Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oscar takes a deep breath.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale–

A loud, high-pitched moan comes from the other side of the door he’s posted in front of, and he sighs, furrowing his eyebrows. Breathing exercises. He’ll just start over.

Inhale, exhale.

The mattress squeaks. Oscar sighs. 

“You look like you’re about to burst into flames, mate.”

“Oh, really, hah.” Oscar’s eye twitches. This meditating thing is not going well for him at all. “Well, I feel perfectly fine. Normal, even.” 

Logan doesn’t look like he believes him. He eyes the door warily, like the bedroom’s occupants are going to burst right out of it any minute and continue fucking right there in front of him. “Sure, if you say so. But I can get you earplugs if you want?”

“Don’t need them.”

“Alright. Godspeed, mate.”

Oscar gives him a small salute and schools his features back into a calm mask just in time to catch his boss whining, “God you’re in so deep, baby,” followed by a litany of curses in Spanish.

He has no idea who he managed to upset in his past life to suffer like this.

Every day and every night, he’s posted in front of his employers’ bedroom, as per Mr. Norris’s request. Lando, rather, as he insists that Oscar calls him, and his request is politely declined every time.

Mainly because Oscar doesn’t know if he can handle calling Lando by his name and have him look at him like that, all coy and seductive, from under thick, curled lashes. In front of his husband, no less.

Oscar doesn’t want to blatantly accuse his employers of anything, but he has a sneaking suspicion that there’s a reason why Lando personally asks for him to stand guard each time, and his husband, the boss-boss, has no choice but to comply, even if he did initially grumble a bit about it.

Mr. Sainz—Carlos—might be the one to run all the operations around here, but Lando’s the one who calls the shots with a pretty flutter of his lashes.

Sometimes literally.

Oscar glances at the door again, making a face when the moaning continues, echoing in the hallway, and—oh God, they’re growing louder and louder. Someone’s about to reach their climax. Maybe.

“Yikes.”

“Back so soon?”

Logan gives him a sympathetic look. A pitying one, really. “What if we, like, switched shifts?”

“Mate, you really wanna be stuck with this?”

“You look fucking miserable.”

“This happens all the time. I’m sure there’s a reason Mr. Norris stations me here and you at the front. Which, by the way, you’re supposed to be at.”

“I’m taking a bathroom break.”

“I see no piss coming out.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Fine, suit yourself.”

He walks away again, and Oscar is left to his own devices. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, ex–

The door bursts open to reveal Carlos and Lando with everything hanging out. What’s the point of wearing robes if they’re not even going to close them? They’re sweaty and red, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. Carlos’s hair is disheveled, sticking to his forehead, while Lando has a smug grin on his face. Oh god.

“Hey, Oscar,” Lando purrs, his voice like crushed velvet.

He’s shamelessly leaning against the doorframe like he isn’t almost completely naked, trailing long fingers down his chest and loosely tying his robe around his waist. Somehow, that’s worse, because Oscar can still see every line of his body, now scantily hidden behind flimsy fabric that threatens to slip down a tanned shoulder, and he has to force himself to keep his eyes up on Lando’s face and not on the hem of the robe that barely covers the curve of his arse.

Out of the very edge of his vision, he can see that the insides of Lando’s thighs glisten with–

“Enjoying your shift?”

Oscar’s face burns with embarrassment. Eyes up. “Just doing my job, Mr. Norris.”

“Please, how many times have I told you? It’s Lando.”

“Got it, sir.”

Carlos chuckles. “You always take your job so seriously, Oscar.”

The way Oscar’s name slips through Carlos’s mouth in that lilting Spanish accent sends a shiver down his spine. He clenches his jaw, trying his hardest to look unaffected.

“You pay me to do my job, sir.”

Lando’s blue eyes sparkle.

That’s never a good sign.

“So what you’re saying is–” He’s cut off, and Oscar absolutely does not find him adorable while struggling to get the rest of his sentence out around Carlos’s hand. A few more indignant muffled noises come out before he gives up with a sigh.

“The long game, amor,” Carlos whispers in his ear, and Lando instantly goes lax, melting against him. “It’ll be worth it in the end, I promise.”

Oscar has no idea what his boss means, but he tries not to let his confusion show, even as his eyes dart between both his employers. He looks away when Lando pulls his husband into a desperate kiss, pushing the robe from his shoulders and moaning appreciatively when Carlos reaches under his robe to grab a firm handful of his arse and squeeze.

Fortunately, the bedroom door slams shut behind them, and only then does Oscar release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

The banging of the headboard against the wall and the squeaking of the mattress springs resume, signaling that they did, indeed, actually make it to their bed this time. Oscar’s eyebrows fly into his hairline—a very impressive feat in itself—when he recalls all the other times that Lando and Carlos did not make it back to their bed after taking a brief break to chat with him.

Lando’s moaning crescendos until he’s screaming his husband’s name, clear through the thin wall. Carlos’s answering groan sounds muffled, like it’s buried in the crook of a neck, as he continues pounding into him with reckless abandon.

Oscar can unfortunately pinpoint the exact moment both of them come, when the harsh sounds of their wild, almost animalistic sex suddenly cease, replaced by soft, loving murmurs. He doesn’t want to, but he imagines his bosses tangled in each others’ warm embrace, and that– that part makes his heart lurch.

The door opens.

He doesn’t dare look, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall opposite. The wallpaper’s fancy. Paisley.

“Oh, Oscar.”

“Sir.”

A coy finger trails across Oscar’s cheekbone and then down, brushing his Cupid’s bow. Oscar stands very, very still. Maybe if he doesn’t move, Lando might slink away, huffing in that not adorable way of his when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Lando smooths his hands down the lapels of Oscar’s suit and walks his fingers back up to rub teasingly along his collar. The scent of his expensive cologne wafts into Oscar’s nostrils. Did Carlos buy it for him? Where is Carlos when he’s needed? Why would he leave Lando unrestrained with Oscar in his clutches?

Looking at him is a grave mistake.

Oscar immediately returns his gaze to the paisley wallpaper, but he’ll never get Lando out of his head now, flushed and fucked out, barely clothed in a pathetic semblance of faux modesty, curls a mess, lips red and swollen. He wants to know what his boss looks like on his knees, eyelashes fluttering as he takes him all the way down his throat, and shoves that thought way, way into the back of his mind, never to be seen again.

“Aren’t you bored out here?” Lando asks softly, and he can’t be standing this close to Oscar, practically breathing the same air as him. His next exhale ghosts over Oscar’s lips, and he winds his arms around his neck.

