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I had a conversation with @astronomical-light a while back, apparently in tumblr chat (still unsearchable in the YOOL 2024), about Lando and Fernando back in the McLaren days, Lando making an offer when he's announced for the team and Fernando works in the gray with many things but not things like this. He puts Lando off with an easy smile, says, "You've got to earn it," says, "I'll fuck you when you win," then he retires from F1.

When Fernando comes back to F1, Lando is two years older, already on his second teammate, and McLaren is his team, now, and brimming with promise. If he'd had this McLaren, maybe Fernando wouldn't have left in the first place. Maybe it would have been him, instead of Carlos, in the seat next to Lando. Maybe it would be him there in Sochi, when everything slips away in the rain.

He goes to Lando, after, lets him spew the toxic blend of anger and heartbreak and frustration, and then he makes him an offer. Lando laughs, which is surprising, but he looks a shade happier. "No," he says. "I've got to earn it, remember?"

Fernando doesn't remember, but he can take a rejection with grace. He's satisified, anyway, that Lando will be okay. If he passes Carlos in the hall leaving Lando's room, he knows better than to pay any mind. He's in the shower later that night when he suddenly remembers Lando, eighteen years old, making him an offer he'd have regretted accepting, remembers telling him he had to earn it. That he'd fuck him when he won.

~*~

Fernando is back in F1, and Lando is. Older. Beautiful. Terribly talented. They develop an awareness of each other, eyes lingering in parc ferme after the race, a sweaty arm draped around a shoulder after a game of padel. Fernando makes another offer, and he feels Lando lean in to his touch, watches him bite his lip. There's a yes in his eyes, in the hesitation before Lando shakes his head. "When I win," he says. "I want to earn it."

Neither of them expected it to take quite this long.

~*~

Fernando isn't sure if he should go to Lando after the race. There are enough demands on his time, surely. He hears someone say it's a shame Lando's family weren't there for his victory. Fewer demands, then. Fernando settles on a text. Congratulations on your win. You earned it. Lando can do with that what he will. What Lando does, over an hour later, is text Fernando a smiley face and a champagne emoji and a room number. Fernando takes that as an offer.

When he shows up at Lando's room half an hour later, he's greeted by the smell of stale champagne and Lando, undressed except for black briefs that rest low on his hips.

"I'd started to think you weren't coming," Lando says. He looks hungover already, his eyes rimmed red, whether from tears or irritation from the champagne Fernando couldn't be sure. There's a glazed look to him that speaks to the ebb of adrenaline, and when Fernando draws him in for a hug his dark curls are still damp against Fernando's cheek.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Fernando says. "Let me make it up to you."

"Yeah," Lando says, draping his arms around Fernando's neck. "Make it up to me."

Five years of sexual tension is a fraught bottle to open. Maybe the wine has turned to vinegar, maybe it all explodes in your face. Lando opens up for Fernando like a Spanish red, something bold and coltish that mellowed every so slightly with age. He can smell the champagne on Lando's skin and thinks he can taste it in their kiss.

Lando lets Fernando kiss him, and he lets Fernando maneuver him into the bed, and he provides lube and condoms from somewhere, and then he settles back against the pillows and spreads his legs, tries a seductive look but giggles before it even settles on his face. Fernando chuckles along with him, kisses the soft skin on the side of his knee.

Lando is warm, receptive, easy to take apart. He whimpers beautifully, moans Fernando's name when he curls his fingers inside, begs for more, pulling one leg up towards his chest.

"Are you ready?" Fernando asks. He rests a hand against Lando's belly, middle finger teasing the rim of his belly button.

Lando nods, red-rimmed eyes wide. "Please," he says. "I've waited so fucking long."

Fernando knows he means more than tonight. "You've earned it," he says, and he pushes inside.

"Oh," Lando says. His hands fist in the sheets, grip so tight Fernando thinks they might rip. "Oh, fuck."

That's the idea, Fernando thinks. He rolls his hips, and Lando whines, pressing back against him. Fernando could play at being disaffected, but he's not sure he sees the point. It's been five years.

"That's it," Fernando says. It won't be long now.

#fernando x lando #ferlando #were you all expecting Jendo?#yeah. me too #maybe tomorrow #the spirit moves where it will #tumblr fic