okay so this is a little specific but lando’s wdc got me thinking back to your ex lovers os!! they need a comeback!! what about ex reader reacting to lando’s wdc and then reuniting because of that! the angsttttt the yearningggggg assrgggghhhdhdhdh
Delayed gratification | LN⁴
🥂 summary ──── It’s been months since they broke up and, in the meantime, Lando won a championship. It’s been weeks since he returned home and, after everything, she didn’t congratulate him.
🥂 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader (she/her)
🥂 rating ──── explicit
🥂 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, angst, ex lovers, arguing and verbal tension, lots of swearing, alcohol references and drinking, alternating power dynamics (soft!dom Lando AYYY), possessiveness, champagne play (there are... things used as sexual prop), teasing, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, about 3 seconds of masturbation, unprotected sex (quite some fluids mixing around), overstimulation, multiple orgasms.
🥂 word count ──── 8.5k
🥂 date ──── Jan. 17, 2026
🥂 a/n ──── It took me two (2) weeks to finish this one-shot. Reaching towards the end of it, I entered my ovulation phase and *gestures at the utter filth* here we are. Enjoy ^^
SHE IS IRRITATED to no end before she even reaches the building. Her heels are dangling in her hand as she walks barefoot over the cool pavement, a hurricane of thoughts clouding her mind.
She wears a gold dress that hugs her curves, chosen with much intent not even an hour ago. She was feeling good in it, but now it’s just uncomfortable. Cursing under her breath every two steps, her phone buzzes in her purse relentlessly. Maybe it’s one of her friends, asking where she disappeared to, why she’d left so abruptly, why she’d gone pale after typing on her phone for solid minutes. But she’s too furious to check it, just in case it’s him.
The girl rounds the corner with her keys already between her fingers like a weapon. Midnight in Monaco is never really dark and, especially on a Saturday, the streets are alive in a way that almost makes her ill.
“Lando?”
Initially, her brain refuses to acknowledge the picture in front of her. It supplies alternatives instead: some drunk tourist, or some guy who couldn’t find his way back to his hotel. Then the hallway light stabilizes, and she has no choice but accept her reality: he’s slumped on the marble floor, back braced against her door, knees bent with one arm draped loosely over them. The other is wrapped around a champagne bottle he’s hugging at his chest. His hair is a hot mess of soft curls, flattened on the side where he rests his head and sticking up in the other. His white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled up in the same way he does when he’s restless, like he can’t even sit in his own skin.
He doesn’t look drunk. Maybe a bit worn thin, which softens the storm in her for a few moments before fury settles back in.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to make him lift his head instantly.
“Shh,” Lando’s eyes widen, “I ran into an old lady when I got here, and she said she’d call the police if I made any noise.”
The girl rolls her eyes, stepping closer. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t be here at all, let’s start with that,” she says, unlocking the door with more force than necessary, the click echoing loudly, adding to Lando’s fake distress. “I had to leave my friends because of you,” she continues, “I was out. Having a good night, and then you do this. What even is this?”
Lando’s jaw works for a fraction, getting up to follow her inside, just like he did countless of times before. “Yeah,” he copies her tone, “I had a good few weeks myself.”
“Figured,” she shoots back, the word landing drenched in sarcasm in his ears.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
Her heart drops from her chest, but she’s able to catch it before falling to his feet. “You barely had time for me when we were together, Lando.”
His expression falters. “That’s unfair.”
“Is it?” she challenges. “I spent our last months trying to reach you, but every conversation felt like a debrief. You were always somewhere else. So,” she takes a breath, throwing her heels on the floor, “Excuse me for getting fed up of begging for scraps of you. Which, if I remember correctly, you assured me won’t ever happen. Liar.”
“You told me you understood,” Lando reminds her, feeling betrayed by the way she attacks him now. “And then you were gone. Liar.”
Her lips press together as she shrugs. “Worked out well, didn’t it?” she asks, pointing at the champagne in his arms.
All of a sudden, the post-breakup Sundays blur together in her mind. The early mornings and late afternoons spent in front of her TV, watching every start, every mistake and miracle with her breath held through corners she knew by memory, thanks to him. Because she also remembers cuddling Lando on the couch, studying track maps and data traces with his laptop balanced between them; understanding his world made her feel like she could love him better. And for a little while, it worked out.
She was happy for an indulgent second, but his wins left her hollow for the rest of the day, because she couldn’t share her excitement with the only person that mattered. Losses left her aching and, after each one, her mind took the freedom to wonder. What if there were one different conversation, one more patient night, one less plea? Realistically, she’d never had a say in any of it, not when his world was moving at that speed. So, she conditioned herself to understand. His work had never been just a job; it was the very thing that kept him fired up for years. It pumped life in him every race weekend, everybody could see that. But loving Lando then had meant watching. Always from a distance, even when she was cuddling him on the couch.
“It did,” he agrees, “But not because you left.”
She scoffs. “Come on, Norris. Give me some credit here,” her voice almost cracks from the weight of her stubbornness to sound strong. And stay strong, despite the fact that she feels her limbs loosen with each passing tick of the clock spent in his presence.