Oscar can’t even rest his hands on Lando’s waist to create some distance between them, unless he wants them to be lopped off by Carlos.

“Mr. Norris, respectfully, it shouldn’t matter to you whether I’m bored or not. I’m only doing my job as your bodyguard.”

Oscar calmly aims at the men who have Lando and Carlos surrounded, satisfied when his bullets sink into their targets with the sickening sound of flesh being punctured.

A drop of blood lands on his cheek, but he remains unfazed as his opponents fall, one by one. He swiftly moves out of the way to avoid a stray bullet and immediately fires one back with deadly accuracy. It’s easy work, getting rid of the enemies that his employers make.

“Ah, I told you we only needed to bring my Oscar, love,” Lando brags, patting his husband’s chest. He gingerly steps over a dead body, careful to skirt around the puddle of blood, and frowns at Carlos. “Carry me, won’t you? I can’t be getting these Chanel loafers dirty.”

“Ask your Oscar to do it, amor, since he’s so competent.”

Oh, fuck no. Oscar is staying as far as physically possible from Carlos’s salty attitude and, by extension, Lando’s needy one.

“Oscar!”

Fuck.

“Yes, sir?”

Lando scrunches his nose at the address before quickly relaxing his face again, most likely because he just remembered that doing that causes wrinkles long-term. He looks at Oscar expectantly, and Oscar, without so much a sigh, kneels right into the puddle of blood to get an arm under Lando’s knees and the other behind his back.

At least he’s as light as a feather.

He would squawk indignantly if Oscar even grunted a little bit while picking him up.

As Oscar carries Lando out, he’s greatly inconvenienced by the way his boss tucks his nose in the crook of his neck, kicks his legs in excitement, and slips his fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck to play with them. It’s… a lot. And the way Lando’s captivating eyes glimmer as he grins like a cat that just got the cream is enough to drive him insane.

Oscar hates his job.

Okay, he really doesn’t hate his job. In fact, he likes it. It’s flexible hours, and the pay is awesome. He found the job off of Craigslist, of all places, and started it during his second year of university. He had been studying criminal justice—a bit ironic, isn’t it?—and desperately needed a part-time job that would fit around his classes and his study schedule.

He knew what he signed up for from the beginning, accepted all the terms presented to him after meeting with the guy who posted the ad. Mark, his name was. Promising his life away was easy, and being on the air rifle team throughout school and in university left him with skills vaguely translatable to many different kinds of firearms.

The rest is history.

Well, actually, Lando, in all his diva, prima donna glory, randomly decided one day that he needed to pluck one of the newest recruits right out of training and assign him as his closest bodyguard. That’s when Oscar dropped out of college and became employed full-time.

And then the rest is history.

And right now, he’s trying his hardest not to react to having Lando pressed bodily against him or the fingers dipping under the starched collar of his suit.

Oscar ignores Carlos’s scrutinizing eyes on him, on the placement of his hands, and on his biceps straining against his sleeves. Sometimes, he wonders whether Carlos is actively plotting his demise or if he’s just as flirtatious as his husband is, only slightly more discreet about it.

Obviously, that’s not the case. Oscar is being stupid, assuming his bosses are flirting with him when they’re married to each other and very loud and passionate about their love. Every day. For twenty-four hours straight. He shakes his head and huffs under his breath, exasperated by his own thoughts.

“Is something funny?” Carlos asks, and there’s a hint of a threat in his question.

“No, sir. I’m just… reminiscing.”

Lando perks up in his arms, wriggling around to look Oscar in the eyes. “About what? The Horner deal? When I accidentally got high because of a spiked drink and you ended up cutting out everyone’s throats with a bottle opener? Because that was really hot, Oscar. Mhm.”

Oscar coughs, turning his head to the side to hide his blush. “You were barely even conscious, sir.”

“No, but Carlos told me about it in great detail the next day. And then he fucked it out of my system, he did.”

“I’m glad you got something good out of the deal in the end, Mr. Norris,” Oscar replies dryly.

He doesn’t mention that he was the one who had to scrub the bar clean from top to bottom and then dispose of every last dead henchman until the early hours of the morning. The only thing hot about that night was how much he was sweating, even with the sleeves of his button-down rolled up.

At least he was spared from having to hear Carlos and Lando go at it like rabbits, and he ended up sleeping for the entirety of the next day.

That part might be worth reminiscing about.

“Oscar, you look so tired,” Lando coos, petting Oscar’s arms. “Have you been sleeping well?”

“You don’t need to worry about me, sir.”

He gasps, affronted. “Of course, I worry about you! If you’re not well-rested, then how are you meant to protect me?”

Never mind that Lando is just as much of a cold-blooded killer as his husband is and plenty competent with a variety of different weapons ranging from throwing knives to semi-automatic rifles. But when he can, he bats his eyelashes at Oscar, all too happy to play the damsel-in-distress to avoid getting his designer clothes dirty.

Carlos too, now that Oscar thinks about it.

“Then I’ve been sleeping fine, sir.”

“Hm.” Lando sniffs. “You could be sleeping a lot better in our bed. It’s quite comfy.”

What?

Confused, Oscar asks, “If I’m sleeping in your bed, where are you two going to sleep?”

Carlos laughs, slapping Oscar’s back. That basically confirms that he’s actively plotting Oscar’s demise.

“You wouldn’t be kicking us out of our own bed, silly,” he says, smiling in that infuriating way of his. “You’d be joining us.”

So, yes, Oscar has died and gone to heaven. Or hell. Both, maybe, or neither.

“I think,” he rasps, clearing his throat, “My own bed works just fine, sir.”

A sleek black car pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down, and the driver gives Oscar a salute.

“Logan will take you back home, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to do my routine checks and debriefs.”

He deposits Lando into the backseat, raising an eyebrow when his boss licks his thumb and rubs it over his cheekbone.

“You had a bit of blood,” Lando says with a shrug. “Have a good night, Oscar.”

“You too, Mr. Norris.” Oscar nods in Carlos’s direction before he climbs in after Lando. “Mr. Sainz.”

Oscar turns his back to the car with a wave, ready to take a shower and jump into his own bed after calling the cleanup crew. It’s rare that he gets entire nights off like this, so he fully intends on capitalizing on it to get some fucking sleep.

He just hopes that the poor guard stationed outside of the bosses’ bedroom tonight won’t be too traumatized by the end of their shift.

The moment his head hits his pillow, he’s out like a light.

Everyone has their breaking point.

In Oscar’s defense, he doesn’t mean to catch his bosses in the middle of sex.

