Welcome to my rec list for a selection of f1 fics that live in my head rent free! I genuinely think about these fics all the time and I think that you should too! Tbh I could've included more than the 12 I've put in this list but I've kept it short.
It's a mix of ships, lengths, and kinds of stories (so please check the tags!) but they all feature Lando in some way because I am who I am.
Diamond bright, kiss me right by @wedriftlikelonelyplanets
Nortrell | Word count: 11,052 | Explicit | 🔒
It only takes him two steps to close the gap, reach out and wrap his fingers around Max’s wrist, tug him close. “Not that fuckin’ easy to chase me off.”
Max knows it’s going to happen before it even does. Watches like it’s slow motion, as Lando reaches out with his free hand, hooks his finger through the chain around Max’s neck and tugs.
Or: Sometimes Max needs to be reminded of where he really belongs.
Still Your Boy by @cosmicscuderia
Carlando | Word count: 44,727 | Explicit | 🔒
Lando brought the idea up first, after the losses in Canada and Spain, and then his botched overtake attempts in Austria. The idea was separation from one another, for focus. Perhaps they were too distracted by each other, their relationship. Lando remembers being sore in the car, of waking early to slip to Carlos's room and blow him in the shower, of red eye flights to see one another during off weeks before Carlos lived in Monaco. Years of it, but their careers are more serious than ever. Carlos had a contract to secure. Lando has a title to fight for.
Now, Lando thinks about how this is Carlos's last season with Charles on Ferrari. Thinks about how the first time Carlos and him slept together was after Carlos's Monza podium in 2020. It was a shortened season, compressed by the pandemic, the clock ticking down to their end as Carlos achieved in front of the Tifosi for the very first time, not even in rosso corsa yet but destined to be.
And now, Carlos is leaving that team. Where he has been teammates with Charles twice as long as he had been teammates with Lando. He thinks he is going to be sick.
into any shape you like by @alecjbi
Nortrell | Word count: 8,498 | Explicit | 🔒
"Jesus, Max," she says as Max looks back at his screen, running over to come and throw him a bandage. "Thought you've played this game before."
"I have," Max groans. "Just hard with new people."
"What," she says, "like a porn star?"
or, lando is an onlyfans creator who moved to twitch. max is very normal about it all.
champ by @foxlaren
Declando | Word count: 2,403 | Explicit | 🔒
Lando and Declan link up after Arsenal win the Premier League.
Sit Quiet by @wanderingblindly
Landoscar | Word count: 2,749 | Explicit | 🔒
Lando raises a brow. "You want him to hear you, don't you?"
"That's –"
"Always knew you liked Max," Lando smiles into it, leaning forward to reach his desk – trapping Oscar between his arms. "Wanna say hi?"
He seizes, gone stiff against his chest. "Lando."
"That's not a no."
fuck me up repeat encore by @freeuselandonorris
Landoscar | Word count: 11,398 | Explicit | 🔒
The thing is, Oscar’s a nice boy. Well brought up, his mum calls it. He’d sat through the excruciating sex ed classes at school, learning about consent and if it’s not an enthusiastic yes, it’s a no. Before Lando, he’d only ever slept with one person, apart from the odd teenage fumble. A nice girl, his first ever girlfriend. They’d had nice sex, too: always at night, in bed, saying is this okay and does that feel good, careful not to use his growing strength too much. Always holding himself slightly in check.
The first time they’d fucked, he’d been blindsided by Lando’s matching physique, how he could brace himself and take whatever Oscar wanted to give. Oscar had taken it slow at first, hands tentative on Lando’s hips, until Lando had huffed an impatient, amused breath and said you’re not gonna break me, mate, do it properly.
yes baby yes by @darkisms
Nortrell | Word count: 6,343 | Explicit | 🔒
Max, his stupid mouth, and a bet that ends up with Lando in lingerie.
Posterboys by @disarmd
Norbon | Word count: 5,500 | Explicit | 🔒
“I’m going to fuck Alex,” Lando said and kept a straight face for so long that George stopped laughing.
After George's teasing goes too far, Lando decides to get revenge.
