rando prompt for landoscar if u want it - lando not remembering which room is his in the new motorhome, he ends up in oscar's and oscar walks in on him doin... smthn đââď¸
hi hello, thank you for the prompt! here you go!
landoscar / 1.5k words / post Monaco gp / explicit
Monaco has a different tone to it this year. It isnât like Lando hasnât been expecting it â the seasonâs been disappointment after disappointment save for Miami â but it doesnât mean it hurts any less. The knowledge of winning this same race just a year ago only blunts the blade so much; back to back wins here at Monaco wouldâve been the dream, of course.
Instead, he doesnât even get to finish the race.
The frustration of it all comes and goes in waves as heâs finally set free of his duties; a wry smile in front of the cameras and an interview he treats with as much levity as he can muster. This part heâs gotten better at. Itâs taken a few years, and sometimes he still puts his foot in his mouth, but it doesnât happen quite so often anymore. He knows most of the right words to say, in what order they should leave his mouth, with which inflection each should have.
And it helps, actually â joking about it, making a silly comment about being happy to be out of the race. Itâs easier to believe when he says it out loud, earning himself a polite laugh from the reporters.
The race is almost over by the time heâs heading into his drivers room to freshen up, the last few moments of it playing out with a few surprises, though the winner is all but written in the stone since qualis the night before. Landoâs happy for Oscar â for making up three positions, for the p3 that might even be his if the FIA rules in favour of a penalty for Hadjar. Thereâs pity there, of course, for the potential heartbreak for the young Frenchman; but Landoâs always rooting for Oscar to succeed, even more so now after the way the last year panned out for them.
He figures he has time, and itâs completely unintentional when he barges through the door to Oscarâs drivers room instead of his own.
Without Oscar there, it takes a moment for the mistake to become clear. Thereâs the same set up â the same mirror on one side, the same too-small sofa, the same spare racing suits hanging in the open wardrobe. Except they arenât the same at all; wider where Landoâs are narrower, smaller around the groin, emblazoned with an â81â where there should be a â1â.
âOh,â Lando says aloud, immediately feeling stupid for it.
Thereâs nobody here to see his blunder. All he has to do is back his way out of the room, open the door on the opposite side of the corridor.
But for some reason he feels glued to the spot, his eyes hungrily drinking in the things that Oscar doesnât usually let anyone see. The mess of clothes tossed haphazardly in the corner; the half-drunk electrolyte drink sat on the table; the brush thatâs probably only half heartedly been combed through his hair at best.
He takes a few tentative steps into the room, guiltily looking back towards the closed door, like heâs worried an alarm might sound. Intruder! Something is out of place here!
Nothing happens, obviously.
It buoys him, gives him the last push he needs to explore properly. Thereâs nothing interesting about the room in theory â the layout is a perfect mirror to his across the way. But itâs Oscarâs, and Lando has never spent much time in Oscarâs drivers rooms, so itâs altogether fascinating to him.
Thereâs an illicit nature to it, too; a feeling that sends a thrill up Landoâs spine, buzzing with electric energy.
He runs his fingertips along the cold, white plastic of the dressing table as he moves alongside it, inhaling the air that smells like chocolate and spearmint, a scent so inherently Oscar that heâs surprised it didnât hit him as soon as he opened the door; that it took him so long to recognise this wasnât his room.
Tossed over the back of the sofa is a hoodie, warm and soft. Lando canât resist touching it, caressing the fleece-lined insides, and its pure animal nature that has him pressing it to his face. An instinct he canât ignore. Heâs breathing in deeply, that scent so much stronger woven into the threads of cloth than it is in the air.
Fuck, and it smells good. Oscar smells good.
Landoâs always known that â has commented on it in public, a moment heâs never likely to forget and will forever be mortified by. But he doesnât usually get the opportunity to truly experience Oscarâs smell, not like this. A brush of his nose against Oscarâs throat when they clasp hands and bro-hug after a race; the faintest trace of it when they sit besides one another in meetings and debriefs.
