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So Come And Take It

5107 words | ⚠️ Smut

~ Part 2 of If You Want It, You Can Have It ~

This part's a little longer lol, enjoy!

Thank you @481boxboxbaby for your fantastic ideas 🤭🫶

Up on ao3 too

So Come And Take It

The week following the incident in Singapore is filled with longing looks and heated stares. The team have clearly picked up on whatever something is going on between them, but no one’s brave enough to question or call them out on it. After the fifth or sixth meeting in which they’d both been equally distracted - Lando checking the other out with Oscar’s eyes never drifting from the Brit’s pillowy lips where they wrap around the tip of his pen absently - Oscar decides he can’t take it anymore. He needs something to happen - something to cut the tension that’s been floating between them; thick as airborne molasses. Tuesday night, his room pitch black behind the curtains, Oscar stares up at the ceiling - his eyes fixed to the little green emergency light by the wall - and considers ways he could seek revenge for Lando’s teasing a week previous. By the 2 hour mark, he’s writhing in his bed but has finally come up with the perfect plan to get Lando as hot and bothered as the elder had made him last week. It’s Lando’s turn to be blushing crimson in front of the mechanics.

Sunday rolls around, they have around an hour, or close to it, to relax before they’re absolutely required in the garage. Oscar takes a deep breath, then begins to set his plan into motion. Reaching underneath the McLaren branded hoodie in his bag, Oscar drags out the pastel pink speaker he’d purchased in Tokyo on Wednesday and sets it down on the black leather of the sofa-arm. As the Aussie pulls up the playlist he’d made a couple nights ago, he hesitates before connecting his phone to the speaker - second-guessing himself not for the first time since he’d thought this plan up. No, it's fine. Lando did the exact same to him last week; if anything, he’s just getting even. Before starting the music, Oscar cranks up the volume on the speaker and strips out of his black shorts - leaving his plain, white t-shirt hugging the thick muscles of his upper body. Oscar scoops up his little travel-bottle of lube, shuffles back over to the couch, and hits play.

Scrolling through Instagram, Lando’s lying back on his massage table - his right leg dangling off the side. His ears prick up at the sound of bass guitars and harsh drums floating through from Oscar’s room - does he have a friend in there? It’s Lando’s first thought, but quickly discounted when the shock of Oscar playing music dissipates and he connects the dots between this week and last. Damn, Oscar. Bold. His phone falls, resting flat on his dark grey hoodie - wait, no. *Oscar’s dark grey hoodie. Ears focusing past the sounds of music filling his room, Lando lies with his eyes closed and a dangerous smirk on lips, waiting for the sounds he really wants to hear from the other’s room. After the click of a bottle cap and around a minute’s hesitation from Oscar’s side, Lando’s lips quirk up with the small whine he’d expected the Aussie to let out. Oscar’s quiet, unsure, but he’s letting out the prettiest little sounds Lando’s heard in his life - the semi he’d been sporting since he realised what Oscar was planning to do now rock hard behind his tight, black jeans. The Brit drags his fingers from his stomach down to rest over his clothed dick - not stroking, not squeezing, just lightly holding as he listens to Oscar pleasure himself. Pictures of his teammate flood Lando’s mind as the quiet moans grow louder - Oscar clearly feeling less hesitant, either that or he’s too lost in how good he feels to care anymore. Lando’s choosing to believe it’s the latter. Images of Oscar’s small, pale fingers wrapped around his cock, running a finger over his tip, prompt Lando to press his hips up slightly - the friction from his jeans, mixed with the heat of his palm, startles a moan past his own parted lips. Little does Lando know, Oscar’s not touching his cock at all..

Oscar opens the bottle of lube with a click, dripping a considerable amount down the length of his fingers, and reaches back with his other hand - spreading his cheeks. He circles his rim a few times, slow, teasing, before pressing the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle. The Aussie’s breath grows heavier as he pushes into the knuckle, slowly pulling back out - whining quietly as he feels it drag past his rim. He carries on like this, one finger pumping languidly in and out of his gently relaxing hole. Once he’s loose enough, Oscar brings the tip of a second finger to his puckered rim, pressing it in alongside the other on a downstroke. A louder moan is ripped from his lips before he can think to stop it - he can’t think about much more than the heat around his fingers, wishing they were longer and tanned instead. Impatience growing at the burning stretch of his hole, Oscar pumps his fingers more instantly - lips parting around a groan as he begins to scissor himself open. His cock hangs heavy and dripping between his thighs where he’s propped up on his knees, using his freehand for support - sweaty skin sticking to the leather of the sofa. He starts to rock his hips back to meet his own thrusts - fucking back onto his digits and curling them slightly, stroking against his walls. The steady stream of low groans and occasional whines is broken with a sharp “FUCK!” as Oscar’s long fingernails scrape over his prostate - his eyes rolling and back arching at the sensation. Distantly, past the blast of the speaker, he half-registers the door of Lando’s driver room swinging shut.

