. you don’t register the way he’s trading looks with kika, watching whatever this scene is unfold.
“unfortunately!” you smile tightly at the racing drivers.
“pretty sure you walked into me that second time. distracting me in the workplace, or something.” lando chimes in, enjoying this all a bit too much.
“if you did a better job at looking where you’re going-“
“okay, so this has been delightful!” pierre buts in, knowing that you have the shortest temper of all the leclerc offspring. “you,” he points at you. “get laid. you,” he points at lando. “don’t piss her off, you won’t like the result.”
kika can only send you a sympathetic smile, and remind you of the coffee date you have scheduled for tomorrow morning, as she’s dragged away from your place of social suicide. pierre winks, tilts his head far too pointedly for your liking towards lando. you fantasise, in that moment, of clawing his eyes out.
“i am sorry, for the record.” lando smiles at you, genuine and gleaming. something inside of you twists.
“for which time?” you’re just teasing now, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“you have quite the attitude on you. that why you’re not getting any?”
you’re about to rip his head off and give max an even easier ride towards the championship, but lando steps forward. you can smell old spice, tangy and alluring and masculine.
“how fucking dare you-“
“because most men don’t know what to do with a woman like you. don’t know how to treat them right.” he’s so confident when he says it, leaning towards you in a way you can only describe as enticingly.
“oh, and you do?” you scoff, arms crossed. you must remain combative, or else you’ll give in. is this rock bottom?
“i’m free tonight if you wanna find out.”
“i’ll be far too busy doing literally anything else.” you can only pray he hasn’t caught the tremble in your voice, the ever so slight quiver of you bottom lip. you chew it into your mouth to stop yourself.
“but not anyone else.” lando doesn’t pose it as a question. it seems that he’s got you all figured out.
“whatever helps you and your hand sleep well tonight.” you spit. there’s heat between you, sparking into a flame that could burn down your whole life. you feel eyes burning into the back of your head - green ones that match yours. you falter. “i’m done here, lando. have a fantastic evening.”
he takes another liberty, leaning in even closer. spearmint and the idea of a million bad choices flood your every pore. you can feel the big, black horse watching over you, now, set into bright yellow, adorned with ferrari red. looming, warning, turning you in.
“you know, something tells me i will.”
lando disappears first, not even giving you a chance you spin on your heel and storm off. you want to kill him, hurt him, sink your teeth into that bronzed, thick throat, claw into his back, down, down, down… until you’re on your knees and-
“why were you talking to lando?” charles’ voice cuts through your filthy thoughts and you sign yourself over to god immediately, purifying yourself as you banish the visions of delicious sin. after all, you’re standing in the presence of il predestinato, the prince of monaco, a saint to many. but to you, he’s just your brother. your big brother, always in the way, always meddling, always, always watching. you sigh.
“friendly conversation.” you quip, short. you love him dearly, would take bullets for him, but, god, he keeps you on a leash. leo’s has more give than the conceptual tether charles has to you, keeping you close, boyfriendless, out of “trouble”. you know why, and deep down, you’re beyond grateful, all things considered. you can’t admit that, though.
“that’s not how pierre described it to me.” charles raises an eyebrow, voice bitter despite the clear attempt he’s made to try and hide it.
“fucking pierre.” you grunt. “it’s nothing, he came over with pierre. i was with kika. first time i’ve ever even had a conversation with lando.” that didn’t result from a drink being spilt over you to the point of transparency. you leave that bit out - charles really doesn’t need to know that.
charles mulls over your words, eyeing you suspiciously. you want to stomp your heeled foot like a child, a brat, scream and shout and kick and wail that he has to back the fuck off eventually, but you just smile innocently and pray he believes you.
“okay,” he mutters, making his peace. “i don’t want you getting too… familiar with him. bad reputation. he used to be quite sweet until his last breakup and now he will fuck anything with a pulse.” you wrinkle your nose at your brothers crude words, feeling the need to jump in and object. but why? you don’t know lando, you don’t care about lando. you press your lips into a thin, painful line. “you should go back to the hotel with alex. looks like i’ll be here late.” he rolls his eyes, you know how it is.
“sure, good luck.” you offer, smothering the rage that pools in your belly. let me fucking live, you think. just because he’d had to swoop in and save you from yourself once before, didn’t mean that you could live like this forever.
he has lit a spark under you, one that spreads like a wildfire towards the flame that lando ignited minutes before. if only your brother knew how to keep his big mouth shut, you wouldn’t be spurred on to bad behaviour.
if only lando hadn’t spilled that drink over you, maybe you wouldn’t be opening his instagram profile and sending a message request.
a place. your room number. a time.
you only wish you’d gotten to see the devilish grin on his face when he received it.
lando can’t want you for the reasons that other guys do. your status as charles leclerc’s little sister, and the gateway to your brother that you provided, meant nothing to the brit. that’s why you’d let him have you; he wouldn’t try to take more than you wanted to give.
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4. generous
the knocks are soft against the door, yet they manage to have every hair on your body standing to attention. you’re quick to let him in, itching to get him inside and away from prying eyes. this is clandestine, secret, could even feel somewhat sacred once it’s over, and the last possible thing you could ever need is for another soul to know what you intend to do with lando, what you intend to let him do to you.
“hey.”
“hi.”
you stare at each other.
he steps forward. you don’t move away. he takes it as an invitation to close the space entirely, so close that, there it is again: oldspice, except this time it’s mixed with something fresh, shower gel you guess, sea salt. his curls are crisper than they were a few hours ago, still damp from the shower he must have just taken.
“what changed your mind?” he asks.
“i was feeling generous.” you deadpan. he bites back a laugh.
“generous, huh?”
“very.”
“considering your alleged dry spell, i’d say i’m the generous one, no?” his voiced is edged with something dark, dropped a few octaves. you could absolutely squirm under his gaze, but you hold strong.
“you know where the door is if that’s how you’re gonna be.” you coo, mocking his seductive undercurrent. all he does is flash his teeth, grinning cheekily, his way of accepting your challenge, your attitude.
“i think you want me to stay, honey.”
honey. you fear it works on you. the gap closes even further, you fear it’s your doing.
“you’re only getting this opportunity because i invited you here.” your resolve is slipping. you’ve admitted that you want him in your pathetic bid to hold the power, when the truth is, you want him to pounce on you, strip away every layer and barrier and make you see stars, feel euphoric.
“okay, honey, whatever you say.” he chuckles, cruel and taunting. “so, how dry of a spell has it been? wanna know what i’m working with.”
lando touches you then, lightning shooting down your arm as he traces from your elbow down to your fingers, featherlight, barely there, a ghost of a touch that haunts you so deliciously. your fingers intertwine. you initiate it, but really, it’s his fault. this is all his fault.
you try and laugh, but it sounds broken, quivering it’s way out from your dry throat.
“dry.”
he just stares at you, expectant. he needs to hear more, needs to know. he craves details about you, has ever since you body slammed him outside his garage - leading to some very covert instagram stalking on his behalf and his oh so convenient way of worming his way into a conversation with pierre when lando could see that the other driver was on his way over towards you. it’s pathetic, maybe, but he craves you the way one craves nicotine forever after just one puff of a cigarette. he has you, just for tonight, maybe longer if he gets this right, so he will know everything he needs to know so that he can touch you just how you need.
“i’ve only… it’s been a while.”
he sees right through you.
“you’ve only what?” he presses. he needs to know.
“i’ve only done this once.” you whisper. it’s the meekest he’s seen you. he loathes it.
“and was it good?” lando murmurs so attentively that you want to cry.
your fourth interaction with this man, and he has you melting.
“not really.”
“do you trust me?” his nose is bumping yours. you’re locked in, twitching. he has both hands on you, now, one still laced with yours, the other trailing up your arm, tempted to brush his fingertips against the taut skin of your neck.
how the fuck can i trust you? i don’t know you! what the fuck are we doing? what the fuck am i doing?
that’s not what you say, though, because for some reason, you are so sickeningly comfortable and okay that you worry that something is wrong with you.
“yes.”
“then this time will be so, so much better. i’ll make it all better.”
when his lips meet yours, you’re surprised at how good it immediately feels. you don’t know what you were expecting, but his lips are plush, enveloping yours softly, but firm enough that you sink into him, allowing him to cement that grip on the side of your neck that he’d been taunting you with.
he kisses you like he’s sure of everything, like this is second nature and you’ve done it a thousand times. you want to kiss him a thousand times. why it’s so good, you’re not sure, but it gives you the confidence to lean into him, grab the bottom of his hoodie in your hands and tug.
“be patient, ‘n i’ll make you feel so good, honey, i promise.” he mouths down your cheek, nipping at your jaw, down your neck until he finds that special spot below your ear. he nibbles there, lapping his tongue over your sensitive skin like he already knows your body. you want to see just how familiar with you he can get. “but,” he punctuates the word with a sharp bite. you both dread and revel in the mark it will leave. “you have to behave for me, okay?”
his words are whispered against the shell of your ear and you shiver, eyes rolled back already. you wonder if he’ll get them to do a full three-sixty rotation in your skull.
“‘kay.” you breathe, mindless, floating away. it’s already better than last time.
“‘kay’?” he mocks. “no, honey, you gotta promise me. can you promise me?”
“promise.” you lock eyes, conveying your obedience. his eyes blow wide, pupils dilating to shove away the mysterious bluey green. his teeth grit. he knows he’s hit the jackpot.
“good girl.”
you’re stripped naked, mustering all of your energy to shove his clothes off, his hoodie flying away, his sweats kicked into a faraway dark corner. you’re left naked, him in some increasingly tight boxers, and you tumble into the freshly made bed. he slinks over you, crawling on his hands and knees, predator stalking prey.
he stains your inner thighs purple, tugging your legs over his shoulder, huge hands warm and rough as they manoeuvre your malleable body to his liking. lando presses kisses to every inch of skin, dragging his tongue over your bare flesh before he spreads you open, sucking and tasting and savouring. he moans into you, open and wet, and it ricochets off of every nerve ending, sending your body taut and arched, catlike. you’re trying to get away, whilst simultaneously grinding yourself closed to him, feeling that broad, sharp nose of his bump messily and firmly against your clit, an ache spreading through your pelvis that makes you shake and shake and whine his name out to the gods.