It’s just that his earpiece suddenly turned on, and the only thing he heard was Lando screaming before he was running upstairs to Carlos’s study and stopping short of throwing the large glass doors open.

Oscar takes a deep breath, unsure of whether to feel relieved or annoyed about taking the stairs two at a time just to find Lando perched on the edge of Carlos’s heavy oak desk, half-naked with his clothes strewn across the room and his slippers barely hanging onto his feet as he’s getting absolutely railed by his husband.

Under the dark fan of his lashes, Lando meets Oscar’s eyes through the glass as the corners of his plush mouth curl up in a smile.

Oscar swears a vein appears in his forehead, and he turns on his heel, walking away. There’s only so far a rubber band can be stretched before it snaps.

“Love, did I overdo it this time?”

“I don’t think so, amor.”

He needs a drink. Or ten.

Anything to forget Lando’s smug expression and his ankles crossed behind Carlos’s back, which was flexed under the translucent fabric of his shirt, arse tight in his unzipped trousers as he fucked into Lando, wrenching moans from his reddened mouth.

The false alarm and ensuing panic are Oscar’s sole sources of irritation, sparked by the fear that his employers might be in danger within their own home. He can only afford to become emotionally attached to Carlos and Lando because his life is already firmly in their hands.

Oscar is just a weapon, useless without a handler.

“You called?” Logan asks, sauntering up to where his friend is sitting on one of the many ornate fountains in the hotel lobby with his head between his knees.

Oscar nods wearily, making a show of turning his phone off. “If Mr. Norris wants me today, he’ll just have to settle for listening to the dulcet tones of my automated voice message.”

Is it bad that he kind of misses Lando already? And his squeaky moans?

“Oscar, we’re getting you out of that suit, mate,” a new voice announces. “Stat.”

Oscar gives Guanyu a weak thumbs up. While he likes the suit well enough, he doesn’t think it flatters him the way it flatters Zhou Guanyu, who is already eyeing him up critically.

“How do you feel about mesh shirts?”

Lando once mentioned seeing Oscar in a mesh shirt… this isn’t about him, though.

“No way.”

“Damn. It was worth a shot.”

Logan snickers off to the side.

“Put him in a mesh shirt, mate,” Oscar suggests in the elevator up to their rooms, jabbing a thumb at Logan. “I reckon he’d get a few numbers.”

“Oh, good idea!”

“Wait, no, no, not a good idea. Mate, after I’ve offered to take your shift so many times? How could you betray me like this?”

Oscar grins maniacally, instantly feeling better when his friend’s moaning is muffled by the mesh shirt Guanyu seemingly produces from thin air and tugs over his head.

“It brings out your eyes,” Oscar tells him. “I can see your nipples.”

“… amazing.”

It’s been a while since Oscar has worn anything other than his suit or the clothes he sleeps in. Sometimes, he even falls asleep in his suit.

So it’s actually been a while since he has worn anything aside from his suit.

It’s also been a while since he has gone to a club or bar or pub for anything outside of work. He hates the cloying atmosphere, the hot, sweaty bodies around him, but he dutifully accepts each shot handed to him, tipping them back and slamming the empty glasses on the counter. He’ll need at least five to get the look in Lando’s eye out of his mind.

The burn of the alcohol is nothing compared to the way Lando’s half-lidded, lust-clouded gaze seared him like a brand.

A minute passes, or an hour. His hand is still steady as he picks the glass back up, though it shifts in and out of focus. He squints at it, and when that doesn’t help, he shrugs and downs the drink anyway.

“Whoa, slow down, Oscar.”

That sounds like Lando’s voice, but it’s too soft to be him. Too gentle.

Oscar shakes his head. “Don’t tell me what to do. Only one person’s allowed to tell me what to do.”

There’s a moment of silence, and he thinks Not-Lando has finally left him alone when a tanned hand swims into his vision, and it’s the right shape and size to be Lando’s. Still too gentle to be him. It uncurls his fingers from the glass and gently, so gently, pries it away from him.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Oscar stubbornly shakes his head again. He’s not going home with a random stranger.

Soft fingers card through his hair, and they feel like Lando’s. He can’t feel any calluses, but there’s no reason for Lando to have them anymore, not when he has Oscar to be his gun.

Someone sits down on the other side of him and begins talking to Not-Lando in hushed voices. Oscar tunes the conversation out, sleepy from the hand petting him.

“You’re so lucky my husband likes you so much, cabrón.”

“Oscar, help me!” Lando yells from upstairs.

Oscar was just getting a snack–

“Oscar! Help!”

He drops the pretzels in his hand and sprints upstairs, his hand on the holster of his gun. “Did someone break in? What happ–”

He bursts into Lando’s room to find him clothed only in a thin shirt and handcuffed with a gag over his mouth. More importantly, three men are trying to pull him out of the window.

He has to act now. Oscar pulls out his gun, and he’s trembling. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this isn’t supposed to happen. He needs to protect Lando, prevent him from standing in harm’s way, and who the fuck are these guys, and oh my god were these the mafia he was talking about?

“Put your hands up.”

The three masked strangers have guns in their hands and knives strapped to their bodies, all engraved with something indecipherable. Latin, maybe. When Oscar finally catches a glimpse of a neck through all the black fabric, he’s able to make out the unmistakable edge of the Sainz family crest tattooed on it.

They’re here for revenge, for Lando’s betrothal to their golden heir, for tempting him into his bed, for the centuries’ old conflict between the Norris and Sainz families.

Lando makes a strangled noise, whimpers when his arms are pulled tighter behind his back. Oscar can see the beads of sweat drip down his forehead. His heart races.

“Take me instead. Leave him,” Oscar pleads with the men.

“Did you not hear me before? Lower your weapon and put your hands in the air!” 

“Not until you give him to me.”

Lando tries to shake his head, but there’s a blade at his throat. His face is rapidly turning red, and there’s nothing Oscar can do to help him. His stomach roils with something he can’t quite pinpoint.

Even struggling, Lando is still the prettiest man that Oscar has ever laid eyes on, framed so perfectly by the silvery moonlight filtering in through the open window. And his lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, and his eyes…

Just looking at him instills a sense of tranquility.

Oscar snaps out of his reverie when he hears the safety of the gun pointed at Lando’s temple click off, and, through the panic fogging up his mind, he notices Lando’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and tries to squirm against his captor to no avail.

“Any parting words for your little bodyguard, Norris scum?”

The henchman holding Lando’s arms behind him pulls the gag covering his mouth down, and Lando dry heaves, chest rising and falling with every labored breath he takes.

