It’s the dick that tips him off, somewhat inevitably. Max’d been lying on the sofa with P, watching the latest episode of . Well, not the latest - sue them, they’ve been busy with RIo and ended up a few behind but that’s what not having to spend all weekend glued to Sky bloody Sports is for, isn’t it?
Somewhat unreasonably, he’s a bit surprised that stayed the same. If you’re going to swap people’s whole bodies around then you might as well put on Money Heist.
He’d got up for a pee, feeling a teensy bit out of sorts but nothing man can’t handle. Probably just a bit of a headrush, body all tingly and that. Sat down to piss, just in case and been doing fine until he realised he couldn’t pee because he had a massive hard-on. Emphasis on the massive.
“Where the fuck’s that come from?” Was his first thought. The stiffy, mostly - Max knows the dick well enough to realise what’s going on here.
God, it’s more information than what he really needs into what a freak Bob - or at least Bob’s body - gets off on. Which, well, should make it really awkward when he gets back to P. Not like he can fly off to wherever the fuck Lando is currently unless man’s passport’s also changed round along with his cock and sexual predilictions or whatever.
Five minutes of thinking about Zak Brown later he’s solved the bladder problem, which feels like a victorious start. Also good to know Lando’s body isn’t into thinking about his boss being disappointed in him for Canada, at least.
Spends another five minutes looking at himself-but-Lando in the bathroom mirror before he starts properly freaking out, feels Lando’s pulse starting to race in a way Max has only felt through hoodies and hugs before, is even more overwhelming from the inside. What the fuck?
“Babe,” his - well, Lando’s - voice comes out in an unmistakable, Bob-like squawk as he pads back into the living room.
“Hmm? I paused it.” P’s hair is over the back of the sofa, still. She’s so considerate, makes sure it doesn’t get in Max’s mouth when they’re cuddling.
“Think something a bit weird might’ve happened.” There’s a tiny bit of him really scared P will be into this, that Lando can beat him in the one thing Max really felt like he was winning at all by himself.
“Oh really?”
Blonde hair sweeps off the sofa and P - well, not P, except it clear is P because she’s moving like P but a bit awkwardly - kneels up to look over the back at him, with now-blue eyes. “Oh.”
“Uhm - you’re, uhm. Fuck, we’re both-”
P-as-Magui looks straight down, in a way Max is very much trying not to, cups her hands over her shirt. “Oh I knew these were fake, too,” she notes, the sharpness of P’s accent weird in the softness of Magui’s mouth.
“Right, yeah, ok, can you tell deuxmoi after we’ve worked out how to get back, yeah?”
P just laughs. “I wonder how long it will take them to notice?”
About ten minutes longer than them, if Max’s phone is anything to go by.
for a prompt— something something the contrast of Lando’s smooth legs vs Oscar’s hairy ones… basically Oscar thigh worship maybe😅 and/or Lando and Oscar comparing hand sizes
"You're like, proper hairy mate." Lando's got his hands on Oscar's thighs, nearly fucking spanning them because he has dimensions as bonkers as anything about him.
"Not really?" Oscar's seen Mark's legs when they're out on the bikes. Shudders, sometimes, at the thought of grey hair there.
"Yeah you are, look." Lando jams his own thigh between Oscar's. "You're all hairy, compared to me."
The temptation to tell Lando that's because he is actually some sort of hairless freak is strong. Except that it wouldn't be totally fair, since the guy has exactly the amount of pubes you'd expect and a bit of a trail down his chest that's more than Oscar can do, honestly.
It's just that on his arms and legs he only has the slightest dusting of soft, golden hair. Just enough to make his skin sort of glitter a bit, in sunlight, make him seem even more ethereal, a creature picked by god. And, apparently, Oscar.
"A bit, yeah," he concedes.
Lando looks up at him, sharply. "S'hot. Like it, like," his horrendous, huge fingers sort of bury themselves in the hair on Oscar's thighs. "Yeah, like that."