The Lines Between by @dandelion-gray
Pianortrell | Word count: 24,712 | Explicit | 🔒
Oscar and Max bond over a shared, inconvenient truth: being in love with Lando Norris is a special kind of hell. Maybe they can't have Lando, but at least they've got each other.
(Spoiler alert: they can have Lando AND each other.)
Lando and Jenson film a sex tape. Max shouldn't watch it. He does
Pink Elephant Paradox by @landonorissian
Nortrell | Word count: 39,303 | Explicit | 🔒
Lando finds out a little secret. It becomes a big problem.
and your quaint honour turn to dust by @foggieststars
Landoscar | Word count: 43,593 | Explicit | 🔒
It’s not like, something Oscar spends a lot of time thinking about or anything. It just is. The earth revolves around the sun, the sky is blue, and Oscar Piastri is a kissless virgin.
At 23, it’s maybe something Oscar should be a bit more embarrassed about. Or maybe she should be less embarrassed than she is. There’s not a whole lot of information out there about the correct amount of embarrassment to feel when you’re 23, a world famous racing driver, and still, somehow, a virgin.
hello dear author i have a kinkprompt req of 12 and 7 for lando/declan if u follow football :33
for my kink prompts
notes/warnings: dedicated to @foxlaren who i immediately ran to for assistance with this one lol! i know very little about declan and football in general, so i tried my best and i truly hope you enjoy!!
7 & 12 — EDGING AND OVERSTIMULATION — DECLANDO
“Thought you said you were gonna fuck me,” Lando bites out through gritted teeth. The desired effect is less potent than he would like, words cut through with a breathy moan that he can’t quite seem to hold at bay.
Declan grins at him, all teeth and charm; the sort of smile that comes across as slightly cheeky rather than downright wicked — Lando knows better than to trust it.
“I am, aren’t I?”
Even when he’s the one with three fingers up his arse, Lando still manages to keep some bite to him. He rolls his eyes, sinking his hips down with conviction. “You know what I mean.”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you patience?” Declan laughs at him, angling his fingers to press with deadly accuracy against Lando’s prostate. It’s a little mean. Lando’s almost impressed.
“Mm, you’d know all about that,” Lando shudders through the urge to make a lewd sound at the lightning pleasure that ricochets through his nerve endings. “Took Arsenal, what? Twenty years to win the Premier again?”
Declan’s grin widens. “Twenty two ,” he corrects cheerfully, spreading his long fingers wide inside Lando.
Lando groans, tossing his head back against the cushions of the sofa, momentarily regretting their lack of patience to get to the bedroom. There’s a perfectly good bed down the hall, and yet — he bites his lip, tastes copper when Declan bullies his prostate again. Yeah, never mind. The sofa’s fine.
“I’m ready,” he whines, pouting in the way that usually gets him exactly what he wants. He’s not proud of it — actually, he is. It’s a practiced, expert move.
To accentuate his point, he squeezes his muscles around Declan’s fingers, tongue sliding across the sharp edge of his teeth in satisfaction at the briefly pained expression that crosses the footballer’s face. “See? Come on, Champ; get on with it.”
He thinks he’s won, for a moment. Declan looks about ready to give in and give Lando exactly what he’s asking for, and Lando wants it; god, does he want it. He’s been thinking about this for weeks now, ever since they filmed that video; ever since he first laid eyes on all delicious 6 foot 2 inches of him, towering over Lando and making him feel — small.
Strange, perhaps. He’s been around plenty of tall men — not hard when you’re Lando’s size, is it? — and Declan’s not imposing in any other respect. But for the entire day a thrill zipped along his spine, sharp and electric, whenever he considered the size difference between the two of them.
After, his wank had been fervent and quick, reaching completion far more easily than usual; thinking about Declan, how his body would cover Lando’s without effort, what he’d look like underneath all those clothes. Whether his dick would be comparable, or whether he’d be opposite to Lando in more ways than one.
Turns out that’s one place they have a level playing field after all.
“Nah,” Declan shakes his head, gleeful at the instant confusion that Lando feels bleeding into his features. “Don’t think I will.”