She feels it in the way she can feel the weather change. It’s subtle, but noticeable. His absence couldn’t erase him. Instead, it preserved the power he has over her. A scary conclusion that she has to live with now.
“I thought if I slowed down,” begins Lando, unsure, “I wouldn’t get back up.”
As always, she understands.
However, “You still can’t show up like this. What are you doing?” she circles back to her initial inquiry.
“You were my day one...” he trails off, realizing how pathetic it sounds by the time he finishes, “I just wanted to end it the same way, that’s all” he adds, lifting the bottle slightly. “Drink with me?”
Her gaze flicks to it despite herself. Then it moves on to his broad frame and finally, his eyes, where she sees him as she always did: honest, not only with the people around him, but also with himself. Whatever conclusions he’s accepted, must look different than hers.
“Just one glass,” Lando insists. “Please.”
Stepping aside, the simple movement feels much havier than it should. If anything, it feels like a concession made too late. Or too early, she’s not sure which yet. But whatever the case might be, Lando doesn’t stop to question it. He passes her without touching, and when she finally closes the door, the lock slides right back with a definitive click that leaves an echo in her ears and settles like a mountain on her chest. She was all alone in here for months. Letting him cross the treshold now feels like bending a rule. And it’s not even in her favor.
Inside, Lando feels content to stand still and observe, his body remembering her place better than his mind does. There’s nothing wrong with it, because nothing feels out of place. On the contrary. Everything seems to have remained the same: the couch still faces the TV, there are plants and stack of books living everywhere, and he’s noticing some of his old racing magazines lost between shelves as well. The air carries her scent in each corner, hitting him with the realization that time didn’t freeze for her either. She kept existing, just out of his orbit.
He takes a few more steps to set the champagne bottle on the narrow island that separates the kitchen from the living room, its significance gradually becoming too small. When he turns, he sees her moving toward the cabinets right away, silent like a cat. She takes down two glasses without acknowledging him, but it’s not her hostility that makes Lando feel uneasy. Her reluctance has him wondering how much she has changed, after all.
Having him in her apartment again isnt’t uncomfortable. She’s just managing herself, the same way a person who’s learned what happens if they don’t does. Cautious, she notices how easy the remembering is for him as well. He reaches out to switch on the lamp, its warm light painting across the room, exposing more details. It feels intimate, somehow, the familiarity with which he moves in her space, reminding her of how much of it he occupies just by being.
A minute later, as Lando opens the bottle, the cork releases with a tamed pop, the action painfully anticlimactic. It’s nothing like his podium signature, but it doesn’t need to be. This is not a celebration. It’s rather a funeral of an old life that binds them both, and at the other end of the bottle, the only thing that’ll keep them linked is their memories.
He pours her drink first, mostly out of habit than courtesy. When he hands it to her, their fingers brush for a moment too long, but none of them flinches at the gentle contact. They don’t linger, either. Then he pours his own, glancing at her between movements. In the meantime, her glass is already tilted back, and she empties it in a few gulps. By the time he brings his glass to his lips, she slams it down hard, with a sound that translates to finality.
“Congratulations,” she tells him again. “Now, you know where the door is,” moving past him feels like she rehearsed the moment hundreds of times and, briefly, she believes she can succeed walking away from him twice.
Lando considers letting her go, but not for more than a blink of an eye. His hand closes quickly around her elbow, stopping her in place. Sparks fly at the intentional contact, tension snapping as she lifts her head slowly, with a look that can kill. He finds all the warnings there, announcing that they’ve finally reached the point of no return.
“Out of my way, Lando.”
“Don’t leave again,” he almost begs, his pride locked away behind her front door.
“I’m not,” she assures him, displaying half a smile. “You are.”
The words are punching the lights out of him and yet, she doesn’t seem to care as she pulls free without waiting for his response. She heads toward her bedroom, bare feet as silent as ever against the cold floor. Looking back isn’t an option, since she has to force Lando to take the hint, but he doesn’t. He follows her instead, the sound of his footsteps growing louder in her ears, giving her goosebumps.
“The hell I am,” he argues.
The girl spins on him in the doorway of her room. “Don’t push it,” she vocalizes the warning this time, “I’m not doing this again.”
“Doing what, exactly?” his voice is tamed to the point of refusal, managing to control himself enough not to shout.
“Ruining myselft for you.”
His jaw tightens. “You keep hiding behind that like it explains everything.”
She nods. “It does.”
“It avoids it,” Lando fires back. “You said you chose yourself. Which, okay, fair. But you won’t tell me what that means. What exactly you’re choosing over me.”
She can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh. Her eyes are still trained on him, close enough that she can see the tension in his jaw and the pulse jumping at his throat.
To Lando, her amusement looks more like resignation. Though he recognizes it, it’s too late to take it back, his entitlement already firmly rooted in the space between them. In practice, she no longer owes him. Still, he needs something solid from her to hold on to. Or to finally let go. He can’t simply surrender love on half-answers and metaphors. Now that all the noise faded, he had time to sit in it. Had time to replay conversations and to turn her words over until they stopped making sense. And the more he did it, the more pieces refused to align. He kept telling himself that’s why he wanted to see her; he doesn’t want her forgiveness or a miraculous reconciliation. For the first time in months, he just wants to rest.