“Oscar, I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

Lando’s gaze momentarily dips to Oscar’s mouth before it darts back up to meet his eyes again. His lips part imperceptibly. “I–”

Oscar’s eyes fly open, and he wakes with a start, immediately sitting upright in his bed. He’s sweating all over, his heart pounding in his chest.

His head hurts like the devil.

Oh my god. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really.

The reality is that he is so royally fucked.

With one leg out of bed, Oscar freezes, muttering, “Wait.”

He’s pretty sure the last thing he remembers before having that god-awful nightmare is Logan flouncing off, probably to find some random, unsuspecting stranger to chat up. His friend tends to let go of his introvert tendencies when he’s had a drink or two. And Guanyu left him alone to wallow in a hole of self-pity too, slinking onto the dancefloor to look for some rich older man to grind on.

Not that Guanyu needs a rich older man’s money, by any means, when his family owns a huge tech conglomerate in Shanghai as a front for an undercover drug trafficking syndicate. Being a henchman for the Sainz-Norris family is just a side quest for him, at this point, and fucking rich men is just his hobby, if you will.

Oscar wishes he could let loose like his friends do, but for him, drinking himself to oblivion is basically the same thing.

Or until he can’t recall how the fuck he made it back to his room and managed to locate painkillers and water to put on his bedside table. His jeans from last night are in his laundry basket, and there’s a pillow propped up on the bed, which prevented him from rolling onto his back and suffocating on his own puke.

The painkillers and water quiets the pounding in his head enough for him to stumble into the bathroom to feel a bit more human again.

“Oscar?”

“Mr. Sainz.”

Oscar hopes he doesn’t look too ragged, even with dark circles under his eyes. Carlos gives him a long look, making him stand a little taller.

“You know,” Carlos muses, “Drinking on the job is punishable. And so is leaving my husband unattended.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “You should make it up to him.”

Oscar isn’t sure what Carlos means, but he’s pretty sure he’s being let off the hook from something far worse than whatever Lando wants with him. It looks like his head won’t be liberated from his shoulders anytime soon, but he isn’t going to get his hopes up.

Lando can be pretty brutal too.

“Yes, sir.”

He makes it to the end of the long hallway when the air seems to still. Even in his hungover state, Oscar’s reflexes remain as sharp as ever, halting the knife hurled straight at the back of his head between two fingers.

Morior invictus.

He gives it a flip and turns back around to fix Carlos with a long, hard stare.

Carlos shrugs, smiling.

“Ah, I’m glad to see that you haven’t lost your touch,” he says nonchalantly. “Go find my husband, Oscar. I’m sure he wants to see you.”

Oscar tosses the blade back to its owner. “That was the plan, sir.”

Finding Lando is actually quite easy. Which, in hindsight, is pretty dangerous. The hotel is huge, but Oscar knows exactly where his boss likes to go when he wants to be interrupted.

He finds Lando in the spa, face-down on a massage table with a fluffy white towel barely covering his arse.

Oscar wants to melt into the wall and disappear when Lando lets out an ear-piercing scream the moment his masseuse digs his thumbs into his lower back. The table is fitting—he’s practically spread out, serving himself up to be devoured by the eyes and ears of every person in the room. Doesn’t he know what he sounds like? What he looks like with his back arching and toes curling as he whimpers?

Lando definitely knows.

“Hi, Oscar. Have a seat.”

Tentatively, Oscar obeys, sinking down into one of the many plush armchairs. Lando makes a disgruntled noise.

“Come closer. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, almost whining.

No, you do that just by existing, but I don’t mind.

Oscar drags his chair closer, making everyone else in the room flinch at the harsh grating, and sits again, this time less than an arm’s length away from Lando.

“I’m aware, sir.”

“I told you, I’m just Lando.”

There has never been just anything about him. When he enters a room, he fills it with his presence, turning heads with his sharp tongue and captivating looks. When he exits a room, he takes all the liveliness with him, bleeding it dry.

Or maybe that’s just what Oscar thinks.

“That certainly is your name, sir,” he replies.

Lando’s pout is audible. “You’re no fun, Oscar.”

Oscar swallows back a sigh and clenches his hand into a fist to prevent himself from scrubbing one down his face.

“I’m only doing my job, Mr. Norris. Unfortunately, ‘fun’ was not listed as a requirement on the contract.”

Lando falls quiet, and that’s never a good sign.

“You weren’t doing your job yesterday,” he says at last, sitting up. A girl runs up to the table to cover his shoulders with his robe, which he wraps around himself, tying it at the waist.

They’re all dismissed with a wave, leaving Lando alone, perched atop the massage table.

Oscar’s eyes remain firmly on his face, watching for any subtle shifts in his expression. When he sees none, he replies, “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Lando’s face crumples, and he momentarily lets go of himself to slide off of the table and right into Oscar’s lap, knees on either side of him.

“You wouldn’t answer your phone all day,” he whispers. “Oscar.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Oscar repeats, like a broken record.

But Lando isn’t finished. He grabs Oscar’s face, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes. A droplet of water trails down his face, and nobody should be allowed to be so pretty when they cry. He looks like a weeping angel, and Oscar refrains from telling him that he shouldn’t waste his tears on him.

“You’re not supposed to make me worry about you!” Lando exclaims, nearly choking on his words. “And before you say something like, ‘You don’t need to worry about me, sir, ’ you should know that I do anyway because– because you mean more to me than you’ll ever know, and if you, oh God, if you just disappear like that, I’m practically missing an arm. I need you, don’t you know?”

He’s hiccuping now, and Oscar doesn’t know what to do with his hands, torn between brushing the tears from Lando’s cheeks and keeping them firmly away from the man in his lap.

Lando makes the decision for him, pitching forward and clutching him close with a rare sort of desperation. His robe slips, and the soft, smooth skin of his exposed shoulder smells pretty, like the lavender oil his masseuse rubbed into him. Oscar’s quick exhale seems to skate along the lean curve of it.

“You can touch me,” Lando sobs. “Please.”

He never begs for anything, only makes demands that are followed at a moment’s notice. Oscar doesn’t need to be asked twice before sliding a hand across Lando’s trim waist, curling his fingers into fine silk.

Sighing shakily, Lando lowers his head to rest it against Oscar’s, and he clings to him like a limpet, albeit a very pretty one.

If Oscar is being completely honest, he was expecting to give his boss a blowjob or replace his masseuse for the day or–

Anything but this. And it’s the cruelest form of torture.

Lando knows he would do anything for him. If there’s a word in the English lexicon that holds more gravitas than devoted, then Oscar is the definition.