"Okay." He's basically used, now, to Lando doing weird sex things. Not like, weird sex things in a normal way - Oscar expected a bit of that but if anything Lando's more vanilla than he is - more like. Having sex in a chaotically incoherent way that doesn't match up to anything Oscar's ever done before.
It's endearing and Lando's not selfconscious about it. Doesn't seem to know other people don't do it like this, all over the top and strange. Lando gets off on things Oscar doesn't think he probably could - like this, just his hands in Oscar's thigh hair while he's grinding his cock against Oscar's left knee - except it's so blindingly hot watching him do it he's usually not far off joining him.
"Do you like it?" It must be pretty obvious he does. They're both naked and Oscar's dick is standing straight against his own stomach, twitching when Lando edges his hands higher, towards the seam of Oscar's hips.
"Yeah, I do. It's nice." Lando needs to be told, sometimes. Maybe he does know how weird he is, that not everyone gets off like this.
"Good." Lando's a bit pink, wild eyed in the way he gets when he's really enjoying something. "Cus I really like it. Looks so hot, with your cock like - yeah."
Oscar can't help preening a bit, reaching for his own dick even while he's leaning over to kiss Lando. Kissing's one of the few things Lando isn't utterly bizarre about, usually very much a giver in letting Oscar lead, surprisingly affectionate and gentle.
"Oh my god," Lando's eyes are like saucers, suddenly. "Could you, like - when you come, can you get it on, y'know."
"I can probably manage to jizz on my own leg mate, yes." Honestly.
"Fuck," Lando closes his eyes, moans, then seems to realise he needs them open if he wants to watch. "That's so hot."
It's clearly not going to last long for Lando, Oscar's knee already wet with whatever's leaking out of his dick. So he sets an aggressive pace, working his own hand to get him there before Lando does. It's just as well he's got such a strong competitive spirit because it's definitely not easy, Lando getting more and more worked up the more Oscar's wanking himself off in front of him.
"Mate," Lando's whining now. "Please, wanna see it."
Fuck. It's - honestly really stupid - impossible for Oscar to resist, when Lando starts begging him for whatever stupid sex thing. Barely remembers to direct his dick over his left thigh, spunk splashing over the back of Lando's hand and into the hair there.
The noise Lando makes is so loud it feels like it's reverberating through Oscar's head, drowning out his own.
Next time Mark has a go at him about shagging his teammate and not showing weakness and all that, he thinks, in the comedown, he's got a really good answer for him. Because Oscar must be a fucking strong bloke or he'd definitely be dead, watching Lando licking and sucking come out of his thigh hair, whimpering when Oscar pets his hair.
I am very excited that you are writing again because I hunger for the snippets.
I would love to read any of your thoughts on how the post WCC celebrations might have gone?
OH. well. i have been consumed with thoughts about how fond andrea was of his boys and while zak's shmoozing the bahraini royals who's to say a team principal and his drivers can't have a more private celebration.
(landoscar, with andrea in the cuck chair)
If Lando's absolutely honest with himself, which he tries to be, he knows what a catastrophically bad idea it is to be shoving his tongue down Oscar's throat in the Bahraini royal palace. But then, Oscar's s'posed to be the sensible one, isn't he? And he's just pushing his tongue right back into Lando's mouth and moaning and stuff, so.
It's all very distracting because Oscar gets a bit desperate, a bit teenage still, does all this grinding and putting his thigh between Lando's. It's a good job they didn't bother to change into suits, still in team gear because this'd cause Lando's tailor a right headache,
Having drunk their combined bodyweight in champagne is maybe making them a bit stupid. Having made it to the end of the season even moreso. Having won. Having done it together.
If Lando's absolutely honest with himself about that last bit, there's something different about doing it with Oscar. Not how obsessed he is, there's plenty of the internet willing to remind him he was that way about fucking Carlos but how good they are together. How they're perfectly in sync, always a counterweight to each other to get the right balance. How Oscar makes him feel a bit crazy sometimes and think about soulmates and so on.