“taste like heaven.” lando’s words are simple, straightforward, make you bite your lip so hard you taste something metallic seeping over your tongue. “so tight, even around my tongue,” he slurs, drunk, lost. “gotta stretch you out for me. that okay, honey?” you can just about make it all out, and you nod furiously, pleading.
his teeth graze your clit.
“say please.”
“putain! please!” you kick your feet out when all he does is laugh into your wet flesh.
one finger grazes through your folds, parting them and collecting a mess of your slick. he looks transfixed as it drips down his finger.
honey.
you watch him watch how he opens you up, revelling in the utter fascination painting his features, pussy drunk and curious, transfixed.
“can’t believe you’ve never been fucked right.” he coos, breathless, genuinely shocked. you quake under his skilful hands and his awful, sinful, dirty mouth.
“more.” you plead, not ashamed by your crude begging. you’re a mess for him already, might as well get the full experience.
“think you can take another?”
a second finger slides in, rocking against your walls, testing the waters. you writhe, meeting his movements with shallow thrusts of your hips.
“faster, i need- mon dieu! anything, lando, please just-“ he really goes to town then, scissoring your dripping cunt open, curling and twisting and grinding the two digits so deep that you see white, hazy chocolate coloured curls and deep, glazed over eyes.
“that’s it, honey, there you go. so fucking pretty for me.” lando whispers the last bit, awestruck, and you’d take the time to wonder why if you weren’t on the verge of tears, overstimulated, ears ringing. your orgasm crashes over you like a surge of electricity, tearing through your body like it’s trying to escape and take cover. it’s so strong that you’re damp everywhere, sweating and crying and so fucking shocked that it can feel like this.
“lando.” you pant, mouth dry, voice hoarse.
“you did so good. was it okay?” he rubs small circles into your hips, eyes flitting between your own and where you’re still leaking for him. he manages to tear his eyes away, like a trance has broken, snaking up your body until he’s laying next to you, propped up on his elbow. he hovers over you, raking his eyes over the rising and falling lines of your body.
“pretty good, i guess. didn’t know you had it in you.” you tease, smirking lazily up at him.
you want to keep staring at him but your vision is blurring as your eyes begin to droop. what a long day it’s been.
“high praise coming from you.” lando reasons, laughing lightly. he strokes over your hipbone and you jolt, curling around onto your side. his skin is warm against yours, soft and smooth, and you dare you press your even closer, shy, as if he wasn’t just buried mercilessly between your legs. you hum in response, spent and languid. “you wanna get some sleep?” he asks.
“we didn’t… i mean, you didn’t…” you trail off, awkward, gesturing towards his middle.
lando just smiles.
“guess i’ll just have to come find you in monaco.”
you flush, cheeks burning as you consider the fact that you’re gonna be in the same country, a very small, very private city. who knows what could happen?
you fall asleep quickly, easily, far too comfortable next to the british driver. if you were to ask, he’d say he left immediately. he watches the way you breathe far too intently, ever so slowly pulling his clothes back on. he doesn’t know how long passes, but what he does know is that he can’t wait to have you like this again.
-
5. some guy
you sink into the oversized armchair, sitting back and letting kika and alex talk, nattering backwards and forwards about nothing in particular. or, maybe you’re just zoned the fuck out.
you can’t stop thinking about the way he touched you, your body littered with evidence, dark purple bruises turning a stale green between you thighs. when you woke up, you initially wondered if it was all a dream, but the dull, sweet ache thrumming through your bones told you just how real it really was. you went through the motions, embarrassed momentarily before deciding to just embrace it, try to bask in the way he’d made you feel: sexy and desirable and electric.
it was just a shame that it had to be him. that’s what you kept telling yourself, at least.
kika’s nodding along to a story alex is telling about leo, about to respond with a similar anecdote about simba but she gasps instead, almost spilling her americano all over herself. this gets your attention and you open your mouth to ask her is she’s okay, but she beats you to it.
“my god, what is that?” she chokes, staring at you. or, well, your neck.
you flush, heated, blood pooling in your cheeks.
you’d tried to cover it up, seriously, applying layer after layer of concealer and strategically placing your hair in such a way that you prayed it wouldn’t be noticeable, but nonetheless, there it is, clear as day. red raw skin tinged purple around the seams, branded into your neck like some kind of public humiliation ritual.
fuck you, lando fucking norris!
you avert eye contact, leaning away from alex who is now making a point of leaning in, going as far as to push your hair back so she can get a closer look.
“oh my gosh!” she squeals, giggling with kika.
you take a long, slow gulp of coffee, not caring that it burns your tongue.
“who was it? holy shit, was it lando?” kika whisper shouts and you officially drop dead on the spot, watching her connect the dots so easily.
“oh jesus, no! no!” you lie, feigning offence, your leg bouncing shamefully under the table. the two girls eye you suspiciously, but you assume you’ve played it off well.
“who, then?” alex asks. you wonder if kika has told her about yesterdays interaction.
“just- i don’t even know, some guy.” you huff, playing with a loose thread hanging from your jumper.
“some guy? after what you were saying yesterday? okay, babe.” kika teases sarcastically. “no, cmon, who?” she pouts, leaning in as well.
“just… someone.” you squeak, unable to look up at them.
“okay, well, we will find out eventually.” alex wiggles her eyebrows and you stick your tongue out, mock-glaring at your sister in law.
“no, the fuck you won’t.” you try and fake some confidence, scrapping for a mere shred of control.
yes, the fuck they will, because when you leave for the bathroom, you leave your phone unlocked like the utter fool you are. god has it out for you, you figure, because that’s when he chooses to strike.
the message lando sends you is short and sweet, and alex chokes on a piece of cake when kika starts gesturing wildly at the notification that pops up on your screen.
for when you’re lonely at home and can’t find anyone to fuck you right.
attached is his address.
they don’t breathe a word when you come back, but they share a knowing smirk when they catch you smiling at your phone, and again when you ask if either of them have anything with a higher neckline that you can wear for the race.
youruser has just posted on instagram:
tagged: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux
liked by: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris and others
youruser: race day, big slay
user1: LEO!!!
alexandrasaintmleux: prettiest girl in the world
user45: lando what are you doing here 🤔
6. manners
“are you even listening to me right now?” charles scoffs, finishing off his drink out of annoyance. your eyes snap back to him, the thumping music vibrating through your body.
“sorry, just tipsy.” you purse your lips, attempting to lock back in on whatever he’s saying, but it’s hard. it’s hard, because sprawled out in a booth across from where you stand at the bar, lando is watching your every move.
you’ve managed to avoid him thus far, no contact since you’d liked the DM he’d sent you a few weeks back. you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t think of him and what you’d done at literally every waking moment, so the way he’s watching you, hooded eyes sparkling under the strobe lights, has you squirming. it was easier to tell yourself that, surely, it wasn’t that good when he wasn’t right in front of you in a half unbuttoned shirt. the navy blue fabric is wrapped around his body deliciously, taut where his muscles are, the colour popping against his tanned skin - which you can practically feel writhing against yours.
you wish charles would go away so you could crawl into that booth and commit public indecency.
speak of the devil, your brother seems to have clocked that you have zero interest in what he has to say so he huffs, ordering another round for the table and telling you he’s going to find alex. he shuffles away and you subtly search for the british drivers mindful eyes, but he’s disappeared, left his entourage in the booth. you swallow disappointment that makes you feel pathetic, head in your hands against the bar top, but the lightest brush of fingers against your waist drags you out of your spiral. you know immediately.
“did you dress like that for me, or are you just a slut?” he’s grinning, light and teasing, surprisingly sober, tipsy at most, just like you.
“i could ask you the same.” you smirk, blatantly eyeing his exposed chest. he shrugs, leaning in.
”might have left an extra button undone just for you.” lando winks and you hope the lights hide the way you flush.
“sure you did, just for me and every other girl in here.” you challenge. his eyebrows furrow.
“nope. just for you.” his eyes darken, just a tad but enough that you notice. your mouth runs dry. “you never replied to me.”
“not true, i liked the message.” you smile coyly, sipping your drink. your lipstick smears against the rim of the glass and you watch him stare at the print, tongue wetting his lips.
“you are something else.” he shakes his head, pushing his curls back. it could be frustration, but he still seems at ease, like he’s enjoying your combative nature. you smile into the glass, hoping he doesn’t notice. he does. “how much have you had to drink?”
“this is my second.”
“you sober enough for me to take you home?” lando’s face is mere inches away from yours now, and you can feel the pull, desperate to crawl into the space that still remains and lose yourself there.
“depends.”
“on?” you truly exasperate him, but he thinks he loves it.
“if you’re actually gonna fuck me this time.” you casually take another sip, playing it off as if your crude words had no impact on you.
lando’s eyes widen at your bluntness, and so does his grin.
“meet me by the valet.”
lando leaves, and you quickly follow, downing the remnants of your glass and touching up your lipgloss.
-
alex watches from her booth, and pulls out her phone.
to: kika gomes
oh, she’s deeeeefinitely sleeping with lando!!!
-
pietra leans towards her boyfriend, close enough that he can hear her over the noise.
“isn’t that charles’ sister?” she shouts, pointing to the bar, where lando is stood.
max analyses the way he’s stood, leant against the bar, nice and close to the ferrari drivers little sister. he knows that look on lando’s face, and he knows it far too well. max pinches the bridge of his nose.
“oh for fuck sake.”