Then he’s bending, taking the head of Lando’s cock into his mouth, pulling an immediate surprised moan from Lando. And, well — Lando’s not complaining, is he? Sure, he’d quite like to see what a cock that size feels like, but he’s never been opposed to getting head, either, and Declan — he’s good at this. Teasing kitten licks lapping at Lando’s leaking slit, drawing noises from Lando that he can’t hold back now.
Declan withdraws his fingers only to push all three back in at once, relentless, and Lando can’t help but arch into it, inadvertently shoving his cock a little further into Declan’s mouth as he does.
“Sorry,” he gasps, brushing apologetic fingers across Declan’s forehead. “Shit.”
“No worries, mate. Just try to keep still, yeah?” Declan’s voice rasps already, but he just flashes Lando another grin before ducking back down, taking him even deeper this time.
Lando prides himself on being good at taking direction, when he wants to be, but Christ of Declan isn’t making it difficult. His throat is tight and hot and he’s sucking Lando down with intent, fingers brushing barely against his prostate with every bob of his head. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly Lando can feel the heat pooling at the base of his spine, the muscles of his legs beginning to shake with the effort of an impending orgasm.
Too soon, he knows, but — how was he supposed to know Declan was going to be this fricking good at sucking cock? He needs to get some pointers; not that Lando’s bad at it, but he certainly hasn’t made anyone come this quickly.
His back bows, thighs tensing, true restraint in the way he holds his hips down to the sofa; one hand clawed around Declan’s shoulder, the closest part of him that he can reach, and he’s almost there —
Declan pulls off with a slick popping sound, immediately pulling his fingers back so that the pressure against Lando’s prostate dissipates as soon as the sheath around his dick does.
“Wha,” Lando’s mouth drops, blinking at Declan stupidly. “I was —,”
Lando’s still stuck in that limbo, the orgasm ripped from his grasp just as it started to crest. His dick is leaking all over him, hard as ever, and he blinks down at Declan’s pink cheeks, shining just above.
“Are we —,” Lando tries to formulate the words, brain hazy. “Are you going to fuck me now?”
Declan shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Oh,” Lando’s still confused.
“I think you can take a bit more, yeah? A world champion like you… I know you can.”
Lando’s nodding even though he hardly knows what he’s agreeing to, desperate to get something right. He doesn’t have to try and muddle it out himself, thankfully, because it’s only a moment or so more before Declan’s decided he’s ready for it again, and he’s suckling the head of Lando’s cock, pressing his fingers back in.
The intensity of the pleasure has somehow increased tenfold now. Lando wails at the intrusion, fingers digging into Declan’s shoulder as his prostate is pressed against again and again, a rhythm that would be almost painful if he wasn’t so hard up for it. His head spins with the assault of pleasure, orgasm already creeping back up on him. There’s molten gold in his gut, sparks flying up and down the arched line of his spine.
“Gah,” he says unintelligibly, eyes wide and staring straight up at the ceiling above them. “Oh, fuck.”
Declan makes an appreciative sound around the obstruction in his mouth, curling his fingers inside and Lando feels it again; the humiliating swiftness with which he’s brought right to the edge. He can’t do anything but whine through it, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, nails pressing crescent moons into Declan’s skin, and he’s so close, he’s —
Gasping these big heaving wet breaths as Declan retreats again, taking his mouth and his fingers with him, leaving Lando’s hips bucking and pressing into nothing.
There are tears welling up in Lando’s eyes, frustration brewing within. “If you’re not going to fuck me,” he half snaps. “I’ll go and find someone who will.”
Serenely, Declan continues to smile at him. “No you won’t.”
There’s shame now, a fresh, hot burst of it alongside the frustration. Shame that Lando wants this so bad; that Declan knows he wants this so bad. But then Declan’s eyes soften a little, and he brings a steadying, encompassing hand to Lando’s waist
“It’s okay,” he says. “Do you want me to stop?”
They both know the answer. Still he waits for Lando to say it, to give voice to it.
“No,” he breathes out, stubbornly looking at the ceiling again. But it feels like a weight has been lifted somehow, even as fresh tears threaten to spill over. He swipes at his eyes with the back of his hands, swallowing when he looks back at Declan and nods.
