Chapter Text
Oscar hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Lando’s hotel room. And yet one thing led to another and she found herself waking up in the dark to Lando snoring and the clock on the bedside table reading 3am.
She groaned quietly and stretched out her sore limbs. The cool hotel sheets slipped luxuriously across her naked body. Four hours earlier she had Lando spread out underneath her, mouth on her neck, on her soft belly, her warm pussy. She had been picturing the moment since they had first hooked up and Lando did not disappoint. She had been gasping, groaning, knotting her fingers in Oscar’s hair and attempting to suffocate her between her thighs. It was a very pleasant memory.
Despite the lure of the soft bed, Oscar knew she should head back to her own room. Primarily because she needed a shower, her hair was a disaster and Lando’s enthusiasm to repay the orgasm had left the inside of her thighs tacky. For a brief moment she allowed herself to lie half awake, listening to Lando’s chorus of snores.
Lando was sprawled on her back, hair a tumult around her face, and one arm thrown over her head. Her mouth was open and the sheets were twisted around her bare torso. A single beam of light snuck between the curtains and illuminated the edges of her body, yellow against the blue night.
It was probably a little creepy to watch her sleep, so Oscar finally hauled herself out of bed to use the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and between her legs before trying to pull her hair back in a messy bun. She didn’t want her late night wandering through the hotel to be more suspicious than it already was.
She stumbled a bit in the blackness of the hotel room and smacked her ankle against one of Lando’s suitcases, but slowly managed to pull her clothes back on.
Oscar hadn’t even noticed Lando had stopped snoring until she murmured, “You leaving?”
Oscar startled a little. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Mh, it’s okay.” Oscar’s eyes had adjusted just enough that she could see Lando shifting, hauling the duvet over her body, turning to face the sound of Oscar’s voice. “You can stay if you want.”
“Thanks,” Oscar said, a little surprised. “But I need to take a shower.” Lando made a noise of protest. “And I don’t want Kim to end up knocking on an empty hotel room in the morning.”
That seemed to mollify Lando’s hospitality. “Fair enough,” she said.
Oscar finally pulled on her shoes and patted her pockets.
“So,” Lando asked, sounding a little more alert. “Can we do this again?”
Oscar thought that was a given. “Yeah. Of course.” And then, because she couldn’t stop herself, she added, “Whatever ‘this’ is.”
There was a pause. Oscar hoped she hadn’t come off bratty. She was just never any good at talking around things.
Finally, Lando asked “What do you want this to be?”
In the darkness, Oscar felt like she could finally admit the truth to herself. Oscar would take anything Lando gave her. There was no other way to put it, Oscar wanted everything and anything Lando had.
Oscar winced at the realization, glad that Lando couldn’t see her face. It felt insane, to fall so quickly. But, if she was honest with herself, she had been fighting her feelings for Lando since the moment they met. She knew there was no way to expect Lando to feel the same. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure Lando liked her more than an opportunistic fuck. Oscar Piastri, the fun new toy.
She was getting sidetracked, the silence had gone on for too long.
“Well you like what we’re doing now, yeah?” Oscar asked.
Lando hummed, “I like mind-blowing orgasms, yes.”
“Well let’s keep doing it. Keep it low key, figure it out as we go.”
“So what is that, friends with benefits?” Lando asked. “Fuck buddies?”
“You can call it whatever you want,” Oscar said. The word friend grated on her. She suspected she had just laid the foundation to her future heartbreak.
Lando hummed again and Oscar took it as her cue to go. She walked towards the door.
“Oscar?” Lando asked. She stopped. “Thank you, by the way, I, uh, have never done this but I trust you with it.”
“You’re welcome, Lando,” Oscar said, quietly. She wished she could say so much more. “Goodnight.”
—
“This is really the friendliest group we’ve ever had on the grid. No one knew how it would work with women involved, but the addition certainly hasn’t hurt camaraderie. They’re all hanging out, posting pictures together on the weekdays but battling each other on track during the weekends. ”
—
Oscar was determined to act normal on track that weekend. She tried to put Lando back in that little compartmentalized box. It was a nice, affectionate box but not one she wanted looming in the back of her mind during the race weekend. She would not be weird about this.
It worked for the first couple of days, but Lando had other plans.