Quietly, Lando opens Oscar’s door - just a sliver - and slips inside. As he gently closes the door behind him - locking it as Oscar had neglected to do earlier - he leans back against the wall, folding his arms with a smug smile stretched across his lips. Lando slowly drags his eyes across to Oscar’s moaning form and nearly shuts down when he sees the younger, pale thighs and tan lines on full display as he sinks two fingers deep into his ass. Fuck. The smug expression slips from Lando’s lips, any semblance of self control long gone. Oscar still hasn’t noticed him - too lost in pleasure as he catches his prostate once again, moaning loud, his hips jolting at the feeling. “Fuck, Oscuh.” The Aussie gasps, stills his movements. He strains his neck to turn back and see his teammate - curls messy, pupils blown black, a rosy blush painting his cheeks. All Oscar can do, through the fog of want wrapped around his brain, is groan - low and full - as he drops his head between his arms and slams his fingers deeper into his hole. “Lando! Fuck- ah!” Loud moans and whines spill from his bite-bruised lips as he fucks into himself. The cry of his name restarts Lando’s brain, the Brit stalking over to the couch and stopping Oscar’s movements - the younger whines, but Lando can clearly see the shake in his thighs and arms, struggling to keep himself up under the weight of his pleasure. “Do you want a hand, Oscuh?” All he gets in reply is a shuddering breath and high moan, Oscar pulling his fingers out of his hole, clenching around the emptiness. “You’re gonna have to ask nicer than that, baby.” Lando’s well aware he’s being a little mean but Oscar seems to be into it if his little whimper is anything to go off. “Mmn- Fuck- Please, Lando.. Please- Want.. Want your fingers in me.” And just like that, Lando’s scooping Oscar up and flipping him onto his back, his ass landing in the little pool of precum he’d dripped onto the leather beneath him - he can’t find it in himself to care.

Lando squeezes some lube onto his own, thick fingers before tossing the bottle back to the ground and climbing onto the small sofa. Crowding Oscar beneath him, Lando reaches his hand down between the Aussie’s spread thighs, looking to Oscar’s eyes for confirmation before pressing a fingertip inside. It’s so much thicker and longer than Oscar’s own - far more than the initial stretch he’d felt earlier. Lando quickly gets up to pace, gently nudging a second finger in alongside the first - opening Oscar wider, the soft burn of it warming Oscar’s skin as he moans beneath the elder. With his fingers pumping hard and insistent against Oscar’s prostate, stroking his walls, Lando leans his head down to mouth along the younger’s throat, nibbling and sucking lightly - careful not to leave marks. Oscar loses himself in the feeling of Lando’s soft lips pressing against his neck - his fantasy from a couple weeks ago becoming reality - whines spilling from his swollen lips as he grinds his hips down to meet Lando’s thrusts.

Lando's neglected cock strains behind his tight jeans as he inches a third finger into Oscar’s greedy hole, the younger swallowing him up nicely. Oscar’s head is thrown back, giving the Brit better access to nip across the base of his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the little moles on his Adam’s apple. He’s getting close, Lando can tell - his breath coming out in punchy pants and high whines. “More, Lan. Please- Please, want more- Need- FUCK!” As Oscar was speaking, begging, Lando pressed a fourth finger into his gaping hole - fucking them in with gentle strokes, his pace considerably slower as he lets Oscar adjust. “You like it, baby? Like being stuffed full of my fingers? Fuck- Is this what you wanted, Osc? When you were moaning like a slut? Bet you were thinking of this; my fingers stretching you open, making you feel good.” Oscar is a mess beneath him - thighs shaking, tears streaming across his cheeks as he moans out several staccato ‘ah! ah! ah!’s. He’s so close, so fucking close. Lando leans in, warm breath and chapped lips brushing the younger’s ear as he whispers - low and gravelly, “Come on, Oscuh. I wanna feel you cum on my fingers like a perfect little whore.” That’s all it takes. Oscar will be embarrassed about it later but right now that’s all he needs to push him over the edge - hips bucking up as white ropes of cum spurt out the red, swollen head of his cock. Lando curses at the sight of him; at the feeling of Oscar’s walls clenching, hole quivering, around his fingers.