The guy in question makes a soft "oof" noise and Lando realises he must have shoved Oscar into the wall a bit forcefully or something, getting too into it. Sometimes he wants too much, needs to climb inside Oscar or something.
It only becomes apparent Oscar was reacting to something else when someone clears their throat right behind Lando, making him jump forward and actually push Oscar into the wall.
"Mate, careful on the ribs." Oscar puts his arms around him, protective, anyway.
"Who's-" Oscar's being astonishingly chill about being caught humping each other, even by his standards. It takes Lando a second to twist round enough he spots it's Andrea who's interrupted them.
"Don't let me stop you, boys." It's weird how Andrea drunk sounds a lot like regular Andrea, not the way Lando turns all gargly and can't get his words out. "It's good to see you working together, still."
"Yeah but," Oscar pulls Lando closer again. "Probably shouldn't do it like, out here."
"No, that is true." Andrea steps back a little. "But there are plenty of rooms that are more private."
There's some of Oscar's saliva still on Lando's lips. It's a bit different to his own, somehow, when he has to lick it off. Has to drag his feet out of where they're tangled with Oscar's to follow Andrea and like, maybe this is weird?
A glance at Oscar shows him looking nonchalent enough, like heading off to let their team principal watch them make out with each other is normal. Maybe it is. Maybe this is just what happens when you win the constructors' and Lando just didn't know about it.
The thought of Mark and Sebastian making out for Christian is horrible but very believable, after all.
"Osc," he's trying to be quiet, have a quick chat before they get to - wherever they're going - and work out what the gameplan is, here. Problem is, he's had a lot of champagne so it comes out louder and squeakier than he expected when Lando manages to choke out "what are we gonna do, then?"
"Dunno mate, probably the usual." That could be anything. Literally fucking anything. Oscar tied Lando up and ate him out until he cried, in Brazil.
"Nothing wild," Oscar reassures, tangling their fingers together. It's nice, safe. Bit romantic. Oscar's a bit that way, likes to buy silly little things to tell Lando he loves him and things like that.
"And he'll just... be there?"
Oscar squeezes his fingers. "Guess so. He's got us a good car, mate. Good team. Think it's fair."
That's reassuring, somehow. That this is McLaren business. Just team stuff. That's alright, safe, whatever passes as normal for them.
"Hmm, here looks good." Andrea pushes open a door. "Easy to lock and there is space for you."
It's a big room. Not really a bedroom, maybe a lounge or something - there's a big sofa with two armchairs facing it, across a coffee table.
Lando has the mad thought that Zak could have been in the other one. Is suddenly very glad he isn't.
"C'mon," Oscar pulls them down onto the couch while Andrea's still checking the door. It's one of those fancy sort of velvet and gold things, in dark green. Jizz will stain like a crime scene on it but that's probably someone else's problem.
Oscar's hand is in Lando's jeans almost unnaturally fast, where he's lying back with Oscar propped above him. It's nice, always nice when Oscar uses his hand on him but Lando'd got a bit worked up earlier, wants something else.
"Let me," he flips them over, so he's on top of Oscar. "On your thigh, yeah?"
"Oh, alright." Maybe Oscar assumed Lando wouldn't do anything as pathetic as rub off on his thigh in front of Andrea but, well, in for a long contract. They can try and be more impressive next year.
Not that Oscar's much better. They both just about have the presence of mind and coordination to get their shorts and jeans off, boxers too and then it's just their warm skin against each other. Both their dicks rubbing a bit, like a hug. They kind of both smell but in a nice, human sort of way.
Oscar's dick is velvety against Lando's. It's such a good cock, Lando loves putting it everywhere. Wants to have it inside him for at least a day in the off season - mouth, arse, everywhere. Joined to Oscar so he can't leave, won't fuck off to Red Bull because Lando's a mardy bitch or whatever the media's saying this week.
