pianortrell 15
for my kink prompts :)
notes/warnings: thank u dear anon, i have been wanting to write pianortrell for sooo long. i had so much fun and this kind of ran away from me as a result, so here’s 3k words for you <333
15 - THREESOME - PIANORTRELL
Max feels a bit like he’s dreaming. It’s the surreality of the situation: of seeing Lando and Oscar snogging like horny teenagers right in front of him.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen them kiss before. It would be pretty difficult to maintain the kind of friendship Max has with Lando whilst managing to not see him kiss Oscar, at least a couple of times. A quick peck here and there, a good luck smooch before a race, a brush of lips against a cheek. All fairly average stuff, really, things Max has gotten so used to over the past year that he barely registers them now.
This, though. This is — not like any of those times before.
For one, they’re both naked. That’s different. Sure, Max has seen a fully nude Lando more times than he can count, could probably pick his dick out of a line up — but it’s the context that matters, isn’t it? He hasn’t seen them like this. The way they’re both on their knees on the super king bed, slick sounds permeating the air with how they’re locked together at the lips. And that’s the next part of the sum that adds up to this being a less than usual situation for them: the intention with which they’re kissing. Almost devouring each other, quiet sounds of satisfaction seeping through as they put on a show.
A show for Max.
He’d thought it was a joke the first time Lando had brought it up. All casual, dropping it into conversation like it was nothing more than a throwaway comment.
“You should hear the sounds Oscar makes in bed, mate,” he’d said, grinning broadly, leaning back in his chair with his eyes on Max. “S’mint, honestly. Never known anything like it.”
Max had laughed awkwardly, made a remark about Oscar probably not being best pleased if he knew Lando was telling him things like that. He’d changed the topic swiftly. Pretended like Lando’s words hadn’t settled straight in his groin like molten lava, piquing an interest he’d long believed to be dormant.
Enough time had passed, after that, to lull him into believing it was just Lando being Lando. That he had no ulterior motive in telling Max that his boyfriend was, apparently, fucking loud during sex.
But then, a few months later, Lando had brought it up again. Sort of.
“You ever thought about it?” He’d asked.
Max had felt caught; had to tear his eyes away from where he’d been looking at Oscar over on the other side of the garage, driving suit slung low on his hips. Felt like a right dick, to be honest, perving on his best mates boyfriend like that, but Lando hadn’t said anything, so he’d figured he’d gotten away with it. It had taken his mouth a moment to catch up with his brain. “Uh… about what, Bob?”
“That,” Lando lifted his chin in Oscar’s direction, a small smirk playing on his lip, and Max — Max had felt his heart plummet through his arse, honestly. Had opened his mouth to — deny it, make an excuse, apologise, he wasn’t sure which, but Lando had beat him to it. “It’s alright, if you have. I don’t mind.” The smirk had deepened, bordering on dirty. “It’s hot, actually.”
And what could Max do, when faced with that, other than admit to it?
Still. He can’t quite figure out how they got from there to here within a week. But he’s not complaining, not when he’s already hard and nobody has touched him yet; hard from simply watching the other two kissing, the way they’re getting filthier with it as each second passes.
As if on cue they pull apart, eerily in sync with the way they turn their heads to look at Max. He doesn’t think it should be as hot as it is.
“C’mere,” Lando reaches a hand out. His lips are kiss-swollen and spit-slicked, Max’s eyes catching on the swell of them in unison with the catch in his throat. “Or are you gonna just stand there all night?”
Oscar makes a small almost disapproving sound at that, cheeks flushed cherry-red. Lando shushes him with a soothing touch, fingers strong across Oscar’s abs.
“Oscar’s gonna be gutted if you say yes to that,” he says seriously. “Isn’t that right, Osc?” He keeps his eyes on Max even when he’s addressing his boyfriend.
Oscar responds anyway. “Yeah, please, just —“ he gestures towards Max in the same way Lando did a moment before, eyes filled with eagerness.
And like — Lando had said Oscar’d be into it, obviously, or Max wouldn’t even be here. “Fancied us both for years, mate, hasn’t he?” That’s what Lando had said. But it’s a bit different, hearing it from him and seeing the obvious attraction here, now, from Oscar himself.
Feels a bit like a sucker punch.
“Get your kit off before you get up here,” Lando adds.
