Saw your post about anti mark stuff and i'm a bit surprised that it's mostly from 4s?? Never really checked the tag because why would I do that to my man, but I was kind of expecting it would mostly come from seb fans who don't like him as seb's teammate, mostly because anti mark stuff i saw from twittah usualy come from them, understandable tbh.
yupp maybe they hate mark bc his relation towards osc too? (sides the transphobic(?) tweet)
honestly im just a very curious person 😓 thats why i checked the tag eventhough this man basically one of my f1 oshis nowadays sjhdjdj
i might logout for good from this page in a near future, including the main page. not bc i dont fuck with oscmrk or f1 anymore i just want to hv a fresh start so yeah
just watched the race where Oscar won F3 and first of all, wow what a thrill from start to finish
but secondly it is actually hilarious watching mark hovering and trying to get his attention like oh, there he is..... and 30 seconds later there he is again.....
(and in between you can hear him calling oscar's name)
and then of course there's the iconique mask-fixing moment, they have a nice little hug...
but the thing about it that in fact moves me the most: this person asking to take a pic of mark and oscar and mark telling him to just photograph oscar instead--
oscarmark + drunken/tipsy kiss — from a prompt game, for @ilikestopwatches
It's only when he hears the click of the hotel room door opening that Mark's attention is drawn away from his iPad. It's a bit of a relief to be pulled from the torrent of emails by the return he's been so expectantly waiting for. "Oscar?"
"Um," a voice says. Mark stiffens — not Oscar. He jumps out of bed to tentatively round the corner, suddenly very grateful that he's wearing something more substantial than just a pair of boxers.
"Lando," Mark greets, straightening his back.
"Uh, hi," Lando says, awkwardly. Rather predictably, he seems a bit overwhelmed — his eyes are wide and flitting about (the image reminds Mark of Jenson emerging from the bathroom on a night out, the telltale look of having taken something), he's struggling to wrangle Oscar, who is slung over his shoulder and has gone a bit floppy octopus on him, and he obviously hadn't expected to see Mark. "Sorry. I— Osc said this was his room? His, uh, keycard worked, so I thought..."
"I gave him my spare," Mark quickly says. As soon as it leaves his mouth, he realises that explanation is probably not much less suspicious than any other wild conclusion Lando could jump to, but it's better than nothing. "Is he alright?"
"Just drunk," Lando says. Oscar hums in the affirmative, lazy, cat‐like smile appearing on his face. A little grin spreads on Lando's. "Bit of a lightweight, he is."
Mark wants to annoyedly interject that yes, he knows. Oscar's not really a drinker. He had the celebratory gulp of champagne after his feeder series championships, grimaced at the taste, and showered his runner-ups in the rest. It'd be very easy to spiral, now, to interrogate Lando on why he'd let Oscar drink so much anyway, or simmer in the belief that Lando would one day be one of Oscar's bitter, champagne-drenched runner-ups, but more importantly than all of that: his boy needs taking care of, and he wants Lando Norris out of their hotel room.
"I can take him from here," Mark offers. He takes a step towards the two Mclaren drivers. "Get him back to his room."
Lando eyes him with what could be disbelief or suspicion. "You sure? I can probably find his keycard pretty easy."
"Seriously, mate, no worries," Mark says, gritting his teeth into a little smile. He reaches out to Oscar, who stumbles out of Lando's care and into Mark's with practised ease. "Hey, kiddo," he says quietly.
"Heeeyyy," Oscar grins. He's hanging off Mark's arm, and Mark is careful to keep him at arm's length.
"I've got him," Mark promises. "You can go have a little more fun, yeah?"
Lando gives him a look, before shrugging resolutely. "Alright. Cheers, mate." And, finally, he slips out of the room.
The door shuts. Mark listens carefully as Lando's footsteps pad down the hall, occasionally faltering, before finally fading into silence. Oscar follows Mark's gaze, joining in his staring contest with the closed door, appearing to have a sense of what Mark's waiting for.
Mark sighs in relief. Oscar takes it as a sign to properly make himself at home in Mark's hold, throwing his arms around his neck. "Hey," he says again, still smiling.
Mark gets to have a proper look at him now. His face is flushed pink all over, hot to the touch when Mark cups his cheek. A few strands of hair stick to his forehead, slick with sweat. He's warm and heavy and practically falling into Mark's embrace. "Is 'hey' all you can say now?" Mark teases.
Oscar rolls his eyes. "Don' need to talk, anyway."
Mark raises a brow. "And why's that?"
"Wanna do this, instead," Oscar says, annoyance melting out of his tone.
He tugs Mark down by the neck to close the short distance between them and presses his lips to Mark's. It's clumsy in a way that makes Mark feel young again — reminds him of fumbling with his belt buckle in a club bathroom. The lingering taste of alcohol on Oscar's tongue, spirits and something fruity, conjures the same feeling, although their fancy hotel room is an atmosphere much more suited to a man of Mark's age than the cacophany of a nightclub.
It makes Oscar seem younger, too, like the turn 1 divebombs of his early career: lacking coordination, full of fiery desperation, and underscored by pure confidence. He's impatient. Mark does his best to appease him, keep up with him. Grants Oscar entrance when he kicks it off wet and hungry, needing to get into Mark's mouth; tries not to stutter too noticeably when Oscar starts rolling his hips against Mark's, already hard in his jeans.
When Oscar finally pulls back, he's beautiful. Breathless, doe-eyed, lips wet with saliva. He blinks up at Mark. "Missed you," he says, as if to punctuate the kiss.
Mark dips down to bury his face in the crook of Oscar's neck. He laughs, breathily, catching the scent of sweat and Oscar's ridiculous deodorant as he does. "Couldn't tell."
Oscar nudges him off his shoulder with a huff, getting Mark to an angle where he can kiss him properly again.
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