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“Mate, we have a debrief in ten minutes.”

Driver reflexes are good for two things: getting Oscar out of trouble on track and getting him out of trouble with the team. He has never closed out of an app and locked his phone as quickly as he does now, much to his teammate’s amusement. Max does not need to know that Oscar was just now on OnlyFans, and neither do the other people milling around while he takes a stupid risk.

Social media has pretty much always been the cause of his downfall, and this time, Instagram’s algorithm is the perpetrator.

Oscar is a victim of it, having some sort of gay awakening while scrolling mindlessly on his private account—there is no way in hell that he would use his professional, verified account to waste time on social media. He had no idea he even had a thing for men until he came across one pl4yboykitten69. It’s a silly handle, probably one made jokingly before it was discovered that there are far too many thirsty people on the Internet willing to pay exorbitant amounts of money for a cheeky ankle picture.

One thing led to another, Instagram led him to OnlyFans, where a demon possessed him to input his bank account information for access to some admittedly very pretty nudes.

And despite being a Formula 1 driver, Oscar isn’t really a huge risk-taker. He keeps to himself most of the time, only occasionally breaking the internet with his not entirely PR-approved tweets. At the moment, he’s just a bit desperate and impatient because pl4yboykitten69 posted two minutes ago, and he has been in a dry spell since the beginning of the season. He should be allowed a few indulgences.

Oscar is simply getting his money’s worth. That’s all.

But OnlyFans user pl4yboykitten69’s raunchy pictures are going to have to wait until after Oscar gets home. When he’s alone, and there isn’t any chance of a team member peeking at his phone and getting an eyeful of a perky arse clad in skimpy lingerie or worse, the same arse without the skimpy lingerie.

What he did manage to catch a glimpse of before Max so kindly barged in was so tantalizing that he’ll be thinking about it all throughout debriefing.

“Hello! For all of you new subscribers, you may call me Lan.” The man on Oscar’s laptop screen winks salaciously at his webcam. “Or ‘kitten’, if you like.” A cheeky smile. “Orrr… if you give me a biiiig tip, I’ll even let you call me ‘baby’.”

User pl4yboykitten69 stretches out on his bed and props his chin in his hand as his bare legs swing idly in the air. Oscar can’t see his mouth from behind the mask he’s wearing, but he knows Lan is pouting as he sighs forlornly, fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, and looks pointedly at the tip counter. His eyes sparkle when the counter immediately fills up to the first tier and then some.

“Ooh, eager to see what I’m wearing underneath, aren’t we?”

Yes. Oscar is. He’s not afraid to admit that much to himself. Over the span of the past couple months that he’s been subscribed, he has seen just about every bit of Lan, barring the bottom half of his face, yet he remains fully taken with Lan’s pretty eyes and the way he looks at the screen from beneath indecently long lashes.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that Lan always has a different surprise under his massive hoodie each time he streams.

“Well, I should give the people what they want,” Lan says, voice dripping with faux sweetness. He sits back onto his haunches and reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

Oscar watches with bated breath as inch by inch of smooth, tan skin is revealed, a lean waist and, of course, a baby pink bralette. He can see Lan’s nipples through the translucent fabric, and it’s already too much for him to handle.

And the matching knickers.

Good God.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” Lan whines, and he flicks a nipple for good measure. By now, the tip counter has long since overflowed while comments fly across the screen. He shifts, indicating that there’s something inside him, and his cock is fully hard, straining the delicate fabric of his underwear and forming a damp spot at the front.

Oscar, unable to resist, sends him a generous tip and writes a small message that gets lost amongst the others. It’s not the first time that he has sent something, but his comments have never been acknowledged, which is totally fine with him.

“Mm, thank you,” Lan says through a small moan as he finally peels his knickers off and briefly lets them dangle around one ankle before flinging them into the depths of his room. “You’re always so sweet to me, Osc.”

And yet.

Jolting on his couch, Oscar stares at his screen in wonder as his cock grows impossibly harder in his hand. Even the nickname he spontaneously attached to his account sounds better uttered by Lan’s breathy voice. He swears he momentarily blacks out when Lan spreads his legs and practically bends himself in half to show off the shiny plug nestled between his arsecheeks. By the time Lan gets the toy out and dips two slicked fingers into his gaping hole, Oscar is trying his hardest not to come all over his laptop.

Physically holding off his orgasm with a grip firmer than he’d like, Oscar watches hazily as Lan fucks himself with his long fingers, wriggling and moaning when it feels especially good, and then replaces them with a dildo that appears from nowhere.

“M’not gonna last long,” Lan mumbles into his elbow as he thrusts the dildo in and out of himself and fists his cock with his other hand. Precum drips steadily onto his abdomen, and it sounds obscene, mixed with his whimpering. And even more so when he asks, “You like my pretty cock, hm? My hole? You’d get me all nice and wet, wouldn’t you? Fill me up and watch me make a mess of myself?”

Oscar types a simple yes into the chat and then anything you want because it’s true. Like this, he can pretend Lan is moaning right into his ear and not through his shitty earbuds as he gets himself off. It’s satisfying, even as he releases into his hand with an exhale.

“Feels good- oh.” Lan pushes the dildo all the way in, and he tips his head back in a soundless cry when he comes. And just to be a fucking tease, he swipes a fingertip through the mess on his chest and lets his cum drip off. “Pity I can’t give it a taste.” He looks directly at the camera. “Did you come yet?”

It’s a whole process, Lan cleaning himself up after masturbating for a camera and hundreds of thousands of viewers, lending itself to a bit of extra domesticity to add to an already sweet fantasy. Oscar almost likes this part better than the orgasm itself, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink while Lan saunters off in the nude after removing his bralette, swaying his hips in a way that’s all too mesmerizing.

When he comes back in just his hoodie, curls damp and cheeks glowing pink under his mask, he smiles, eyes curving into crescents. “Thank you for playing with me tonight. Or whatever time it is for you. See you next week!”

The screen goes dark, but Oscar’s heart is still pounding, trying to escape his chest cavity, and it’s not necessarily because he just had one of the best orgasms he’s had in months.

Unfortunately, the following week is a race week, which means Oscar limits his phone usage to sending a couple witty tweets and a couple more genuine ones to thank his fans. He even logs out of his private accounts to prevent himself from getting distracted because he knows that as soon as he sees a familiar pl4yboykitten69 pop up on his feed, his carefully curated self-control will fly right out the window.

This means he ends up moping a bit, which his teammate automatically notices.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” Oscar immediately mutters when Max opens his mouth.

“What? I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Mate, I don’t need to know what you’re so upset about. I just need to know if there’s anything I can do to help, so we get a one-two this weekend.”

Max is nice. Sure, there’s been words said about his character, but he and Charles practically adopted Oscar at the beginning of his rookie year, and while Oscar held his own in the face of Red Bull’s rigorous expectations, having a supportive teammate who still pushed him certainly didn’t hurt at all.

“S’alright.” Oscar zips his race suit up. “So which one of us is winning tomorrow?”

It turns out to be Max, which is neither surprising nor disappointing. P2 isn’t bad at all, especially since Oscar didn’t let his thoughts distract him during the race at all.

Any win is still a win.

Oscar politely declines going out after, claiming exhaustion. It’s not the best excuse, but he’s pretty infamous for falling asleep literally anywhere, so the mechanics and engineers don’t question it. Max, however, looks at him suspiciously.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty knackered. Have fun on my behalf, though.”

Oscar makes his escape as quickly as possible before anyone else can intercept him, shutting himself in his hotel room and heading straight for the shower.

It’s only when he’s comfortably tucked in bed that he logs back into his private Instagram account, briefly thinking about how pl4yboykitten69 is quickly becoming an addiction. That doesn’t stop him from getting hard at the censored picture of Lan all sprawled out on crimson sheets and gazing over his shoulder at the camera with half-lidded eyes that immediately pops up on his feed.

Oscar is a bit embarrassed by how quickly he enters his username and password to get back into his OnlyFans account, all just to see some guy naked.

But it’s not just some guy. It’s Lan, who posts captions like can’t wait to see you tonight! or thinking of you or something else that’s equally as saccharine. And the worst part is that it works, and Oscar has developed some sort of parasocial bond with a camboy.

He does have a leg up, though, since Lan mentioned his name last time—him and every other viewer who sent him a significant amount of money—but still.

And as expected, he missed the most recent stream, but there’s a recording posted to pl4yboykitten69’s account. The thumbnail is Lan on his knees in a new satin slip and sheer white stockings, so there’s no doubt that his live viewers were left unsatisfied. It turns out that Oscar’s driver reflexes are also good for clicking play mere fractions of a second after the video loads.

“Oh, isn’t this piece so pretty?”

On Oscar’s tiny screen, Lan twists this way and that, the thin white fabric fluttering around the tops of his thighs. Oscar wishes he could leave a comment too, jealous of every single user who lavishes praise upon their favorite camboy.

“Mhm, thanks for the suggestions. Anyone is welcome to send me gifts—I love receiving gifts—and I might even wear them in future streams. Or use them,” Lan adds with a grin. He perches on the edge of his bed and tucks his legs under him. “During the last stream, stockings were requested, and this pair arrived just in time!”