He’s cruel for asking Oscar to hold him when he cannot have him.

Soft fingers card through his hair, and they are Lando’s.

“You found me eventually, sir,” Oscar mumbles into the sweet juncture between his neck and collarbone. “Both of you.”

Lando just whimpers.

It feels like forever before he calms down and extracts himself from Oscar’s hold. He doesn’t go far though, still very much seated in his lap. “You know, this… line of work isn’t for everyone. I, fuck, I know I haven’t exactly made it any easier for you either.”

“You really haven’t, sir.”

Lando looks like he’s about to cry again.

“–so if you want, you– oh God.”

That’s really cruel of him.

Oscar shakes his head. “One moment, you’re crying about how much you need me, and the next, you’re giving me an option to leave. And maybe I am a bit fucked in the head now, but I knew what I got myself into the moment I signed that contract, sir.”

“But–”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I care too much about you too? Your husband, as well?” He laughs mirthlessly, and Lando flinches. “Thanks for the offer, Mr, Norris, but the only leave I’ll be taking is right now. I’ll see you tonight, when I’ve gotten you out of my head. You should forget about me too, sir. Getting emotionally attached to your bodyguard is dangerous in this line of work.”

With practiced ease, Oscar lifts Lando off of his lap as he stands and deposits him in the newly vacated armchair, and– God, staring down on him for once does something to quicken his pulse. Lando looks so small like this, curled up with just a flimsy piece of silk covering him, vulnerable, and, fuck, that’s the last thing he should be.

Oscar doesn’t look back at him. He doesn’t want to see the despair on Lando’s face or the forlorn expression in his damp eyes.

Rich people are really something.

Rich criminals are really something else.

Mr. Verstappen, heir to one of the largest weapons manufacturers, sure knows how to throw a party. On a yacht, no less.

Before he was dragged into the world of underground crime and corruption, Oscar couldn’t even fathom this level of luxury or even the level below it, or even the level below that. Eyes never once leaving Lando, he dutifully posts himself against the railing, happy to disappear from view.

It’s been a week since The Spa Incident.

Oscar still stands guard in front of his bosses’ bedroom every night, hears them go at it like animals, and doesn’t react at all. Logan still comes around, offering to take his shift, but he declines politely every time.

It’s his way of coping, because he isn’t sure what he’d do if suddenly he couldn’t hear Lando at all.

Especially since Lando seems to have changed, for better or for worse. He’s thinner, for one, gaunt in the cheeks, and his lovely suits seem to hang from his body. His hair, ever a topic of vanity with him, isn’t as voluminous and fluffy as it’s meant to be.

He doesn’t flirt with Oscar anymore either, which is good! The distance means he won’t be put in danger if anything happens to Oscar.

Lando will move on with his husband by his side, while Oscar becomes a mere memory, and then nothing at all.

Oscar does kind of miss being interrupted mid-shift, though. The hallway feels emptier without his employers coming out to spend time with him between rounds of crazy sex.

But in the midst of a party, he observes how Lando enjoys himself, greeting people he may or may not know with kisses on cheeks and a hand clasped for a moment too long. He’s radiant, in a white linen shirt and shorts that might be a little too short, ankles exposed, as always, and nobody can seem to stay away from him.

Carlos is always quick to pull his husband away when touches and gazes linger too much for his taste.

Oscar absentmindedly thinks about how Lando has never once been gently nudged away from him. Ever. As a matter of fact, Carlos has always encouraged Oscar to get closer to his husband.

“You know,” Guanyu pipes up, dragging Oscar out of his delusions, “It’s rumored that Verstappen plans on announcing his engagement today.”

“Good for him?”

He hums in agreement, but there’s a glint in his eye, like he knows something Oscar doesn’t.

“The thing is, his fiancé isn’t from our world, if you know what I mean. That’s why nobody’s ever seen him before. A family with as much money as the Verstappens… They like to keep the wealth in the family, so for their heir to be marrying a commoner without millions to his name is going to shake the very foundations of the organized crime scene.”

“Hm.”

Oscar is more occupied watching Lando inch towards a table laid out with tiny hors d'oeuvres, inspecting them before wrinkling his nose and recoiling at the assortment of every seafood imaginable. It’s cute.

“Love, do they not have chicken nuggets?” Lando most likely asks when he turns to Carlos.

“I’ll buy you every last chicken nugget on the planet after the party, amor,” Carlos probably replies before sealing his promise with a kiss.

Oscar averts his eyes.

“–his mother is a hairdresser,” Guanyu is saying. “Charles was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And where was that?”

“The casino in Monte Carlo, obviously. Verstappen does seem like the kind of guy to go for a cute card dealer, doesn’t he?”

“I can see it. Their story’s got that nice Hollywood twist to it.”

Guanyu pauses, before adding: “Rumor has it, they hit it off over a game of blackjack. Can you imagine? One minute you’re dealing cards, the next you’re dating arguably the most influential member of the Verstappen family.”

Well, Oscar can imagine something similar. One minute, he was studying for his midterms, and the next, he was learning how to kill a man ten different ways. The whiplash he felt then was only rivaled by the moment Lando himself walked into the basement, flanked by two guards, and promptly felt Oscar’s arm up as he was holding a gun that still had its safety off.

To this day, Oscar has no idea what influenced Lando’s seemingly split-second decision, but if he learned anything from that fateful afternoon, it’s to never be surprised by anything anymore. One minute, he can be living a perfectly interesting life as Lando's and Carlos's bodyguard, and the next, he could be dead and rotting away in a ditch.

“Yeah, I reckon Leclerc must’ve done something really good in his past life. Getting engaged to a wealthy man only happens to the universe’s favorites,” Oscar replies, shrugging.

Guanyu narrows his eyes at him. “You say that like you’re not basically–” He cuts himself off and turns pink.

“Basically what?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It looks like Mr. Norris and Mr. Sainz need you right now!” Guanyu pats Oscar’s shoulder. “Trust me, I’ll keep this corner nice and safe.”

He definitely knows something that Oscar doesn’t, but if he’s acting this secretive about it, then Oscar won’t pry. It’s none of his business.

On the other side of the boat, Lando jumps into Carlos’s arms, shirt already half-undone and open all the way down to his navel.

Oscar has been watching Carlos and Lando give each other looks all damn night. So it’s no surprise when Carlos and Lando stumble into one of the three cabins on this ridiculous yacht, and Oscar is left on standby duty, listening to his employers have drunk sex while other people drunkenly throw up in one of the many adjoining bathrooms.

He’s the only sober, normal one here. He sighs.