-
it’s weird, sitting with him in silence. he’s only had half a drink, able to drive back through the winding hills to his apartment. you stare out the window, mostly, when you aren’t staring blatantly and curiously at lando. you can see the sea, glistening under the moonlight and you wish you could focus on that instead, but he’s there, and you have to admit - begrudgingly, albeit - that he’s stunning. his hands wrap around the wheel tauntingly, as if he’s trying to convey how he’ll touch you, all consumingly. your thighs press together, your fingers clasping together as if you’re subconsciously stopping yourself from reaching out for him prematurely.
as if he can hear your thoughts, his palm smoothes over the skin of your bare thigh, right where your dress has ridden up, without a second thought, nothing tentative about the way his digits curve around your skin.
“so, you’ve been thinking about that night, then?” he breaks the silence, glancing over at you.
“what makes you say that?” you whisper, not even meaning to but the silence had been so heavy.
“well, you only left with me on the condition i’d bend you over.” he laughs loud, whole and warm. you fight it, just for a second, but then you join in, giving in to him. you can’t help it, he makes it easy.
“you got me.” you concede, rolling your eyes. without realising it, you’ve relaxed completely into his touch.
he pulls off of the road and into a private garage. you breath hitches.
-
“do you want a drink or…?” lando gestures blindly towards his kitchen, walking further into the apartment.
he’d spent the elevator ride up to his place leant against the opposite wall, taunting, making you wait. he’d let himself look at you, totally unabashedly, raking his eyes over your frame, meekly tucked into the corner, shy under his intense gaze but frustrated by his lack of urgency.
“i’m good. didn’t come here for a tea party.” you hope your words push his buttons. they must, because he turns on his heel, facing you again, suddenly towering over you.
his eyes are steel, face serious, and you don’t know what to do. you’ve never seen him look at you like this.
“i think we need to work on your manners.” he speaks condescendingly, down at you, and if you weren’t so needy, hadn’t been waiting weeks, you’d turn around and leave just to really prove his point. but you stay planted, looking up at him through mascara coated lashes, softening you gaze until you’re sure you’re conveying faux innocence.
“maybe we can work on them in your bedroom.” you truly don’t know where you get this confidence from, he’s the second man to have ever touched you so intimately, but he’s magnetic, drawing you out of your own head and straight towards him.
he tugs you towards him, kissing you messily, right there in the dim light of his kitchen, pawing at your waist hungrily. his tongue brushes your and you moan, humming into his mouth at the faint taste of mint and vodka, long gone but you can taste everything. his thick fingers find your ass, hoisting you up until you have no option but to wrap your legs around him, your dress scratching at your thighs the higher it rides up, but all it does it turn you on more, rough sensations on sensitive skin.
lando walks you blindly to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss, and you wonder how many times he’s done this to get it down to muscle memory. the thought makes you nauseous, drags you mercilessly right back into your head, and you pull away, your lips barely brushing his.
“why me?” you breathe, panting into the shallow space where your mouths have parted.
“what?” he whispers, confused.
“why do you want to do this with me?” you have to check, past insecurities rising to the surface like bile in the back of your throat. he looks genuinely baffled and you feel foolish for ruining the moment.
“why wouldn’t i? you’re gorgeous and-“ he cuts himself off, his eyes glazing over. the demeanour slips and you’re stuck, his arms still tight around you, holding you close in the empty space at the foot of his bed.
“what?” you whisper.
“you’re part of the same life.” the way he looks at you says words that he can’t.
words that will sound too shallow and too selfish and too meaningless, even though you will understand them because you’re here for similar reasons, and therefore, they will mean too much.
you can’t take things from him. you can’t fake it. you can’t break him into a million pieces when he finally discovers that you want him because of what he can give you.
you nod once, firm.
“i get it.” you smile sadly. lando wants to know more. he can find out some other time. a moment of clarity passes between you. “kiss me, again?” you ask. he delivers immediately.
kisses you all the way onto the bed. kisses you while he helps you take off your heels, while he drags the zipper of your dress down. you both feel safe now, understood, and that really moves things along.
“so pretty.” he mutters into your skin, shedding you of your tight dress.
your shaky fingers work over the buttons of his shirt, peeling it off of his broad shoulders, taking in the sight of him all over again. you’re left in your panties, braless already, and he gawks down at you, like he’s seeing everything for the first time. it makes you feel powerful.
“can you hurry up?” you writhe, arching into his touch. he smiles, covering his body with yours and pressing a kiss to your lips. his fingers slide over the curves of your body, finding the band of your underwear and toying with it.
“want me to take them off?” he purrs, trailing his lips down your jaw to just below your ear.
“now.” you beg, eyes fluttering closed as his warm breath pricks at your skin, teeth nibbling. “no marks.” you whine, flashing back to the weeks over knowing looks and attempts at covering the last one up.
“what were we saying about manners, hm? gonna need to start hearing some ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’, okay, honey?” he bites down again, harder this time, and you squirm underneath him, your soft belly moulding to each dip of his abs.
his fingers dip into your panties, finding your clit amongst your wetness. you just about bite back a moan, but you can’t help but roll your hips into his hand, his fingertips gliding easily through your folds.
“va te faire foutre.” you mutter, teeth gritting at the pleasure and his words. go fuck yourself.
“i’ve lived in monaco long enough to know what that means.” lando whispers, pinching your clit once before plunging a finger inside of you.
you hiss, head thrown back, the feeling of him smiling against the hickey bittersweet. and to think, it was almost healed. you can’t help but keen into his touch.
“more,” you pant. “please.”
“you learn fast.” lando approves, and quickly fulfils your request, adding another finger.
they flex inside of you, grinding deeper and deeper until you’re whimpering his name and leaking down his wrist. your arms wrap around him, nails digging in to his smooth back, his ropey muscles tensing under your firm touch. his thumb bumps your clit, over and over, pushing you to the precipice, so close you can taste the impending orgasm on your tongue.
“it’s so good, merci, god.” you sound wrecked already, and lando can’t wait to see how far he can push, how far apart he can take you.
“that other fucking loser didn’t know what he had, jesus, you’re so fucking hot.” he rasps, admiring the rise and fall of your chest, how your breasts bounce with every thrust of his fingers, the way his hand is glistening in the low light of his bedroom. his words are your undoing, the awe in his voice sending sparks shooting through every nerve ending.
“lando, ‘m gonna… putain!” the way you switch languages is sexy to him, tells him how scrambled your brain is, and he twitches in his boxers. when you cum, it’s as gorgeous and as enticing as the first time, and he jolts against your hip, desperate to get inside of you finally.
“you’re so beautiful.” he groans, pulling his fingers from your entrance. he stares blindly at the mess you’ve made on them, salivating, remembering the way you taste. it’s a no brainer for him, and he licks both digits clean, giving you just a moment to recover.
“i need you.” you whisper, your legs still spread, quivering slightly.
you pull him in once more, his covered crotch grinding against your slick and you cry out, the friction sending you into overdrive. his teeth dig into your shoulder, the sensation entrapping him, leaving him weak, ready to give you whatever you ask. he pushes his underwear away, and your eyes go wide.
“you can have me,” he grunts, running his hand over himself. “think you can take it?” he wets his lips and you think you could cum again at the sight of him. sweat slicked, tight curls falling over his eyes, lips licked pink and kiss swollen, hard and heavy in his own hand, body curved over yours possessively. you’re a simple woman, really.
“i think i can try.” you want to sound confident, but it comes out as a squeak.
he sits back on his knees and brings his free hand to cup your jaw.
“i’ll go slow with you, honey, okay? you can tell me to stop.” lando promises. “you sure you want this?”
you nod, pouting up at him.
“i want you, i can take it.” you manage through a deep breath.
the stretch is brutal, splitting you in half. all you can do is breathe, watching the way he watches you, and that’s what you hone in on, his pretty eyes watching where he’s filling you up. when he bottoms out, he stops for a second, scanning your face for discomfort.
“are you okay?”
“c’mere.” you coo, and he falls back over you, paws at your waist. “move, lando.” you plead.
it’s slow, deep, makes your toes tingle. you can feel each and every drag of him against your walls and it makes you dizzy, a knot twisting and tickling in your belly. your fingers are twisted around him, around his biceps, crumbling a little bit every time he flexes in your grip.
“oh, mon dieu.” you’re whimpering, legs wrapping around him like vines, tighter and tighter with every buck of his hips.
“‘s it feel good, honey? yeah? you’re so fucking tight for me.” lando chokes, licking over the sweat on your collarbone. “‘m i making it feel good?” he sounds so cocky, sexy, but there’s a soft edge around his words. it matters to him, how he’s treating you, this, a certain delicateness hanging around your intertwined bodies like a cloud.
“so good, lando, so fucking good.” the words scratch your throat raw, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“no, no, lemme hear you, pretty girl. can feel how close you are for me.” you can hear the edge to his voice, can tell the end is near for both of you, the way his words wobble despite his best attempts at hiding it. “need you to look at me, and i need to hear you.”
you don’t even realise until then that your eyes are shut, screwed up tight as the pleasure rolls through your body, flooding each and every one of your senses. you free your lip, and everything pours out, whines, raw slurs of his name.
“i’m so close.” he grunts, watching the way your face moves, hanging on to every micro expression, the way you battle to keep all of your attention on him.
“fill me up.” you urge, squeezing his hips between your thighs. his eyes widen, the request slowly registering, and he blinks away the voice in his head telling him to do it.
“you know i can’t.” he’s firm, sensible even if you aren’t.
“want it so bad, lan, please, wanna feel it.” you reason, cupping his face and pushing his curls back.
“not tonight.”
“yes, tonight. give it to me.”
“i said no, don’t be a fucking brat.” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.
“know you want it.” you whisper, seductive and devious. you can see his resolve slipping, tightening around him.
before you can say anything else, your hands are scooped up, pinned above your head. he’s right over you now, your hips perfectly aligned, and he’s driving so deep that you swear you can feel him in your tummy. his thrusts resort to a harsh grind, digging into each other with every snap of his pelvis.