It’s more than what he needs to hear, apparently. He sets himself back between Lando’s legs, getting to work again; brings Lando just to the precipice another two, three times — Lando loses track, lost in the overwhelming feelings of it all, filled to the brim with a sensation of gratification that doesn’t quite stick. There’s something about this — about Declan taking his time with Lando, like Lando’s more than just good for a quick fuck — that he can’t look at too directly, like staring too long at the sun and blaming it for the damage caused.
Eventually, Lando is a writhing mess, coated in a sheen of sweat, abdomen and thighs sticky with the stream of precum that seeps from his cock; angry red now, begging for release. He’s almost wordless, making affirmative noises at best when Declan asks if he’s ready, if he wants him inside, and it’s stupid, isn’t it? Lando can’t think of anything else he wants more.
He can’t quite seem to say that though.
“Frickin’ — come on,” he slurs, eyes half lidded. “Need it.”
He registers the press of Declan’s cock against him; the smooth slide of it. Even with all the preparation and lube, Declan’s almost as big as Lando is and he can tell. There’s a feeling of being split open, one he hasn’t felt before, and his mouth opens on a soundless cry, body greedily accepting the intrusion. It’s so much — fuck, is this what people feel like when he fucks them?
No wonder his ex said sex with him was addictive.
“Move, move,” he sways at Declan’s chest lazily, a barely there touch, but is rewarded for it when Declan laughs, low in his chest.
“Patience,” he chides, fingers gripping into Lando’s waist as he starts to fuck him properly, the drag of his cock intoxicating.
Lando gasps, head tossed back. “Been patient,” he manages through gritted teeth.
“Yeah,” Declan says. “You have, haven’t you?”
He starts fucking Lando with earnest, deep, piercing thrusts that have him nailing Lando’s prostate everytime. If Lando could formulate any thoughts, he’d probably be impressed — but all he can think is yes, yes, yes. Thinks he says it too; hears a chant that sounds like it might be his own voice, too out of his mind to feel any which way about it, because he’s coming, finally, untouched and needing only Declan’s cock inside after so long being tormented with almosts.
“Jesus,” Declan groans, hips moving erratically. He keeps it up, pausing only when Lando’s stopped coming and he’s mewling in his chest, limbs falling lax and pliable.
“Keep going,” Lando groans, staring up at him through his lashes. “I can take it.”
It’s perhaps the first time that Lando’s felt more in control than Declan; seeing his words wash over him, the awe in his gaze as he blinks down at Lando.
Hesitating for only a second, he huffs a laugh. “You’re really somethin’, Lando.”
He doesn’t give Lando a chance to respond before he’s picking the pace back up. It’s gruelling, the stimulation against his prostate too much; almost painful, but the sharp edge of it slices through everything until it’s all Lando feels, all he wants to feel. He lets Declan use him, feeling boneless — couldn’t do much more than lay there and take it if he tried, his vision already fading with the overwhelming magnitude of it.
The second orgasm takes him by surprise. It’s barely anything, a wave that crests too quickly, but he blacks out with the effort of it, body tensing. Doesn’t realise Declan’s shot his load until he’s half collapsing over him, muffling a groan into the side of Lando’s sweaty neck.
When he slides out, Lando almost misses it instantly, even as his body screams; muscles aching; arse throbbing with the sheer force of it all.
“Good lad,” Declan mutters into his ear, grinning at the involuntary shudder that runs through Lando’s body. “Knew you could handle it.”
the audience for this is probably two people max but i got inspired by lando giving declan rice a tour of the MTC and arsenal winning the premier league this week, and @tormentorinchief enabled the delusion so here's some smut bc they're both champions and they deserve to have some fun :) | ˚⟡˖ ࣪ read on ao3
Lando and Declan link up after Arsenal win the Premier League.
--
Lando almost never checks his Insta DMs these days. Maybe every other week or so, and when he does, it's not as fun as it used to be when he first got to F1 and started getting message requests from models that were so out of his league he wouldn't have spotted them with binoculars. Today, as he's scrolling through the mix of familiar and unfamiliar names, his eyes catch on a familiar one.