Oscar notices that the tier list has been changed accordingly, and while he doesn’t think he wants to be called ‘daddy’ anytime soon, he’s well aware that anything is possible when Lan is involved. He shoves a hand down the front of his boxers when Lan turns his back to the camera, the hem of his garment flipping up to show his virtual audience that he’s not wearing anything underneath. It means that his perfectly round arse is on display and his slim thighs quiver in anticipation. Aware that he might be drooling, Oscar begins rhythmically stroking himself at the same time that Lan fingers himself open for the camera.

“I wish I could ride an actual cock,” Lan says with a pout, glancing over his shoulder to widen his eyes pitifully. He sighs. “I guess this toy will have to keep me stuffed full until you get back, daddy.”

Much to Oscar’s surprise, his own erection hasn’t flagged and instead spurts precum into his palm at the thought of a pretty man who is probably older than him calling him that. God. For his own sake, he refuses to delve into this newly discovered part of him any further, even if Lan is moaning nonsensically as he slides down the dildo and seats himself fully.

“Mm- yeah,” Lan breathes, clutching the headboard with one hand and holding the base of the toy with the other. “I can’t believe you’re making me work for it,” he whines, lifting himself back up off the dildo on trembling thighs. “Is the view good at least, daddy?”

Good doesn’t quite fully describe how he looks, split open on a thick cock and looking halfway wrecked. The garters holding his stockings up dig into the meat of his thighs every time he flexes them to ride the dildo, and Oscar wants nothing more but to reach into his screen to tear them off him.

It’s like Lan can read his mind because he sinks down onto the dildo again, punching a gasp out of himself while he slowly undoes the garters and sticks a leg out to peel the stocking off at an achingly slow pace. “You like it when I’m a tease?”

Oscar nods, despite being alone. He strokes himself faster while Lan bounces a bit. The translucent fabric clings to his calf like a stubborn lover before finally exposing a delicate ankle. Oscar doesn’t have the largest hands, but he can probably fully wrap one around it. The other stocking goes in a similar fashion, practically edging the viewers.

“Since you asked so nicely to see my feet,” Lan breathes, and he curls his toes where they’re tucked under his arse, gazing over his shoulder at the camera. “Mm, wanna come on them, daddy?”

Fuck. Oscar really needs to pay better attention to what’s on the tip counter lest he be caught off guard again. He can’t be discovering things about himself like this, one right after the other.

He only lets himself come after Lan does. The way Lan arches his back and tips his head is a familiar sight that brings Oscar over the edge. Having two revelations about himself in one night is definitely not good for his mental health, but getting to watch Lan flop over onto his bed, still breathing heavily from his orgasm, and just lie there, starfished out, makes him feel all floaty in the best way possible.

In these post-coital moments, Lan feels more tangible and less like he’s some nymph or faerie sent specifically to seduce and distract Oscar with his pretty words and prettier moans. Oscar shakes his head. He must be tired out of his mind if he’s coming up with flowery metaphors to describe someone who doesn’t even know he exists.

Lan sits back up and runs a hand through his hair. Sweat glistens at his temples and on his neck like dewdrops. “As always, I’ll have a rerun of this stream posted if you missed it. And just know that I missed you too. Goodnight!”

With a smile, he waves at the camera with both hands like he usually does, which Oscar finds endlessly endearing, and the video stops.

A replay button takes Lan’s place on Oscar’s screen.

It’s inevitable that Max finds out about Oscar’s hobbies. Or his hobby, rather. Singular.

Oscar knows he should spend more time in the sim and less time browsing the internet for sex toys. But what’s the use in having a driver’s salary if he isn’t using it to purchase expensive, state-of-the-art, high tech gifts that Adrian Newey himself would be in tears about for his favorite camboy?

He’s pretty much supporting a local artist this way.

“Is that a buttplug?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, mate, it’s a vibrating buttplug,” Max says, ignoring Oscar completely in favor of peering at his laptop. “Do I even want to know?”

“No.”

“Actually send me the link later. I need to talk to Charles about it.”

Oscar pinches the bridge of his nose. Too much fucking information. “And if I do that, will you kindly leave me out of it?”

Max pats him on the back. “Of course, mate. Unless he asks, then I cannot lie to him. But if you’re lonely enough to be looking up buttplugs in your free time, I know some people who wouldn’t say no to you.”

“No thanks.” Oscar gestures to his laptop and puts on a smile that falls more into the category of a grimace. “I’m okay.”

He wishes the conversation would just stop here. It’s already embarrassing enough that Max caught him looking up sex toys, although it is his own fault for having the website pulled up in broad daylight, on his laptop, no less. It’s even worse that his teammate keeps saying ‘buttplug’.

But of course, Max is not only passionate about racing. He’s passionate about vibrators too, and Oscar is about to cry.

“So if you’re looking for a plug for long-term use, I recommend using one with a rod base instead of a round base. And it should be obvious, but I can’t stress enough that if there isn’t a flared base, don’t put it in you. Oh, and I like the ones with silent motors and the ones that have different rhythms and…”

Oscar tunes the Maxplaining out, too used to doing so already.

“It’s not even for me, mate,” he says the moment Max stops talking. “And everything I’ve just learned in the past five minutes has been against my will.”

Max only shrugs. “I call it teammate bonding.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t catch onto the fact that Oscar is evidently buying someone else buttplugs. Neither does he feel the need to comment on Oscar’s apparent interest in men. Small mercies.

“This lovely gift came in the post the other day,” Lan says, holding a familiar-looking toy up to the camera. “It looks fancy too.”

It is. It also cost a fair amount of money, but every bit was worth it.

Into the chat, Oscar types, You can connect it to the stream.

“Oh, I have already.” Lan winks. And then he pouts behind his mask, eyes innocent, like his next words aren’t about to send Oscar spiraling helplessly. “I missed you last week, by the way.”

Oscar promptly melts into a puddle under his duvet. Lan could be talking to any one of the ever-growing number of viewers watching, but for the sake of his delusions, he chooses to believe otherwise.

After all, Lan is in the process of putting the vibrating plug that Oscar bought him up his arse, tugging the string of his lingerie out of the way to do so. Legs bent at the knees, he wriggles in place and sighs once it’s comfortably inside him.

“Three hundred pounds, and the thong comes off,” Lan says cheekily. He has to be fully aware that it’s barely covering anything and that he’s still going to get what he wants. The moment that tips start flooding in, he moans, high-pitched and wanton as the plug inside him pulses.

holy shit

guys donate more pls

i just came

Oscar, who already knows what the plug is meant to do, sends a half-sarcastic, I thought you meant shoe thongs, and a small amount of money.

“Oh, Osc, if you want to see my feet, you just have to ask nicely,” Lan purrs sweetly, laughing when Oscar vehemently denies the accusation. His giggles quickly turn into whimpers when more money floods in. “I’ll definitely be using your present again- mmh!”

The thong eventually comes off, never to be seen again, and a length of rope makes an appearance. Attention piqued, Oscar watches incredulously as Lan ties his own wrists to the post at the top of the bed, just loose enough for him to escape if necessary.

“I don’t get to come until I reach my goal of ten thousand pounds.” Lan looks at the camera from beneath his lashes and whimpers, “Be good to me, please.”

Oscar refrains from tipping him, just to satisfy the part of him that wants to see Lan writhe on his bed, impatient with a vibrator up his arse. Instead, he lazily strokes himself to the tune of Lan’s sobbing. Every ‘ please’ and ‘more’ as Lan’s hips buck in the air, searching for friction and getting none, is hotter than Oscar can ever imagine in his wildest dreams.

For the larger part of the hour, precum pools on Lan’s flexing stomach, and his cock twitches each time the number on the tip counter goes up.

Only when the number reaches a couple digits away from the goal, Oscar sends the remaining few pounds and boldly types, Come for me, baby.

Right on cue, Lan’s back arches cleanly off of his bed, and he fights against his restraints as he comes untouched all over himself with a pleasured cry while the vibrator still buzzes away between his arsecheeks. He looks perfect like this. Oscar wants to lick the cum off of his stomach.

The tips don’t stop coming in, and Lan makes a noise at every pulse that the plug makes in him. He unties himself, and, on shaking legs, he moves to the camera, blows a stray curl away from his forehead. Softly, he murmurs, “Kitten’s feeling very spoiled right now. I’m a bit tired, so I’ll clean up without you tonight. Hopefully, I did well for you.”

You were lovely, Oscar writes. Take care of your wrists.

“I will!” Lan grins and waves at the camera. He’s cute. “Have a good night!”

Oscar falls backwards in his own bed once his laptop goes dark. What started out as a little obsession is rapidly becoming far worse than he thought.

Thank God, it will be summer break soon.

The lingerie’s pretty. Without thinking twice, Oscar sends the message into the chat. He made a brilliant selection—violet suits Lan perfectly, far better than any other color, which is already a feat in itself.

“The lingerie?”

You’re pretty.

Lan preens. “That’s more like it.”

The satiny fabric of the slip shifts and the hem rides up when he turns away from the camera, giving everyone the perfect view of his exposed back. It would be so easy to tear the flimsy piece off, and the tiny straps are barely doing their job holding it up.

And if what he’s wearing isn’t enough to make Oscar go slightly insane, Lan reveals the second half of his gift.

“Mm, I love receiving new toys. And this one’s quite big.”

It’s a dildo modeled after Oscar’s dick.

He tries not to let the compliment get to his head.