Lando slips his fingers out carefully, knowing Oscar will be sensitive, and reaches to pull some tissues from the box on the younger’s table. He wipes off his hand before gently cleaning the lube from Oscar’s hole and thighs, wiping the cum from his stomach and tapping the Aussie’s hip; cleaning the precum from his cheeks and sofa when he lifts them. While he works, Oscar focuses on getting his breathing back to a normal and acceptable rate - humming softly to whatever song is playing through the speaker as the elder takes his time to make sure Oscar’s clean, looked after and okay. After nipping to the bathroom to flush the evidence, Lando returns to his teammate’s side with a glass of water and pulls some of the painkillers he uses for his back from his jeans pocket - they have a race in, what? 15 minutes? Yeah, ok. Maybe Oscar didn’t think his plan all the way through. He sits up to take the tablets Lando hands him and, as he does so, notices the obvious erection trapped behind the Brit’s jeans, dropping the medicine onto his covered chest. “Hey, Lan, You’re still- let me-” Oscar reaches forward with loose limbs and a blissed out brain, his plans thwarted by large fingers that wrap around his wrists with ease. “I’m alright, Osc. No time,” he points to the digital clock the Australian keeps next to his sofa - Oscar taking his word for it as his eyes refuse to focus - “Don’t worry, babe, you can get me back later.”

With that, Lando takes a step back from his teammate and winks - that evil, sexy smile running over his dark pink lips. As he backs towards Oscar’s door, the younger man downs his painkillers, tries - and fails - to get his brain back online, feeling the need to thank Lando for taking care of him. He should've kept his mouth shut. Stuck somewhere between feeling grateful and a little awkward about feeling grateful, Oscar says the dumbest thing available to him. “Thanks, brochacho!” It’s basically the verbal equivalent of finger guns and he wants to shrink out of existence. Lando, bless him, simply snorts a small laugh before slipping out as quietly and discreetly as he’d snuck in with a big, stupid grin on his lips.

Around 10 minutes later, opal eyes latch onto chocolate brown - a new, thicker layer of want, and Oscar’s intense embarrassment, spreading between them. Oscar breaks first; cheeks pink and lip snagged under his bunny teeth, he turns his attention sharply from Lando to the telemetry in front of him - slightly shifting his weight from one leg to another. Lando’s brain - ever so helpfully - supplies the thought of Oscar aching lightly between his thighs because of him. Because he made Oscar feel good. More than that though, the main reason behind his rapidly hardening semi, is the realisation that his teammate was getting off to thought of being fucked by Lando. Most of the guys he sleeps with just sort of assume he’s happy to bottom; which- yeah, he is. But he has his preferences. He’d thought, despite his fantasies, that any reality in which he’d get to sleep with Oscar, he would be the one bottoming - that’s just how it is normally. But, fuck. Images of Oscar - round ass spread around his cock, the younger falling apart while Lando fucks into him - flood the Brit’s brain until the moment he’s pulling out into the pitlane before the race; deathly hard in his racesuit.

Despite the uncomfortable start, it’s a great race. 2nd and 3rd. Oscar’s first Grand Prix podium in F1 and he’s glowing with it. From the moment they climb out of their cars to seconds before popping his champagne bottle and absolutely drenching the Aussie, Lando wants to kiss him - hard - and, maybe, sink to his knees and give Oscar a proper congrats in front of anyone and everyone. He needs the world to know how proud he is. Luckily for his PR team, Lando refrains from giving Oscar head on the podium. Instead, he crowds Oscar against the wall, using the stream of champagne as justification before leaning close to Oscar’s ear; “Did so well, Osc. So proud. Gonna ruin that peachy ass of yours tonight.” The younger froze slightly at that last part, mind quickly flitting through all the post-race duties they’ll have to endure first and praying no one could read Lando’s lips.