Itâd be too obvious if Lando purposely sought out chances to sniff Oscar, so he doesnât. Heâs not a weirdo.
This feels like a gift from god though. Like maybe he was meant to walk into the wrong room today. Heâs aware of how crazy the thought is, even as he feels himself start to chub up where his dick is pinned uncomfortably to his thigh in his fireproofs, still not having had a chance to rid himself of them.
Adrenaline rushing through his veins, Lando casts a furtive glance back towards the door again; towards the corridor beyond. He canât hear any movement no matter how hard he strains his ears, and he knows itâs dangerous, knows itâs plain stupid, but heâs reaching down â to adjust himself, only to adjust â and it feels ridiculously good, that rough tug of his own hand through a thin layer of material and â
Time seems to speed up.
Really, honestly, he has no idea how it happens â how he gets from standing there to sitting on the sofa with his dick out and his face buried in Oscarâs hoodie, but it does happen and itâs a little too late to worry about it all now.
âFuck,â he moans breathily, voice half stifled by the fabric of the hoodie in his hands as he breathes in greedily, ravenous suddenly for it. He wants to commit the scent to memory until itâs the only scent profile he can remember; wants to get it bottled up in some laboratory somewhere so that he never has to go without it.
Itâs fucked on a lot of different levels, really. Mostly though, heâs too turned on to care about any of it. Heâll psychoanalyse himself later, after heâs finished getting off to Oscarâs smell.
He treats himself roughly, tight and fast jerks of his hand, knowing distantly that time isnât on his side. It doesnât matter; his orgasm is building quickly, the molten gold feeling of it pooling at the base of his spine, his toes curling into the soles of his driving shoes, and oh god, heâs really doing this, heâs really going to come like this, in Oscarâs drivers room â
The door swings open on its hinges, banging into the wall next to it before shutting again, but itâs already too late. Oscarâs already inside.
âLando?â heâs frowning.
âOh god,â Lando groans, mortification settling in even as he shoots his load into his hand at the sound of his name falling from Oscarâs lips. âShit.â
Oscarâs eyes are wide, flickering between Landoâs lap, his dick softening and glistening with cum; Landoâs face, post-orgasmic bliss giving way quickly to guilt; Landoâs hand, still clutching Oscarâs hoodie like a lifeline.
âUh,â Oscar swallows. His cheeks are scarlet, balaclava lines still pressed into them.
âI thought this was my room,â Lando blurts out.
Thereâs silence for a moment, and then Oscar is squinting at him, seemingly more concerned about Landoâs words than his actions.
âRight,â he says slowly. âThatâs my hoodie though, mate. And my racing suit,â he nods towards the wardrobe, arms folded across his chest and Lando could swear heâs smirking a little.
But he canât â it makes no sense.
âYeah,â Lando agrees, tongue heavy and head cotton-y. âLooks like it.â
Oscar hums. âShouldâve waited for me,â he nods towards Landoâs lap nonchalantly, with a pointed gaze at the hoodie. âCouldâve had the real thing.â
Lando thinks he must be dreaming; actually pinches himself through his fireproofs, and ouch, definitely awake.
âAnyway,â Oscar grabs the electrolyte drink off the table and makes his way to the door. âOnly came back to grab this. Media duties.â He pauses just before he leaves, tongue wetting his lips. âNext time, make sure Iâm here, yeah?â
Macklin and his brother Aiden Celebrini brought a stick and jersey and stayed for a long visit. Mavrik was in and out of sleep but continued to tell Macklin to lay in his bed with him. Which was very cute, and Mavrik was very happy. He has been playing as Macklin on NHL since his visit. The Sharks are lucky to have him!! [x]
I think one of the gentlest things in the world is when a friend just gets your weird little brain. like you say half a sentence and they finish it. you reference something incredibly niche from seven years ago and theyâre already nodding. they understand your strange vocabulary for emotions that donât have real words yet. itâs being seen and known and still loved. maybe especially because youâre known. god. what a gift.
izzy806
stormborns
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
ellievsbear