“I think it’s going to fill me up quite nicely,” Lan remarks, turning the dildo this way and that and touching the frenulum. Hiding the bottom of his face from view and gazing at the camera with half-lidded eyes, he sticks his tongue out and licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, making an obscenely wet noise when he pulls it away from his mouth. “I can pretend you’re fucking me instead.”

Fuck.

“Max, it’s not even eleven in the morning,” Oscar grumbles at his phone. There are still a couple days of summer left, which means that he should be getting more sleep and fewer phone calls from his teammate. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“I know, I know. You’re going to London today, right?”

“What? I wasn’t planning on it. Why?” London is two hours away from Oscar’s flat in Milton Keynes. It’s not exactly a spontaneous day trip.

Max is quiet for a moment, probably thinking about why exactly he wants Oscar in London. Hopefully, it’s not because there’s some unique sex shop that he wants Oscar to buy him a buttplug from. That thought alone is mortifying.

“So I have a friend…”

“No.”

“Come on, mate. Hear me out at least.”

Oscar is very tempted to hang up right then and there. Nothing good ever comes from ‘hear me out’. Even more so when it’s Max saying those words.

“Fine.”

“I think you might like him. I can send you his address, and you can pay him a visit.”

“You’re not sending me his home address, right? Because that’s a bit creepy.”

“No, no. It’s where he works when he isn’t streaming. Just trust me.”

Nothing good comes out of ‘just trust me’ either.

But it’s not like Oscar has anything else planned, so he drags himself out of bed. Worst case scenario, he meets this friend of Max’s and decides he doesn’t want to see him again. The only things he has to lose would be his precious time and petrol money.

Maybe a spontaneous trip to London could do him some good. He might touch some grass while he’s out too.

Oscar checks his phone, wondering why Max sent him to a café, of all places. It looks pretty nondescript on the outside and even more so on the inside, but he doesn’t question it any further. Max is a strange guy, who does what he wants without explanation.

An epiphany strikes the moment he approaches the counter. It’s him, it has to be—nobody else has eyes that change colors quite like he does—and Oscar is wholly unprepared.

He has never put things together so quickly in his life before, but everything suddenly makes sense. Max, who mentioned being friends with a streamer, did not specify where his friend streamed. Oscar just assumed his teammate was talking about one of his gamer buddies because he spends every minute outside of the car either with Charles or on Twitch. And trust Max to somehow know exactly who has been living in Oscar’s mind rent-free and then direct him right to the man of his dreams.

In the afternoon lighting, Lan is somehow simultaneously more ethereal and human as he frowns down at the register, trying to get it to work. This is the first time that Oscar has seen his entire face, so he tries to commit as many details to memory as efficiently as possible. There’s stubble on his chin and a mole dotting his cheek and a tiny gap between his front teeth, and he’s perfect.

It’s fucking overwhelming.

“What can I get for you?”

Before Oscar can properly rub two brain cells together to formulate a coherent answer, he blurts out, “You look familiar.”

“Mhm, I’m sure I do,” Lan answers smoothly. He finally glances up from the register and shoots Oscar a wink. Fuck, he definitely knows. “Not too familiar, I hope.”

Oscar lets the silence between them go on for a bit too long. He wishes that having over a million followers on Instagram means he would be a bit less awkward in public, and yet.

“So… what can I get for you?”

“Your name.” Internally, Oscar is hitting his forehead repeatedly because why did he have to say that? Externally, he is rapidly transforming into a tomato.

“I meant for you to drink, but sure, it’s Lando. Don’t wear it out!”

Oscar wheezes. “Uh, I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

Lando.

That’s what ‘Lan’ is short for? Has he never worried about someone finding his real name by adding just two letters to it? On the bright side, ‘Lando’ is a perfectly acceptable name, and ‘Lan’ was never short for something insane like… ‘Landowner.'

Oscar can’t imagine anyone moaning that one with a straight face. Like, ever.

“Hot chocolate?” Lando asks, a little incredulously, snapping Oscar out of his musings.

“Yeah, why?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to order hot chocolate.”

Oscar blinks. He has never been questioned about his drink order before. “What kind of beverage am I the type of guy to order, then?”

“Anything but a hot chocolate, to be honest.”

One can pretty much say the same thing about him being a Formula 1 driver as well. Or his favorite streamer being a part-time barista.

“And what’s your name?” Lando has a permanent marker poised over the paper cup as he looks at him expectantly with those wide… pretty… eyes…

Oscar is about to have an aneurysm and then come in his pants embarrassingly in the middle of this café. In that order.

Fucking hell, his dick has a Pavlovian response to Lando looking at him like that.

“You don’t know my name? I mean- of course you need my name! For the cup. Um, my name is Oscar, yes.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Lando doesn’t know who he is. Not everyone is a Formula 1 fan, after all, so it can’t be helped. It’s a relief that there weren’t any expectations set for Oscar before he could even talk to Lando, but it’s humiliating that the moment he opened his mouth, he made a stupid first impression.

Behind the celebrity is just some snarky, sarcastic guy, but the snark and the sass are nowhere to be seen in the face of a pretty boy, leaving Oscar stripped bare—and not in the good way—without a single ounce of charisma to be encountered.

But by some miracle, Lando evidently finds him funny, if the way he stifles a giggle by pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes sparkle with mirth when he peeks at Oscar are any indication. It’s almost like he finds Oscar endearing.

How terrifying.

Another race weekend, another P2 finish.

Another week spent away from his home in Milton Keynes, another week without Lando.

Rinse and repeat.

He deletes OnlyFans from his phone.

The next weekend, he finishes P1.

“You’re back!” Lando exclaims the moment Oscar enters the café. He’s smiling widely, like he’s happy to see Oscar, and that- that’s just unfathomable.

Oscar’s hand nearly gets caught in the door, and fortunately, it’s the middle of the day, so there aren’t many people around to witness his blunder. Even so, he ducks his head to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as he makes his way to the counter. “You… remember me?”

Lando has the audacity to look at him with those sparkling eyes of his. He tilts his head and asks, “Should I not have?”

“Honestly, I’d rather you forgot about my entire first impression altogether,” Oscar mutters, covering his face with his hands.

The broad smile on Lando's face turns downright evil in the span of a second. Too caught up with the fact that the guy he has jerked off to countless times finds him worth remembering, Oscar almost forgot that he is a menace. “Mm, I don’t think I will. It’s probably the most exciting thing that happened to me in a long time.”

Even more exciting than receiving a dildo modeled after Oscar’s dick? Oscar thinks wryly to himself. “Maybe I should be happy to be of service then,” he says out loud, voice drier than the Outback. “Creating a lasting impression and stuff.”

“You get it. So… hot chocolate again?”

“Sure.”

“My number too?”

“You’re really funny,” Oscar replies with a deadpan. “Haha.”

Lando grins at him, bunched up cheeks and tooth gap and everything, like Oscar’s sarcastic little quip makes him happy. “I-”

A tall man emerges from the back and takes the money that Oscar’s been holding out this entire time. “Stop flirting with our customers, mate.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, George,” Lando mutters and nudges his coworker aside so he can be the one to make Oscar’s drink. George huffs in slight amusement and hands a bewildered Oscar his receipt.

“You’re Oscar.”

Oscar blinks. “Yes, that’s me.”

The way George looks at him is a bit concerning, in the way people with blue eyes usually do. “You must know Lewis, right?”

“I do.”

From where he’s standing in front of the espresso machine, Lando asks, “Who’s Lewis?”

The expression on George’s face reads, He doesn’t know who you are?

Oscar shrugs, hoping he’s conveying, Apparently not. He’s somehow friends with the reigning world champion but knows nothing else about Formula 1.

Nodding, George says, “Fair enough. If it’s not too much trouble, could you tell him that I’m a huge fan?”

“Just who is this Lewis bloke?”

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.” Oscar accepts his hot chocolate from Lando, who glances between them like he’s watching a tennis match.

He frowns while Oscar tries so hard not to think about how their fingers brush. “What am I missing? Oscar, are you friends with some A-list celebrity?”

“‘Friends’ is a bit of a stretch. He’s nice, but I don’t think he likes me all that much, actually. Sorry, George.”

“No worries.”

Lando crosses his arms. “Well, I think Lewis is missing out. Osc, here, is a very likable person.”

It’s cute how oblivious he is. Oscar resists the urge to laugh at him while OscOscOsc turns in his mind over and over. If there was any doubt that Lando recognizes him from his streams, it has since evaporated.

Between feeling embarrassed all over again, Oscar can’t help but find it amusing that Lando only knows him as some sort of kinky porn consumer and not as a racing driver. He wonders how long that will last.

“Alright, mate, I’ll take your word for it,” George says indulgently. “You should be grateful nobody else is here to witness your terrible flirting.”

“It’s called having a conversation, Georgie,” Lando retorts. “You should try it sometime, and Alex might finally ask you out.”

Certain that if he sticks around any longer, he’ll be ambushed by another one of Lando’s coworkers, Oscar sneaks away before he can be asked to get Fernando Alonso’s autograph. When he’s safely out of the café and in his car, he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. It’s good, and more importantly, there’s a string of numbers scrawled over the top in surprisingly neat handwriting followed by a small smiley face.

He laughs to himself. Of course, Lando would write his number on the lid instead of the side, pretty much ensuring that Oscar sees it.

Hi, Lando

hi osc :)

oops george is nagging me again

cant be on my phone during my shift u see

i will talk to u later tho!!!