Oscar had let the jitteriness of her nerves settle into a pleasant buzz, tingling from her toes through her fingers. Before the driver’s parade, she had tucked herself into a conversation with Liam and Logan. It was familiar, it was good, she was in control. But then there was a pressure at her side, an arm slipped through hers. Slowly, she looked down at Lando who was leaning against her, grinning.
“Yes?” Oscar asked, a brow raised.
“Nothing,” Lando said, sweetly. “Just checking in.”
“I’m still here,” Oscar said, perplexed. She looked up to see Logan and Liam smiling, amused at the exchange.
“How goes, boys?” Lando asked, arm still looped through Oscar’s. Oscar had to admit she didn’t hear much of the conversation. What was Lando doing? They had agreed to low key, right? Was she missing something?
Before long, Lando got distracted and said a distracted goodbye. Oscar watched her chase after Max, the hometown hero. She tried not to notice the warmth Lando had left behind.
“You got lucky with such a nice teammate,” Liam said, rather wistfully. Logan only squinted at Oscar, suspicious. Oscar shrugged them both off.
Despite the rain, the crowd in Zandvoort was energetic, delighted by their very presence. The amount of orange was impressive, as were the number of posters proposing marriage to Max. Max seemed mildly amused by all of it.
As the first woman in F1, it was hard to ignore the stories about Max.
Red Bull always wanted to get their name in the record books, be the first. When they had the opportunity to check off youngest-ever and first female driver with one promotion, they didn’t hesitate. Of course they Max primarily because of her skill, but also because of her give-no-fucks attitude. It had certainly helped when she came under fire for being a dangerous hothead in her first couple of seasons. The fire had only tempered her, though, she was harder than ever.
She had to admit, of all the people to win Oscar was glad it was Max. With Max so dominant, it meant that whenever Oscar fucked up it was because she was Oscar, not because she was a woman.
Lando and Max were talking and laughing as the parade got underway. Oscar couldn’t help but watch. Max gestured with her hands, straight hair pulled into a pony tail, and Lando was giggling along. Her rain jacket was zipped to her chin and there was an explosion of frizzy hair from under her cap.
As they talked, Oscar watched Max clap a hand on Lando’s shoulder. Lando didn’t pull away, instead turning her face to laugh into Max’s forearm. It was tactile, physical, normal. Dare she say heterosexual? Oscar squinted her eyes in suspicion.
No one understood women. Men were so perplexed by the signs and symbols of female friendship that Max could probably grab Lando’s tit on broadcast and they’d all laugh it off as a joke.
Lando playfully pushed Max away.
Oscar realized she was staring and turned back to the crowd. She waved at the fans, spotted some shirts that were more papaya than orange. Lando, of course, appeared like a specter in her peripheral vision.
“Lando,” Oscar greeted.
“Moping over here?” Lando asked, leaning against the railing of the platform, arms stretched out. One extended behind Oscar’s back. Lando smiled, small but sinister.
Oscar was so screwed.
“That guy has a giant cutout of your face,” Oscar said, pointing into the crowd. It was a recent photo of Lando, her face split into a goofy smile.
“Very glamorous,” Lando said, pressing her fingertips into Oscar’s low back. “So even when I’m not around you’re looking for my face?”
Oscar rolled her eyes. “Full of yourself, huh? Ego’s gonna fill up this whole float.”
Lando laughed, pleased. Her eyes were bright despite the gloom. She was impossibly lovely, even when she was being devious.
“I know what you’re doing,” Oscar said, quietly.
Lando looked up at her, blinking slowly, coquettishly. It was a move that should be funny but made Oscar feel like her blood was carbonated, fizzing through her veins.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Lando whispered back.
Oscar had to remind herself that she was in public, on a giant moving platform surrounded by their 18 coworkers and at least five cameras. All she wanted to do was lean down and kiss the smile off her face.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Oscar said.
Of course, at that moment, George stumbled into Lando and said something appropriately posh, apologetic, and distracting.
George struck Oscar as a combination of Victoria Beckham and a greyhound, elegant but awkward. Lucky for Oscar, George managed to start a conversation engaging enough to last the rest of the parade. Hard to do anything untoward with a Mercedes driver watching. Oscar positioned George squarely between her and Lando, negating any desire she would have to touch Lando again.