In any other situation, Max might argue back at that, just because it’s Lando and he can and he can’t let Lando go around thinking he’s got all the power between them all the time. As it is, he’s too busy acquiescing, tugging sweatpants and boxers down together, fumbling his way out of his shirt. He gets stuck for a moment, half expects to be laughed at for it. But when he reemerges, it's to the pair of them watching him hungrily.
He’s never felt more like prey in his life. He finds he’s more into it than he thinks he should be.
He barely gets one knee onto the mattress before Lando is sliding an arm around his bare waist. The touch jolts Max, unexpected despite everything. He swallows, looking between Lando and Oscar, the unending amounts of skin on show; bronze next to cream. Trying to figure where he fits into this. “How did you want to do this, then?”
Oscar snorts where he’s propped up on his elbows beneath the both of them, legs spread unselfconsciously. His dick is hard and small and pretty. Makes Max’s mouth water a little. “I dunno about you,” Oscar says, deadpan. “But I thought we could start with a snog, yeah?”
It’s automatic, the way Max looks to Lando for approval before he moves towards Oscar — gets it so easily and readily given that it’s barely a question. Oscar’s lips are slightly chapped against his own. He doesn’t let it stay chaste for long, nipping at Max’s lip with his teeth, tonguing into his mouth with a confidence Max didn’t really expect from him. There’s a hand around the nape of his neck suddenly, pressing him into it — too big to be Oscar, so oh, Lando, then. It isn’t forceful, the weight of it sending warmth down Max’s spine.
Oscar is the first to break apart, eyes dark. He nods over Max’s shoulder, keeps his gaze on Max. “You two now.”
“Demanding,” Lando tuts behind Max. His voice is closer than Max expected, breath tickling against his ear. “Come on, Max, my boy wants a show.”
Max and Lando have never kissed before, even if everyone seems to think they have. Now, Max thinks they’re stupid for never having done it, for leaving it this late. Lando’s lips are more dominating than Oscar’s, fighting for a control that he doesn’t want to give up. Max battles with him at first, licking deftly along Lando’s back teeth, before he gives Lando what he wants, opens up for him more easily, quietly. It’s nice, sometimes, to give Lando what he wants. Max knows that better than anyone.
Their hard cocks brush together, almost accidental. Lips break apart, both groaning into the gap between their faces.
“Jesus,” Oscar’s voice is hoarse and breathless. “That’s — you’re so hot together.”
It makes Max flush, both out of pleasure and a little embarrassment. Oscar’s got a fist wrapped around himself, giving these lazy strokes, but Lando slaps his hand as soon as he notices. Forces him to stop.
“Uh-uh,” he says. Almost taunting. “You don’t get to come until we do.”
Max’s mind blanks for a minute. Oscar doesn’t seem to fare much better, whimpering loud and long and —
“You weren’t kidding,” Max nudges Lando, almost conversational except for the croak of his voice. “About the noises he makes.”
Lando gets a well-aimed kick from Oscar, foot landing in the space between his ribs, causing him to groan.
“Fucker,” Oscar glares.
“Hey,” Lando whines, catching his ankle in one hand. “Had to get him on board somehow, didn’t I?”
Max swallows watching the ease with which they interact, the gentleness that underlies even the bickering. “Reckon you could’ve just asked, Bob.”
“Yeah?” Lando’s green eyes flash. “That’s all it’d take?”
Max doesn’t see the point in denying it. He shrugs. “Well, yeah. Think that’s clear, innit?”
“Can’t believe we could’ve been doing this months ago,” Oscar says — or at least, Max thinks that’s what he says, because his voice is muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his head into.
He laughs, disbelieving. Mental. This whole thing is fucking mental.
“Back to your original question…” Lando diverts his attention, grinning. “Was thinking you should let Osc suck you off while I fuck him. Sounds good?”
Sounds good? Like he’s asking about plans for the weekend or the weather. Max thinks he’s entered another dimension. “Yeah,” he chokes out. Brings a hand to Oscar’s thigh tentatively, marvelling at the way the muscle jumps. “You want that?”
“Oh, he definitely wants that,” Lando snorts, ignoring the second glare Oscar sends his way.
Oscar nods too though, flush high on his cheekbones as he meets Max’s eyes. “Yeah. Was hoping you’d fuck my mouth.”
Max all but swallows his own tongue. “I can do that.”
