(Like a) Moth to a Flame ⋆˙⟡ OP81
1K Celebration Fics - "Right here with me, babe. Where it truly lies. My bed, babe."
Summary: A couples holiday was the perfect idea during the summer break. You, Lando, Oscar and Lily spending time on the Greek islands was supposed to be the perfect couples getaway. But there was only one thing you had your eye on, Oscar.
Warnings: PWP, 18+, MDNI, unprotected sex, cheating, semi-public sex, p in v, water sex, praise kink, hand kink (if you squint), beach sex, unresolved ending.
Word Count: 3.8k
The villa on the edge of a private cove on the west coast of Mykonos already felt like it belonged to all four of you. Whitewashed walls, blue shutters that swung from windows, a pool that spilled towards the sea, and a stretch of soft, blonde sand that was yours alone for the summer break. Lando had found the place through a private connection; Oscar had simply shrugged and said it looked fine, Lily had been the one who clapped her hands together and announced that it was perfect.
You stood on the one upper balcony in a black string bikini that barely qualified as clothing, the tiny triangles tied with thin cords that left most of your tanned skin free. The fabric clung where it touched, and the afternoon light made the water droplets on your shoulders glitter. You felt Lando’s eyes on you first, warm and a little possessive, but it was the quieter gaze from the lounge chair below that settled under your skin.
Oscar was stretched out with a book he wasn’t reading—Lily was laying beside him, scrolling on her phone, one hand resting gently on his thigh. His large hand was open on the arm of the lounger, fingers long and still. You watched the way those fingers flexed once you leaned over the railing to call down to them. Just a small movement–enough.
Lando came up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “You’re already causing trouble, miss,” he murmured against your ear. “We only landed three hours ago.”
You tipped your head back against him and smiled, the picture of innocence. “I’m just enjoying the view.”
His laugh was soft as he kissed the side of your neck and went back inside to grab more drinks. You stayed at the railing a moment longer, eyes drifting down again. Oscar hadn’t looked away yet, but when your gazes met he held it for half a second longer, then turned the page of the unread book with deliberate calm. You saw the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
The days settled into the same pattern of heat, salty skin and slow, heavy temptation.
Mornings were lazy, breakfasts overlooking the water accompanied by fresh fruit and strong coffee. Lando’s easy chatter filling the quiet spaces that Oscar left. Lily was her bright and warm, usual self, the sort of girl who made everyone feel included – she liked you immediately. You liked her enough to feel the quiet twist of guilt every time your eyes tracked the flex of Oscar’s forearm when he reached across the table for the juice.
You wore the skimpiest thing you had packed, a white micro-bikini that turned practically translucent the second it got wet. Another day you purposely chose a red bikini that contrasted Lily’s modest scarlet swimsuit—it had tiny ties that seemed permanently on the verge of coming undone. Tiny dresses in the evenings that clung to the curve of your hips and stopped mid-thigh. You felt Oscar’s attention like heat on the back of your neck even when he was careful not to stare. He was disciplined, the same way he always had been, but you saw the way his hand would rest on the table edge when you walked past, fingers sliding slowly along the wood as if grounding himself. His large, capable hands, the type that looked like they would wrap around your waist with ease.
One afternoon the four of you took the small boat out to a quieter stretch of the coastline. Lando and Lily decided to hike up to a view point for some photos she wanted to send home to her parents. You claimed that your headache was making you feel sick and you needed to rest, an excuse to stay back and spend some time on the beach with Oscar. Nothing happened beyond charged silence as you both watched the boat rocking gently on the shoreline. But the air between you had shifted, and you both knew it.
The nights that followed were careful on the surface and restless underneath. Like you never truly know what happens below the surface of the water. You made sure Oscar saw the way the pool water ran down your body when you climbed up the steps from the water. You made sure you heard the soft sound you made when Lando kissed the back of your neck at the breakfast table. You wore the tightest little crop tops and jean shorts during evening walks around the cove. You could feel his gaze burn between your shoulder blades the entire time.
At night, lying beside a sleeping Lando, you stared at the ceiling, hands between your thighs as you imagined Oscar’s large hands spanning your body, a quiet voice telling you how good you felt, how pretty you looked when you took him.
Oscar was fighting every urge with everything he had. You could see the effort that it cost him. The way he found reasons to leave the room when you stretched out on the sun lounger. The way he stayed later in the sea so he wouldn’t have to watch you towel off. But every so often, you’d see the mask slip. When you praised something he’d done, when you caught him staring and simply held eye contact instead of looking away. Those moments fed something hungry in both of you.