George was pretty alright, despite Oscar’s earlier suspicion (she had always seemed so pretentious in interviews), but Oscar had to side with Lando when George tried to convince them that the Dutch were actually very normal people. The guy in the lion suit begged to differ.
If Oscar thought Lando had satisfied her morbid desire to openly flirt she was sorely mistaken. She was back at it again the next weekend. During engineer check-ins, social media challenges, and team dinners Lando was there with her dark eyes and impish grin. She developed a signature move, claiming the seat next to Oscar, resting a hand on her forearm, leaning forward to whisper inane things in her ear. Her loose curls would brush Oscar’s cheek, filling her nose with vanilla and coconut.
Lando was distracting, even in the hideous papaya polo. She was distracting and dangerous and had Oscar asking her engineers three times what Plan C was again.
Even worse, Oscar’s disapproving stares only seemed to encourage her. The only thing worse than Lando flirting was Lando smug, giggling, and flirting.
This was Lando’s way, a constant side stepping, hinting but never committing. Well, Oscar tended to be much more straightforward than that.
During a brief walk between trailers, in the few moments between when they left their media handlers but hadn’t yet found their trainers, Oscar grabbed Lando’s arm and pressed her against the cold metal of an Aston Martin bus.
“Did you know you’re really fucking annoying?” Oscar asked and then kissed her. Lando made a muffled noise of surprise into her mouth but reached out to grab Oscar’s forearms, mouth opening to kiss her back.
But they didn’t have the time. Oscar pulled back quickly, looked down at Lando who was open-mouthed, breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark. Oscar watched as she flicked her tongue out to lick her bottom lip.
“Didn’t know you were so riled up there, mate,” Lando said as Oscar took a distinct step backwards. “Something the matter?”
Oscar rolled her eyes and made to keep walking, but Lando reached out a hand to grab her. She slipped their hands together, her palm warm, neon fingers stark against the pale skin of Oscar’s wrist. Oscar looked at their hands, looked at Lando still leaning rakishly against the wall.
“Nope,” Oscar said, then tugged Lando’s hand so she lost her balance, tripped towards Oscar with a little shriek. “Nothing at all.”
Lando pouted but consented to walk alongside Oscar, their hands still entwined. It was only when they reached the end of the tunnel of trailers that they let go.
Oscar was getting better at the whole publicity thing. She wasn’t good, certainly nowhere near Lando who just seemed to turn on a cheerier, more playful version of herself when the camera was rolling, but she was better. People seemed to accept the flat facade, some fans even seemed to like it.
But just because Oscar was getting better at it didn’t mean she enjoyed it. McLaren was in the midseason stretch and were packing their schedules to the absolute limit.
In the weeks between Monza and Singapore Oscar did three social media clips, one podcast interview, two sponsor videos, and, at the very end, a big funder’s gala. The gala, and its corresponding dress code, plagued her the whole week. Sponsors didn’t want to see racers in their team kit anymore, they wanted to be impressed, wined and dined. What they wanted was to see a little skin. She asked her mom and did a half hearted attempt at online shopping before giving up and finally taking George up on her offer for fashion advice. She was only too happy to oblige.
“You look nice,” Lando said, sounding rather impressed.
In the end, she was just wearing a pair of trousers and a high neck tank-top. Oscar assumed the ridiculous price tags were what made the outfit appropriate, but she was just glad that the PR team cleared it. Lando, on the other hand, had pulled out all the stops. Oscar blushed and tried not to ogle too conspicuously.
“You too,” was all Oscar could get out because they were surrounded on all sides by McLaren staff who probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing what Oscar actually thought. Because Lando was wearing a dress, a silk dress, a slinky midnight silk dress.
Lando shrugged and smiled shyly as they were shepherded through the back hallways of the venue, papaya polos on all sides. Oscar trailed after her dumbly. The dress has small straps and a low back, revealing the golden skin of her spine and a few freckles Oscar hadn’t truly appreciated before. The dark silk showed off her small form. Her large curly hair was pulled up in something messy yet elegant. Was she taller? Were those heels? Oscar was feeling faint.
The sight of Zak Brown in a suit made her instantly regain her composure.