Hours of meetings do nothing to dampen the want sparking between the two drivers, both men practically sprinting from the lengthy debrief as soon as they’re allowed. Lando had sneakily ordered a ride under the table during the last few minutes - when the meeting seemed like it'd be wrapping up soon - and, now, drags Oscar out of the paddock by the wrist and pulls him into the waiting car. The drive back to their hotel is silent, tense and drenched in the scent of champagne and sweat. They’d rushed to change into nothing more than jeans, shorts and team polos before debrief. Sweat still clings to their skin as the air in the car grows thicker. The two drivers sit a professionally acceptable distance apart from one another, polite and quiet. Lando’s gaze burns into Oscar’s skin as his eyes trace a rogue bead of sweat that drips along his jaw and down over the contours of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. What a waste. Lando thinks, his pink tongue peaking out to wet his lips.

Finally arriving at the hotel, Lando wastes no time in taking hold of Oscar’s wrist once again, pulling him swiftly towards the lift and guiding him along the corridors until they reach the Brit’s room. The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Lando’s hands are on the Aussie - backing him up against the wall by his wide hips and mouthing at the base of his neck. The elder driver licks a long swipe, his tongue flat against the skin of Oscar’s throat, tasting the bitter twang of sweat and sweet edge to the champagne - groaning at the memory of Oscar’s drenched race suit clinging tight to his thick muscles and broad shoulders. Lando drags his lips up the Aussie's neck, nibbling lightly over the skin and trailing saliva to his jaw. Their lips crash together in a bruising kiss - the tension over the week and the last few hours spilling over and flooding them with want. Lando takes control of the kiss, Oscar quickly surrendering after a brief fight for dominance - they both know how this is going to go. As he bites the pink of Oscar's lip, the younger gasps out a moan and Lando takes the opportunity to lick into his desperate mouth.

The elder swallows the muffled moans and whines Oscar slips from his own mouth to Lando's, sucking on the Aussie's tongue as he presses his thigh between Oscar's. The younger immediately presses his hips up, grinding his hard cock against the firm muscle - groaning deeply at the friction. A string of saliva connects their lips as they pull apart - chests heaving and eyes dark with lust. Oscar continues to grind himself slowly against Lando's thigh, head leaning back against the wall, while the other lets his eyes rake over his teammate's flushed skin. He admires Oscar for a moment, giving them both a chance to catch their breath, before pressing himself in close - groping at the Aussie's ass and lifting his thigh against the younger's hard-on. High, desperate whimpers push past Oscar's lips at the sensation - Lando's lips falling below his ear, mouthing at the soft skin of his neck. “Your ass fits so perfectly in my hands, baby.”, he whispers it into Oscar's skin and grips tight on the thick flesh beneath his fingers. “Did so well today, Osc. Looked so good on that podium - I nearly got on my knees in front of everyone. So proud of you.” The younger Keens under the praise and lets out a beautiful moan as he imagines Lando on his knees, the crowds staring as he gets his lips around Oscar. “God, you'd love that, wouldn't you? You know, it surprised me; how much of a whore you are…”

Lando takes the opportunity, as Oscar writhes against his thigh, to peel off the Aussie's polo shirt - throwing it behind him and leaning in to lick over his collarbone. Oscar's milky white skin blooms pink and mottled purple under the elder's lips, his tan lines showing exactly where to stop before the marks become visible - he's sure Lando's purposefully pushing that limit more than once. Oscar's fingers wind through his hair, curling tighter as the elder flicks his tongue briefly over the pink bud of his nipple, a short gasp escaping his lips. His other hand dips to fiddle with the hem of Lando's shirt, tugging it up slightly. The Brit takes the hint and pulls back, admiring the painting he'd made across the pale canvas of Oscar's torso before lifting his own shirt over his head. The Australian's pupils blow wider as his eyes scan the expanse of Lando's chest; tanned and muscular with a light sheen of sweat. While Oscar's still stood frozen in front of him, Lando grips his hips once more - turning the younger to face the wall and tugging his shorts past the swell of his ass. The Brit runs his hands over the fabric of Oscar's boxers, pulled taut and tight across the impressive size of the Aussie's plump, round cheeks. Long fingers hook into the waistband, Lando plastering his bare chest to Oscar's warm back, his hands pushing the underwear down and running along the top of the younger's thick thighs. The material leaves a sticky sheen against his pale inner thighs as the precum drenching the front edge drags along his skin. "Slut.. So wet for it, Osc." He mumbles to the skin below the Aussie's ear. With his shorts and boxers pooling around his ankles, Oscar spreads his legs slightly wider, arching his back and presenting himself to Lando - wiggling his hips in the hopes of enticing the older man into moving a little quicker. Oscar's patience is wearing thin; he just wants a cock filling his still-spread hole.