They both snort then, but Max is in far too deep to feel embarrassed by it now. He watches with shocked awe as Lando reaches down and pushes two of his massive fingers straight into Oscar’s hole, Oscar’s back arching and legs spreading wider at the intrusion.
“Already prepped him earlier,” Lando grins at Max’s expression. “Ready to go, aren’t you Osc?”
He must find Oscar’s prostate on the next press with the way Oscar’s face creases almost like he’s in pain, mouth open on a high moan. Lando’s quick to withdraw, petting down Oscar’s waist with his now damp hand, cooing at him as he urges Oscar onto his hands and knees. It’s horribly romantic, the tenderness Lando takes with him, hands guiding him into position gently, and Max feels a lump settle in his throat. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, not with Lando’s attention back on him.
Lando gestures towards the head of the bed. “Sit up back there. He’s fucking class at this, mate, try not to come too quickly.”
Max rolls his eyes affectionately but he listens: settles with his back against the headboard, legs spread wide so that Oscar can get between them. Oscar grips his thighs with both hands, steadying himself, eyeing Max’s dick eagerly. Max has never been particularly worried about his size — he’s average, maybe slightly bigger, nothing compared to Lando. But it’s a bit different, to have it assessed so obviously in front of him.
Oscar seems to approve though. He flicks his eyes up to Max as he sinks down, taking the head into his mouth whilst he maintains eye contact. Max had always thought Lando was the demon in their relationship; he’s beginning to think maybe he’s gotten it wrong this whole time.
He keeps his hands to himself at first, groaning at the kitten licks Oscar applies, the way he tongues along the vein on the underside. Content to let him do his thing. He doesn’t have to wait long before Oscar’s sinking down for real, the tight, wet heat of his mouth taking him inch by inch. He hollows his cheeks on a particularly hard suck, earning a guttural groan from Max.
He can tell the moment Lando sinks into Oscar from behind from the way Oscar gets lower, a moan reverberating around the velvet heat of Max in his mouth.
“Shit,” Max swears, hand automatically coming up to Oscar’s hair. “God, you’re insane —“
“Told you,” Lando says, looking a little wild in the eye as he fucks into Oscar on a few slow thrusts. His hands are gripping Oscar’s hips so tightly Max thinks there’ll be bruises to find later. “He fucking loves it too.”
Even if he hadn’t said it, Max would know — Oscar can’t seem to stop moaning, between the double stimulation of having his arse and mouth filled at the same time. Max slides his fingers along Oscar’s jaw, up to his cheek: feeling the swell of himself on the other side of the flesh.
Lando’s letting out an incessant stream of encouragements and pet names, thrusts getting more ragged with each turn. It forces Oscar forward, deeper onto Max’s dick. He can feel the way the tip brushes against Oscar’s soft palette, the back of his throat, the overwhelming tightness enough to have the muscles of his quads shaking already.
“Think you promised to fuck his mouth. Don’t let him down, Max,” Lando’s grin is all teeth.
Still, Max looks down at Oscar with a question on his face — Oscar’s eyes are watery already, but he makes a move that feels like a nod, letting them flutter shut. Using the momentum he gets from planting his feet into the mattress, Max lets his hips move in slow, measured thrusts, swearing at the sensation. He’s careful with it, not wanting to make Oscar gag; bites his lip to gain some control over himself, feeling his orgasm building already, just like Lando predicted. Bastard.
Then Lando’s reaching a hand down and over, pressing into Oscar’s head and guiding it, keeping him down as he moans around Max’s cock. Lando’s fingers curl into the hair there, and he’s bending forward to whisper into Oscar’s ear, loud enough for Max to hear, “good boy, doing so well baby. Blow Max well enough and he might even fuck you later”, holding Max’s gaze the entire time through wickedly hooded eyes.
It has the effect that Max is sure Lando intended — Oscar choking suddenly around Max, spit leaking out of the corner of his mouth, Max unable to stop his hips from thrusting up jaggedly as he comes a second later, shouting something that he doesn’t even register. Oscar keeps swallowing around him, looking pretty and pleased with himself despite the spit and tears wetting his face, prolonging the orgasm until it’s too much and Max has to shove weakly at his shoulder to get him to let up.
With Oscar free to run his mouth, Max gets to hear him at his best.