“you want it so bad? huh? fine.” he growls, forehead resting against yours. “want me to cum in you, fuck it all back in? yeah, honey? you gonna keep it all in for me?”
“whatever you want.” you promise, eyes rolling back in your head. “just- please, please do it.” you pant, mouth dry.
“that’s it, pretty girl, take it all for me.” he buries his face in your neck, nipping at your collarbone. “doing so good.” the words fan against your throat, hushed, leaving you warm from the inside out, brainless.
when you spill around him, it’s at the same time as he lets go, and he fucks you through your orgasms. you go limp beneath him, taking it, letting it all wash over you, letting him wash all over you. you feel like you can’t breathe, suffocating under the weight of him and the reality of what you’ve just done. again. for some reason, you don’t care, and decide that you’ll do this again and again, anytime he’ll have you. not that you’ll ever tell him that…
“fuck.” he exhales, rolling off of you carefully, but the overstimulation - and then lack thereof - makes you wince, and he strokes your hip gently in apology.
“that was better than i thought it would be.” you grin, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“you know, these are starting to sound kinda backhanded.” he beams, laughing breathlessly, but just as he begins to relax into his bedspread, he remembers. “oh fuck, shit, we need a pharmacy!” lando bolts up so that he’s sitting, scanning the room blindly for his clothes. you giggle and he snaps his head towards you, panicked.
“no, lando, we don’t.”
“all of that ‘uh, fill me up, please lando you’re so sexy’ talk means that, yes we absolutely do! fuck, how much is plan b these days?” he’s spiralling now, tugging at his curls.
“first of all, i’m on birth control. second of all, i don’t sound like that, and most importantly, i did not call you sexy.” you smirk, stretching out your tight muscles.
“that’s the most important part? woman, you nearly killed me.” lando gasps, slumping back down into bed.
“‘m sorry, couldn’t resist playing with you a little. good to know we share a kink, though.” your smirk turns into a coy smile, and you swing your shaky legs out of the bed, your feet sinking into the plush rug.
“oh, yeah? what other kinks are you hiding from me?” lando sits back against the headboard, tucking his hands behind his bed. you have to look away, or else you’ll accidentally fall back into his bed.
“guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” it makes him quirk an eyebrow, a look of understanding settling over his face.
“so this is gonna be a regular thing, yeah?”
you’re putting your underwear back on when he says it, searching for your dress, but his words make you freeze. he sounds hopeful, and it makes your chest pang… wait, is that your heart?
“i don’t… i mean, as you unfortunately know, i haven’t done this before. i don’t know how this works.” you say it so earnestly, so innocently, that his whole face softens, awestruck and boyish.
“i want it to be a regular thing.” he says it gently, like he’s offering it to you, to the universe.
“okay. me too.” you whisper back, shy under his gaze.
“are you… like, do you think you’ll be sleeping with other people?” lando squeaks, doing a terrible job of playing it cool.
“for so many reasons, no.” you grimace. “but if we’re doing this then i wouldn’t want to anyway.” you say softly. your dress is back on now, but he has you flustered, and you can’t quite get the zipper.
“lemme help.” he offers, and he’s out of bed and before you in a matter of seconds. his calloused fingers graze your skin as he pulls the zipper together and up, adjusting your dress back into place. it feels so terrifyingly intimate, exciting, and you can’t bring yourself to move away. “i wouldn’t want to either.” he breathes the words quietly into the small space between you.
“okay.” you don’t even try to hide the way you beam, staring up at him.
“i’ll take you home, yeah?”
“yeah.”
-
7. worth it
and so, begins a clandestine affair, touches in the shadows, subtle glances, watchful eyes.
one of you calls, the other comes, sneaking through doors that neither of you should enter, leaving bars a few minutes apart, making up excuses to get out of plans.
there’s the time lando has you bent over the end of your bed, tears leaking into the mattress, slick everywhere. he’s so deep this way, hammering away at the special spot nestled within you that he’s become very familiar with. one of his hands is dragging your hips back to meet his thrusts, the other splayed out across your back, holding you down.
your phone rings. it’s alex. you were supposed to be a brunch twenty minutes ago. you groan out, frustrated in every sense of the word.
“answer it, honey.” lando grunts, pulling you towards him even harder. you whimper, shaking your head, words dying on your tongue. “go on, i know you can do it. wouldn’t want alex to worry, would you? let her know you’re okay.” he coos, condescending.
he’s so arrogant, full of it, and you like the challenge. you can’t let him win, can’t let him revel in how fucked out he has you, so against your better judgement, you grab the phone, fingers shaking as you answer.
“hi, love. i know, i’m late! ‘m sorry, i’ll be there soon!” you wince at the way your voice shakes. you hope she can’t hear the way you’re panting, or the sound of his hips hitting yours.
lando slows his hips, hitting deep at such a torturously slow pace that feels a million times better than it already did. your free hand flies back, swatting at him.
“where the hell are you? i was worried!” alex sounds relieved, but there’s something else in her tone that you can’t quite decipher.
“i’m on my way, i promise! i was with arthur.” you lie, throwing your younger brother into the line of fire. you know, for credibility. alex is silent for a moment.
“oh, okay. well, get here soon, please! love you!” and with that, she hangs up the phone. you release a breath you were holding, crying out when lando immediately speeds up again.
“i hate you.” you choke, grinding your hips into him. lando just scoffs, sliding a hand under your belly, flush against the mattress. he finds your clit, playing with it, urging you quickly towards your release.
“no, you don’t.” he laughs. “you better cum for me, pretty girl, i think you have somewhere to be.”
-
“i’m on my way, i promise! i was with arthur.”
alex has to bite back a laugh. she stares across the table, where arthur is having an avid debate with charles and joris. arthur, who had been with her and charles for hours.
“oh, okay. well, get here soon, please! love you!” alex hangs up the phone, giggling to herself. leo stirs in her lap.
“what’s so funny?” charles asks her. she shakes her head.
“oh, nothing, she just overslept.”
-
there’s the time where he has you hiked up on your kitchen counter, messy curls tickling the insides of your thighs. he’s licking at you ravenously, dragging his tongue up and down, twisting around your clit in circles.
you’re tugging on his hair, holding him close to where you’re aching, dripping, slicking up the lower half of his face. he’s groaning into you, starved and desperate. it’s been a week since you’ve seen him, had him like this, the longest you’ve done without him since the first time you’d had sex. its untamed and needy and you fear what it means, the way you’re so addicted to one another.
you also haven’t seen your brother for a week, something you realise when you hear a key turn in the lock, down the corridor. you have seconds to react, the noise washing over you like a bucket of ice cold water. you squirm, pushing a very confused lando away, managing to kick him lightly in the head as you leap from the counter.
“mon dieu! fuck, i’m sorry!” you gasp.
“what the fuck is going on-“ you cut him off, slapping your palm over his mouth.
you glance around frantically, looking for a way out of this. there is but one option available.
“the balcony! just- fuck, get out there!” you shoo him over to the small window, begging him with your eyes. “please! i’ll get rid of him!”
you can hear footsteps approaching. you’re sweating now, smoothing down your skirt and your hair anxiously.
charles calls your name, rounding the corner and walking into your kitchen, just as you pull the window closed again.
“shit, you scared me!” you fake, clutching your chest. you can feel your heart hammering.
“i did knock, sorry!” charles looks you over, scanning the kitchen. “are you okay?”
“yeah, fine, sorry, i must have been out of it. i’m in the middle of an assignment.” you lie.
“oh okay, well i can always go…” he’s looking at you weirdly, and you fear he knows something, that he can tell.
“can we get dinner tonight? i’ll book.” you offer, scratching your neck.
“yeah, that’s great. are you sure you’re okay?” your brother asks, turning to leave.
“promise, yeah, i’m just so busy with work, deadlines and all that.” you wrinkle you nose, feigning distaste.
“well you can tell me all about it later, okay? love you.” charles says sincerely, smiling.
“love you too.” you call, listening for the sound of the door closing behind him.
you immediately rush for the window, throwing it open, peeking your head out. lando stands with his back against the wall, shivering in nothing but a t-shirt. you look at him sheepishly.
“get back in here.” you tell him, standing back to give him space to crawl back through. “‘m sorry.” you giggle.
“you’re lucky you’re worth it.” lando teases, stalking towards you and wrapping you in his arms. his skin is cold against yours, and you huff, try and push him off. “hey, i’m cold!” he pouts.
“you know, you’re lucky you’re worth it, i could have just let him murder you.” you reason, looking up at him. your hands slide around him, returning his embrace, warm hands skating up under his shirt.
“you wouldn’t.” he says simply. “i’m way too good in bed.”
“you keep telling yourself that, norris.”
“i don’t need to, you tell me more than enough.”
lando leans down to kiss you, then, nothing all that unusual but it always feels like a step too far, intimate in a way that you two usually aren’t. you kiss him back regardless, because really, you love it. he always tastes minty, divine when you let him lick into your
mouth.
“i believe we were in the middle of something.” he whispers.
“remind me.” you breathe.
-
and there’s also the time where he’s fucking you in his drivers room, the massage table thudding dully against the wall with every hard thrust.
his race suit is pulled down just enough, your dress bunched around your hips, and he’s slamming into you mercilessly.
the whole thing was a blur, really; you’d always vowed that you would never have sex at a race track, but that promise was old news, now, broken the very second you caught the way he was staring at you. his eyes were hard, unreadable, jaw clenched as he glared at the man talking to you. you were just being friendly, catching up with franco, but lando wouldn’t have it, not after such a shitty race. one harsh snap of his neck towards the mclaren motorhome had you quickly excusing yourself. you knew what it meant.
“you don’t talk to me at the track but you let him?” lando growls, rutting into you wildly. you cling onto the damp material of his racesuit, head thrown back.