A loud bang! comes from inside the cabin, and Oscar can only assume that they’re rocking the bed again. Or even worse, either Lando or Carlos has accidentally fallen off the bed because sheets made from material grown in the Nile river valley surely must be slippery, and now, Oscar has to go in there and deal with a half-naked–

“Hey, let me in,” a random partygoer slurs, yanking on the door in a way that definitely does not hint at a sliver of sobriety. There is absolutely no way Oscar is going to let anyone in there.

He tries to come up with an excuse, then settles for: “Someone took, like, a really huge shit in the toilets. The entire cabin smells horrible, mate.”

“I don’t care, man, I need to piss.” He tries yanking on the door even more, but it’s locked. Thankfully.

Oscar grabs the stranger’s wrist and tries not to wince too much at how clammy it feels. He attempts to negotiate. “Someone also got seasick earlier and threw up. I think there was something wrong with the fish. Food poisoning is a prevalent issue, you know?”

The man squints his eyes. “Whatever, mate, I’ll piss off the side of this damn boat.”

The man walks away, and thank fuck he’s out of earshot before Lando moans, high-pitched and breathy.

Oscar is honestly surprised Lando and Carlos are still going at it after the long day they’ve all had. It’s been, like, an hour already.

“Osc– hic!”

He turns just in time to catch his boss when he drunkenly stumbles out the door and into his arms. The shirt’s still there, but the shorts are gone, and his underwear–

Oscar breathes out through his nose.

“Carlos wants you in there with us,” Lando drawls. He hiccups again, and it’s definitely not cute at all. “He says he’d feel safer with you– hic– with you inside him– the cabin, I mean. And I think so too.”

Oscar is at a loss.

He should say no.

There’s nothing good that can come out of him watching his intoxicated employers fuck.

But Lando looks so sweet like this, blue eyes hazy and face red from the alcohol and the sex. He won’t even remember it by tomorrow morning, and neither will his husband.

It’s just watching.

He knows how to do that.

“If we all end up dead,” Oscar murmurs, guiding Lando back into the cabin and locking the door behind him, “It was never my fault, sir.”

The cabin itself is, quite frankly, outrageous. There are two whole couches in the cabin with blue velvet seats, and Oscar wonders if that’s what inspired his bosses to invite him in. There’s no other reason for the couches to be right there, positioned to face the bed, where–

Oh God.

Oscar doesn’t need to be asked to sit. He just does, lacing his fingers together in front of him and leaning forward to meet Carlos’s eyes. While Lando is all softened edges and willowy limbs, Carlos is broad, muscled, easily maneuvering his husband into his lap and curving his hands around his waist to yank him in for a kiss that makes him moan.

This will be a great test of his self-restraint, and Oscar fully intends on passing with flying colors.

He watches Carlos leave kisses down Lando’s neck, surprisingly gentle despite how easily he manhandles him. He watches Lando go lax in his hold, letting his clothes pool at the foot of the bed, and the alcohol coursing through their veins doesn’t inhibit muscle memory. He watches Carlos slide three slicked fingers into Lando with practiced ease, watches Lando tip his head back in pleasure, a gasp wrenching itself from his throat, watches Lando slowly, almost painfully, sink down on Carlos’s cock until it’s fully sheathed inside him while Carlos’s fingers dig into the meat of his thighs.

Oscar’s knuckles go white. He holds Carlos’s gaze over Lando’s shoulder until Carlos has no choice but to look away, brown eyes going half-lidded at the sensation of being buried deep inside his husband. His breathing remains steady as Lando begins riding Carlos, clinging to his shoulders to remain astride in his lap. His breathing remains steady as Carlos wraps a hand around Lando’s cock, stroking it in time with the lewd rhythm of skin meeting skin.

Inhale, exhale.

He watches Carlos’s cock disappear into Lando’s arse and wonders how long it’ll take before either of them comes.

If he knows anything about his bosses having sex from years of having to listen to them go at it with just a door between them, there should only be half a dozen thrusts before–

Lando’s back arches, and ropes of cum paint their stomachs with white as he comes with a cry that echoes around the spacious cabin.

Oscar can feel his cheeks grow hot, especially when Carlos moans and practically forces Lando down on his cock before he comes too. And then he maneuvers Lando onto his front to lick his cum right back out of him, turning him into a quivering, whimpering mess with just his tongue. All the blood in Oscar’s body promptly rushes south at the sight, disobeying every order he’s given himself.

Fuck.

He schools his facial features into an unaffected expression as best as he can when Lando untangles himself from Carlos’s arms and sidles up to Oscar on legs that betray him by trembling ever so slightly, but the sway of his hips is mesmerizing enough to distract from his clumsiness. Spend and saliva glistens on the insides of his soft thighs, and, God, if Aphrodite was a man, Botticelli would paint her with Lando’s likeness.

And then he perches on the edge of the couch and leans into Oscar’s side, and he smells like sex and sweat and cologne.

“Want me to take care of it for you?” Lando offers, reaching for the fly of Oscar’s trousers. Oscar gently circles his wrist with his fingers to move his hand away.

It takes everything in him not to say yes.

He stands up. The juxtaposition between Lando and Carlos lounging completely in the nude and himself fully clothed and aching in his uniform suit is fucking laughable.

“I’m stopping you right there before you do anything else you might regret.” After a moment’s hesitation, Oscar adds, “I’ll go fetch you a glass of water to sober up, sir.”

Guanyu whistles under his breath as soon as Oscar emerges from the cabin, looking a little worse for wear. His erection has long-since flagged, thankfully.

“Nothing happened, mate.”

“No? After all that time spent asking you to be their third?”

Oscar blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing! Forget I said anything! My God.” Guanyu sounds extremely exasperated. “Let me guess, Mr. Norris offered to suck your dick, and you refused because you’re a repressed idiot.”

“That did not happen.”

“It would’ve if you stayed a bit longer.”

Honestly, Oscar is glad he left before Lando had the chance to choke on his dick and then vomit all over it.

When he knocks on the cabin door, balancing two glasses of water in one hand, he’s relieved to see both his employers are at least somewhat decent between the soiled sheets, tangled in each other’s embrace. Carlos brushes a stray lock of hair from Lando’s forehead.

The sight is almost… too pretty.

“Wait,” Lando says, sitting up. The covers fall, pooling at his waist. Oscar wants to press his thumbs to the dimples in his lower back. He looks like he struggles for a moment with what he wants Oscar to do before mumbling, “Can you call Logan to bring the car around? I like Max, but not enough to spend the night on his party yacht.”