👍

Being confronted by Max about the recent development in Oscar’s love life, or lack thereof, was inevitable.

“Does Charles have to be here too?” Oscar asks when he lets his teammate into his driver’s room. “Er, no offense.”

“Of course,” Max says dismissively. “You asking for my advice on how to woo Lando was an unforeseen event, so both your parents need to be present. This might never happen again.”

“Yeah, nah, it’s definitely not happening again. And you two are only, like, not even four years older than me, and I’m not trying to woo Lando.”

Charles laughs at him. “Mate, during the interviews, I could see you trying not to pick up your phone. Max told me you have an OnlyFans addiction.”

“I deleted it,” Oscar defends himself immediately. It’s awful that Max shares everything with Charles. Oscar almost wishes they could revert back to their 2019 selves, but they can be cute sometimes when they’re not actively making fun of him.

“That’s right. Now he’s on WhatsApp all the time. During long team meetings, he’s just texting away, smiling at his phone like a teenager with a crush,” Max says. “Funny that you would rather talk to Lando than nap during those meetings now.”

The unfortunate thing is, talking is all they do. Sure, there’s the occasional text that reads a bit flirtier than the others, and Lando does send selfies quite often, though all of them fall more into the ‘cute’ category than the ‘sexy’ one, which is good for Oscar’s sanity. What is decidedly less good for his sanity is the feeling of being stuck in this odd limbo between friendship and potentially more than friendship. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries and make Lando uncomfortable, though, because he would rather be friends than not talk at all.

It’s why he broached the topic to Max, who might be the only person who knows both of them well enough.

“I think he thinks you’re cute,” Charles says thoughtfully. “At least, I think it’s cute that doesn’t know what you do for a living, but he does know that you’re one of his most dedicated fans. He likes you without the whole Formula 1 driver title attached.”

Max nods. “Exactly. Charlie explained it better than I could’ve.”

Oscar supposes it’s a good thing that he tagged along.

“Just spend time with him as much as you can when you’re in the UK.” Charles winks—tries to wink. Oscar immediately takes back any good thing he has ever thought about him. “And redownload OnlyFans, mate. It’s not healthy to deprive yourself of your own pleasure. I’m sure pl4yboykitten69 misses you.”

Saw this cat. It reminded me of you

aww! ur so sweet osc xx🫶

Oscar tries not to think too much about the kisses. It’s a British thing, and Lando is British is all.

i saw u resubscribed too… couldnt get enough of me??

Something like that

next hot chocolate is on the house just bc u said that

cant imagine the dent i made in ur bank acct

Eh, it’s no big deal

well thx anyway

You’re welcome👍

WhatsApp indicates that Lando is still typing something, so Oscar stares and waits patiently when it disappears and then reappears.

if u want i could give u a private show

without the mask

since uve seen my face and everything before

😈

Oscar is so tempted to accept, but he’s confused, tired, and the last thing he wants to do at the moment is figure out if this is just another bit that Lando does. Or if he feels obligated simply because Oscar has given him not an insignificant fraction of his paycheck.

Raincheck, maybe? It’s pretty late where I’m at

Don’t want to accidentally fall asleep in the middle of it

Haha

Christ, he’s the least subtle person he knows.

ofc ofc

goodnight oscar x

Another P1 finish. The second one of this season.

Oscar wonders if Lando knows who he is by now, if he saw the celebrations. If he’s proud of him.

Probably not.

Oscar doesn’t bring it up, and neither does Lando.

Naturally, he makes the two-hour trip to London instead after deciding that he’s spent enough time in the sim back at the factory. 

“You’re back.” George is at the counter, and Lando is nowhere to be seen.

“I am,” Oscar replies, and he slides a signed Mercedes driver card across the counter. It’s extremely satisfying to watch George’s jaw go slack and his eyes bug out of their sockets.

“Alex!” George shrieks as he runs into the kitchen.

At the commotion, Lando pokes his head out from what is presumably a supply closet, face brightening when he notices Oscar awkwardly standing at the abandoned counter.

“I’ve never seen him this excited before,” he quips. “What did you do to him?”

Oscar shrugs nonchalantly. “Just got him something from work.”

Lando squints at him and replies, “Alright, keep your secrets, magic man.”

As per usual, he makes Oscar his hot chocolate, nearly spilling the scalding liquid all over their hands as he’s holding it out because George chooses the worst time to re-emerge from the kitchen and pat Lando on the back a tad too forcefully.

“I’ll take over the rest of your shift, mate. Go sit with Oscar. And for God’s sake, keep him.”

Lando looks at Oscar with wide, confused eyes, and Oscar only smiles back.

They sit at a table outside, away from prying eyes and ears. None of the pedestrians seem to recognize Oscar or even care to stop, which is a blessing in itself.

But Lando stares at him, watching his every move. It would be unnerving if Oscar didn’t like his attention so much.

It almost feels like a date.

It probably would be if they weren’t at Lando’s place of work. Oh, look, there’s a small patch of grass right there for Oscar to touch.

He takes a sip of his hot chocolate instead.

“Do you lace your hot chocolate with something?” Oscar asks. He holds the cup out, a silent offering.

“I don’t really like chocolate,” Lando confesses, nodding at the drink in Oscar’s hand.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It’s only good for one thing, which is when it’s being licked off of me. Or when I’m licking it off of someone else, y’know? Wait, that’s two things.”

No, Oscar does not know. “Are you always this… unfiltered around everyone?”

“Nah, only with people who say I ‘look familiar’ before they say ‘hi’.”

Oscar groans and buries his face in his hands, and Lando has the gall to laugh at him.

“I’m also wearing a thong right now.”

“Are you trying to kill me?!”

“I’m trying,” Lando enunciates, “to get you in my bed first.”

Oscar exhales through his nose, trying to maintain some modicum of self-control. Calmly, he says, “I have a car.”

“Wow! I failed my theory.” Blinking, Lando asks, “Why does this matter?”

“I’ll take you home, you idiot. To cash in your offer.”

Lando’s eyes go round, irises sparkling green under the late afternoon sunlight. Not wasting another second, he abruptly stands up and reaches for Oscar’s wrist, pulling him out of his chair too.

The drive to Lando’s flat is silent, only punctuated by the occasional direction. Oscar can feel Lando’s gaze burning into the side of his head, but he keeps his own firmly on the road, knowing he might just crash the car if he looks back at him.

He even keeps both hands on the steering wheel out of fear that Lando might kidnap his left hand the moment he takes it off the wheel and put it on his thigh or something. Call Oscar paranoid, but he's just trying his hardest not to lose his sanity.

“You look sexy behind the wheel,” Lando remarks as they climb the steps up to his flat.

Oscar stumbles on the next step, glaring at Lando even as he takes his proffered hand to steady himself.

Lando giggles at him and says, “You should see yourself right now, Osc. Tomatoes would be jealous of your face.”

The redness doesn’t leave his cheeks, not for a long time. Not when he trails after Lando like a lost puppy or when Lando begins shedding his clothes the moment the bedroom door closes.

Oscar stands, frozen, as Lando’s shirt hits him in the face. He clutches it tightly in his hands and stares at every inch of smooth, tan skin revealed to him. It’s happening in real life and not through his laptop. He pinches himself, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

When Lando tosses a glance back at him, catches him staring, he bats his eyelashes and gives his arse a little wiggle. He wasn't bluffing earlier when he said he was wearing a thong.

The thong is the last to go, which Lando playfully flings at him. Reflexively, Oscar catches it and absentmindedly rubs the thin strap between his fingers. He gives in to his impulses, lifting the tiny scrap of lacy fabric to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Lando’s eyes fly wide, and pink creeps up to his cheeks. “You’re a bit filthy, aren’t you?”

Oscar shrugs and lets the thong fall from his fingers to join the rest of Lando’s clothes. He doesn’t need to give it any more attention when he has Lando standing naked before him.

Lando is so much prettier in person. Oscar knew that much already, but not to this extent. He wants so badly to run his fingers over each slender muscle, feel how soft his skin is, kiss the flare of his hips, sink his teeth into his belly, fit his hand to the curve of his back, but such a work of art is meant to be admired from a distance.

“Why are you only looking at me when you could touch me?” Lando complains. His gaze is glued to Oscar’s neck, and he’s now blushing horribly, probably too used to everyone being so easy for him that he has never been told to wait to be held down and fucked in his entire life.

That’s not to say Oscar isn’t easy for him. He’s exercising every bit of self-control he has to keep his hands off of Lando’s firm chest, his small waist, his arse…

“Just. Just let me take my time because I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to do this again.”

That gets Lando’s attention, and he tilts his head up to look at Oscar with wide, curious eyes. “Why wouldn’t we do this again?”

“Well, you probably have high expectations for sex…” Oscar trails off and makes a questioning noise when Lando throws his arms around his neck and kisses him. Tentatively, Oscar touches Lando’s naked waist to steady him.

The kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like.

“For such a smart guy, you can be so stupid sometimes,” Lando says breathlessly. “I like you, Osc, like, I’m really fond of you, which means that you could do anything, and I’d probably be happy. You could have a- a tiny cock and last thirty seconds, and I’d only be flattered.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Well, you might be happy to know I don’t think I’m tiny, per se,” Oscar replies a bit too quickly. “Erm.”