“Ladies!” He called, pleased, as they were ushered through a side door and onto the main floor of the venue.
It was a large, club-like space with tables and chairs flanking a large open dance floor that was already quite full. Apparently it was gauche to arrive on time to your own event. There was a vintage McLaren parked at the front near a solitary podium. According to the program, Oscar was expected to stand and nod obsequiously while Andrea, Zak, and the millionaires made grand speeches. That would do for her quite nicely. In the meantime she would drink free wine and try to figure out how to convince Lando to come back with her later.
“I have some people to introduce you to,” Zak said, unsubtly gesturing towards a crowd of people wearing suits and pearls. So much for Oscar’s plan.
Between the music and roar of conversation, Oscar had to work hard to hold a conversation. It didn’t matter after a while, because everyone had the same story. They were either businessman with hoards of wealth from mysterious origins or CEOs of equally shady dealings. Even worse than being morally questionable, they were boring.
“So, how is the car this year?” Asked a man in a navy suit. Oscar smiled despite already fielding this question three times, and tried to treat this like post race interview.
“I think the podiums speak for themselves,” Oscar began. It was going to be a long night.
After all the speeches, the media handlers finally agreed to let Oscar take a break and she slunk off to a dark corner by the bar. It was surprisingly exhausting: performing for strangers, playing nice, having the same conversations over and over again. Even worse was being watched by papaya-colored hawks who had very firm opinions on small talk. Oscar knew they were doing their jobs, but the surveillance felt strange. She was used to it in the paddock and yet it felt awkward in a dark club with orange lights flashing, house music thrumming in the background.
Oscar eyed a passing caterer and was just swooping in to grab a glass of wine off the tray when Lando appeared.
“Grab me one,” she hissed and Oscar awkwardly half chased the man down to grab another glass. If rumors went around that one of the drivers was a drunk she was blaming Lando.
“Cheers,” Lando said as Oscar returned to the shadows. She threw back a deep swig then made a face. “Gross”
“That’s because you only drink wine if its flavor profile is fruit juice,” Oscar mocked, before taking a sip. Actually, it was pretty gross.
Lando laughed at the face Oscar pulled.
“I’m falling asleep on my feet, mate,” Lando admitted with a sigh, leaning against the wall. “Speaking of, I also can’t feel my feet.”
“The heels did seem like a bold choice,” Oscar said, admiring them anyway. “Did I say how good you looked?”
Lando raised her eyebrows, swirled her wine around in her glass like she knew what she was doing. “I don’t think you did.”
“Well, you look very nice,” Oscar said. She was not very good at compliments.
Lando raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Thanks.”
Oscar ran her fingers along the bare skin of her arm. Her skin was smooth and a little cold. Lando looked up at Oscar sharply.
“This looks really stunning on you,” Oscar said, sincerely. “If I had my way you’d only wear these dresses and fireproofs.”
“Fireproofs?” Lando asked.
“You look really nice in fireproofs. The suits too.” Lando barked a laugh. “But I also like you in sweats too so you could—”
“Alright!” Lando said, pushing Oscar’s hand away, laughing. “You’ve made your point.”
Oscar wasn’t sure if she had. She wasn’t even really sure what her point was.
Oscar opened her mouth to say something to the effect of so are you coming back to my room tonight when a papaya shirt appeared out of the darkness.
“You guys have about five more minutes. Zak wants you guys back out on the floor.”
Oscar felt herself deflate. She and Lando nodded.
“This sucks,” Oscar said, voice lowered, as the guy walked away. “You prove yourself as a racer your whole life and then you’re hired to be a show pony.”
Lando shrugged. “You get used to it. Best if you make a game out of it. Try to make them say more and more unhinged things—it’s wild what they’ll admit.” She looked around. “Are the toilets right there behind you? Alright, be right back.”
Oscar watched Lando’s retreating back sadly. It was kind of a wonder how easily she was able to cheer Oscar up. It wasn’t sustainable, having an emotional support teammate, but Oscar was allowed this one sin.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and fucked around for a minute but Lando was surprisingly quick, returning hurriedly and bumping into Oscar.
Oscar barely had a chance to look up from her phone when Lando was grabbing one of her hands and slipping something into them.