At least he no longer seems drunk out of his mind, and the flush in his cheeks clears a little while he sips at the water Oscar hands him.

“Yes, sir.”

The other glass makes its way into Carlos’s hand, and his fingertips linger against Oscar’s for a touch too long. It feels like static. Those same fingertips then run along Lando’s spine, settling at the dip of his waist, and Carlos raises his eyebrows at Oscar as Lando shudders under his touch.

It’s like he’s taunting Oscar for what he could have if he wasn’t so fucking stubborn.

Inhale, exhale.

He peers through the scope of his sniper rifle.

Inhale–

The window shatters neatly. A bullet pierces the skull of his target.

“Oscar.”

“Yes, sir.”

Through his earpiece, he hears Lando sigh. Oscar can only imagine how he simpers when he says, “I was going to have my fun with him first.”

“Someone who was about to con you out of millions of pounds’ worth of real estate is not deserving of your time or attention, Mr. Norris,” Oscar replies, deadpan. “Is your husband not satisfying you well enough, or would you like me to point you towards the nearest brothel?”

Lando laughs, delighted. “Oh, baby, just tell me I’m pretty, and then there’s no need for anyone else.”

“I’m sure Mr. Sainz would be happy to do that, sir.”

Oscar keeps an eye on Lando through the scope of his rifle as he swiftly unties himself and walks out of the abandoned building, twirling his handcuffs around one finger. It feels strange, being this far away from his boss, but after the party on Mr. Verstappen’s yacht, there’s been this weird, palpable distance.

Lando still flirts with him because he’s incapable of not flirting, but he’s more restrained with it, like he’s only doing it to maintain some semblance of normalcy instead of having any ulterior motives. And Carlos remains as intense as ever, although he frowns whenever Oscar fields away Lando’s suggestive comments. He looks a bit like a forlorn puppy when Oscar makes it clear that he has no intention of playing their dangerous games.

The yacht was a one-off situation. Both Lando and Carlos were drunk out of their minds, and neither of them have brought up the fact that they asked Oscar to watch them have sex ever since.

Oscar would claim to enjoy the peace, but the thrill-seeking part of him is always a bit disappointed when Lando won’t even touch him. From his spot on the roof, he tilts his head back to the cloudy night sky and closes his eyes.

Inhale, exhale.

“But Oscar,” Lando breathes into his ear, “Carlos isn’t you.”

He’s climbing into the car now, disappearing from view, but Oscar can still hear his every movement through his earpiece.

“Oscar.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.”

Oscar methodically disassembles his rifle and places each part back in its rightful compartment. There’s no thinking involved in it. Just muscle memory. Like putting his hands around Lando’s waist to carry him because Carlos told him to–

He slides into the backseat next to Lando.

“Hi, Osc.” The nickname makes Oscar’s heart lurch in his chest. It’s gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, he feels like he’s being pulled in a million different directions.

Oscar breathes a sigh of relief when Lando, albeit a little hesitantly, latches onto his arm and scoots closer until he’s practically halfway in Oscar’s lap. He smells nice. Nothing like the criminal he was in the middle of seducing.

“Oscar.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lando inhales sharply.

“Don’t ever tell me to stop caring about you again.”

God, they’re all going to end up dead because Oscar is too selfish to tell Lando no.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lando pleads, threading his fingers into Oscar’s hair. “Just this once.”

Oscar is going to lose every battle ever if his boss continues to look at him like that. With a soft sigh, he quietly replies, “Okay, Lando.”

And when Lando pulls him into a kiss, he selfishly doesn’t push him away.

“Finally, you’ve grown the balls to kiss my husband, huh?”

Oscar doesn’t think Carlos sounds mad, per se. In fact, it sounds like he’s smiling? Lando snuggles closer to him, the corner of his mouth ticking up when he hears Carlos’s voice come through Oscar’s earpiece.

“In my defense, sir, your husband kissed me first.”

Lando whines. Leaning closer to the mic clipped to the lapel of Oscar’s suit, he says, “And I’ll do it again, with or without you, love.”

“You can wait two minutes, amor. I will too.”

Oscar is a bit confused but not exactly put off. “You too, sir?”

“Yes, I’m going to kiss you too. So you better decide in the next two minutes if you want me to, Oscar.” Carlos pauses. “And I’m not going to behead you if you don’t. Lando likes you too much for me to even think about doing that.”

It sounds like Carlos likes him too much to behead him too, if Oscar’s being honest.

He has to admit that there has been some… tension between them, but he assumed it existed solely because of how close he is with the man who is literally married to Carlos. He never even imagined that Carlos might have some interest in him too, and, interestingly enough, something in him stirs at the thought of having both his bosses pliant under his hands.

Fuck, they haven’t even kissed yet, and Oscar is already thinking about pressing Carlos into the mattress. How presumptuous of him.

“You can fuck me too, if you want.”

Lando squirms a little in Oscar’s lap, and that is… not helping at all.

“Unless you want to fuck Lando. Do you want to fuck my husband?”

Oscar has no idea what to say. The car chooses that exact moment to drive over a bump, and he clenches his jaw to prevent himself from moaning out loud when Lando’s perky arse rubs up against his crotch at the sudden jolt.

“… no?”

Lando pouts. “No?”

“Stupid, everyone wants to fuck my husband.”

Lando preens, puffing his chest out, and Oscar has to look away from how his pecs strain against the v-shaped collar of his soft shirt. His nipples are visible against the pale fabric.

“You can say no,” Lando mumbles, tucking his nose into the juncture of Oscar’s collarbone. “I can’t force you to sleep with me or Carlos.”

He sounds like he’s going to die if he’s rejected. ‘Spoiled’ is the first word that comes to mind, but he’s impossible to say no to. It doesn’t help that every time he smiles, Oscar feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest and shatter every single rib.

In Oscar’s earpiece, Carlos remains quiet.

“Yeah, okay,” Oscar exhales. “I’ll sleep with both of you, and nobody’s forcing me to.”

The car pulls into the underground garage.

“Welcome home.”

Oscar doesn’t expect to be ambushed immediately after they return.

But as soon as the rotating doors open to the inside of the hotel, Lando crowds him against the wall, attacking his lips like a madman. Unable to do anything else, Oscar moans into Lando’s mouth, bracing his hands on his employer’s hips, before they’re rudely interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

“Mind if we take this to the bedroom?” Carlos drawls, slow and sultry. He’s leaning against the adjacent wall, his black button-up rolled up at the sleeves and tapered at the waist, emphasizing the attractive line of his body.

No wonder Lando can never seem to keep his hands off of his own husband.