@ declanrice
Lovely seeing u today champ xx
Feeling a sudden tug of interest, Lando clicks on the chat. The message is from three days ago, when Lando showed him round the MTC for that video. He thinks for a second, rolling the word champ around in his brain till it dissolves, sweet and pleasant, then types: you too mate
He turns on the notifications for that chat and locks his phone, going back to the CS stream he'd been watching. The screen lights up again not even five minutes later.
Still keen for golf and that arnold palmer btw
Or something else
You lmk
Lando chews on the skin of his thumb, fighting a smile.
arent you busy wit the season lol
Can make time ;)
Hm. Alright then. Lando types and deletes three different responses, but settles on:
win that trophy and well see yeah x
Will hold u to that
--
Two weeks later, he's at Max's flat playing Warzone when his phone buzzes with a message from Declan. When he gets shot by an enemy he hadn't spotted and his side of the multiplayer turns grey, he opens it.
Are u in lodnon
?
Lando raises his eyebrows and checks the time—it's gone one already. Is Declan drunk texting him?
He turns to Max, whose eyes are glued to the screen, tongue peeking out and thumbs moving frantically on the controller. "Did Arsenal win the Prem?"
Max frowns. "Uh, yeah, earlier." He shoots Lando a quick side glance. "Why?"
"Nothing," he replies, already typing.
yep why
The three dots appear, then disappear. Lando worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Who are you talking t—" Max asks, because he knows Lando too well. The distraction costs him, though, and his character promptly eats it, the exact same way as Lando's. "Fuckin' hell."
Max takes the opportunity to lean across the couch and peek at Lando's screen. Lando considers pushing him away, clutching the phone close to his chest but doesn't, because that would rob him of the pleasure that is hearing Max's shocked yelp.
They both jump when Lando's phone rings, Declan's name and picture appearing on the screen. What the fuck. Who even cold-calls like that? What is he, forty-five? They share a panicked look and Max mouths take it, you muppet, so he does.
"Hello?"
"Hi, mate," Declan says. He sounds tipsy, but not drunk, and loud music can be heard in the background. "You alright?"
"Mega. Congrats, by the way," he says, letting his voice drop an octave. Max rolls his eyes. "How'd you get my number?"
"Oh, I didn't, I'm ringing you on Insta, mate." There are more voices in the other side, and Declan says something inaudible, away from the phone, but then he's back, tone sending a shiver down Lando's spine. "Listen, can I see you?"
Lando's eyes widen, a heady anticipation stirring in his lower belly. He taps his fingers on the back of the phone. "Um. Dunno, mate. It's pretty late."
"So if I were to send you my location right now…" Declan trails off.
Lando swallows. "I'd think about it."
There's a low, muffled laugh, and then, "Y'know what, I'll take it." Now it's Declan's turn to drop his voice low. "Bye, champ."
Two minutes after he hangs up, there's a pin on their chat, and the words Think aboujt it but not too hard yeah?? xx
--
Lando doesn't recognise anyone at the party. He sees a few blokes who might be part of the Arsenal squad, but frankly, he's not the most avid football fan out there. He probably wouldn't be able to tell in broad daylight but the fact that it's dark and loud definitely doesn't help his chances. It's not all that bad, though, because it also limits the amount of people that recognise him—only about three, so far, the rest either too pissed or too busy celebrating to notice him lingering by the bar.
He's weighing up whether to order a drink when he feels a heavy arm settle round his shoulders.
"Didn't think you'd actually come," Declan says, and he's near enough that Lando can feel the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of his shirt, can smell the alcohol on his breath.
He has to tip his head right back to look at him properly—fuck, he's tall, isn't he?—and see his satisfied smirk. Lando grins back, and says, "Well, I'm a man of my word. Got that trophy, didn't you?"
Declan preens beautifully at that, his pupils blown so wide they've all but swallowed his irises. "I did, yeah."
--
The party's a laugh—they drink, they dance, Declan introduces him to some other players, who all seem equally hyped and confused to see him there—but it's all a pretence, really. The whole time, there's an intoxicating, building tension between them that confirms that, fun as it is, they both know Lando's here for something else.