“You alright?” Oscar asked, looking down at what was in her hand. Small and silky, it took Oscar’s brain a good couple seconds to catch up. Then her face flushed hot red as she shoved her hand in her pocket. “Are you crazy?” She hissed.
Lando looked about as red as she felt, but her manic grin had a proud gleam.
“What, have you never seen a pair of panties before?” Lando asked.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Oscar was trying not to scream. The underwear in her pocket felt like a bomb. “What are you doing?”
Lando winked, she wasn’t very good at it but she got her point across. “Giving you something to think about.”
“Like I wasn’t already,” Oscar murmured. Lando was right, though, Oscar couldn’t ignore the thrumming in her core as she thought about Lando’s naked body under that silk dress. The way she could slip the straps off her shoulders and it would leave her standing bare in front of everyone. “You’re incredible,” Oscar whispered. She thought about the way Lando must feel, silk against her hard nipples, wondered if she was wet.
Like in a dream, Oscar reached out a hand to Lando’s hip. Lando held perfectly still, her exposed chest rising and falling with every breath. Oscar’s skin was pale against the dark blue fabric of her dress. She rubbed her thumb over the place her underwear line would be, her other hand in her pocket, fingering the silk and lace of her panties.
Oscar wanted to press her against the wall and ruck up her skirt so she could slide two fingers into her, have Lando moaning her name. She wanted to tell everyone to get out, she wanted everyone to know Lando was hers. She wanted so bad it was like a burning fire in her chest and she would have done something dangerous, so dangerous, looking into Lando’s inky eyes, her parted lips.
Fate had other ideas.
“Heeeyyyy ladies,” a loose voice said. “They said you’d be over here—”
From the first word Oscar’s grip on Lando’s hip tightened and in her feral reverie she half shoved Lando behind her, an attempt at protection.
The guy paused, standing a little lopsided. He was drunk, obviously, but he was also wearing a suit, marking him as a person of some importance. Oscar half remembered being introduced to him earlier, some CEO’s son. From the flash of intelligence behind his glazed eyes, their position was as incriminating as Oscar had suspected.
“We were—” Oscar said, looking at Lando helplessly. She wasn’t much use, having gone stiff, eyes wide at the intrusion. She noticeably zipped her legs closed. Oscar dropped her hand, too little too late.
“No no no,” The man interrupted. If Oscar’s heart wasn’t pounding with anxiety she would note how much she hated being interrupted. “I see what you two are up to here.”
He looked mischievous. Oscar did not like mischievous.
“What we are up to?” She asked. Her voice was hard.
“I just didn’t know you guys were like that,” he held up two hands, like he was pleading innocence despite his pleased grin. There was a pause as he eyed them up and down. “If you ever need a third,” he said, trailing off.
“Oh god,” Oscar said, flatly.
“No! Please no! Absolutely not.” Lando shouted, speaking up for the first time. She grabbed Oscar’s arm and nearly tripped over herself to get away. “Wow, look at the time, we have to go, uh, talk to someone else.”
“Anyone else,” Oscar muttered as Lando pulled her away.
It took about three steps until Lando was breaking out into nervous giggles. The mix of relief and bewilderment shot through Oscar like liquor, she huffed a laugh and tried to hold Lando up as they navigated through the crowd back to their team.
“Well,” Oscar said, as Lando bent nearly in half, squeaking with laughter. “That could have gone worse.”
“Jesus Christ,” Lando wheezed. “That was bold.”
“Not the first time he’s had girls screaming and running away from him, I’m sure,” Oscar said. “Jesus,” she watched Lando wipe at the edges of her eye makeup, readjust the straps of her dress. “What am I going to do with you?”
Lando caught her eye and smiled, “Whatever you want.”
Oscar groaned, “How much longer is this event?”
They were slowly walking towards the crowd of papaya. Someone had noticed them approaching and started waving their hand, beckoning them to move faster.
“One hour, maybe two,” Lando said, smiling at Oscar. She leaned in to whisper in her ear “Then you can order us an Uber and maybe I’ll let you slide a hand up under my dress on the way to the hotel.”
She laughed and more or less pranced away, clumsy on her heels. Oscar stood there for a moment, the feeling of Lando’s underwear in her pocket like a weight, like a promise. She looked forward to cashing it in.