“For starters, peace,” she replies. “I’m choosing waking up without checking the time difference first,” she continues, “I’m choosing making plans that don’t revolve around race weekends or cancellations or maybes.”
“But choosing that on a random day when you decided you’ve had enough doesn’t seem fair to me. There are two of us in this relationship, and no real talking about it.”
“Does this count as talking?” she asks, trying to create some distance before letting herself be intimidated by his closeness. “Showing up uninvited and cornering me in my own apartment?”
Lando follows her like gravity though, unable to stay still. “You didn’t give me other options, did you?”
“I replied to your texts.”
It’s his turn to puff out a humorless laugh, frowning in her direction. “And that’s all I deserve?”
After taking a breath in, she whirls back toward him. “I bent my life around yours. I had to understand your calendars and packed schedules, your pressure and sacrifices, which often included me but rarely your friends, strangely enough. I saw your job as something noble, worth protecting. And you?”
He stiffens. “What, you think I didn’t respect yours?”
Next time she speaks, it erupts like a volcano. “You thought it was an useless ambition of mine, and I could simply just step away from it whenever you needed me to. Because according to you, I never needed my job anyway. You made enough for both of us, right?”
“You know it’s not like that.”
“Right,” she agrees, offended, “I joke around with Zak and Andrea, I have lunch with your teammate and his girlfriend, I high five your mechanics left and right, and I attend every event, public or not. Now, name one person I work with,” the girl demands.
This time, silence.
“Exactly,” she points out. “Trying would’ve meant choosing, Lando. And you didn’t choose me, unless it was easy. So I had to choose myself.”
“But I did,” counters Lando. “I chose you despite the distance. Despite my calendars and packed schedules,” he steps closer, repeating her words with frustration radidating off him, “And despite your irrational needs, like knowing where I was all the time. Who I was with, or what I was doing when I wasn’t with you.”
It doesn’t show on her face right away, but something in her posture pulls inward. It takes her a few silent seconds to process what he means, and when her mind stalls on the irrational, on the implication that her needs were excessive or inconveniencing him, it’s like she sees Lando with a new pair of eyes.
“You think all this happened because I was jealous?”
Her question remains unanswered, suspended in the air while Lando doesn’t rush to defend himself any further. In his hesitation, she can tell that he has tested every version of the blame, including this scenario, because it’s easier to frame loss as excess than as limitation. For him, it was way easier to believe she asked for too much than to accept that he simply didn’t have enough to give.
Just like that, the clouds clear their sky as abruptly as they appeared.
She turns away, unable to hold his gaze anymore, and walks towards the bed, feeling like she’s dragging an anchor behind her. The weight presses down on her ankles, slowing her with a truth she can no longer fight. The mattress dips as she finally sits, hands resting on each side of her body while her brain desperately searches for a way out.
Her eyes stay glued to the floor when her lips part again, “Come here,” she says; it’s an order born from another one of her irrational needs to end this without shouting or pointing fingers at each other.
When Lando sits next to her, his proximity no longer feels like an intrusion. There is no negetive charge left as his shoulder briefly touches hers. Somehow, they both seem to recognize that this is the far edge of a fire that’s about to burn out, and lingering on blame now would only be a well-crafted way of postponing the inevitable.
“We…” she begins, unaware of how small her voice sounds between the four walls of her bedroom. “We don’t work that well together, do we?” her question is followed by a forced chuckle.
Lando turns his head to look at her. “We do,” he assures her immediately, like the thought has been sitting on his tongue for a while now, waiting. “In there, at least,” he adds, tilting his head to point at her bed with a crooked smile.
With that, he managed to open the memory box and now, the thought of it plagues their minds. They used to fit with no effort, like puzzle pieces falling into place. One look was enough, and the tension never needed translation. They pushed and provoked and teased each other, desire tangling with laughter and laughter with urgency that led to pure… art, in the end.
Her chuckle attempt stays on, morphing into a smile. “Doesn’t count,” she shakes her head. “That part was never the problem.”
“Nope, it was the solution,” he says, leaning back slightly, hands braced on the mattress.
Her body twists toward him slowly, repeating his words in her mind. Inside the maze of it, another thought blooms uninvited: it might be the last time she ever sees him laying on her bed like this, close enough to count the moles on his cheeks and the mechanical breaths between them.
It’s not a nice feeling. No matter how good or bad, when something ends, the nostalgia hits like a freight train.
The fabric of his shirt pulls across his shoulders, outlining shapes she knows by heart, like the slope she always traced with her fingers while half-asleep. The sleeves ride up to reveal his forearms, faint veins popping beneath his skin. His face looks softer in the poor lighting, beautiful in ways she does not have the time nor the right to think of anymore.
The tension in his jaw is still visible as he looks back at her, searching, waiting, fixed on her with an intensity that seems to mirror her own thoughts.
“We’re not getting back together,” she stays firm in her decision, but her voice betrays the uncertainty she’s battling anyway, fracturing on the last word to give her away.
