it can't be you - ch6
"tell me, are you feeling it?"
chapter word count: 8.7k genres/vibes: explicit sexual content, bartender oscar/dj lando au, angst, lando norris being a little shit, oscar piastri is down bad, coworkers to lovers, teasing, praise, frotting
chapter snippet:
“This goes on your head,” he says, holding out the helmet.
Oscar rolls his eyes and takes it, feeling the weight of it pressing back against him. “I know how a helmet works, mate.”
“Just makin’ sure, we wouldn’t want that pretty head of yours getting hurt,”
“How considerate,” Oscar tries pulling the helmet over his head as Lando busies himself with the small storage compartment. He's realizing very quickly that he has no idea what he's doing because there's about three straps dangling and despite his efforts, nothing happens when he pulls them. It's quite humbling, actually, that he can juggle ten drink orders at once but can't figure out a damn helmet.
When Lando eventually notices his clumsy struggling, he starts laughing, genuinely, shoulders shaking as he dips his head down. Perhaps Oscar should admit defeat at some point, but now he's determined to get this damn thing on his head. The more Lando watches him struggle, the harder it is for Oscar to even focus on what he was doing. The only difference now is that his hands have started turning red from the force of yanking the straps.
"Are you gonna let me help?" Lando tilts his head, leaning back on the seat of the motorcycle and crossing his arms over his chest.
Oscar shakes his head, trying to ignore the heat climbing up his cheeks. "I told you I've got it," he takes a deep breath, trying to seem as chill as Lando looks. He figures it would be completely impossible, despite what people say about him being icy, he's almost always out of his element.
"You're cute when you're stubborn," Lando chuckles, his grin still yet to dim. Oscar ignores him in favor of trying to win a pretty pointless argument, but it's clear he was always gonna lose. In a few quick steps Lando appears in front of him, swatting his now red hands away from the helmet, amusement etched into his face. "Let me."
Oscar stutters, intending to make a snarky rebuttal but Lando puts his hands on the edges of the helmet and tug it down, right onto Oscar's head. There's so much confidence in his movements — not a hint of hesitation as he takes control, tightening the straps effortlessly.
Once he's satisfied with the way it sits, on Oscar's head, he holds the sides — where Oscar's cheeks would typically be — in his hands. "Better?"
Oscar nods dumbly, thankful for the visor being flicked down so Lando can't see the mix of about a hundred emotions on his face — embarrassment, awe, and above all else, want. Because that was so hot.
please DO NOT share this outside of rpf spaces :)
pinterest board