It makes him whimper a bit, thinking about not having Oscar. Has to lean down and kiss him and claw at his biceps, try to find a nipple through his team shirt. Oscar's are kind of hidden, never standing up like Lando's always are but when he rubs them Oscar makes his noise and shudders, every time. Leaks a bit, if they're far enough along. It's so hot.
Oscar's so hot, really. Lando's aware the bloke's obsessed with him, which is kind of weird of Oscar, really but he can't pretend he's not the same. It's just that he's so interesting. All these specific bits, like his fat arse and his big, hairy thighs and the calves Lando presses up against when he's blowing him, all strong and things.
His tiny waist, the way his pecs are almost like boobs and Lando can properly get comfy to sleep on them. His big, strong arms and his delicate hands, long nails that feel good when he taps them on the head of Lando's dick. The way his core's so strong he's moving them even while Lando's getting uncoordinated, distracted.
Oscar holds him so easily, hand on Lando's arse to keep him where he wants him and the other on his thigh, helping the rhythm of where they're rubbing off on each other. It's so nice, feeling so supported, so he can relax against Oscar and make out with him like he's trying to get the air out of Oscar's lungs.
Oscar'd let him. Lets Lando do anything, really. Even the time he'd taken so long opening him up Oscar was wet and easy to fuck all day, loose from four of Lando's fingers.
It's a good memory, makes him hiss into Oscar's mouth. Bending Oscar over on the kitchen counter just so Lando could look at what he'd done to him. Not letting him put on boxers all day, just one of Lando's t-shirts so his hole was like, all exposed to the air and stuff. So fucking hot, Lando's going to-
"Mmf," Oscar doesn't, like, bite Lando's tongue or something but it was probably a near miss. Then he's coming, too, though, so that's alright - they're always close together.
It's so good, holding each other, after. Oscar kisses Lando's forehead and Lando strokes the tingly bits on Oscar's neck that always seem to draw it out a bit for him, make him go all floaty. Especially if Lando kisses them, puts his mouth just below Oscar's ear and even just breathes on the soft skin there.
"Well done, boys-" fucking hell, he forgot Andrea was even there. "You perform so well together, as always."
"Fuck," Oscar tilts his head back, panting, like he'd forgotten Andrea was there, too. "Err, thank you?"
"I will leave you to it." Andrea stands up, brushes down his chinos. There's an unmistable tent in them. "You should find some time to relax, it has been a long day."
Oscar properly laughs at that, scrunching his face up before flopping back into the cushioning. It's cute, makes his chin stand out somehow. Lando wants to bite it.
"Let's - let's just. Clothes, yeah?"
"In a minute." Lando does bite his chin, just a little bit. "Boss said we've got to relax, mate. Don't wanna start doing bad teamwork now."
Lando's pulled closer to Oscar's chest, soft and easy to go. "No, wouldn't want that."
the child they had as teenagers :( but look they both made it to f1! and still in love!! i love these tags sm omg
this involves playing fast and loose with some timelines and/or their kid being a bit smaller than that but whatever that's why it's called fiction, i assume the photo is 2024 so this is like, somewhere in europe
Having had to take a year out, straight after he'd finished F2, wasn't ideal at the time. Mark'd nearly torn his hair straight out, Oscar's mum had bothered him more than any pregnancy side effect and he'd had to sit down and explain that, yes, he knew he could keep going with sim work and he wasn't planning to quit racing, just taking a sabbatical.
It wasn't like there was a seat for him in F1 anyway, so in a way it was the perfect timing. If you overlooked getting his once-a-year drunk in Abu Dhabi and forgetting to take a pill right before getting on fucking Lando Norris' knot, of all people.
His management had been keen to make sure Lando was, subtly and behind a lot of NDA's, forced to pay the child support. Had mumbled about even if Oscar's career was ruined, he'd be taken care of for life at least.