Something else comes not long after, when the party starts to wind down and the alcohol starts to hit. He ends up pressed against a dark corner of the club without much preamble, Declan's knee shoved between his thighs and stubble scratching the side of his jaw as Declan whispers, mouth right at his ear, "Fuck, Lando." He licks the shell of it and Lando shudders. "You're so fuckin' fit."
Every inch of his skin is burning up, the humid air of the club thick with Declan's cologne, cloying enough to make his head spin. His shirt's damp and clinging to his shoulder blades. The many vodka sodas have made him woozy, pliable, and he lets Declan grab his hips, pull him closer until their clothed erections are brushing together roughly.
They both groan at the friction.
"M-mate," Lando pants. "Are you gonna—ah, fuck." He turns his neck to chase the footballer's mouth, slotting their lips together messily. When they break apart, there's a string of spit connecting them, still, and Lando is done waiting. "Need you, Dec."
"Need me to what?"
The words come accompanied by another maddening roll of their hips.
Long past caring, Lando looks up at him through his lashes and says, "Need you to fuck me."
It's as easy as that, sometimes.
Next thing he knows, he's being manhandled to his knees in the loo, face to face with the bulge in Declan's jeans. He fumbles with the zipper, which seems like a monumental challenge now that his vision's blurring at the edges, until Declan lets out a fond huff and bats his hand away to do it for him. He pulls himself out and god, Lando thinks, saliva pooling in his mouth, height's not the only thing Declan's got going for him. His dick's almost as big as his own, pink and veiny.
Eager, Lando wraps a hand around the base and leans forward to take the tip into his mouth. Declan hisses as he swirls his tongue around it exploratorily. "Jesus Christ," he says, voice high.
It's not the best blowie Lando's ever given, that's for sure. His head's gone too fuzzy for him to have any proper coordination, and he keeps losing the rhythm, drooling more than he ought to, eyes watering when he tries to push himself too far. He'd be mortified if he weren't so turned on, if Declan weren't gazing down at him like he wants to eat him alive.
Still, Declan's being sweet about it. He's keeping his hands respectfully at his sides, fingers twitching like he's resisting the urge to grab; he keeps giving these aborted jerks of his hips, the kind that say he wants to push forward but won't. Such a gentleman. And it's nice, in theory—Lando does appreciate it—but it's not exactly what he came here for, is it. He didn't drag himself across London at half one in the morning to be handled like he might break.
So he taps the back of Declan's thigh to get his attention, pulls off just enough to speak around the head of his cock, and rasps, "Go on, you can." Then, because Declan's just staring at him, gobsmacked, Lando lets his own hands drop behind his back, folding them at the base of his spine. Looks up at him expectantly.
"Yeah?" Declan breathes, voice gone hoarse with want.
Lando attempts the best approximation of a nod he can manage with his mouth stuffed full, and relaxes his throat. Declan's jaw slackens, and he says, awed, "God. Perfect little thing, aren't you?" Then Declan's fingers tangle into his hair, and he feels his head being pulled forward, Declan's cock hitting the back of his throat. "Would let me do anything to you."
Well, not anything, Lando thinks, amused. But if he's being honest, there's not much he'd say no to, right now.
He lets Declan fuck his face until Declan's stomach is spasming and his desperate little grunts are likely to be heard by anyone who walks past the door. Land's starting to make peace with the idea that he probably won't get fucked tonight, because he can feel Declan's cock twitching, about to spill down his throat—but then Declan's pulling him off with a soft tug at his hair, panting.
"Mate, bloody hell," he says, breathless. "If there was a world championship for giving head, you'd win that one, too. Come here."
Lando lets himself be pulled up and kissed. Some blokes aren't into this, kissing after a blowie, but Declan groans into it. It's stupidly hot—that Declan's this worked up over his own taste—and Lando feels himself leak inside his boxers. He pulls off to say, "You gonna fuck me then, or?"
Declan throws his head back, laughing at his cheekiness. Then he plants two large hands on Lando's waist and spins them round with ease, until Lando's the one pinned against the wall, arse pushed out. His trousers and boxers get shoved down unceremoniously.
"Look at you," he mutters, under his breath.