“was just saying hello.” you gasp out, opening your eyes to look up at him. he’s staring down at you, angry. it’s hot.
“i don’t wanna see you talking to him. you see how he was looking at you? fucker should know who you belong to.” he hisses, sliding his hand between your legs. “you’re gonna cum for me when i say, okay? and you’re gonna be nice and loud, honey. no holding back.”
“lando i’m-“
“when. i. say.” he cuts you off, punctuating each order with a snap of his hips.
all you can do is take it, dripping all over him. you can hear it, the wet squelch of him filling you up.
“should mark up this pretty neck, yeah? let everyone know that you already belong to someone.”
you barely register what he’s saying, but the words leave you hot, pushing you even closer to the edge and you clamp down around him.
“squeezing me so tight, bet you’ve wanted me all day, huh, honey? saw you looking at me earlier, pretending like you weren’t when i caught you. couldn’t just asked and i would’ve fucked you right then.” lando grunts. you wail out, thrashing against the makeshift bed and he nods, letting you know it’s okay.
“that’s right, pretty girl, that’s it. been so good letting me have you. cum for me, baby.”
baby.
it’s the first time he’s ever called you that. it’s the final push you need.
he collapses into you as he finishes, sweaty curls plush against your bare shoulder. you’re both panting, spent, basking in the moment of silence.
“thank you.” he whispers, sealing it with a kiss against your neck. it tingles, a foreign feeling settling in your belly, shooting through your veins.
“you drove really well.” you reply, quiet. his breathing halts, a self deprecating laugh filling the room.
“don’t do that.”
“what?”
“act like you were watching my race. charles have a great drive, that must have been a lot more interesting.”
“maybe, but i was watching you.”
your words hit him hard. he can’t help but kiss you. you swallow a moan, and a whole heap of feelings that you’re too scared to tackle.
“you better go. will i see you in brazil?”
“yeah, lando. you will.”
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francisa.cgomes: my love my loveeeee
user21: once again i am asking. why are you here lando? 👀
I want to write. I have ideas. I open document. I type four of the worst sentences ever created in the english language. I daydream the rest of the scene. I close document.
HI THERE WE GO - also can you let me know if the taglist works? tumblr is being weird about it 👀
word count: 2.8k
warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal
includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend
summary: sorrows sorrows prayers - heartaches, max comes to his senses and summer break happens
PART SIX
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The celebration has fizzled out, and the quiet hum of the hotel feels almost suffocating. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at the untouched glass of water on the nightstand, your phone resting loosely in your hand. Every moment from today replays in your mind like a relentless highlight reel: Lando standing on the podium, the roar of the crowd, the grin on his face as he sprayed champagne. You’d cheered for him, of course. He deserved it. But you couldn’t let yourself get too close—physically or emotionally. Not today. Not after everything.
Your phone buzzes in your hand.
Lando: "Can we talk?"
The message is simple, but the weight behind it feels unbearable. You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to feel everything that rises to the surface when it comes to him. And yet, you find yourself typing back before your brain can catch up with your hands.
You: "Where?"
His response comes almost instantly.
Lando: "Your floor. Hallway."
You freeze. It’s unexpected. He could’ve easily asked you to meet somewhere neutral—the lobby, maybe, or the bar. But no. He’s put the ball in your court, literally meeting you where you are. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. When you open your door, you find him standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. He looks… hesitant. Like he’s just as unsure about this as you are. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, the tension between you tightens like a live wire. “Thanks for not locking me out,” he says, his voice soft but laced with something heavier.
You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door frame to maintain some semblance of distance. “Figured if I didn’t come out, you’d just keep waiting there like some kind of lost puppy.”
He huffs a laugh, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Yeah, well… wasn’t gonna let this weekend end without at least trying.”
Trying. The word sticks with you, twisting itself into a knot in your chest. “What do you want, Lando?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intend.
“I want you to stop running from this,” he says simply, stepping a little closer. He’s careful not to invade your space entirely, but his presence feels overwhelming anyway. “I get it—Max is pissed, and everything’s messy, but I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter to me. That you don’t matter to me.”
You glance down the hallway, ensuring it’s empty before sighing and stepping back into your room. “Fine. Come in. But keep your voice down.”
He follows you inside, closing the door gently behind him. The room feels smaller with him in it, the tension between you filling every corner. You stay near the window, putting some space between you, but it doesn’t do much to ease the knot in your stomach. “Lando…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words. “This isn’t fair.”
“To who?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “To Max? To the team? Or to us?” You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “To everyone! Max barely speaks to me now, and if people find out—” “Why do you care so much about what people think?” he interrupts, his voice sharper than before. “Why does everyone else’s opinion matter more than what we feel?”
“Because it’s not just about us!” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself and lower it again. “Lando, you don’t get it. I’ve already lost so much because of this—because of you. I can’t lose Max too.” His expression softens, but it only makes things harder. “You haven’t lost him,” he says, his voice steady. “He’s mad now, sure, but he’ll come around. He always does. You know he does.” You look away, biting your lip. “I’m not so sure this time.”
The silence stretches between you, heavy and unrelenting. Finally, Lando takes a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets like he’s holding himself back. “I know it’s complicated,” he says quietly. “And I know I’ve made things harder for you. But I’m not sorry for how I feel. I can’t be.”
You meet his gaze, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, and it’s terrifying. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I can’t deal with all of this—Max, the pressure. It’s too much.” Lando’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might argue. But instead, he nods slowly, his expression guarded. “Okay,” he says softly. “If that’s what you want.”
It’s not. It’s the furthest thing from what you want. But you don’t say that. Instead, you turn back to the window, unable to face him any longer. You hear him move toward the door, his footsteps hesitant, and then he stops. “For what it’s worth,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I think you’re worth all of it. Every messy, complicated part of it.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and the weight of his absence settles over you like a storm cloud. You press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, your chest tightening as you try to catch your breath. You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the empty street below. But when you finally turn around, the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away. It lingers, heavy and unyielding, a constant reminder of what you just let walk away.
The silence in the room swallows you whole. It feels suffocating, like the walls are closing in. You stay frozen by the window, staring at the darkened street below, but the city lights blur as tears sting your eyes. You try to hold it together—you really do. But the ache in your chest feels like it’s splitting you in two, and before you know it, the first tear spills over. It’s slow at first, just a quiet trickle. Then it becomes a flood you can’t control.
You press your palms to your face, trying to muffle the sobs that wrack your body, but it’s no use. The dam is broken, and everything you’ve been holding back—the stress, the guilt, the fear—comes rushing out all at once. How did it come to this? The weight of it all presses down on you, heavy and relentless. You think about Max, about the way he looked at you on the balcony like you’d betrayed him in the worst way possible. You think about how much you’ve hurt him, how you’ve fractured the one relationship you swore you’d always protect.
And then there’s Lando.
You think about the way he looked at you just now, his voice soft but sure, his words cutting through all the noise in your head. “I think you’re worth all of it. Every messy, complicated part of it.” But you don’t feel worth it. You feel like a mess. Like you’ve let everyone down, including yourself.
Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, the plush carpet doing little to soften the weight of your emotions. You hug your knees to your chest, letting your tears soak into the sleeves of your hoodie as you try to steady your breathing. But the more you try, the harder it becomes to control the swirling storm in your mind. The image of Lando walking out flashes in your mind, and your heart clenches painfully. You think about the way his voice trembled when he said, “Okay,” like he was giving up on something he didn’t want to let go of. You think about the way he looked back at you before leaving, his eyes searching yours one last time as if hoping you’d stop him.
But you didn’t.
You let him go.
And now, you’re left with the hollow echo of your decision, and the crushing reality of what you’ve lost.
Eventually, the sobs subside into quiet sniffles, but the heaviness in your chest doesn’t lift. You sit there on the floor, staring at nothing, as the night stretches on. You wonder how you’ll face Max tomorrow, how you’ll look Lando in the eyes again. You wonder if things will ever go back to the way they were.
And deep down, you know the answer. They won’t.
---
It’s been a week and some since Silverstone, and the silence is deafening. Not just between you and Max, but between you and Lando too. Neither of you reached out—no texts, no calls, nothing. Maybe that’s for the best, you tell yourself. After all, how do you even begin to repair a friendship when so much has been broken? But late at night, when the world is quiet and your thoughts are the loudest, it’s hard to ignore the ache in your chest, the hollow space where his presence used to be. After all, before all of this, Lando was something like your best friend. The only person you had when you moved to the south of France all by yourself.
Max, on the other hand, has been… different. Polite. Distant. He talks to you, but the easy sibling banter you’re used to has been replaced by careful, measured words. It’s like he’s walking on eggshells around you, and it’s exhausting. So when he texts, telling you he’s in Monaco and asking if you want to grab coffee, you hesitate. Part of you wants to avoid it altogether, but the other part—the part that misses your brother—wins out.
You meet him at a quiet café not too far from your apartment. It’s a small place, tucked away from the hustle Monaco, and the warm, homey atmosphere does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You sit across from him, your hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and wait for him to speak. Max takes his time. He stares at his cup like it holds the answers to the universe, his brows furrowed in thought. Finally, he sighs and looks up, meeting your eyes.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the other night,” he starts, his voice low and steady. “You and Lando.” You brace yourself, every muscle in your body tensing. Here it comes. “I handled it wrong,” he admits, surprising you. His shoulders slump slightly, and for the first time in weeks, he looks less like the overprotective big brother and more like the Max you’ve always known. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you. Or at him. It’s just… it caught me off guard.”
“Max,” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off. “Let me finish,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “I was angry, yeah. And hurt. Because you’re my little sister, and Lando’s my best friend. And the idea of you two…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not easy for me.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I get that.”
“But,” he continues, leaning forward, “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to choose. That wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry.”
You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I understand,” you say quietly. “And I’m sorry too. I should have told you.” Max’s expression softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “No, you shouldn’t have to tell me everything,” he says gently. “I should trust you enough to know that if there was something going on between you and Lando, you would have told me.”