And he genuinely believes he will be, just not quite in the way they'd been imagining - cold legal documents and transaction records. Instead, Lando's holding him round his shoulders while Oscar keeps a tight grip on Albert, trying not to let the generalised anxiety of bringing their kid to the paddock get above base levels, even as the cameras flash.
When Lando'd set up the meeting with Zak Oscar had nearly started a fight about it, insisting he could find his own seat, had his own seat, if he waited for it.
"Yeah but," Lando had argued. "Danny's leaving, isn't he? And I know you're good, I don't want some shit teammate."
"Besides," Lando had leaned in close, breath hot on Oscar's ear. "You'll get all mardy if there's another omega in the garage. They're talking to Yuki."
They probably weren't. But it was enough to check the baby monitor and drag Lando to bed for some reassurance that he was definitely Oscar's alpha. And it would make things pretty convenient, both being on the same. team.
Two seasons in it's still pretty convenient. Being able to nest together between sessions, leave Albert babbling at their families in hospitality, keep each other together, keep what they have safe.
Some of the time, at least. The press, unfortunately, cannot be accounted for.
"Is your daddy going to win the title?" It's a photographer Oscar doesn't like in the first place, braces to move them on from this impromptu photocall and feels Lando do the same, next to him.
Albert, definitely a mix of both of their genes, seems less fazed. Glaring out from under his mop of curls, replies in a toddler deadpan. "Yeah. Both of them will."
There's a chorus of 'aww's and Oscar decides it is time to move it along, picks Albert up onto his hip and feels Lando scoot round to be the other side, hemming their child in from any other paddock freaks.
"We can't both win the title, champ." Lando says it gently, like he's trying to explain something he's worried Albert's going to get upset about.
Their child just shrugs, clinging close to Oscar as though he's sleepy. "Have to learn to share."
It's said so seriously Oscar very nearly doubles over laughing and drops his son, only just about stops himself. "I guess we will, yeah."
"Boys, I know that you must be finding this so disappointing. We are disappointed, too - in ourselves, as a team, in what we have lost today."
Andrea means it, is the thing. Really does. When he says they're going to try their best to make sure it never happens again there really will be a thorough investigation into it.
When it happened to Lewis and Charles, back in China, there's no way Oscar can imagine Ferrari having been so thorough, so genuinely apologetic. If he lets himself get into some really deranged imagination then the classic "we are checking" is the response he'd expect.
So, it's good. That Andrea actually cares. Seems to be taking it more like a blow to his own title hopes than either of theirs, even though the constructors is all wrapped up already.
"This isn't our fault, though, yeah?" Lando looks like his hands are twitching to get the fabric of his hoodie sleeves in a stranglehold. Like he's trying not to seem desperate.
Oscar doesn't even know what he's worrying about. He's had weeks of freedom, Baku having locked up Oscar's hopes.
"Of course not, no." Andrea says it softly, reaching out a hand to each of them, soothing thumb-strokes down their biceps.
"So you're going to let us out, yeah?" Lando's not got any gum in his mouth, for once, which makes it more obvious than usual he's swallowing around emotions.
"Oh, boys." Andrea sighs, genuinely sorry about this, too. "We cannot. You know the rules, if you fall backwards in the title then we cannot give you the keys."
It's not really a problem. Oscar's learned to come in the cage. There's only two more races, Oscar's waited this long, if the howling pit of disappointment in his stomach hasn't swallowed him yet then he's sure he'll survive.
Lando, on the other hand, wants things on a scale Oscar struggles to feel, now.
"Please," the big, watery eyes won't work on Andrea but Lando's trying them anyway. "Please, we would have got good results-"
"Lando, please. There are no theoretical points. You will just have to wait until Qatar."
Lando sniffles about it, tries a few more whiny attempts at bargaining, goes to talk to Jon at one point to try and claim he has a medical issue. Oscar's left with the satisfaction of not embarrassing himself about it, at least.