Lando hears the telltale crinkle of a wrapper, but when he glances back, it's not a condom. It's a lube packet, which Declan is using to coat his fingers. Lando giggles, eyebrows raised in disbelief—he'd been fully ready to get fucked with nothing but spit and a dream.
"Prepared, were we?"
"Well, I was intending to take you home, but," Declan says, and the sheepish honesty of it elicits a small flutter in Lando's chest. "Y'know."
"I'd have said no, anyway," Lando replies, through gritted teeth, when Declan's index finger starts circling his rim. "Gotta fly to Canada in the morning for the race."
"Yeah? Can I come with?" He pushes one finger in to the knuckle and Lando gasps, clinging to the wall. Declan's words come in a puff of warm air at his nape. "Could do this in the garage, hm? Bend you over the car. How's that?"
Jesus Christ—the image is so filthy it makes Lando wrap a hand around himself. He won't admit to it now, or probably ever, but it's one of his biggest fantasies. Getting bent over the car, his fireproofs bunched around his ankles, getting fucked hard enough for the whole paddock to hear.
"Another—ah," Lando moans when Declan adds another finger. It's barely uncomfortable, with the alcohol, so there's only the slick, dragging pleasure of it. "A-Another time."
"Will hold you to that," Declan says, working his fingers steadily so they brush against Lando's prostate. Soon, he's fitting in a third. "Fuck, baby, so tight."
Lando's eyes roll back into his skull, and he's biting his lip so hard he's sure it will be swollen in the morning. "Feels so good," he whines. "More, please."
"Yeah, baby, I got you," Declan breathes, and then he's lining himself up, the blunt head of his cock pushing past Lando's rim. He drives forward until he finally bottoms out, tearing a lewd moan from Lando's throat. He's huge, the stretch of Lando's hole so devastatingly good that it makes him feel proper smug—if they're about the same size, then is this how it feels when he's fucking someone? Jesus. He's a frickin' sex god, then.
It doesn't last long, because they're in public and because they're already pent up. Declan fucks into him hard and fast, pulling Lando's hips to meet his own as he thrusts. The sound of skin on skins echoes off the tiles, and it's so obscene Lando can't do anything but mewl nonsensically. They've both stopped making sense a while ago, babbling filth to each other as they near climax. Lando knows they're being loud, but right now, he couldn't give less of a fuck.
His orgasm builds quickly, but when it hits, it's long and brutal, his entire body seizing up as Declan's strong arms wrap around his chest to hold him up. Yeah, baby, so good, come for me, he's saying, in Lando's ear, as Lando trembles through it. When he floats back down from the climax, Declan's still fucking into him, but not for long.
Without warning, Lando's feels himself being turned and guided to his knees again. "Open your mouth," Declan tells him, so he opens his mouth.
Through the post-orgasm haze, he gets to watch Declan's face as he comes. His jaw is slack, eyebrows furrowed and face flushed from neck to hairline as he paints Lando's tongue with thick ropes of come. Some of it gets on Lando's chin, and he darts his tongue to catch it. It tastes bitter when he swallows.
"Fuck," Declan pants, slumping against the wall.
"So," Lando asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Are you really keen to go golfing sometime, or was that just chat?"
Declan stares at him and laughs, shocked and charmed in equal measure. "You're insane."
i both hate and love you for introducing me to declando cos i now have something new to be obsessed over but there's NO content 😭
welcome to the cult anon <3 !! see the good thing about rpf is we can make our own content 🙂↕️ in that spirit, here's some more declando propaganda !
exhibit a: the size difference potential
we all know lando's into it... also the size of lando's fireproofs in comparison??? and lando commenting on his height unprompted??? likely place for him to be. (+ why did dec write a whole ass letter with his autograph lmao?)
exhibit b: the different sports potential
lando taking dec around in his fancy cars/inviting him to the silverstone gp ANDDD the fact that declan will be part of england's world cup squad so the concept of lando as a wag in the wc... mind-blowing.
he would look so good
exhibit c: friends with benefits to lovers potential
they are both british golf-obsessed social butterflies born in 1999 and dec just seems like an all around good/fun guy like everyone loves him! they would have fun together
+ they both had bottling allegations which they proceeded to prove wrong 🙂↕️