Lando is already busy undoing his jeans, like he can’t wait to see Oscar’s dick for himself, so Oscar tugs his shirt over his head and coaxes him in the direction of the bed, nearly tripping over his own clothes.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Lando teases, but his mouth hangs open ever so slightly when he glances down. “'Not tiny,’ he says,” Lando mumbles to himself, circling the head with his fingers. “Is it even going to fit?”

Oscar’s face is on fire. “You’re always going on about how full you want to be.”

Eyes still fixed on Oscar’s straining erection, Lando wets his lips and says, “Well, it would be a waste if we didn’t at least try, wouldn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

Lando spreads his legs, a sight straight out of Oscar’s wet dreams, and reaches for him until he’s slotted between them. They fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, and Lando makes a soft, pleased noise at the back of his throat when Oscar kisses him.

Oscar is always making new discoveries with Lando, and his latest one is that kissing him is addicting. Kissing Lando might be his favorite activity ever, even surpassing sleeping. He gently bites down on Lando’s bottom lip, just to see how he might react, and he’s rewarded with a small moan.

It goes directly to Oscar’s cock.

With this newfound knowledge, he kisses Lando’s down jaw, his neck, leaving hickeys that bloom red against his tan skin where he sees fit. A bottle of lube is pressed into Oscar’s hand, and with shaky fingers, he manages to get it open. He’s sure he won’t be able to open Lando up as thoroughly as he does himself, but the moment he rubs his slicked fingertips against his entrance, Lando sighs and relaxes into his touch.

Oscar feels drunk at the proximity, at the large hands tangled in the hairs at the nape of his neck and pulling on them every time he sinks his teeth into Lando’s skin, at the legs wrapped around his waist that tighten each time his fingers press against the most sensitive spot inside him, at the slow slide of his cock against Lando’s, making them both heavy and aching with want.

“I’ve told you this so many times,” Oscar mumbles into the crook of Lando’s neck, while he absentmindedly rubs his hip, “but you’re so pretty.”

It’s sweet and ridiculously honest, and it kind of makes him afraid of how Lando might respond.

“If you say things like that, I might not last thirty more seconds.” Lando takes a deep, shuddery breath. “How do you want me?”

When Oscar takes too long to respond, distracted by the purpling marks littering his neck, Lando huffs and pushes him away to get on his hands and knees, arching his back to put his arse directly in Oscar’s line of vision. His loose hole drips with lube.

Some other time, Oscar is going to eat him out until he’s shaking uncontrollably and begging for more. Right now, he fumbles with the condom, and when he successfully rolls it onto himself, he grabs Lando’s hips and manhandles him into position, still hardly believing that this is his life and that Lando wants him. Lando gasps at the sudden movement.

“Get on with it.”

Oscar pours a generous amount of lube onto his cock, ignoring Lando squirming impatiently and the delicious friction of his arse against it with immense difficulty. In a far steadier voice than he thought he could muster, he says, “Be patient.”

“I am definitely keeping you,” Lando moans, rocking backwards onto Oscar’s cock. Just the tip pops past his rim, but the moment those words register, Oscar’s hips stutter, and he unintentionally pushes in all at once.

Lando screams.

“Oh God, did I hurt y-”

“Do it again.”

Oscar quickly discovers that while Lando does exaggerate quite a bit for the camera, he definitely doesn’t play up how loud he is in bed. Each thrust punches a gasp out of him, and he wails the moment Oscar nails his prostate.

“Oscar- mm, oh yes. That’s good.” A litany of praises fall from Lando’s lips, and he whines, “Harder.”

“Can you come just like this?”

Lando looks over his shoulder at Oscar with glazed-over and slightly damp eyes, and he nods once. That’s all the motivation Oscar needs to speed up his thrusts, making him sing. In just a few moments, Lando trembles apart with the force of his orgasm as his arms and legs give out under him, and Oscar holds him up with an arm around his waist as he pushes in, burying himself in Lando's warmth.

He comes so hard he sees stars.

“The dildo you sent me was modeled after your dick, wasn’t it?” Lando asks once he catches his breath. His limbs are all sprawled out, and there’s a light sheen of sweat covering his back, and he looks like he’s been ripped right out of Oscar’s softest fantasies.

And he tilts his head backward to give him that same smile, the one that makes his eyes curve up and takes Oscar’s breath away.

Oscar pulls out, wincing at the drag. “Yeah.”

“Hah, I knew you felt familiar, you dog.” Lando leans over the edge of the bed to fetch Oscar’s shirt. Once he deems himself sufficiently clean, he scoots into Oscar’s open embrace and tangles their legs together. He looks two blinks away from dozing off, but he mumbles, “Earlier. Did you think I was going to sleep with you out of pity or something?”

Oscar stiffens, unsure how exactly he should respond. Finally, he says, “Kinda? I would’ve been happy with whatever you were willing to give me. Just because you make a living off of sex doesn’t mean I’m entitled to you or your body or anything.”

“Well, I didn’t invite you into my home to just fuck once and call it a day.” Lando sniffs, tucks his nose into Oscar’s shoulder. “This wasn’t a transaction on my end, at least. You’re kind to me, and you look at me like nothing else exists, and that means I’m hopelessly attracted to you, Osc.”

“Oh. That’s, um, good.”

“‘That’s good!’ That’s all?”

Oscar hugs Lando closer and buries his face in his curls, just because he can now. “It is.”

A beat.

“I like you so much more than you could ever imagine, baby.”

It’s inevitable that Lando finds out who Oscar is, but it was never expected for him to bring it up after being fucked boneless against the front door of his flat.

They’re sprawled out on the couch, Lando halfway in Oscar’s lap.

“So why do you still work at the café? Don’t you make enough money selling used knickers and, I dunno, dirty socks?”

“I don’t get to meet cute, flustered Formula 1 drivers by selling used knickers, mate.”

“Ah, so Max must’ve told you that I’m his teammate.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. “Verstappen? You’re his teammate? Huh, I actually didn’t know that. He doesn’t tell me anything, and I’m supposed to be his best friend.” He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout.

“Wait, so how did you find out then?” Oscar asks, confused.

The pout deepens. “You kept missing my streams.” Lando sounds almost shy now. “I always look for you, y’know? And when you weren’t, I figured you were probably busy… aaand you obviously make enough on the regular to spoil me as much as you did.”

“I could be some businessman.”

Lando looks him up and down. “Osc, you’re not nearly old enough to be a businessman.”

“I could be a really successful businessman,” Oscar amends. “You’re not old, and you’re basically a successful businessman- wait, what year were you born?”

“19-”

“Nineteen? Never mind, you’re old.”

“-99, you little shit. I’m not even two years older than you.”

“Ah, did Wikipedia tell you that?”

Oscar perhaps deserves to be pushed off the couch at this point. He’s very grateful that Lando chooses to snuggle closer instead because maybe they’re both just equally as touch-starved.

“So about the whole racing driver thing…”

“Yeah?”

Lando rubs his cheek against Oscar’s neck like a content little cat. Maybe he’ll even purr if Oscar runs his fingers through his hair. “Max is always telling me about technicalities like weight and performance.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Do they have to account for the absolute unit between your legs too?”

“Lando.”

There’s a smirk on Lando’s face, even as he protests, “What?! He’s always going on and on about the complicated engineering stuff and the even more complicated strategies that he comes up with his performance engineer or whatever, so it’s not my fault that I sometimes stop listening and that the only thing I know is bottoming, in every sense of the word!”

Oscar blows out a breath and mutters, “That’s fair, actually.”

“If he didn’t Maxsplain so much, I might actually be interested in Formula 1,” Lando says, a little too cheekily for Oscar’s comfort. He runs a finger down Oscar’s chest. “Although, I guess I have other reasons to become a fan now.”

“Lando.”

“I could be your WAG or whatever too.”

That sounds… that sounds quite nice, actually, but-

“I’m pretty sure you’d be my boyfriend, not my wife or girlfriend.”

“Oscar!” Lando exclaims, sitting up. He's smiling. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

“A little more enthusiasm would be mint, jeez.”

With an effortlessness he didn’t even know he had, Oscar flips their positions in one smooth motion, trapping Lando beneath him, caged between his arms. At the little surprised ‘oof’ that escapes Lando’s mouth, he leans in and presses their lips together.

Oscar pulls away, but he maintains eye contact when he asks, “Please be mine?”

Lando’s cheeks flush. He reaches for Oscar, pulling him down until there isn’t an inch of them that isn’t touching.

“Bleh, I’m already yours, Osc.”

The kiss he presses to Oscar’s lips is only sweeter than his words.

Oscar didn’t expect his life to change too drastically, now that Lando is officially his boyfriend, but it doesn’t feel different at all, an indication that his OnlyFans addiction prepared him well for this moment. Perhaps being delusional was the solution all along.

What is a little annoying, however, is spending time away from Lando for the sake of his job.

“Phone sex can be fun too,” Lando tells him when Oscar finally escapes his media responsibilities and calls him. “Or just pop into my stream later.”

Lando being an OnlyFans creator hasn’t changed either. It’s not like Oscar would suddenly tell him to stop doing what he clearly enjoys and makes a living out. The notion is simply preposterous and just straight up hypocritical.

Besides, knowing that all these people are allowed to see Lando but not allowed to touch him gives Oscar a sense of smug satisfaction. They only know user pl4yboykitten69, but Oscar knows Lando Norris.