A large palm drags along the Aussie's back - settling between his shoulders before flowing along the curves of his firm muscles, over his arched spine and slipping to his side, giving his hip a tight squeeze. Oscar whines quietly at the contact, feeling a little pathetic at the shiver it sends through his body. The grounding hand pulls away from his hip, Lando stepping away entirely to retrieve some lube and a condom from his bag - leaving Oscar feeling vulnerable and desperate. When the elder returns, the curly-haired man takes a moment to appreciate the work of art in front of him; messy hair matted with sweat, broad shoulders covered in purple bruises, a tapered waist and that pink, waiting hole - glistening with the thin layer of sweat that's collected there and clenching impatiently around the emptiness he's faced with. As Lando stands just far enough away that Oscar can't feel the heat of the elders body against his own, the Aussie lets out impatient whines and grunts in frustration.

Reprieve is granted as Lando drags down the zip of his jeans - pulling them, along with his boxers, to sit around mid-thigh - as he un-caps the bottle of lube, spilling a generous amount over his fingers. He circles Oscar's rim for a moment, appreciating the molten heat spilling off him and presses two fingers into him at once - “God, still so loose for me, baby. Wanna plug you up and keep you like this, nice and open for me. You want that, Osc? Be ready and waiting for my cock whenever I feel like using your pretty hole?” Oscar's arms shake where they're keeping him up against the wall, a shiver running from his head down to his toes where they curl into the hotel room carpet. “Yes, fuck- Want that.. Want you to stuff me full of your cum, Lan. Shit. Wanna walk around with your cum inside me.” Fuck. Looks like Lando’ll be investing in a nice butt plug with express shipping and an STI test; because he fucking needs that. He really likes the idea of Oscar being his; walking around with Lando's marks on his shoulder and Lando's cum stuffed in his hole. “Shit, Oscuh. You kinky little whore, fuck.” It gets him a small chuckle from the whore in question; that quickly turns to a deep groan as Lando easily adds a third finger - crooking them against the velvety soft walls of Oscar's ass, grinding the pads of his digits against the younger's prostate, because he can. Because he's allowed to make Oscar shake and whimper on his fingers.

The Brit pulls out in a smooth, slow drag - the younger's entrance pink, and glistening with lube. Lando brings his left hand up to place a playful, yet firm, slap on Oscar's round ass cheek - just to watch the heavy mound jiggle in the aftershock. “Landooo..” the Australian groans impatiently, pushing his hips back, trying to find Lando's own. “Are you that desperate for cock, sweetheart?” He leans in closer to mouth at Oscar's neck, licking and nibbling over his shoulders. “Yes. So hurry up and fuck me.” The confidence mixed with that smooth, Aussie accent has Lando melting for a moment. Recovering as fast as he can and moving past the misplaced expectation that Oscar would be shy with his demands, Lando lets out a breathy chuckle against the bruise he'd just left behind on the younger's shoulder. Grabbing the condom he'd fetched earlier - because they're being responsible here, Lando rips open the wrapper and watches Oscar twitch in anticipation at the sound. A scratchy groan drips from Lando's lips as he rolls the condom over his long forgotten dick, the light stimulation sending fireworks through his brain as a new wave of want washes over him. He's much less patient now.