“I’m not saying I’m okay with it,” he interrupts, holding your gaze. “I don’t think I ever will be. Not completely. But I also don’t want to lose either of you. So if this is something you really want…” He pauses, exhaling slowly. “I’ll try to deal with it. For you.”
You squeeze his hand gratefully, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. Max has always been fiercely protective of you, but right now, as he sits across from you with his messy hair and tired eyes, he just looks like a worried brother who wants the best for his little sister. “I’ll talk to Lando,” Max continues, breaking the comfortable silence between you two. “I’ll apologize to him too.”
His words are like a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm you’ve been drowning in since that night on the balcony. Your grip tightens on your mug as you try to find the right words, but all you can manage is a choked, “Thank you.”
Max smiles faintly, a flicker of the old him shining through. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.” You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you like a wave. “Noted.” The tension between you softens, and for the first time in weeks, it feels like you’re starting to find your way back to each other. It’s not a perfect resolution, and it doesn’t fix everything. But it’s a step forward. And for now, that’s enough.
---
The morning sun is already warm against your skin as you wheel your suitcase across the tarmac in Monaco. Everything feels too quiet—except for the sound of your heart, which beats like a drum inside your chest. You remind yourself this was always the plan: flying to Mykonos with Lando. It’s been set in stone for months, back when things were simpler, back when the thought of sitting next to him on a private plane didn’t send a confusing mix of anxiety and longing spiraling through you.
“Morning.” His voice is soft, hesitant, as he steps out of the car behind you. He’s wearing sunglasses, his hair just slightly disheveled, and he looks like he hasn’t quite woken up yet. There’s a faint tension in the way he carries himself, though, a stiffness that mirrors your own. “Morning,” you reply, your voice sounding way too bright in your own ears. You quickly turn back to your suitcase, fiddling unnecessarily with the handle.
The crew greets you both as you board, but you barely hear them. The plane is sleek and modern, with wide leather seats and enough room to keep things casual. But even with all the space, you feel like the walls are closing in when Lando sits down just across the aisle from you.
You settle into your seat, fussing with your bag and pretending you’re completely unbothered. You’re thankful for the sunglasses hiding your eyes, giving you a shield to glance at him when he’s not looking. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, his brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn’t look at you, not even once, and you tell yourself that’s a good thing. The engines hum to life, and the plane begins to taxi. It’s a short flight, really, but it feels endless as you sit there, hyperaware of the silence between you. Normally, you’d be talking and laughing with everyone by now, but your other friends are joining later, flying in from various parts of the world. For now, it’s just you and him, and that fact is as heavy as the August air.
After takeoff, Lando finally speaks. “You excited?” he asks, his voice neutral, careful. He’s not looking at you, instead staring out the window at the endless expanse of blue sky. “Yeah,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’ll be good to relax for a bit. Mykonos is beautiful.” He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile but thinks better of it. “Yeah, it’ll be nice.” And just like that, the conversation ends. You chew on your lip, debating whether to say more, to ask him how he’s been, but the words stick in your throat. It’s easier this way, you decide. Easier to keep things surface-level, to avoid the deep waters you’ve both been treading since Silverstone.
The flight attendant offers drinks, and you accept a sparkling water, grateful for something to do with your hands. Lando orders the same, his voice low and polite. For a moment, you almost miss how easy things used to be. The teasing. The jokes. The way his laugh used to light up a room—or a plane cabin.
But that was before. Before Monaco, before Silverstone. Before the lines between you blurred so completely that you’re not sure where you stand anymore. When the plane begins its descent, Lando shifts in his seat, glancing at you for the first time since takeoff. There’s something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or regret. “Hey,” he starts, his voice softer now. “Thanks for… you know, still coming.” You blink at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Of course. I wasn’t going to miss it.” He nods slowly, his eyes searching yours for something you can’t quite place. Before you can say anything else, the plane lands with a soft thud, and the moment passes.
As you gather your things and step onto the sunny tarmac in Mykonos, the salty sea breeze greets you like an old friend. The island stretches out before you, glittering and inviting, full of promise. You tell yourself this trip will be what you need—a distraction, a fresh start. But as Lando falls into step beside you, his arm brushing yours for the briefest moment, you’re not so sure.
HI WE'RE BACK - i'm having so much fun writing this. thank you for liking it and your encouragement.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal
includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend
summary: the consequences hit hard
PART FIVE
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The tension thickens, pressing down on your chest as Max’s words settle in the air between you. You glance at Lando, hoping he has some magic explanation, some way to fix this, but his jaw is set, his eyes locked on Max. His usual easy charm is nowhere to be found, and for the first time tonight, he looks genuinely shaken. Max crosses his arms, his sharp gaze moving between the two of you. "Well?" he presses, his voice growing louder. "Someone better start talking."
You take a shaky breath, your hands twisting together at your sides. “Max, it’s not like that,” you manage, though your voice wavers under the weight of his stare. “We weren’t sneaking around. I mean, not intentionally. It’s just…” You trail off, your words getting stuck in your throat. “Not intentionally?” Max repeats, his tone dripping with disbelief. “So what? It just accidentally happened?”
Lando steps in then, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t plan this, Max. I swear. But… yeah, there’s something between us.” He glances at you, his expression softening before he looks back at Max. “It wasn’t something we wanted to hide from you. We just—”
“Wanted to keep it quiet until it suited you?” Max interrupts, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what this looks like? You, my best friend, going behind my back with my sister? And you—” He turns to you, his eyes filled with something between anger and betrayal. “You didn’t think to tell me? Not once?” You flinch at the accusation, guilt curling in your stomach. “I didn’t know how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, congratulations,” Max snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Mission failed.”
The words hit like a slap, and you blink back the sting of tears. Max has never spoken to you like this, never looked at you like this—like he doesn’t even recognize you. The hurt in his eyes is worse than the anger, and it makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Max,” Lando says again, his tone softer now. “You’re my best mate. I never wanted to hurt you either. But…” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words. “I care about her. A lot. And if you can’t see that—”
“That’s the problem,” Max cuts in, his voice raw. “I do see it. I saw it tonight, clear as day. And maybe even before that, but I ignored it because I trusted you, Lando. I trusted both of you.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you hold them back, refusing to break under the pressure of Max’s gaze. “I need some time,” Max finally says, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. “To think. To figure out how I feel about all of this.” He takes a step back toward the door, pausing to look at Lando. “Don’t follow me. Either of you.” And with that, he turns and walks back inside, leaving you and Lando alone on the balcony once more. The sound of the party swells as the door shuts behind him, a stark contrast to the silence that settles between you.
Lando exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he mutters, “that went about as badly as it could’ve.”
You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
He steps closer then, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that feels both apologetic and grounding. “We’ll fix this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a determination that makes your chest tighten. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll fix it.” You nod, though you’re not sure that you believe him. The night feels heavier now, the spark of earlier completely snuffed out. But when Lando’s fingers lace with yours, you let yourself hold onto him—just for a moment—because even in the mess you’ve made, he’s the only thing that feels steady.
You pull your hand from his stepping back until the cool metal of the balcony railing presses against your spine. Lando’s brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter. But you already feel like you’re breaking. Your breath comes too fast, and your chest tightens as all the emotions swirling inside you—guilt, fear, frustration—bubble to the surface. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “What do you mean?” His voice is steadier now, but you can see the cracks in his confident mask. He takes a step forward, and you immediately hold up a hand to stop him.
“I mean this.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Whatever this is. I can’t, Lando. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He stares at you, his jaw tightening. “Baby, don’t do this,” he says, his tone low but urgent, almost pleading. “I’m serious, Lando,” you say, hating the way your voice wavers. “Max hates me now. He hates you. And he has every right to. We were selfish, and we’ve ruined everything.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Lando says firmly, his hands falling to his sides. “He’s just upset. He needs time to process this, that’s all.”
“Maybe,” you say, your throat tightening, “but I can’t keep doing this with you, sneaking around, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. It’s too much, Lando. I can’t handle it.” The hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the stomach, and you have to look away, focusing instead on the city lights below. For a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the muffled music from inside the apartment. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.
You laugh bitterly, though there’s no humor in it. “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified, Lando. I’m terrified of hurting Max even more, of ruining what we had—what you and Max have. And I’m terrified of…” You trail off, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.
“Of what?” he presses gently, stepping closer despite your earlier protest. His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.
“Of you,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “Of how much I feel when I’m with you. Of how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around. It’s too much, Lando. You’re too much.” He doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge of vulnerability that makes your chest ache.
“I’m not going to apologize for how I feel about you,” he says. “And I’m not going to let you push me away just because you’re scared.”
“Lando—”
“No, let me finish,” he says, his tone firmer now. “I get it. You’re overwhelmed. So am I. But this? What we have? It’s real. And I’m not going to let you throw it away because you’re too afraid to fight for it.” His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but deep down, you know he’s not. Still, the fear is stronger. It wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs. “I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “I need to figure things out on my own.”
His face falls, and the sight nearly breaks you. But he nods, his jaw tight. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It is,” you say, though the words feel like a lie.
He steps back, his hands sliding into his pockets. For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then he nods again, turns, and walks back inside without another word. You stay on the balcony, the cool night air doing nothing to ease the heat burning in your chest. And as the door clicks shut behind him, you realize just how much it hurts to push him away.
The second Lando steps away, a hollowness seeps into your chest, spreading fast and heavy like a lead weight. The cool night air brushes against your skin, but instead of soothing you, it amplifies the ache inside, making every breath sharp and uneven. You tell yourself this is for the best, that pushing him away was the right thing to do—for Max, for Lando, for yourself—but the words ring hollow.
Guilt churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. Max’s face, the flash of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, replays in your mind like a haunting reel, over and over again. And then there’s Lando. The look he gave you before he turned away—raw, unguarded—feels like a scar you’ll carry for a long time. You hate that you put it there.