By the sixth evening Lando and Lily decided they wanted to take the boat into the old town for a proper authentic dinner and experience Greek night life. The suggestion came casually over late-afternoon drinks on the terrace. Both of them were so excited, Lily already clinging onto your arm and begging Oscar to come along too. You protested and made something up about feeling unwell after spending too long in the sun. Oscar, after a short pause, had said something similar. Neither of you looked at the other when you said it.
They left with laughter and promises to be back late. The villa had soon settled into a different type of quiet the moment the boat’s engine faded into the sea.
You were standing in the kitchen rinsing out your glass when Oscar walked in, he stopped just beyond the doorway. For a few short seconds, neither of you acknowledge one another. The only sound was running water and the clink of glass against the metal of the sink.
“I think they’ll have a good night,” you said eventually, keeping your voice light.
“Yeah, Lando always brings the best out in people.”
You dried your hands on a tea towel and turned to face the Aussie. He was leaning against the counter, his arms loosely crossed, but the set of his shoulders was anything but relaxed. The late evening light coming through the open doors painted a gold line across his collarbone.
You should’ve gone upstairs, or out to the pool or anywhere that wasn’t six feet away from him in an empty house.
Instead your mouth started to run before your brain could catch up. “I’m gonna go down to the water for a bit. Clear my head.”
He nodded once — you thought that was the end of it. You stepped past him toward the open doors that led down to the beach path, you could feel the warmth of his body as you passed, catching the faint scent of suncream and salt water, but continued walking.
You were halfway down the sandy path, bare foot and white-painted toe nails padding down the stones when you heard him jogging up behind you.
The cove was empty, the sun dropping low enough that the water had turned into that deep, soft blue, the surface of the water gently moving. You walked straight into it without looking back, the first cool touch against your ankles, then your calves, then the backs of your knees. The black bikini you still wore from the afternoon clung damply to your skin. You kept going until the water reached your waist, then swiftly turned in the water.
Oscar stood on the water’s edge, watching you. After a moment, he pulled his shirt over his head, dropped it somewhere in the sand, and walked in after you. The sea climbed his legs, his hips, the cut of muscle just above the waistband of his shorts. When he stopped a few metres away the water lapped at the same height as both of you.
Neither of you spoke, the silence felt different out here — less careful, more inevitable.
You drifted a little closer on the gentle current, he didn’t move away. Another small step and you could see the individual water droplets clinging to the dark hair on his chest, the way his throat worked when he swallowed. His hands hung loose at his sides, fingers slightly curled. You had been watching his large hands for the past week–resting on tabletops, gripping a glass, brushing sand from Lily’s shoulder and now they were simply there, empty and waiting.
“This is a bad idea,” he whispered, voice low enough that the water almost drowned it.
“I know.”
You took one more step, the space between your bodies narrowed to almost nothing. The water moved around you both, warm and slow now. You could feel the heat of him even through the damp.
His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower, to the way the wet fabric of your bikini top clung to the shape of your breasts, the hard points of your nipples visible through the thin material. When he looked up again something in his expression had shifted. He was still his calm and controlled self but it was thinning.
You lifted one hand and rested it lightly against his chest, just over his heart. It was beating hard, his skin was hot under the cool water. You felt the rise and fall of his breathing, the slight tremor that ran through him when your fingers spread.
For a long moment he didn’t move. Then one of those large hands came up and settled at your waist, the span of it almost covering the curve of your side. His thumb brushed once across the wet skin just above the tie of your bikini bottoms. The touch was careful, almost like he was testing.
The first kiss was slow, tentative. The taste of salt on both of your mouths, the faint drag of his breath against yours. His other hand found the small of your back and drew you closer until your bodies met under the water — chest to chest, the hard line of him pressing against your stomach. You made a soft sound into the kiss and felt the way it made his fingers tighten.
The second kiss was deeper, his mouth opened against yours, tongue sliding slowly against your own, and the carefulness began to fray. You felt the shift in him like a physical thing–the way his grip firmed, the way his hips pressed forward, the low sound that left his throat when you nipped lightly at his lower lip.
Water lapped at your ribs, your hands mapping the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the sharp cut of muscle at his hips. His hands moved too–one sliding up your back to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into damp hair; the other staying low, spanning your waist, thumb stroking slow circles that made your breath catch.