It’d be hard for Lando to miss it, his eyes still trained on her, catching her gaze drifting to his mouth for a suspended second. Then she looks back at him, just as fast, forcing him to straighten his back, putting his body in a proper posture as if that will keep him from crossing the ultimate line. Mostly because he knows she means it.
“I know,” he nods, cautious, while his hand moves to cover hers on the mattress.
The prudent touch gives him chills at the realization that she’s not planning to push him away; his thumb starts massaging her palm, until her hand closes around it. Caring enough to give her time to stop him at any moment, if that’s what she really wants to, he’s slowly pulling her closer. And when he can’t read any sign of retreat on her face, Lando draws her in completely, until her weight leans into his chest just like it used to.
She can feel his heartbeat before she hears it, quickening beneath her ear at the same time his arm glues her to him. Her own starts moving on instinct, sliding up the front of his shirt, palm flattening over his sternum before it lifts, hooking around his neck. There, her fingers find the curls at the back of his head, threading lightly, making him exhale a sigh that gently grazes her temple.
A single beat of truce, that’s all they get before she cuts through it, disbelief coating the tone in her voice. “You can’t be serious right now,” she buries her face further into his chest in order to muffle her amusement.
Lando bites down on his lip, a soundless laugh trapped behind it. He fails right away, mouth twisting upward, his eyes brightening unapologetically, like he’s been caught red-handed doing something he knows he shouldn’t.
“Sorry,” he groans. “I can’t quite… control it,” the explanation comes at the same time Lando tries to reposition himself, “And you don’t exactly make it easy. Especially not in this dress.”
She knows she should back up and return to the boundaries she established with so much passion earlier in the night. But defiance sticks to her like a second skin, and the thrill of power after feeling powerless for so long makes it easier for her, indeed. Easier to control the narrative. To tease. To reclaim herself in ways she didn’t think would get the chance to ever again.
With a determined look plastered on her face, she shifts her hips, pressing her body more firmly into his, her bare thigh sliding against the bulge in his jeans. The intentional drag plucks a silent whine from him, his breath deepening with it, hot gusts crashing against the curve of her neck, where her hair has fallen aside.
Understanding her cruel intentions, Lando’s free hand grabs hers by the wrist immediately, ripping it away from where it’s fisted in his curls.
“Stop it,” he whispers, voice caught in an agonizing spot between warning and wish for her to never stop invading his personal space.
The movement brings their faces inches apart, with noses brushing and lips so close that she can taste his exhale. Old habits die hard, and the attraction is inevitable at this angle. Her scent, his lips, the desire hidden behind their gazes — it’s not a matter of if but when will their agitated sea stop sending its waves on the shore before it dries up completely.
She closes her eyes while he meets her halfway, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that’s all pent-up longing. Lando’s grip on her turns greedy, hand sliding down her waist, squeezing her hard enough to make her gasp into his mouth. The noise gets out involuntarily, making her bite back, refusing to give him another ounce of satisfaction like that. But he hears it anyway. He feels the tremor in her body, and takes it away with a smile on his face, smile that she feels curving into their kiss.
Through force of habit, Lando brakes late and ends up trailing his lips down to bury his face in the soft hollow of her neck. He gets hungrier there, placing open-mouthed kisses that quickly turn to sucks, and a painful urge to leave his mark. The girl arches into him in spite of herself, fingers finding their path on his heated chest, right under his unbuttoned shirt.
“You stop it,” she shoots back, knowing too well that Lando lacks self-control when he’s like this, among other things.
Soon enough, the room fills with sounds of their breathing and the bed creaking as he invites her to invade his space until she’s on his lap, his hard cock now fully straining against her, demanding attention she both resents and craves. The ghost of his lips lingers on hers like a bruise she doesn’t know where it came from, trembling hands working the remaining buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs.
“We are not getting back together,” she repeats, the little sense she has left screaming at her, begging to rebuild the walls back up.
Lando nods again, vehemently agreeing, eyes glued to hers, but the way his hips press up to find her is the proof of how little her words deter him.
Sighing, she spreads the shirt wide, her palms gliding over warm skin, tracing the flex of muscles beneath. It’s unfair how beautiful he is like this, comfortable underneath her, vulnerable in ways she rarely saw him, and still hers.
“But if you insist,” she begins again, gaze wandering lower to the happy trail disappearing into his waistband, “Let’s fucking celebrate.”
Her hand stops at his face, cupping his chin with a grip that’s both command and tenderness. The pad of her thumb caresses his jaw before pushing him back gently, causing his head to slightly dip backwards as she slides off his lap. The loss of her weight leaves him aching and, curious to see what she means by that, Lando props himself on his elbows, shirt hanging open while watching her with hooded eyes vanishing from the room; the sway of her hips in that short dress feels like a punch in the guts, a reminder of what he’s desperate to have back. Even for a short tick in time.
She returns moments later with the champagne he brought clutched in her hand. Without a word, she tips it to her lips to gulp down one more generous swallow, then thrusts it toward his mouth.
“Drink,” she orders softly, her free hand steadying his head.