“Fuck, Lando, please — please, I need to come — I need you to touch me, Lan,” he whimpers and whines. Goes with it easily when Lando presses a hand to his back, right between his shoulders, forcing him to fold forward into the mattress. Face down, arse up, so Lando can continue his ferocious pace.
“Not yet, baby,” Lando groans, lip swelling under the press of his teeth. All of his muscles are locked, straining, looking every bit the Greek God Max has seen him compared to online. Gorgeous, Max thinks, and the thought isn’t as surprising as it should be. Of course Lando’s beautiful. Of course Max wants him too.
He is clear headed enough now to participate again, running his hands over Oscar’s trembling arms. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, “you’re doing so well, Oscar. Gorgeous, look at you, taking him so well.”
Lando groans again, almost loud enough to rival Oscar. Not quite though. He reaches towards Max, not close enough to grasp at him. Max shuffles forward obediently, not really knowing what Lando wants, until Lando’s curling his hand around his neck and dragging him in for an entirely thorough kiss. He comes like that, panting hotly in Max’s mouth.
It’s one of the hottest experiences of Max’s life. The rest of them have also come from this night already. He’s not sure how he’s going to go back to normal porn and normal sex after this.
Lando and Max continue kissing, lazier now, barely any tongue involved, all lips, until Oscar’s voice pipes up, amused and slightly sullen, “anyone gonna get me off then, or —?”
Both of them blink at him, shakily laughing at the same time, and, oh, when did that happen? Max feels as in sync with them as they’ve been with each other from the start and it feels good. Natural, even.
Oscar raises a brow, dick purpling at the tip, looking painfully hard now. He gestures towards it, like ‘hello?’ and Max can’t help but snort, shuffling back to Oscar’s side and curling his fingers around him swiftly. The reaction is instant, Oscar hissing out a breath through his teeth, hips bucking up into Max’s touch.
“Look how needy he is for it,” Lando brushes his hand across Oscar’s pecs, his ribs, his stomach. “Fucking desperate.”
Oscar moans, even as he half spits out, “you would be too, you cunt.” It has no heat behind it.
If anything, it seems to make Lando’s eyes go softer, a little googly as he’s looking down at Oscar with a smile on his face. Max feels like he’s intruding for a minute, until Lando turns those same eyes on him, and says, “it’s okay, baby, Max is going to take care of you now. Aren’t you, Max?”
“Yeah, Osc,” the nickname falls out without permission, Max emphatic with it. He tightens his grip, speeds up the motion of his wrist. “Gonna make you feel good… you’re going to come for me. For us.”
Oscar whimpers, nodding aggressively, planting his feet on the bed. He looks debauched already, and so fucking easy for it, it has Max’s soft dick kicking wearily against his thigh.
“There you go, Osc,” Lando moves even closer. Gets one hand low on Oscar’s abdomen, brushing against Max’s with every jerk upwards. The other pets through Oscar’s hair gently. “Been so good, gonna show Max what you look like when you come, yeah? Fucking perfect.”
Max rubs his thumb a little harshly into the slit at the head of Oscar’s dick and that’s all it takes to set him off, releasing thick, hot strips over his own stomach and Max’s fingers. His whole body trembles with it, the noise he makes unlike anything Max has ever heard. It makes him dumb, has him locking eyes with Lando who is already looking straight at him, smirking and looking satisfied.
“Fuck,” Max says when Oscar finally stops shaking, using the already ruined sheet beneath them to wipe off his hand: notes Lando doing the same with Oscar’s abs.
“Mm,” Oscar hums his agreement, seemingly content to lie back and let himself be attended to. His eyes are sleepy now, pupils still blown. “Yeah. Cheers.”
The absurdity of it makes Max laugh, Lando rolling his eyes affectionately at his boyfriend. “Let’s keep the thanks till later, yeah?” He says lightly. “He’s still got to fuck you yet, Osc.”
And — honestly, Max had figured Lando had just said that in the heat of the moment. Dirty talk intended to get Oscar riled up and Max off. It had worked, obviously. But they’re both looking at him with obvious interest, Lando curling up into Oscar’s side now. It’s so easy for Max to shuffle up behind Oscar, sling an arm across his waist, fingers brushing against Lando’s hip; so he does. Swallows the lump in his throat.
“Yeah, alright,” he smiles. “Need an hour though, I reckon.”