He knows the guy that hogs the blankets in his sleep and snores like a lawnmower, but he also knows the guy that sings in the shower and hums to himself while he burns breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The blanket-hogging isn’t an issue because Oscar runs hot anyway, and the snoring can’t bother someone who’s already dead to the world. Lando’s singing is loud and runs a bit off-key, but his post-shower fluffy hair and pink cheeks more than makes up for it.

And Oscar definitely can’t find fault in burning food because he’s just the same.

They order takeaway most nights, anyway.

“Phone sex isn’t the same,” Oscar complains, just to be a dick. He’s sure that phone sex with Lando is fantastic, just like everything else.

Lando laughs on his end. “I’m beginning to think you might be the spoiled one.”

“Mm, had a taste of your arse once, and I never wanna go back to watching it through the shitty hotel WiFi.”

“Next time, just invite me to wherever you’re going. So I can fulfill my dreams of being a garage WAG.” He pauses. “I know I look pretty in front of a camera.”

Fucking hell. It’s not even the dirtiest thing Lando has said, far from, in fact, but Oscar’s already chubbing up in his joggers. He wouldn’t mind having phone sex for the rest of time as long as Lando’s on the other end.

“Fuck- what are you wearing?”

Oscar can practically hear Lando’s grin. “Thought you’d never ask, babe. Remember that hoodie you left at my flat the other day?”

“... and?”

“And nothing. S’all I’m wearing.”

The hoodie in question is one of his self-branded ones, which means his name is on Lando. Lando’s wearing a piece of clothing with his name on it. And nothing else.

Christ.

“It’s kinda big, Osc. I’ve been rolling the sleeves up all day.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Send me a picture?” Oscar manages to croak out. He clears his throat, and clicks on the WhatsApp notification as soon as it appears. “That was fast.”

“Uh-huh, because I knew you’d ask,” Lando murmurs.

The picture cuts off at the neck, but Oscar notices that only Lando’s fingertips poke out of the sleeves, and his hands aren’t small at all. But it’s the sight of his knees pulled up to his chest and his thighs angled away under the hem of the hoodie to leave just enough to the imagination that has Oscar momentarily forgetting that he’s on call.

“I am… so hard right now,” he says at last.

“Wanna do something about that?”

Oscar had his doubts about phone sex, but they evaporate as Lando talks him through an orgasm, voice growing breathier and breathier until he’s moaning Oscar’s name into the microphone.

“Did you come yet?” Lando asks, sounding fucked out and delirious. “I made a mess of your hoodie.”

Just hearing that alone makes Oscar come all over his fist.

Once he regains the ability to speak, he says, “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome. Ugh, I don’t want to get up.” There’s some shuffling on Lando’s side of the phone, and the camera switches on. He looks cute, that after-sex glow doing him wonders, and he looks soft enough to touch. “Good luck later tonight, Osc. I’ll be watching.”

“Don’t force yourself to stay up, but I’ll try to win for you,” Oscar promises, and Lando blows him a kiss.

“Hey, Osc?”

Oscar turns his attention to his boyfriend. Like it ever left him in the first place. “Yeah?”

“I just have to know,” Lando begins, nibbling on a fingernail, “which stream did you like the most?”

“Can I choose more than one?” Oscar thinks about the hundreds of streams that Lando has done, from the more amateur-ish ones in the depths of his page without the high-quality camera set-up or the lingerie or the fancy toys to the more recent ones after they got together. “I like all of them.”

Lando rolls his eyes and drops down into Oscar’s lap. “I said, 'the most,’ Oscar. But I’ll let you pick two because I’m nice.”

Oscar’s answer was already at the tip of his tongue, and Lando smiles at him like a cat that just got the cream as soon as he utters it out loud. That is to say: smug and slightly mischievous.

“Why?”

“Just curious.” Lando doesn’t sound convincing at all. He is never just curious when it comes to sex. “Anyway, I’ve been watching Formula 1 stuff to get to know what my boyfriend does a bit better.”

“And? What’s the verdict?” Oscar asks.

Lando fidgets a little and blushes. “IlookedyournameuponTikTokandfelldownarabbitholeofeditsfromQatar.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a stupid, stupid man!” he cries in lieu of repeating what he said under his breath. “Pouring water down your back? Are you insane? Do you want me to die?”

Oscar has no idea what ‘edits’ he’s referring to, but they must be something if they have his normally shameless boyfriend acting all flustered and worked up. “Oh, how the tables have turned?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Lando says with a pout. “I’ve just been converted into an Oscar girlie. Give me my cute, loser boyfriend baaack.” He shakes Oscar by the shoulders, like that’s how he’s supposed to get Oscar to give him what he wants.

“Is that all? I can do a reenactment of that if it gets you all hot and bothered.”

“If you’re going to be so mean about it, I might have to be a McLaren fan instead. Can’t let your big head grow any bigger.” Lando sniffs haughtily, sticks his nose into the air. “That Carlos guy is pretty fit.”

Oscar stiffens, fingers tightening on his boyfriend's waist. “Sainz? Really?”

In his ventures into the Formula 1 side of social media, Lando must’ve seen the many compilations of Oscar roasting the shit out of Carlos over team radio during his rookie year. There’s no way that he hasn’t—hell, even Oscar has seen them.

He feels silly that Lando’s words make him all panicked inside. Gone is the calm personality that he has carefully crafted, all because his boyfriend mentioned the guy that has stopped in front of him or crashed into him on track one too many times.

“Please tell me that this is all just a bit. Don’t scare me like that when your best friend and I both drive for Red Bull.”

Lando squirms in his hold, gasping when Oscar squeezes him again for emphasis. “You and Max already win every time. It’s boring. I’ll be rooting for papaya instead because they clearly need it.”

“Take that back.”

“No, I won’t. What are you going to do about it, huh?” Lando taunts.

Oscar realizes that his boyfriend is far smarter than he gives him credit for, and it’s only when he’s told to go into the bathroom adjacent to Lando’s bedroom that he figures out that getting him riled up was just another part of Lando’s elaborate plan to lose the ability to sit without being in pain.

Well, then.

“Okay, you can come out now!”

“Lando, I already told you, I’m gay-” Oscar snaps his mouth shut. He can’t even think anymore because every drop of blood in his body redirects down to his cock. “Fuck.”

“Get over here, Oscar,” Lando urges, impatient. He kicks his legs because his wrists are tied above his head, and he’s wearing the purple slip that Oscar bought him eons ago.

“You kept it?”

“I keep all the gifts you send me, even though I’m not meant to play favorites.”

Oscar trails a fingertip along the hem of the slip, barely grazing Lando’s thigh. Goosebumps rise beneath his touch. He removes his finger. “But you said I’m not your favorite.”

Lando keens and shakes his head frantically. “You are, you are, just do something.”

“Hm, I don’t think I will. How do I know you won’t go right back to thirsting for Carlos after I get you off?”

Slowly, Lando’s eyes go wet as he stares at Oscar imploringly. “I won’t,” he hiccups. “I mean it. You’re my favorite, and you can- you can do whatever you want with me if that’ll prove it.”

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Oscar leans in close, touching all the tiny purple straps criss-crossing the small of Lando’s back and feeling him tense up. Lando pushes his hips up and wraps a leg around Oscar, desperate for some sort of friction.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to suck you off and then eat you out.” He lets his hand hover just above Lando’s arse, making him tremble. “You can come, but I won’t stop.”

Lando sobs.

“Okay?”

“Oscar, please.”

Oscar makes sure he knows what to hear when Lando truly wants him to stop before spreading his boyfriend’s legs and ducking under the purple fabric. Not for the first time, he commends his own taste, and the fact that Lando can’t see what Oscar will do to him next is just so incredibly hot.

He gently blows against Lando’s cock to tease him, smiling to himself at the little hitch in his breathing and the jerk of his hips. Tutting in faux disappointment, Oscar holds Lando’s legs apart, marvels at his boyfriend’s flexibility, and takes as much of him into his mouth as he can.

Lando’s reaction is instantaneous. He digs his heels into Oscar’s back and moans, high-pitched and loud.

Encouraged by the thighs trying to close around him, Oscar swirls his tongue over the spongy head, presses it into the slit. Lando curses as his cock leaks and throbs in Oscar’s mouth. It’s too bad Oscar can’t see his face, but he knows it’s contorted in pleasure.

“Oscar,” Lando wails, after a few more minutes of his cock being played with. “‘M gonna- ah- ‘m gonna come.”

Oscar, just to be cruel, sucks harder and holds Lando’s thighs tighter to prevent him from kicking out. He swallows every drop of Lando’s cum, not wanting him to dirty his pretty purple lingerie. Before he pulls off completely, he closes his lips around the tip and suckles, just to make Lando go insane.

Lando goes limp in Oscar’s hold, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath before being bent in half. He looks at Oscar with watery eyes, still clouded with lust and the dredges of his orgasm.

It’s too bad that Oscar plans to fully wreck him first, making his name the only thing Lando remembers.

He presses Lando’s legs to his chest, exposing him fully. Lando shudders at the air hitting his sensitive cock and then at the feeling of Oscar’s mouth latching onto his nipple, sucking at it through the fabric and getting it damp with his saliva.

“You’re so pretty like this, y’know?” Oscar murmurs, thumbing Lando’s red, swollen mouth. “Helpless.”