Lando obeys, parting his lips to let the liquid flow in, spilling a little down his chin as he swallows. With a new glint in her eyes that masks her inner turmoil as best as possible, the girl yanks it back before he can finish, reminding the man in front of her that, ultimately, this is not a reconciliation, but indulgence. A way to drown their what-ifs without fully committing.
Satisfied, she sets the bottle aside, climbing back on top of him. The bed dips under their weight, her dress riding up her thighs as she settles over his hips. Muscle memory is a powerful tool, she figures. The friction of her core along his hardness sends a tiny shock through her, but she tries to ignore it, focusing instead on the bottle again. Intentionally tilting it, she pours a stream of champagne across his torso, the sparkly liquid cascading over his pecs, tracing rivulets down the valleys of his abs, then pooling in the dips before soaking into the fabric of his jeans. It glistens on his skin, golden under the small bedroom light, and she can’t help but observe, mesmerized, as his chest starts rising faster.
Leaning down, she starts at his chest, her lips pressing to the wet streaks. He tastes like the nights they used to lose themselves in each other, when time stopped after yet another argument. Her mouth trails lower, over the firm plane of his stomach, nipping at the edges of his muscles that continue to tense under her. At the same time, she works his belt buckle with one hand, her fingers brushing the straining zipper beneath. A drunk desire battles her resolve; she wants to strip him bare, to feel him thrust inside her until there’s no more wrong and no more right, but she’s aware that it’s not about that anymore.
“Fucking hell…” Lando breathes loudly just as her lips ghost over his lower belly, right above the waistband.
The raw sound coming from his throat undoes her poise, making her lift her head to look at him, a calculated gesture designed to give Lando all the space he clearly doesn’t need. Dazzled by her eyes, his hands shoot to her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. In a simple movement, he flips the narrative, pinning her beneath him on the bed. The switch is seamless, his body completely covering hers and, as a result, drops of champagne trail from his torso onto her, soaking spots across her dress and exposed chest.
A certain thirst flares in his eyes at the image. He can easily find the wet patches on her, head lowering to suck through the darkened fabric to taste the alcohol mingled with her warmth. His tongue teases her nipple, hardening it to a peak beneath the damp barrier, and her back lifts slightly, a whimper escaping despite her best efforts to stay composed.
Common sense, logic and judgement are long gone, passion, lust and sensuality becoming living entities in the space they animate.
Instinctively, she threads her fingers back into his hair, not to pull him away but to feel him closer. She puts all her trust in that grip, knowing that he’ll never push beyond what her body silently begs for.
With an impossible smirk flowering on his face, Lando lifts his head to search for her face. “Can I take it from here?” despite his confidence, his voice has a subtle tremor behind it.
She can’t say no. Not with his hand sliding up her thigh, squeezing her lightly, reminding her of his holy touch.
He spreads her legs wider with his body, knees pressing into the mattress to hold her open. In a way, he was always capable to see through her defenses. Lando is trained to look for weak spots, and he knows hers very well. Like the sensitive bundle of nerves just inside her and the way she clenches around him when he curls his fingers there.
Emboldened, he grabs the bottle she put aside, shaking it lightly to build the pressure before aiming the neck between her legs. A burst of foam erupts, spraying across her skin, the cold fizz contrasting the warmth radiating from her core. He rubs the mouth of the bottle along her thigh, the slick glass teasing higher until it brushes the edge of her champagne-soaked panties. In response, her hands blindly search for something to anchor herself into, fisting the sheets as the bottle’s edge circles her entrance.
“Lando,” his name dissolves into a moan, thighs quivering as she opens even more for him; the dress rides higher, bunching completely at her waist.
He watches in awe, his free hand steady and assuring on her. “Gonna drench you in it,” he almost purrs, but mostly to himself just as he drags the mouth, pressing it against her clit through the lace and rolling it slowly. “But rub yourself on it first,” adds Lando, “Let me see how much you want it after all that bullshit.”
Biting her lip in order to stop herself from cursing, the girl reaches down to grab the bottle and, looking at him, she starts sliding it up and down her slit with the smallest amount of pressure. Lando’s breath stops somewhere in his hroat as he watches her work it over herself, the glass slipping easily through the wetness that seeped past her panties, sipping shallowly at her covered hole before gliding back to her clit.
“Like that?” she taunts, already out of breath.
He shakes his head, transfixed as he leans in, hot breath crashing on her skin. “Close enough,” says Lando, taking the bottle back gently, only to rub its neck along her inner lips, parting them with the rim, teasing penetration without entering.
She moans, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “God, you’re such a fucking asshole.”
His fingers, still wrapped around the bottle, trace the wet fabric, waking her clit beneath the material. “And you’re so wet,” he muses, feeling her hips push against his touch.
Rather aggressively, Lando hooks his fingers under her panties, watching the chill of wet fabric being peeled away. Continuing to drag them along her thighs until they pool around her ankles, he finds the time to shoot short glances at her face, that’s now twisted in pleasure.