Your hands tremble as you grip the railing, the cold metal biting into your palms. Everything feels too much, too fast. You were supposed to keep things simple. One night. One moment. A slip you could explain away and move on from. But it’s become so much more, hasn’t it? And now, it’s spiraled into a mess you can’t seem to untangle.
The lump in your throat grows heavier, and your vision blurs as tears pool in your eyes. You don’t know if you’re angry, sad, or just exhausted—maybe all three. Angry at yourself for letting this happen, sad for the way things are unraveling, and exhausted from pretending you don’t care as much as you do.
And you do care. That’s the worst part. You care so much it’s terrifying. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment with Lando has carved its way into you, leaving marks you don’t know how to erase. And the thought of losing him—really losing him—hurts more than you want to admit.
But the fear is louder. Fear of what this could mean for Max, for your family, for your heart. Fear of stepping into something that feels so big, so overwhelming, it might swallow you whole.
So you stay rooted there, staring out at the city lights, wishing they could somehow illuminate the answers you so desperately need. But all they do is flicker and blur, leaving you just as lost as before.
The buzz of Silverstone is electric, a sea of orange and British flags waving wildly as engines roar to life. The atmosphere is alive, but you feel out of sync, moving through the paddock like a ghost. Max is there, but his smiles are subdued when it comes to you. He’s cheering forLando, though, still proud and supporting his best friend for his home race. Still, his excitement feels muted, his celebratory backslaps and grins somehow...limited and different. It’s like he’s drawing a line, one you’re not sure how to cross.
Lando keeps his distance too. You catch glimpses of him—a flash of his curls beneath his cap, the familiar set of his jaw as he talks to his engineers—but he never looks your way. You tell yourself it’s for the best, but it doesn’t stop the ache every time he passes.
When the race begins, you stand in the far back of his garage, heart pounding as Lando’s car tears through the track. Every overtake, every perfect turn has you holding your breath. You try not to think about the way things used to be—the way you’d celebrate together, no hesitation, no lines drawn in the sand. But you can’t help it. Because even with everything between you now, you’re still there, willing him to succeed.
When he crosses the finish line in P3, with Lewis winning the race, the roar of the crowd is deafening. You clap and cheer with the rest of them, smiling despite yourself as Lando lifts his trophy. Max is by your side in the crowd, grinning from ear to ear, but even his elation feels careful, like there’s something unsaid hanging between all of you.
Lando doesn’t look for you when he steps down from the podium. He’s swarmed by cameras and teammates, orange confetti raining down, but he doesn’t scan the crowd like he used to. And you? You stay on the sidelines, your pride for him tangled up in all the things you’re too scared to face.
still overwhelmed, still can't believe this this is getting to much attention 😭 ❤️🫶 THANK YOU FOR YOUR FEEDBACK AND YOUR RESPONSES I LOVE EVERY BIT OF IT
also why are my WORDS LIMITED???? I want to write MORE wtf tumblr
word count: 3.7k with some extras in the form of social media posts
warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content
includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend
summary: after things cooled down for a little while, you have to face lando and your feelings once again... this time with consequences.
The sun dips low over the sky, painting it in shades of amber and rose as you finish getting ready. You’ve been pacing your hotel room for the last twenty minutes, debating whether you should even go to this dinner. Max made it sound casual, just friends and some of Lando’s crew, but the way your stomach twists tells you it’s anything but simple.
Since Monaco, things with Lando have been... complicated. He stayed over after Qualifying, the two of you wrapped in an unspoken agreement to keep things platonic. But nothing about the way he looked at you, the way his presence filled your space, felt friendly. Then there was the race—his P4 finish—and the small get-together afterward, where you both acted like nothing had happened. Since then, his schedule’s relentless pace kept you apart, exchanging only a few texts that danced around anything real. Just keeping in touch.
And now, this dinner.
You change into your favorite outfit, something understated but flattering, and force yourself to take a deep breath. It’s just a dinner. You’re friends, you tell yourself.
The restaurant hums with life as you step inside, trailing Max and Pietra. Warm light glints off polished wood and delicate glassware, and the buzz of conversation wraps around you like a soft blanket. You glance at the private room Max mentioned earlier, feeling your pulse quicken. You know who’s waiting there.
When you walk in, the first person you see is him. He’s tipped back in his chair at the head of the table, laughing at something someone said, his grin so easy and familiar it makes your chest ache. Then his eyes land on you, and for a moment, everything else in the room seems to blur.
“About time,” he says, standing up in one smooth motion. His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that sends a spark down your spine. He greets Max with an effortless handshake-hug, Pietra with a peck on the cheek, and then his attention falls to you.
“Stranger,” he says. “Lando,” you reply, keeping your voice even as you raise an eyebrow. His grin tilts, just a little lopsided, and the look in his eyes feels like a challenge.
The dinner is exactly what you expected—good food, great wine, and laughter that fills the space like it’s been waiting for all of you to show up. Max, seated on your right, is in big-brother mode, making sure you try everything and nudging your glass whenever it’s even close to empty. Across from you, Pietra chats animatedly with one of Lando’s friends, and you smile along, but your attention keeps drifting. Lando is at the far end of the table, surrounded by people who hang onto his every word. He’s effortlessly charismatic, telling some story you can’t quite hear, but that has everyone laughing. Except every now and then, his eyes meet yours, just for a second. It’s like he’s checking in, or maybe daring you to look away first.
You don’t.
When he gets up to refill his drink, he passes behind you, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder. The touch is so brief, so casual, that no one else notices. But it sends a shiver through you anyway. “Having fun?” he murmurs, his voice low and private, meant just for you. “Loads,” you reply, trying to sound unimpressed even as heat rises to your cheeks.
His chuckle is soft, almost affectionate, before he moves away. You tell yourself to focus, to ignore the way your heart is beating just a little too fast.
Later, the table splits into smaller conversations, and somehow, Lando ends up next to you. Max is too busy laughing at something Pietra said to notice when Lando leans in, his shoulder brushing yours. “This is torture,” he says under his breath, his knee knocking lightly against yours under the table. Your throat goes dry. “What is?” “You. Wearing this dress.” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you hold your breath.
You don’t know how to respond, and for a moment, you just sit there, the noise of the room fading into the background. Then Max glances over, and Lando straightens, all easy charm again. “What are you two whispering about?” Max asks, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Lando doesn’t miss a beat. “Just telling your sister she has terrible taste in wine.”
“Hey!” you protest, and the table laughs. Max shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He drinks that sparkling stuff like it’s water.” The conversation moves on, and you pretend everything is normal, even as Lando’s knee stays pressed against yours under the table. And you don’t move away.
As the laughter around the table flows easily, your own chuckle gets caught in your throat when Lando leans back in his chair, stretching casually, but you don’t miss the way his knee once again brushes against yours under the table. It’s subtle, almost as if he’s testing to see how long he can get away with it without anyone noticing. Your pulse quickens, and you do your best to focus on Pietra, who’s telling an animated story about a mishap at her last work event.
But Lando is… distracting. His words replay in your head on an endless loop—”this is torture”—and you swear you can still feel the ghost of his knee against yours under the table. It’s maddening, really. The ease with which he teases you under Max’s nose, how effortlessly he switches back to joking with the group like he didn’t just upend your entire sense of composure.
You glance his way and catch him smirking, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. His focus shifts back to his drink, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—playful yet deliberate—that makes it impossible to ignore him. You try to shake it off. You tell yourself that it’s just Lando being Lando: cheeky, teasing, good at making people feel... something. Just like always. Except this doesn’t feel like always, and that’s the problem. You’re trying to focus on the ongoing conversation. Something about summer plans, maybe? You’re not even sure anymore. Lando is leaning back in his chair again now, one arm draped lazily over the back of his seat, looking every bit like someone who hasn’t a care in the world. But he keeps glancing at you when he thinks no one else will notice.
“Alright,” Max announces suddenly, clapping his hands together as if he’s about to make a grand proclamation. “Drinks back at mine?” There’s a chorus of agreement around the table as chairs start scraping against the floor and people gather their things. You hesitate, glancing at your phone like you might have an excuse to slip away. But before you can concoct some half-hearted reason to head back to the hotel, Pietra loops an arm through yours, effectively trapping you. “You’re coming, right?” although she forms it as a question, you know it’s really not.
“I wouldn’t want to miss out,” you reply lightly, smiling at Pietra. Who, satisfied with your response, let’s go of you to join Max again. Your stomach twists again when you see Lando standing by the door, your coat in his hands, waiting like he has all the time in the world. His curls are a little messy, his grin lazy, yet sharp as his eyes meet yours in the dim light. It’s as if he can sense your hesitation and is daring you to pull away.
“Come on, stranger,” he says softly, leaning just close enough that his voice feels like it’s wrapping around you. “Can’t bail now.” You narrow your eyes at him, trying to ignore the way your heart jumps at the way he towers ever so slightly over you. “I didn’t say I was bailing.” “No?” His gaze drops briefly to your phone in your hand, then flicks back up to catch yours. “Good,” he says, his voice dipping lower, quieter. “Because I wasn’t going to let you.”
It’s infuriating how easily he gets under your skin. With a huff of mock-annoyance—because genuine annoyance is impossible when he’s looking at you like that—you slide your arms into the coat he’s still holding and step away before the spark between you burns any brighter.
The group spills out into the cool night air, laughter echoing down the cobblestone street as everyone makes their way toward Max’s flat. Pietra loops her arm through yours again, chatting about some new café she wants to try tomorrow for breakfast. The walk to Max’s place is short, but it feels like an eternity with Lando so close behind you in the group. Every step feels charged, like there’s an invisible string stretched taut between the two of you. You try not to think about what he said earlier—or how his knee pressed against yours, or how warm his hand had been on your shoulder at dinner—but it’s useless. He’s inescapable, even when he isn’t touching you.