When you finally broke apart you were both breathing harder. His forehead rested against yours for a second. His eyes were dark, pupils wide.
“We should stop,” he said, but his hands didn’t leave your body.
“I know,” you answered, and kissed him again.
This time there was no hesitation. His mouth was hungrier, the kiss deeper, wetter. One of his hands slid down over the curve of your ass, gripping firmly, pulling you harder against the thick ridge of his cock. You rolled your hips in answer and felt the way his breath stuttered.
You reached between you under the water and cupped him through the wet fabric of his shorts. He was fully hard, heavy against your palm, the sound he made was almost pained as he wined. “Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. You stroked him slowly through the material, feeling the heat of him even through the water. His hips pushed into your hand, his own hand moved from your waist to the tie of your bikini bottoms, fingers working the knot loose with surprising ease. The small scrap of fabric floated free. The cool water rushed against bare skin that had been covered only moments before, you could feel your entire body shiver, but not from being cold, from the touch of him. His fingers slid between your legs, parting you carefully. You were already slick, the water doing nothing to hide it. When he found your clit and circled once, twice, your head dropped forward against his shoulder with a soft, helpless sound.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough near your ear. “Just like that. You’re already so wet for me.”
The praise landed low in your stomach, sharp and sweet. You pressed closer, spreading your thighs a little in the water so he could touch you more easily. His fingers moved with deliberate patience—circling, then sliding lower, one long finger pressing inside you slowly while his thumb kept working your clit. The stretch was perfect. The water made everything feel slicker, more intimate.
You kissed the side of his neck, tasting the salt water, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse under your lips. Your hand slipped inside his shorts and wrapped around him properly this time, hot, thick, the head already slick. You stroked him in time with the slow thrust of his finger inside you. His breathing grew uneven against your hair.
“You feel so good,” he said, almost like he couldn’t stop the words. “So soft aren’t you? So fucking responsive. Look at you taking my fingers like that.”
A second finger joined the first. The stretch made you moan against his throat. Your free hand gripped his shoulder hard enough to leave marks. The water moved around you both with every shift of your bodies, the soft splash of it mixing with the wetter sounds of his fingers working you open.
You were getting close already — too close, too soon. You pulled your hand free and pushed at the waistband of his shorts. He helped, shoving them down far enough that his cock sprang free against your stomach, hard and heavy. The head brushed your lower belly under the water. You guided him between your thighs, not inside yet, just the thick length of him sliding against your folds as you rolled your hips.
The friction made your head spin.. Every slow grind dragged the head of his cock over your clit, his hands gripped your arse, guiding the motion, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The praise kept coming in low, broken fragments against your ear as he softly whispered to you.
“That’s it… just like that… fuck, you feel perfect… so good for me…” His voice stuttered.
You were shaking, the water suddenly felt too deep, too restrictive. You needed solid ground, needed to feel the full weight of him. “Let’s go to the beach–” you shuddered. He didn’t need to be asked twice, you moved together toward the shore, still half-tangled, kissing in short, hungry bursts whenever you could reach each other’s mouths. The water dropped to your thighs, then your knees. Wet sand finally gave under your feet, Oscar’s shorts were abandoned somewhere in the shallows. Your bikini top was still on but it didn’t take him long as he reached behind you and pulled the string with one tug, the triangles finally falling away. Cool evening air kissed your bare breasts, tightening your nipples further.
You sank down onto the soft sand just above the waterline. He followed, bracing himself over you on those long arms. For a moment he just looked—eyes dragging from your face to your throat to your breasts to the place between your legs where you were open and glistening.
“Fuck me,” he said quietly. “You’re beautiful. Every single part of you.”
The words made your stomach tighten. You reached for him, guiding him down until the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He pushed in slowly—so slowly—watching your face the entire time. The stretch was intense after the fingers, thicker, deeper. You felt every inch of him as he filled you, the burn giving way to a heavy, perfect pressure that made your back arch off the sand.
When he was fully seated he stayed still, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
“You take me so well,” he murmured. “So tight around me. Perfect. You’re perfect like this.” He whispered into your ear.
You clenched deliberately around him and watched his control slip further. A low, full groan left his throat. He started to move, deep, measured thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside you. One hand braced beside your head; the other slid under your thigh, lifting it higher so he could get deeper. The sand shifted beneath your back with every stroke he took. The sound of the sea mixed with the wet, the intimate sounds of his body meeting yours.