Soon, she’s completely exposed to him, her pussy glistening with need and champagne. Not enough, according to Lando, who takes the liberty of dripping some more, the liquid sliding down between her folds, ending up ruining the bed. After that, he adjusts his position, sinking lower until his shoulders wedge her legs apart even further. Their erotic play has left everything slick and sticky and, being mere inches from her, Lando finally gets to take in the full extent of the mess. It’s a beautiful sight, one that makes his mouth flood with saliva even though his throat tightens in dry anticipation, his pulse hammering at the thought of tasting her again after being deprived of this privilege for so long.
Head first, he drags his tongue flat from her dripping hole up to her clit in one lick, savoring the tangy burst of alcohol mixed with her salty sweetness. She jolts, breath coming out in little spasms at his unexpected gentleness. It makes Lando smile, mainly because he knows her body like any other circuit on the calendar. The flavor is intoxicating, a heady cocktail of her essence and the bubbly excess, and it only spurs him on, his cock throbbing painfully as he feasts.
At the other end, she’s completely lost, thoughts of their fight becoming nothing more than white-hot static. Lando’s tongue circles her clit with expert precision, flicking the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips, the suction eliciting more high-pitched moans from deep in her chest. He knows how to alternate the pace: teasing in slow swirls that make her hips lift off the bed, then faster laps that have her legs trembling around his upper torso. His nose bumps against her mound, inhaling her scent as he delves lower again, fucking deeper with his tongue, lips sealing around her folds to slurp every drop. The sounds they both make are bouncing on the edge of absurd, wet smacks and sucking echoing in the quiet bedroom.
He needs her to surrender. Wants to wring every ounce of pleasure from her until she’s nothing but a begging mess, just to remind himself that, in her stubbornness, she still belongs to him. The same need pushes him to take it further, adding his fingers into the mix, two sliding knuckle-deep into her soaked heat, curling upward to stroke that sweet spot he’s teased so many times before. He pumps them in time with his tongue’s assault, the dual sensation shoving her toward the edge.
From where she’s fisting the sheets, her hands fly to his hair, tugging desperately, knowing that he has an annoying habit of teasing her, only to then abandon her, leaving confusion and frustration behind. “Suck on it harder,” she gasps, fingers running through his curls, giving Lando the best motivation, “Yeah, like that. Oh, shit.”
He doesn’t let up, humming approval against her sensitive skin, feeling her walls flutter around his fingers. Sensing she’s close, Lando reaches blindly for the champagne bottle to position its mouth right at her entrance, just below where his fingers plunge in and out, and redoubles his effort on her clit with tongue flicking fast and light, then pressing to grind against it. Her moans turn to whines, and then she breaks. A blinding orgasm crashes over her in waves, pussy clenching hard around his fingers as she squirts a gush of release straight into the bottle, the liquid mixing with the remaining champagne in a warm, milky swirl. She trashes beneath him, legs locking around his shoulders, heels digging into his back while incoherent cries spill from her lips.
Only when her tremors subside does Lando pull back, his chin absolutely drenched in her release, a glossy sheen dripping down his jaw. He ate well, but now he’s thirsty. Locking eyes with her, he rises slowly and lifts the bottle to his mouth, taking a long swig, the blended flavors sliding down his throat.
He licks his lips, an obvious smirk blooming in the corner of his mouth. “Yup, still tastes like victory.”
Throwing the empty bottle on the floor, Lando grips the hem of his shirt and peels it off, revealing in full the planes of his chest and abs. His skin sparkles with a light layer of sweat, his eyes wandering hungrily over every square inch of her.
“You like that dress?” asks Lando, checking her out.
“I love this dress,” she replies, not sure where he wants to take the conversation.
“Get rid of it then,” he orders softly, “Because I’ll rip it off you if I touch it.”
Rolling her eyes, her lips part, but her hands hook immediately under the fabric of her dress, the material clinging to her dampened skin. She yanks it upward, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside, leaving her completely naked on the rumpled sheets, breasts heaving, and her whole body flushed. The cool air kisses her exposed nipples, but the heat coming from between her legs is by far more intense, her walls still throbbing from his mouth, slick, and aching for what’s next.
At the same time, Lando shoves his jeans and boxers down his hips, kicking them off impatiently, his cock springing free, the head already weeping pre-cum in glistening beads. It’s been straining against the denim since the second he laid eyes on her tonight, the image of her dressed like a daydream fueling his need. He wraps his hand around the base immediately, fingers squeezing the hot length as he pumps once, twice, three times, a low whimper escaping from his chest at the friction. His thumb presses firmly into the slit at the tip, coaxing out another thick pearl that spills over his knuckle, slicking his strokes. He’s aware he could finish right there, fucking his fist with rough jerks while staring at her naked body that awaits, with legs spread, folds puffy and wet, inviting him to lose himself in her. But the thought only makes him harder, his balls tightening with the edge of release.
Then he notices her hand drifting lower, fingers inching toward the slick mess she made, seeking to ease the insistent pulse there. Surging forward to wedge himself back between her legs, Lando covers her body in a heated press of skin on skin. His hands roam everywhere, palms sliding up her sides to cup her full breasts, thumbs circling her nipples before pinching them only to hear her whimper again, fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, gripping her ass to pull her closer. He’s everywhere at once, mapping her lines for the last time, because for all he knows, this could be it.