After lathering his cock with lube, Lando places a hand on the wall next to Oscar's head - using the other to line himself up with the Aussie's entrance. He can feel the heat radiating from Oscar's hole before he drags the head of his cock over the wet muscle at his rim, slowly sinking the head past the younger's loose entrance. They both groan at the feeling of Lando's dick sliding deeper into Oscar's ass. Lando tilts his head down, the top of his curls touching the back of Oscar's neck as he stares at his cock where it's being swallowed by the tight, heat of Oscar's greedy hole. Despite all the fingering, the playing, the teasing, the Aussie still has a vice-like grip around him. The Brit's lips part on a heavy sigh before he brings his head back up, lips grazing the nape of Oscar's neck - his tongue swiping at the sweat gathered there. The salty, musky taste of Oscar fills his mouth as he gently rocks his hips forward - bottoming out. The younger lets out a breathless moan, pressing his hips back to Lando’s and immediately grinding himself back on the elder's cock - trying to take him deeper. “Thought I told you to hurry up?” The commanding words miss their biting edge as it's replaced with breathlessness and the slightest whimper. It's all the motivation Lando needs, however, as he quickly builds a bruising pace - matching that of his fingers earlier the same day. With one hand still braced against the wall, the other grips tight on Oscar's hip, pulling him back to meet every harsh thrust of Lando's hips - the loud slap of skin echoing through the hotel room with the constant moans falling from each of them. Lando angles his hips upwards slightly, placing the lightest pressure on the Aussie's prostate and forcing whimpered pleas for more past his bite-swollen lips. “Ah- Lan, ple- Fuck!- Please, please.. need- ah!- Need more, please!” It's whiny and desperate, and going straight to Lando's dick.

Gripping the loose waves of Oscar's hair, Lando forces his hips forward in a harsh thrust, knocking the younger's hips into the cold, white wall in front of them, Lando's forearm holding them up against it - the head of the elder's cock presses heavy on his prostate. As Oscar writhes from the deep and constant pressure on that bundle of nerves, making his eyes roll to the back of his head, his cock grinds between the flush-hot skin of his stomach and the cool surface of the wall. A long string of ‘Oh fuck!, Please, shit, ah- ah- ah-’s, and several deep groans as Lando begins sucking and nibbling marks into the column of Oscar's neck, spill shamelessly loud from the Aussie's bright red lips as the elder tightens the grip in his hair - turning the younger's head to give himself more access to wreck Oscar's pearly white skin. Lando can feel his teammate begin to spasm and clench around his cock, knowing he's close, and pulls out until just his head sits inside Oscar's rim - forcing back in until his hips are flush with the younger's.

The blunt head of Lando's dick pounds into Oscar's prostate over and over, abusing that spot inside him that makes his legs shake and his hole quiver. “Fuck, Oscuh- Shit- You close, baby? Huh? God, can't wait to feel you cum on my cock, darling. Your whore hole’s still so fuckin’ tight, Oscuh. Fuck.” Lando's brain has turned to mush at the constant, hot pressure surrounding him - mouth spilling whatever the fuck it wants. In an attempt to stop himself saying something dumb like ‘I love you and I wanna breathe the same air as you forever; you're perfect.’, he latches his swollen lips to the soft flesh below Oscar's ear - where his sharp jaw meets the thick muscle of his neck. “So close- Shit. Aahhh- Lando!- Please.. Please touch me- ah- Please!” Who's Lando to refuse such a lovely request, hm? He traces the hand he's had latched in Oscar's hair down his chest, skimming over the fingerprint shaped bruises left on the milky white of the Aussie's hips, and takes Oscar's leaking cock in his hand. The dryness of his fingers is replaced by a slick glide as Lando works his palm over Oscar's head, gathering the river of precum that'd spilled from his tip. The brown-eyed man moans louder, breathless, as Lando pounds into him - relentless in his thrusts - sucking a dark purple bruises into the nape of his neck, the younger fucking into the large, tanned fist around his cock. Oscar cums with a loud, drawn-out moan from the depth of his chest, walls clenching in what Lando will, from now on, refer to as ‘the clutch of death’ - so tight and delicious around his cock that he's sure he's on the verge of passing out. Lando spills his burning load into the condom soon after Oscar starts to come down from his own high - breathing ragged and body heavy; pliant.

The Aussie leans his heated forehead against the smooth, cold wall in front of him, sagging in Lando's arms as the two drivers take a moment to catch their breath. The elder makes a point of wrapping himself around Oscar in any way he can as they stay there, propped up against the wall and each other, trying his best to ground the younger with his embrace. Heart-shaped lips press soft, lingering kisses to the back of Oscar's neck, tanned arms winding around his pale chest and holding him close. Coming back to himself a little, Oscar mutters with a content sigh - mostly to himself - “Maybe I should listen to music before every race.” Lando chuckles lightly against the dusting of hair at the nape of Oscar's neck before replying, a little cruelly, “mm, as long as you promise never to call me 'brochacho' ever again” A quiet chuckle accompanies the peppered kisses he presses into the younger’s flushed-red skin as Oscar groans in embarrassment.

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