He spreads Lando’s arsecheeks and ducks his head to lick a long stripe up his perineum, grinning against his cute pink rim when he keens desperately.

Oversensitive, Lando pleads nonsensically, too weak to physically push Oscar away from him.

Oscar toys with him, lightly circling his tongue over Lando’s rim just to feel him tremble. And when he pushes the tip past the furled muscle, Lando screams, writhing against the rope holding his wrists up and closing his thighs around Oscar’s head.

“Don’t move,” Oscar reprimands, landing a light smack on Lando’s left arsecheek. “I’ll tie your ankles to the bedposts if I have to.”

“Oscar.”

“Can’t believe I haven’t done this earlier,” he says conversationally as he drops a kiss where his palm was just a second ago. “You taste so good, baby.”

He buries his face back in Lando’s arse, getting him all nice and wet and glistening. Lando is fully hard again, sobbing when Oscar pushes a slicked finger into him alongside his tongue.

When he curls his finger, Lando arches clear off the bed and pleads, voice hoarse, “No, don’t make me come yet. Can’t.”

“Well, that’s up to you, Lando. I’m only doing what I promised I would.”

Oscar can tell that Lando is fighting the urge to push back on his face and hump the air at the same time, moving his hips in tiny circles to instinctively chase an orgasm he doesn’t even want yet. He sits back to admire his work, at Lando’s gaping, sopping hole that flutters around nothing. Lando himself is a vision, the prettiest that Oscar has ever seen, in wrinkled purple satin that is seconds away from falling off his shoulders.

“Are- are you going to finally fuck me now?” he asks in a small voice. He blinks up at Oscar, and his long lashes stick together from his tears. “Want to come on your cock. Mm, yeah, want your cum leaking out of me.”

Let it never be said that Oscar isn’t generous. He slides into Lando in one smooth thrust, nearly coming on the spot when he sees his belly distend, a small bulge right where his cock pushes against him. Lando moans in satisfaction, and Oscar, just as desperate now, reaches up to untie his wrists. He lets Lando cling to his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin, as he makes Lando forget about everything but him.

Oscar fits his mouth to Lando’s, sipping the sweet whimper from his lips while he comes deep inside him, pushing the head of his cock right up against Lando’s prostate. With a soft exhale of Oscar’s name, Lando follows him over the edge, clenching around him and coloring himself white.

And encircled in the warmth of Oscar’s arms, he passes out.

The feelings in Oscar’s chest threaten to escape when he glances down at his sleeping boyfriend. Lando snuffles, the little curl of hair falling into his face making him look younger, and shifts in search of Oscar’s body heat. The satin slip does very little in maintaining any sense of modesty.

Gently, Oscar gets him out of his soiled garment and grabs a wipe from the nightstand, only pausing to stare at the trickle of his own cum slipping down the insides of Lando’s soft thighs. He did that.

After cleaning him out as best as he can, while Lando moans and wriggles at the intrusion, Oscar rubs his waist and massages his lower back. It’s honestly the least he can do after making his boyfriend come twice for him.

“You’re my favorite,” Lando mumbles quietly when he rouses. He always gets all sweet and docile after sex, pliant. “I can’t feel m’legs.”

“And you’re my favorite, doll.”

Oscar gathers his boyfriend close and kisses the top of his head, feeling lighter and more affectionate than usual.

“I’ll cheer for you during your next race.”

“You can be there too, if you want.”

“Okay.”

It has become sort of a recurring theme, Lando doing the absolute most to drive Oscar insane.

First, it’s making Oscar sit in a different room while he streams in the studio, where the walls are thin enough to hear every moan or gasp through them. Oscar can’t help but feel like a cat, whose owners have locked him out of the bedroom to have sex.

And then it’s buying McLaren teamwear.

“Even Ferrari would be better,” Oscar complains when his boyfriend playfully twirls around for him. At least the boxers that Lando’s wearing underneath were once his.

Too bad papaya suits Lando so well when it looks garish on most people.

But when the 55 over the hip floats into Oscar’s line of vision, he promptly loses his mind.

“Oh, fuck no,” he mutters, throwing his boyfriend over his shoulder and sitting him on the kitchen counter. Lando has a little smile on his lips, but it disappears with a shriek when the shirt is ripped cleanly off of him. “Huh, my hand slipped. Whoops.”

“Oscar, what the f- mmph!”

Oscar takes the opportunity to interrupt him with a kiss, licking into his mouth with an urgency he didn’t know he has when he isn’t in the car.

This time, he quickly sucks Lando off as an apology for tearing his shirt in half. Formula 1 merch isn’t exactly inexpensive, after all.

But Lando would look much better in a Red Bull shirt anyway… especially if it’s one with 81 on the back.

“What do you usually do when you’re abroad but not at the paddock?”

Oscar shrugs. “Stay at the hotel, mostly. Sometimes I get a few drinks with Max and Charles after the race if I’m in the mood to third-wheel them.”

Lando flops down, face first, onto the bed as soon as they enter their hotel room in Las Vegas. He’s cute, but the little denim shorts he chose are riding up, and Oscar is distracted by smooth, tan, thighs and the round curve of his-

“D’you think people would find out that I’m here with you if I streamed from this room?” Lando suddenly asks. “Actually, you don’t need to answer that. I already told George I’m taking a vacation, so there’s no reason for me to work my other job here either. ‘M allll yours for the week, Osc.”

“I mean, some fans can get jobs as detectives, so to answer your question even though you told me not to, yes.” He pauses for a moment, carefully picking his next words carefully. “I wouldn’t recommend it if you want to keep our relationship away from prying eyes.”

Lando hums, not quite giving him a solid answer, but Oscar knows him well enough to conclude that he’s turning the idea around in his head. He’s fine with whatever his boyfriend wants to do—if Lando wants to announce to the world that they’re having kinky sex, Oscar would climb atop the Red Bull garages and shout it until his voice dies, but if Lando would rather keep their relationship a secret, Oscar would take it to the grave.

He wouldn’t have done either of those things back when he only knew Lando the OnlyFans camboy. Right now, many months later, he would do anything for him, even marry him at the paddock chapel here in Vegas.

Oscar should properly unpack his feelings before actually promising that, though. On the other side of the bed, Lando video calls George, who loudly proclaims his jealousy and emphasizes his requests for Lewis Hamilton merch.

His feelings get squashed down into a tiny ball when he arrives at the paddock with his boyfriend hanging off of him, long before any media personnel comes. At a moment’s notice, he has to be ready to hide Lando behind a plant or- or push him into the nearest hospitality.

Of course, Lando only looks amused at his alertness, seemingly uncaring that the world can find out about his relationship in a moment’s notice.

But would that be such a bad thing? Oscar doesn’t think so, yet he has to respect his boyfriend’s wishes first.

It’s warm and dry out, which means Lando, who practically lives in Oscar’s hoodies when he isn’t streaming, has so much skin on display. Oscar wants to personally thank whomever invented white linen shirts that err on the side of transparent under the strong desert sunlight. The taper of his waist just being on display like that is absolutely criminal.

It’s a pity that they agreed not to fuck until the race is over.

Getting him into Oscar’s driver’s room and forcing him to muffle his moans while fucking him from behind would’ve been quite fun.

“Everything feels so official,” Lando says, oblivious to the miniature horny crisis Oscar is having over him as he looks around in awe. “Is this how all you celebrities usually feel?”

Of course, that’s when the bane of Oscar’s existence makes his presence known.

“Hello, Oscar.”

Oscar puts on a smile, the one that the Internet has dubbed his ‘polite cat smile’. Lando informed him of that one.

“Carlos. Hi.”

“Who is this lovely young man?” Carlos asks as alarm bells go off in Oscar’s head. The fucker. “I’ve never seen you before, amor.”

Lando blushes, probably too used to his own boyfriend being a damn mess at the best of times that he’s caught off-guard by the sudden attention from someone else, someone considerably smoother with him. And then Carlos has the audacity to take his hand and bring it up to his lips.

“Um, actually, I have a boyfriend,” Lando says. Oscar would kiss him right then and there if not for the cameras following people around, ready to capture anything at a minute’s notice for Netflix. Lando takes Oscar’s hand, lacing their fingers together tightly. While in the midst of dragging him off to the Red Bull hospitality, he exclaims, “Oh, look, there’s Max! I should say hi to him. Nice meeting you, Carlos!”

“Wait, you never told me your name-”

The minute they’re fully out of view, Lando bursts into shrieking laughter. “Oh, you should’ve seen the look on your face. You’re soooo cute when you’re jealous, babe.”

“Ugh, I’m not jealous. He’s the one who flirts with anything and everything that moves.”

“And I only flirt with you,” Lando says and quickly adds, “when I’m not working.”

“I’m still going to take both of us out in turn one on Sunday,” Oscar grumbles. “Sorry, that was a joke. Mostly. But-”

“Lando?”

Lando whips his head around, face lighting up. “Max!”

“Oscar,” Oscar adds, just because he can, feeling a bit miffed when the soft, warm presence of his boyfriend leaves him.

“And Charles.”

He didn’t even notice Charles approaching, which is a feat in itself with the red polo and the red pants and red everything, but he’s always with Max, so it’s to be expected that they’re joined at the hip.

“How’re you, mate? Are there any strategies you’re willing to share?” Charles jokes good-naturedly, taking a seat.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Mate, I don’t know why you think I’m gonna tell you anything when you’ve clearly failed in wheedling it out of my teammate.”