Their mouths crash together in a kiss that can only be described by desperation and fireworks. She gives herself to him like never before, tongues tangling in a frantic chase, hers darting out to catch his, sucking it deep into her mouth. Lando groans into her, plunging his tongue past her lips, licking the roof of her mouth and the insides of her cheeks. She can taste herself on him as their breaths blend heavy, panting into each other’s mouths with no space between them; he inhales her exhales, she draws in his. Boom! Bang! Woosh! Fireworks.
Tongues slide and twist, saliva trailing from the corners of their lips, Lando breaking the kiss only to nip at her jaw and throat before diving back in, somehow hungrier, her nails raking down his back while his cock notches against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin.
“Lando, please,” she whines, “Need it so bad.”
He pulls back, eyes clouded with lust. “Need what, baby?” he asks softly, reaching for his erection. “Me?”
Her eyes drops between their bodies, then back up to his flushed face. “Yeah,” she nods, smiling in disbelief. “All of you.”
Replicating her smile, Lando brushes his nose across her cheek, positioning himself at her opening. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, rubbing the head of his cock against her champagne-slicked pussy lips, but not entering. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” his hands grip her hips, tilting her just so, feeling his cock pulsing hot and heavy.
She can feel the anticipation, the delicious pressure, and the way he tries to hold back to stretch out the blissful torture. But she’s just as impatient and, straining upwards, she tries to take him in.
“Lando,” she sobs, “Just fuck me.”
“Oh, I’m going to fuck you, alright,” he promises, finally pressing in.
She welcomes him with irritation, but that doesn’t stop her from moaning as the head of his cock pushes through the wettnes. It doesn’t stop Lando either, his grunt covering her skin in a new layer of goosebumps.
He pauses, letting her adjust to his thickness, then leans down to kiss her again. Much, much softer than earlier. He comes back to it after, burying himself inside, his muscles tensing with pleasure. Her legs circle his waist in order to jerk him impossibly closer, wanting every sticky inch of him. In return, Lando molds to her, their bodies fitting together, yin-yang style, proving her once again that he was right: they do work well, and nothing will ever come close to this.
At her impatience, he begins to move, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, rocking his hips in searching for the perfect rhythm.
“This is where we belong, d’you understand?” says Lando through his teeth, fighting the urge to moan, his hips slamming into hers. “You belong under me, getting fucked to smithereens,” he quickens the pace, his thrusts hitting deeper. Each impact sends a jolt of pleasure through her, making her arch her back and dig her nails into his shoulders. “And I belong inside you, making you roll those pretty eyes at me.”
“You don’t put down roots, and I can’t keep chasing you,” she reminds him as he hits her G-spot all over again, a sweet onslaught that transports her to realms she’s never seen before. “I need a home.”
“Let me be home,” he insists, pressing his forehead into her.
Moments later, Lando lifts his head from her neck, a dark mark blossoming under her skin. Hers lolls back, letting herself enjoy the way his mouth traces a path of fire back down her lips. The new kiss is ravenous, tasting of desire, the intoxicating memory of what they used to be, and the tragic reality of what they will never get to know. The sticky wetness combined with their accelerating friction makes their skin drag and slap together, a rhytmic melody filling the air, punctuated by their ragged breaths and the creak of the bed.
She can already feel the first tremors of soreness, a delightful ache that promises that good kind of pain in the morning. But the thought is fleeting, obliterated by the need that runs through her veins. She needs him with an urgency that time and distance haven’t dulled. She wats to hear him lose control, hear his moans he only lets out when she pushes him to his limits. She wants to remind herself that she can make Lando just as desperate as he makes her. Even if it’s way past their expiration date, even if it’s not healthy, even if it’s nothing but a reckless dance on the edge of a black hole.
She needs him.
And Lando knows it.
He feels it in the way she clutches him and the way her hips lift to meet every single one of his thrusts. He knows this hunger, because it mirrors his own. Her body is screaming for him, pulling him deeper, demanding every inch of his being. Letting her have it it’s the easiest thing for him, because in return, he knows he’ll get to brand himself into her memory.
“Bloody fucking hell,” rasps Lando, his eyes, wild with dilated pupils, locked onto hers, “You feel so good,” he grabs her hips harder, lifting them to angle his cock for maximum depth.
“Lan, fuck,” she cries, clinging to his back, “Just… oh, shit. Can you go faster?”
At the end of the day, that’s his job.
Lando grins, a feral flash of white teeth. “You want more, yeah?” he slows the rhythm for a torturous moment, grinding his hips, rotating his cock against her sweet spot, making her insides squeeze and quiver.
“Mhm, don’t wanna think,” the girl pants, her eyes closing shut as pleasure lances through her. “Need you. Everywhere.”
His jaw works, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “You got it, love,” he says, starting to piston into her, hard and fast, his body a blur of motion.
Next time she opens her eyes, she can feel him hitting her cervix with every deep stroke, a bruising penetration that makes her lips part to moan louder. Without any warnings, her pussy releases around him, wet and hot, sucking his cock back in with every withdrawal.
Lando has to bury his face in her neck in order to stop himself from cumming. “Holy shit. That’s it, baby,” he whispers hoarsely, his words elevated by the wet plunges of his hips. “Driving me fucking crazy for you.”