When you finally reach Max's apartment, everyone else appears calm and carefree. However, you have come to the realization that you can no longer let Lando do this to you. You don’t know if he isn’t aware of the drama it would cause if Max found out or if he just doesn’t care about the consequences—you however do care about the consequences. While never openly spoken about, you know how your brother would feel about this. He’d hate it. Lando is his best friend and you are his little sister. Two things that, frankly, shouldn’t mingle so close. So you make the decision to talk to Lando tonight.
It’s not like you don’t care or that you don’t feel things when you’re around him, but is acting on it really worth the pain it could and would cause?
Eventually everyone is spread across the living room, laughing and reminiscing, the buzz of good drinks and great music keeping the energy alive. You’re perched on the arm of the couch, balancing your drink as Pietra chats animatedly beside you. Across the room, Lando lounges in a chair, looking infuriatingly relaxed, his attention shifting to you every few minutes. It’s subtle, the way his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, but you feel it—like a spark skittering across your skin. You pretend not to notice, focusing on Pietra's story about her disastrous attempt at paddleboarding last summer. But when Lando catches your eye mid-sentence, raising his brow in a silent tease, your stomach flips.
Max comes in from the kitchen, holding a fresh beer, his presence immediately commanding attention. “Alright, whose idea was it to leave me in charge of snacks?” he announces. “I could barely find some crisps, let alone figure out this sweets situation.”
Pietra groans. “Max, it’s literally all in the cupboard. You just have to put it in some bowls.”
“But that’s where you put them!” Max protests, plopping down beside Pietra. His knee bumps yours, but his focus is on his girlfriend, who shakes her head fondly. Lando seizes the moment to move closer, taking the newly vacated spot on the couch next to you. “You okay there?” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. “Perfectly fine,” you shoot back, matching his tone with a pointed glare. But your attempt at indifference falters when his knee brushes yours—deliberately, you’re sure. “You’re really gonna keep your distance tonight, are you?” he asks, his voice light but carrying that edge of challenge that makes your heart race. “I am sitting next to you,” you counter, swirling your drink for effect. “You’re just mad I’m busy talking to everyone else tonight.” He chuckles softly, the sound brushing against your skin like velvet. “Give it time.”
Before you can respond, Max’s voice cuts through the room. “What are you two whispering about now?” His tone is joking, but there’s a hint of suspicion there that makes you stiffen. “Just telling your sister she needs to get some updated LN4 merch for the weekend,” Lando says smoothly, leaning back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Excuse me?” you retort, feigning outrage. “That stuff is expensive, genius.” The group erupts into laughter, and Max shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Of course, it is. You should stick to the Quadrant merch anyhow.”
"Hey now," Lando protests with a grin, "I'm hurt, Max. Thought we were friends." The conversation shifts, but you can't shake the tension thrumming beneath your skin. Lando's presence beside you is electric, and you're acutely aware of every subtle movement he makes. You try to focus on the others, laughing at the right moments and nodding along, but your mind keeps drifting back to the man next to you. While Lando's quick thinking may have diffused the situation, it only reinforces your resolve to talk to him. You need to set things straight before they spiral out of control.
As the night wears on, you find yourself growing more and more restless. You've been careful to mingle with everyone, pointedly avoiding extended conversations with Lando. But his presence is a constant, hovering at the edge of your awareness. You catch his eye across the room more than once, and each time, that familiar spark ignites in your chest.
Finally, as the party begins to wind down, you see your chance. Lando slips out onto the balcony, and after a moment's hesitation, you follow. The cool night air is a relief after the warmth of the apartment, and for a moment, you just stand there, letting it wash over you. "Thought you might follow me out here," Lando says softly, not turning around. He's leaning against the railing, his profile illuminated by the city lights below. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Lando, we need to talk."
He turns to face you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "I was wondering when you'd say that," he says softly, a hint of resignation in his voice. You step closer, careful to keep some distance between you. The city sprawls below, a tapestry of twinkling lights and distant sounds, but your focus narrows to the man in front of you. The air feels thick with unspoken words and simmering tension.
"This... whatever this is," you begin, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, "it needs to stop." Lando's brow furrows, a flash of hurt crossing his features before he schools his expression. "What exactly are you referring to?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "The touches. The looks. The... the way you've been pushing boundaries tonight. It's not fair, Lando." Your words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. Lando's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching as he processes what you've said. For a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of the city below and the muffled laughter from inside.
"Not fair?" Lando repeats, his voice low but charged with emotion. "What's not fair is pretending there's nothing between us." He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. "Do you really want to ignore this? To act like we don't feel anything when we're around each other?" You bite your lip, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his proximity. "Lando, it's not that simple. Max is your best friend, and he's my brother. We can't just—"
"Can't what?" he interrupts, his voice rising slightly. "Can't be honest about how we feel? Can't take a chance on something that could be amazing?"—"Shh!" you hiss, glancing nervously at the sliding glass door. "Keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to hear?" Lando runs a hand through his curls, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Maybe I do," he says, though he lowers his voice. "Maybe I'm tired of sneaking around, of pretending I don't want to be near you every second we're in the same room."
His words send a shiver down your spine, and you struggle to maintain your composure. "It's not just about us," you argue, your voice rising slightly. "What about Max? He's your best friend, Lando. How do you think he'd react?" Lando's eyes flash with a mix of frustration and determination. "I care about Max, you know I do. But I'm not going to let fear of his reaction dictate my life. Or my feelings." You glance nervously towards the sliding glass door, worried that your raised voices might carry inside. The last thing you need is for someone to come investigate. "Please, keep your voice down," you hiss, even as your own emotions threaten to overwhelm you. "No," Lando says, his tone firm but not unkind. "I'm tired of keeping quiet about this. About us." He takes another step closer, close enough that you can smell his cologne, a mixture of citrus and something woody that makes your head spin. His proximity is intoxicating, and you find yourself swaying towards him almost unconsciously.
"Lando," you breathe, your resolve weakening with every passing second. The city lights dance in his eyes, casting shadows across his face that only enhance his features. You can see the determination there, the longing, and it mirrors the ache in your own chest. But he's not listening. His eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense in the city lights. "I can't keep pretending," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Can you?" And before you can answer, before you can even think, he closes the distance between you.
His lips crash against yours, urgent and desperate. For a heartbeat, you're frozen, caught between shock and desire. Then, as if a dam has broken, you're kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands find their way to his curls, fingers tangling in the soft strands as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The world narrows to this moment—the taste of him, the warmth of his body, the way your heart threatens to burst from your chest.
It's everything you've been trying to deny, everything you've been afraid to want, distilled into a single, burning instant.
But reality crashes back in like a bucket of ice water, and you jerk away, your eyes wide with panic, breathing hard, your lips tingling and your mind reeling. "We can't," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Lando, we can't do this." Even as every fiber of your being screams to pull him close again. Lando's eyes are wide, his chest heaving as he stares at you, looking as stunned as you feel.
Before he can respond, the sound of the balcony door sliding open makes you both freeze. You take a hasty step back, your heart pounding so loudly you're sure everyone can hear it. Max steps out onto the balcony, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene before him. You and Lando are standing suspiciously close, both of you looking flushed and slightly disheveled. The air between you crackles with tension, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of the city below.
"What's going on out here?" Max asks, his tone light but laced with suspicion. His gaze flicks between you and Lando, searching for answers in your expressions. Lando, ever quick on his feet, lets out a low whistle and gestures broadly at the cityscape. "Just admiring the view, mate," he says, his voice only slightly strained. "Can't beat a night like this, can you?" You nod enthusiastically, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "It's gorgeous," you agree, willing your racing heart to slow. "I was just telling Lando how I could stay out here all night."
Max leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. The look he gives you is one you've known since childhood—the one that says he's not quite buying what you're selling. "Really?" he drawls. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you two were having a pretty intense conversation."
You feel your face flush as Max's gaze bores into you, his expression a mixture of concern and growing suspicion. The air on the balcony suddenly feels thick, charged with an uncomfortable tension that even the cool night breeze can't dispel. The city lights twinkle innocently behind you, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat. Lando shifts beside you, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, a reminder of what just transpired.
"Max," Lando starts, his voice steady despite the circumstances. But Max holds up a hand, silencing him. "Max," Lando repeats, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to your ears. "Mate. We were just..."—"No," Max says, his tone sharp. "I want to hear it from my sister." His gaze locks onto you, and suddenly you feel like you're fifteen again, caught sneaking out to a party. Except this is so much worse.
You take a deep breath, willing your voice not to shake. "Max, it's not—"
"Don't," he interrupts, his eyes flashing. "Don't lie to me. I've seen the way you two have been acting all night. The whispers, the looks. And now I find you out here, alone, looking like..." He gestures vaguely at your disheveled appearance. Your stomach drops as you realize the jig is up. Max's eyes narrow as he looks between you and Lando, taking in your flushed faces, the slight dishevelment of Lando's curls where your fingers had been moments ago.
The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken truths. You can hear the muffled sounds of the party inside, laughter and music that seems to belong to another world entirely. A cool breeze ruffles your hair, carrying with it the scent of the city and the faintest trace of Lando's cologne.
"How long?" Max asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How long has this been going on?" You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Lando steps forward, his shoulder brushing yours in a gesture that feels both protective and defiant. "Max," he begins, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through his body. "It's not what you think."
"Oh really?" Max's laugh is bitter, cutting through the night air like a knife. "Because what I think is that my best friend and my sister have been sneaking around behind my back. Am I wrong?"
Charles: That's where the manhole was.
Carlos: I'm gonna show you a manhole. *crashes into him*
Charles: ughh CARLOOOSSS!!!
Charles: It looks good, no?
as i'm sitting down to write part 4 of just this once: does anyone have any wishes? prompts for me to add into the story? float my dms or message me directly ❤️