He can't help smiling to himself on the way out of the motorhome, knowing there's a vibrator with a good night's sleep the other side of it in his hotel room.
would like to hear your thoughts on what girl!oscar would think of Lando in a club wearing an australia hat 😳
ha well. fic unde the cut
The first thing she notices isn't what Logan's messaging her about. Which she finds out when "omg I fucking hate those sunnies" gets an eyeroll emoji and a long typing response.
Surely you haven't got him so whipped you don't even notice when he's switching nationalities for you yet?
And no, yeah, she does. Notice it. It's not like Valtteri or whatever, becoming an honourary bogan. Lando couldn't pass for Aussie to save his fucking life, he's possibly never (at least as far as Oscar can tell) experienced "chilling out" and throwing a shrimp on the proverbial barbie would have him shrieking.
But Lando's started deliberately checking on Australian sports. He clearly has no idea what most of them are but makes an effort to natter to her about them, when they're wasting time in their driver room and both in danger of getting antsy before whatever media drivel they're scheduled into.
He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for, generally but especially when it comes to something he's concentrating on. Lando knows more about Australian politics than she does, now. Has views about wildlife conservation Oscar tries to keep up with, endorse the wildfire prevention and recovery fund the Quadrant outback drop donated to.
He even googled foods from Melbourne and discovered pigs in blankets is something they're both easily into eating a secret box of, smuggled from Tesco to the weird little flat they sometimes stay in in Woking
Think that's for Keegan not me dude
This time Logan takes no time at all to send back lmao and as if followed by never change Oscar.
She just sends back I really do hate those sunglasses, they make him look like Alonso before we were born. Lando's style is his own business but Oscar reserves the right to take the piss out of it when he deserves it. And only abuse the media team's access to Getty Images a bit when he wears something really hot into the paddock.
"Wow, harsh," the man in question declares, reading over Oscar's shoulder. "I think they're quite cool."
"You think clubbing is cool." She rolls onto her back, lets him snuggle down on top of her. They probably ought to get dressed soon, for the jet back from Ibiza. If they're late they might get sent to fucking Marseille again and as wank as it is having complaints about private jets, Oscar's not keen to repeat that.
Making a woman wait 10 hours for her post-win fuck is inhumane, no matter the mode of transport.
"Yeah." Lando sounds oddly melancholy about it, makes her tighten her arms around him and leave a space for him to carry on his sentence.
It's a few long beats before he does. "Prefer just hanging out with you, though."
They've talked about this, that they're becoming a bit insular. Don't spend as much time with their other friends, doing their separate hobbies, as they used to. It's rare Oscar wakes up without someone who loves her, understands her instantly, in the same bed.
It's not a bad thing. Or at least, it shouldn't be. People on TikTok make out like they're never apart and body language freaks on YouTube say they're tired of each other but they're not. The more time they spend together, the easier it is. The harder it is to imagine how they exist apart.
Just as well, really, if they're getting married. Makes her bundle Lando up against her, like even imagining what separating them would be like is a thought crime she needs to protect him against.
It's pretty sweet, being Oscar Piastri, this time.
"I don't want to take the plug out," Lando mumbles into her armpit. "Do you think it'll set off the scanner things?"
Probably not. Silicon isn't metallic and they're not likely to cavity search him.
"Won't you be all," she tries to gesture what he's like when he's wriggling. "On the plane."
Lando thinks about it for a second, then tucks himself into her, looking dangerously like he's about to fall asleep. "Nope. Not if you cuddle me."
"I'll take it out when we get back to the flat." She has no idea if he'll last that long or get squiggly and end up doing away with it in the tiny bathroom on the jet.
"You can put something bigger in." Lando's hand engulfs hers, where he wraps them together but Oscar can get the jist of what he's asking for. Kisses his hair, to hide how much she's squeezing her thighs together, wet and hot at just the thought.