“We’re not getting back together,” she reminds him, boneless beneath him, but still clinging to his body like it’s the only thing that can support hers.
“Yes,” Lando breathes short and uneven, “We are,” he counters, feeling her arms wrap around his neck, urging him on.
“No,” the girl argues, a sob caught in he throat as the pleasure builds anew.
“Yes,” he insists. “Fuck, you make me so hard.”
By now, her inner thighs are slick with their combined fluids, her pussy swollen around his relentless cock. With each passing second, he’s pushing past her limits, past anything she thought she could endure for him.
“You make me so mad,” she shoots back, curling her fingers around his biceps. “So mad, I’m getting close.”
Frowning at her words, Lando turns to meet her frantic gaze. He sees the love reflected in her eyes and feels her body convulsing around him. His own climax is building, a roaring inferno in his loins. He wants to drag her with him, he does. He wants to take her everywhere he goes. He wants to make her see that they can work outside of her bed. They can.
Tears fill his eyes, but Lando blinks them away. “Again?” he asks, stopping briefly to see her nodding. “With me,” he breaths wettly against her cheek, “Come with me then.”
He slams into her with a final, brutal series of thrusts, feeling the intense thightness of her inner channel around him as she spirals into another shattering orgasm. A thousand fireworks ignite behind her eyelids, each spark a jolt of pure ecstasy lancing through her nerves. It’s like a chorus of champagne bottles popping simultaneously, their effeverscence replaced by pleasure that erupts from deep within her core. Then a cosmic shift, a new Big Bang, as her body pulls Lando further into the cataclysm.
He can’t hold back his moans anymore, a guttural sound torn from his chest filling her ears, shattering contractions of her pussy sucking at his length. With that, he lets go, his cock throbbing thick, pulsing so hard as if it will never stop emptying its heavy load. Her vision blurs, tears springing to her eyes, not just from the overwhelming, painful pleasure, but from the sudden, crushing weight of reality that slams into her with the force of a physical blow. The utter completeness of feeling him so connected to her, is a stark reminder of everything they were and everything they are not now.
As silence creeps in, Lando collapses onto her, satisfied and spent, his chest heaving against her breasts. He’s still hard inside her, and her fingers still dig into his sweat-slicked back, clenching tighter, even though her mind screams at her to push him away. To send him on a long walk that won’t ever intersect with hers again. But she’s not as strong as she thought she was. Especially not when he buries his face in her hair, exhaling a shaky breath like he, too, is on the verge of crying.
“Lando?”
A beat of silence. A sigh.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” she asks cautiously.
“No,” he admits, “I can’t believe I fucked this up.”
She chews on her lip before echoing his earlier words, “There are two of us in this relationship.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was bitching about replying to your texts, for fuck’s sake,” says Lando, letting his body slide gently toward the empty space next to her. His softening cock slides free from her warmth, making them both catch their breath.
She turns to face him, the change of position natural yet guarded, her arm instinctively curling across her chest to shield her breasts. Lando’s gaze locks onto her, unblinking, tracing the flush that lingers on her collarbone and the hickey he sucked on her neck. He can’t help but reach out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, the touch ghosting there for a while until his palm cups her cheek, thumb softly grazing the corner of her mouth. It’s tenderness and it’s regret and it’s so stupid he let himself get to this point.
With a long exhale, Lando draws his hand away, foldind both of them beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. His body stretches out beside hers, muscles humming from exertion. He doesn’t look away, though, eyes keeping hers captive.
“Either way,” she begins, her hand bridging the small gap between them, palm pressing flat agaist his chest, “It’s terrifying how much I still want you. I wasn’t aware of that, until tonight.”
He covers her hand with his, holding it there. A little spark returns to his eyes, and he dares to hope there is salvation for them, after all.
Propping himself up on one elbow, Lando asks, “So this means we are getting back together,” his voice is gravelly, faintly tinted with the remnants of moans.
The girl huffs a laugh, shoving at his chest, but pulling him back again. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
She shifts closer, molding her body against his side, her head finding the curve of his shoulder while she drapes an arm across his torso. The contact is effortless, her bare leg hooking over his thigh, skin sliding against skin. Lando’s fingers splay across the small of her back, thumb stroking the dip of her spine in soothing arcs as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“That’s a yes in my book,” he smiles, feeling her body fully relaxing in his arms.
The sheets rustle softly as they shift in order to get more comfortable, an unexpected sense of relief settling over them like a blanket. It was a challenging year, but in the end, this is all that matters. Now that he has everything he’s ever wanted, it’s as if the fog has lifted. He can see that some rewards come only in fragments, and that sometimes the sweetest satisfaction is knowing exactly how much one can endure before it gets better.
Because it does get better. Always.
“If we split again, Lando,” her voice is small, but she sounds determined, at least in her ears, “No matter how much I love your hair, I am personally giving you a buzzcut, followed by dyeing it pink.”
“Deal,” he agrees without hesitation, smiling from ear to ear.
𝟯 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥
📍 Miami, USA
Formula 1 News | 28.6k reads | 4.6k shares | 1.7k comments
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