Sniffing, Charles says, “It’s just unfair. You guys have the better car and the better strategies.”

“Hey, take it up with the rest of the team. Max and I only drive the cars and follow orders.”

Oscar glances up and catches Lando looking at him, so he gives him a smile, which Lando returns tenfold, looking brighter than the goddamn sun.

“If I win,” he says to Charles, “I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

As if Lando can read his mind, he saunters over with his hands on his hips and says, “Max just bet that if he wins, he’ll kiss Charles in front of the cameras.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Charles interrupts meekly. When both Lando and Oscar look at him with matching skeptical expressions, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, who am I kidding? Gambling is a part of my culture.”

Oscar turns to his boyfriend and asks, “And are you? One for gambling, I mean?”

Lando grins at him, the little gap between his front teeth on display. The air conditioning ruffles his hair. “Not usually, but we're in Las Vegas, and you know that I wouldn’t mind putting on a little show.”

It’s said as nonchalantly as anything can be said, but Oscar immediately understands what he’s getting at. He feels warmed from the inside all the way out, like a torch lighting up a dark cavern. Lando understands him and his worries, without needing to ask a single question.

Well.

He supposes that he needs to win the fucking race.

Halfway through the twenty-first lap in a car going over two hundred kilometers per hour is most likely the worst time and place that Oscar can have the revelation that he’s in love with his boyfriend, probably has been for a while now.

It’s not exactly shocking, nor is it sudden.

He can’t wait to get out of the fucking car.

He wins the fucking race.

Oscar doesn’t think about the consequences when he makes a beeline straight for the Red Bull garage after the Australian anthem, straight for his boyfriend, covered in champagne and fueled by residual adrenaline from the race. He doesn’t care that there are cameras everywhere that capture the determined expression on his face and the surprised one on Lando’s when he walks right up to him and pulls him in with an arm around his waist for a kiss.

Nobody on the team looks surprised, but the media staff around them all collectively gasp in shock. They’re definitely making it into the Netflix show.

Lando makes a noise against his lips, hands coming up immediately to cradle his face. The P1 trophy in Oscar’s hand falls to the ground with a clang, probably breaking cleanly in half, but Oscar couldn’t care less, not when he’s busy kissing the man he’s achingly in love with.

Surely Lando would forgive him for confessing in front of the world while he’s sweaty and still breathing heavily from winning a Grand Prix.

“I love you.”

It’s said clearly, simply, and it’s enough to make Lando’s eyes go soft and a familiar heart-shaped smile appear. Fingers curl into the drenched collar of Oscar’s race suit.

“I love you too.”

In the early hours of the morning, after downing too many glasses of champagne in celebration with the team, Oscar drags his boyfriend down to the paddock to celebrate with him. In private.

He has never wondered how fucking against his car might feel like before he came across user pl4yboykitten69’s OnlyFans account.

It didn’t take much to convince Lando—he’s always down to try something new, and they’ve both been celibate for almost an entire week now. Not even a quick handjob to take the edge off. Whenever Oscar woke up spooning his boyfriend with his cock perfectly nestled between the globes of Lando’s arse, he hopped straight into the shower and turned it to its coldest setting.

And now, he can tell that Lando’s got an itch under his skin too, which he so graciously didn’t bring up at all during the week. Oscar feels guilty that his boyfriend gives up so much on the regular just to be with him, but his tipsy brain refuses to delve too deeply into that.

They’re in love, and there’s nobody around in the garage, which means he pushes Lando against the nearest car, kissing him. Lando tastes like the orange juice that he’s been sipping all night, sweet and a little bitter, and Oscar can get drunk on just that all over again.

A packet of lube is pressed into his hands while he’s in the middle of leaving hickey after hickey down the column of Lando’s neck.

“Please, just hurry,” Lando begs, hitching a leg up around Oscar’s waist after his shorts come off. “You looked so hot in your- ah- race suit- oh, fuck.”

Oscar detaches his mouth from his boyfriend’s neck and flips him around, coaxing his legs apart and getting the one that was previously wrapped around him onto the ledge of the sidepod. “Hold onto the halo for me, baby.”

Lando’s linen shirt rides up his back as he rocks against the car, and it’s nearly soaked through with sweat. Oscar presses his lips to the back of his neck, simultaneously fucking into him and stroking his cock.

It takes half a dozen pumps of his fist until Lando’s telltale moan lets Oscar know he’s close, staining the navy exterior of the car with his cum while Oscar spills into his condom.

The lights in the garage automatically turn on, right as Oscar’s tucking himself back in his jeans and Lando is pulling his shorts back over his arse.

Fuck.

“Others have pissed in their seats,” Oscar says at last, in an attempt to console his beautifully wrecked yet extremely worried boyfriend. “Your cum is considerably easier to clean up.”

Lando wails, chewing on his nails, “I’m never gonna be able to look Max in the eye after this!”

“C’mon, Lando, the car’s going to be the least of our worries soon. I’ll drive you around the city tomorrow before we fly back.”

“Fine.”

Back at the hotel, Oscar cuddles his sulking boyfriend until he falls asleep.

Twitter is in shambles.

Actually, every social media platform is, even Facebook, which Oscar’s mother kindly informs him of once he’s back in Milton Keynes.

“Whoops, the Formula 1 fans have found me,” his boyfriend says, after Oscar deletes every app from his phone. “How are you feeling, babe? George just texted me, said I can stay here with you as long as you need me.”

Oscar only shrugs and pulls him close. “It’s not the first time I started a dumpster fire on Twitter. And you’re hot and successful, so there’s no reason for me to be ashamed of you.”

“But are you worried about your career?” Lando asks softly as he runs his fingers through Oscar’s hair.

“Nah, I met with the team two days ago. Basically threatened them by saying they’d lose sponsors, fans, and a good driver if they sacked me for being queer. Oh, and Max also came out to them, though I doubt anyone ever thought his relationship with Charles was at all platonic, and then he promised that Red Bull would be losing two good drivers if they terminated my contract. If they have any problems with you, we’d both go too.”

Lando is silent for a moment. And then, he blurts out, all in one breath, “It’s so sexy when you’re all confident.”

He never fails to make Oscar smile. “You mean competent?”

“That too.”

“Maybe I should redownload everything, just to add more fuel to the fire.”

While Lando dozes away on his chest, Oscar reads all the messages from his family, rolling his eyes at the many links his sisters sent with pictures of him kissing his boyfriend plastered all over them. He opens Twitter and likes a bunch of supportive posts from his fellow drivers and then some from his fans, who seem ready to leak the address of anyone who speaks badly about him or Lando at a moment’s notice.

Oscar can’t explicitly say that he condones doxxing, but it’s the thought that counts.

He exhales a chuckle at one post in particular, which reads, Piastri’s a real one for that tbh. If I had a partner half as cute OR looked at me the same way he does, I’d be doing more than just kissing them in front of all those cameras.

That one gets retweeted, and he makes sure to add, Lando does quite a lot in front of cameras already 😉.

If someone has anything to say about his coming out causing the downfall of a prestigious sport like Formula 1, they should perhaps go outside and touch some grass. Maybe get fucked in the arse while at it too—they may end up liking it, after all.

“What’s so funny?” Lando mumbles.

“I was thinking about making an announcement.”

“Hm?”

Oscar tells him his idea and observes smugly as Lando’s eyes light up, sparkling with mirth. “So, what d’you think? Y’know, since you’re also involved.”

“I’m in love with an evil genius,” Lando declares. He smacks a loud kiss against Oscar’s cheek for emphasis.

Because he’s a supportive boyfriend, Lando insists on coming along when Oscar meets with the team at the factory to fully smooth things over. Now that the whole abrupt, undiscussed coming out has pretty much simmered over, and nobody’s scrambling for answers or quick solutions, they can now take the time to discuss everything regarding, well, everything.

Lando’s OnlyFans account has gained a few thousand subscribers since Las Vegas. His streams are full of people semi-publicly declaring their jealousy of Oscar, which is extremely reasonable. Despite now being known better as the boyfriend of a Formula 1 driver, Lando has reassured Oscar time and again that he’s perfectly fine with it. It’s not like being an OnlyFans creator is normally flaunted to other people to begin with, especially in the more conservative countries Formula 1 races in.

That’s another issue. The conservative countries.

“Lando, I’d highly recommend you stay here in the UK during those races. There will be backlash, and I’d rather you two be safe than sorry.”

“Of course. We’ve been made aware of the consequences,” Lando replies seriously. He has never sounded so serious in his life. “I still have a job in London, and I care much more about Oscar than I do the need to make a public appearance. I can still be supportive from home.”

It’s cute.

Oscar turns to look at him, hoping the expression on his face conveys just how in love he is with his boyfriend. If the Internet is to be trusted at all, he probably has hearts in his eyes at the moment. Probably also whenever Lando is around, in general.

“Sounds good. Do you want to make a statement?” his PR manager asks. “You don’t have to.”

He doesn’t need to think twice before nodding. Lando beams at him and squeezes his hand, visibly holding back laughter.

“I understand that, with Lando’s agreement, we have been dating for a while now. This is correct, and we have both signed too many NDAs, so if everyone would respect what little privacy the two of us collectively have, that would be much appreciated. I will still be disgustingly in love with him next year and every year thereafter.”