And maybe a little bit for the engagement ring on his finger, biting hard and solid into the pulse point of Oscar's palm.
hello! here to ask for max f & lando -💜 impulsive kiss, please (if that takes your fancy) :)
sorry this took me ages! i was laid low with perversions.
It's not like it used to be, when they did bits all the time. It was easy, when they were karting and then a bit more complicated when they were in completely fucking different series, a bit easier again when Max got to F3. Much easier when he dropped out and moved in.
But now they both have other people they're supposed to be copping off with and when they get time together there's so much hanging out they have to get done, on a tight schedule now, that it doesn't really come up. When you've only got 36 hours to fit in three months of best friend time then dick touching can get shoved down the agenda a bit in favour of worrying about their proper relationships and gossiping about what Tom's been up to now and did you know Ria's got a boyfriend now, mate? Bloke's fucking massive, thought a mountain had walked into the office.
He knows how Max crumples his face up in concentration when he's about to come, like he has to focus on the goal. That he really likes having his arse played with but he's touchy about it sometimes, still, gets all tense and bent up about it if Lando tries anything stupid, won't let him at all if he makes any jokes. Doesn't mind putting Lando's cock in his mouth, usually but Max'd rather lie back a lot of the time, make Lando do all the work. Likes to be held, after, fall asleep together for a bit even if it's 11am and Jon's due in half an hour.
So, yeah, it's not like they're not doing it. They could do it. It's just that they mostly haven't been, for a bit. Which makes it weird, when he wins and Max isn't there because there's fucking nothing more Lando wants to do, suddenly, than wank each other off in his hotel room so they're both all glazed before they even get to the club.
Snogging Oscar, later, is interesting - he's a bit of a perv, that Piastri. Sticks his hand down the back of Lando's suit trousers and presses a sweaty fingertip to his arsehole, like Oscar's just checking it's there or something. Reminding himself Lando's fuckable, who knows. It's not the same, though, so Lando ends up trying to jack it in bed with one foot on the floor to stop the room spinning and passing out before he makes himself come.
Then it's ages, isn't it because Max doesn't come to Monaco, either. Because he's making a home with his girlfriend and that's fine, good even, they'll probably be having kids sooner or later won't they and doesn't that make Lando feel something like vertigo. F1 race winner, dad - they're not supposed to be doing them as separate routes. They could've been both, together.
But then there's the football, yeah. And Max texts him some shit like looking pretty decent there Bob almost had me convinced you know ball and Lando's trying not to blush at his phone like an idiot or anything because sometimes, you know. It's nice, still. That Max likes him.
Obviously they have to run into fucking Oleksandr Usyk and it's a bit weird, innit, that he recognises Lando first and then Max is all in awe and trying to tell Lando who the bloke is which, right, he doesn't really care all that much.
"You'd think his face'd get more fucked up, doing all that stuff. You're looking like you've gone more rounds than him, mate-"
"Shut up." It's alright, Max taking the piss out of him. Makes him feel less self-conscious about it, really.
"Make me, then." And Max throws his fists up into some poor imitation of a boxing stance, so Lando's pretty sure he meant something else but also he's laughing and knocking his shoulder into Lando's and his mouth is pink and warm and the most familiar of any Lando's ever touched his own to.
It's not a long kiss, they're standing on a London street, in broad daylight, it'd be stupid to get all hot and heavy with it. Jesus, what if P catches them? Just their fucking luck she'd be popping out for milk or something.
But it's enough. Lando's hands closing around Max's fists to draw him close, quickly. Just a taste of each other's tongues, musky with coffee and matcha. A reminder of how they are when they're like this.
(Perfect. Lando's confident they'll sort it all out one day, just need to get the other stuff out of their systems first but they'll never stop coming back to this.)
"Didn't know boxing got you all hot and bothered, Bob." Max shoves him away a bit, only to pull them back together. It's the same way they always are.
"Nah," he feels honest, free with it, like the relief across the finish line. "Only you."