His mouth found your throat, then the curve of your breast. He licked a slow stripe over one nipple before closing his lips around it and sucking gently, the pull timed with the next thrust of his hips. The dual sensation made you cry out. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, holding him there.
“That’s it,” he praised against your skin. “Let me fucking hear you. You’re doing so well taking me. So fucking good.”
You were already close again. The combination of his voice, the stretch, the forbidden nature of it all was too much. He seemed to sense it. His free hand found your clit and circled with perfect pressure while he kept the deep, steady rhythm of his thrusts.
“Come for me,” he said against your ear, voice rough and low. “I want to fucking feel it. Show me how good I make you feel. Come on my cock like the good girl you are.”
The orgasm hit hard. Your body tightened around him in waves, a broken moan tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through you. He fucked you through it, never slowing, praising you the entire time — how pretty you looked when you came, how perfectly you squeezed him, how good you were for him. The words prolonged the high until you were shaking underneath him, oversensitive and still wanting more.
He shifted without pulling out, rolling you carefully onto your hands and knees. The new position made the next thrust feel even deeper. You dropped to your forearms, forehead against the cool sand, and pushed back to meet him. His hands gripped your hips, large enough to span them easily and he set a harder pace. Every time he bottomed out he gave a quiet, almost reverent sound.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Taking me so deep. Arching for me like that. Such a good girl. So pretty on your knees for me.”
One hand left your hip to slide up your spine, then into your hair, not pulling hard, just holding. The other stayed firm on your hip, guiding every thrust. You could feel the wetness of you coating him, hear the filthy soft sound of it with every stroke. The praise kept coming, low and steady, each word landing like another touch.
You came a second time with his name on your lips, body locking up around him. He followed soon after, rhythm stuttering, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he pulled out at the last second and spilled across the small of your back with a broken groan. His hands stayed on you the whole time, grounding, almost tender.
For a long while the only sounds were the sea and your shared breathing. The air had cooled. Goosebumps rose on your arms. Oscar cleaned you gently with his abandoned shirt, then helped you gather the scattered pieces of your bikini. Neither of you spoke much on the short walk back to the villa. The air between you felt altered—heavy with what you’d done and what it meant.
You showered separately. When Lando and Lily returned late, laughing and a little drunk, you were already in bed. Lando crawled in beside you, kissing your shoulder, and fell asleep almost immediately; you laid awake staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Oscar’s hands still on your skin, the echo of his voice still in your ears. The pang of guilt washing over you as Lando subconsciously reached for your hand under the sheets. The remaining days in the villa were carefully normal, on the surface. There were a few stolen glances, accidental brushes on fingers across the dinner table, one more quiet conversation on the terrace the night before you left the island. “You know we can’t ever do that again,” He simply answered, sipping his drink as if he would find courage at the bottom of it. “I know, Oscar.” You answered, “I really know.” Even though every part of you already wanted more. “–you know what?” A voice called from the doors. You both turned together, Lando facing the pair of you as he held two more drinks. “I was looking for you both, everything okay?” You both nodded in unison, leaving Oscar behind as you walked towards Lando, looping your arm around his waist, leading him away from the terrace. “Yeah, Oscar was asking about Lily’s birthday.” You lied. By the time departure day arrived, both couples were taking separate planes. You and Lando going back to Nice, Oscar and Lily going to England to spend time with her parents. Hugs were exchanged, Lily hugging you tightly and said that this had to be an annual trip. Oscar’s hug was brief, awkward, but his hand lingered a second longer at the small of your back than it should’ve. Lando was quiet on the plane. You assumed it was the usual post-holiday comedown that followed after he had a good time and knew he was another week closer back to racing. You settled into your seat opposite him, headphones on as he scrolled through his phone. Your phone buzzed as you thumbed through your playlist. ‘Airdrop from Lan <3’ You accepted without thinking, absently thinking it was a queue of holiday photos. The video appeared on your screen as the footage loaded onto your phone. It was grainy, but unmistakable of the two figures who were curled together on the private beach. Flickering CCTV from the villa overlooking the beach captured you and Oscar on the beach, six days prior. His hands wrapped around your waist, your legs wrapped around him. You looked up, Lando watching you. Not angry, something colder. Something that looked like the expression when he was reading telemetry data in the McLaren garage. He leaned in close enough that only you could hear. “Interesting holiday,” he said softly. “Wasn’t it?”