“Yeah,” Oscar says on an exhale. He coughs once to regain his composure. “Um, I mean, yes, sir.”

Lando promptly jumps into his arms, uncaring that they’re surrounded by henchmen and staff alike, milling about the lobby. It’s almost tempting to shove him up against the wall and take him right then and there while everyone else watches, including Carlos.

“You can do that later,” Lando promises with a coy smile, and Oscar swears to himself that he will never think anything in his presence ever again. 

Lando squeezes his thighs around Oscar’s waist, and that– that’s just illegal. He’s too pretty for his own good, and the suit trousers are tight.

When Oscar continues to stare at him, Lando urges, “Come on, the sooner you get me upstairs, the sooner you can have me. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to fuck into my tight arse?”

Oscar nearly drops him.

“My turn, amor,” Carlos says the moment they burst through the door to the penthouse suite, the one that Oscar stands in front of day in and day out.

He’s on him in an instant.

Carlos tastes faintly of mint when Oscar licks into his mouth with an urgency he didn’t know he had. He has to set Lando down to properly grip Carlos’s sharp jaw, but he refuses to let him go, sliding an arm around his waist instead.

And then Carlos turns to kiss his husband, and it’s different, witnessing them make out from up close. It’s hotter, somehow, which should be impossible. When Lando tilts Oscar’s face down to kiss him, the taste of both their mouths mingle on his tongue. It feels right.

“How,” Oscar gasps as deft fingers—he thinks they’re Carlos’s—work away at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders along with his suit jacket. “How is this going to work?”

Lando’s hands stroke along his biceps, feeling every divot of muscle as he leans in to brush his lips against the side of Oscar’s neck and suck a hickey into his skin. Oscar feels like he’s drowning, but at the same time, he feels like he’s being kept afloat in the arms of both Lando and Carlos.

“I want you to fuck my arse,” Lando demands, and he’s half-naked already—when did his trousers come off? “While Carlos fucks my mouth.”

He lets his shirt fall off his shoulders as he makes his way to the bed, and Oscar’s eyes track the movement of his hips without his permission. Carlos is slightly more meticulous with his own shirt, folding it and placing it on the nearest armchair. Oscar’s gaze strays to his chest, silently appreciating it as subtly as he knows how to.

Lando gets on the bed, settling on his hands and knees. When he gives his butt a little teasing wiggle, arching his back, Oscar nearly comes in his pants.

“Oscar, do you want to open me up, or should I have Carlos do the honors?”

Before Oscar can get a word in, Carlos grumbles, “You’re loose all day, every day. I’d be surprised if your needy hole ever becomes tight again.”

Lando squawks indignantly, and it shouldn’t be sexy, but his arse is effectively in Oscar’s face, and it’s so easy for him to reach out and just… poke between his cheeks. Lando moans.

“I’d say he’s pretty tight,” Oscar chokes out, snatching the lube that Carlos tosses him out from midair.

“Of course. He wants to make sure he’s good for you,” Carlos replies, and Lando whimpers softly. He climbs onto the bed in front of his husband.

Oscar grabs hold of Lando’s thighs, pushing them apart. Lando’s entrance flutters in anticipation, and he resists the urge to lean in to lick it.

At the first press of Oscar’s lubed index finger into him, Lando keens, like he’s been waiting his whole life to be fingered by him. Once he catches his breath, he reaches for Carlos’s belt buckle, momentarily pausing to swallow back a moan when Oscar adds another finger, angling them both up to press against his prostate.

“You like that, huh?” Carlos murmurs, threading his fingers through Lando’s curls as the head of his cock slips past his lips. “Cockslut.”

“Mnh."

Oscar feels dizzy, but instead of doing anything about it, he pushes a third finger alongside the other two, fucking them into Lando’s prostate and making him cry out as his hips circle in small, aborted motions and his cock steadily dribbles into the luxury cotton sheets.

He could spend forever taking him apart with his fingers and watching the effect it has on him.

Lando momentarily pulls off of his husband’s cock to glance back over his shoulder at Oscar. “Get in me now. ”

“Keep your legs spread for him, amor,” Carlos breathes, trailing off into a moan when Lando does something with his mouth. Oscar can’t see exactly what, but he can hear the slurping, and it’s making his trousers uncomfortably tight.

Fuck. He looks around for a condom before internally smacking his own forehead at his stupidity. Why would Lando and Carlos even need condoms? And when would they even have the time between fucking for condoms?

“Fuck me raw,” Lando moans impatiently. “I’m clean, Carlos is clean, and I know you are because you’re too busy– hah– eye-fucking us to get with anyone else.”

“I haven’t been–” Oscar takes a deep breath. There’s no point in denying it when he’s three fingers deep in his boss. “Fuck, okay. I am clean, yes. The test results told me that, actually.”

From where he’s lounging against the pillows, Carlos rolls his eyes. His unimpressed expression quickly contorts into one of pleasure, mouth dropping open with a grunt when Lando resumes sucking him off.

“Just fuck him, cabrón, ” he chokes out between gasps.

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice, nudging Lando’s legs a bit further apart and replacing his fingers with his cock, making him tense up in anticipation. The moment he bottoms out, Lando moans softly, out of relief or something else, which in turn has Carlos tilting his head back with a low groan and buck up into his mouth.

Lando feels like heaven around Oscar’s cock, and the warm wet slide into him is nothing short of addicting. No wonder he hears them go at it multiple times a day. All he wants is to set a punishing pace until Lando is screaming his name.

"Do it," Carlos urges because he knows exactly what Oscar is thinking.

Still sucking on his husband’s cock, Lando makes a confused noise, only to sob when Oscar reaches under him to rub at his nipples and hitches his hips higher, forcing his back into an impossible arch.

“You look so pretty like this, sir,” Oscar grunts and thrusts all the way into him, all at once. "Lando."

Lando tenses under his touch.

“He does look so pretty like this,” Carlos agrees, breath hitching when Lando’s throat contracts around him. “Lando is always pretty when he cries.” He cups Lando’s face, forcing him off his cock to pull him into a messy kiss that makes Oscar throb with desire that coils deep within him.

Lando twists in his husband’s arms, still impaled on Oscar’s cock, to kiss him too, and he tastes like Carlos. It’s intoxicating, the glide of his reddened lips, the gentle caress of his tongue against Oscar’s.

Carlos wraps a hand around both of their leaking cocks, tugging at them slowly while Oscar continues fucking into Lando with a new, desperate fervor. It’s lewd, the way his arse drips with lube and Oscar’s precum. The way he whimpers Oscar’s name as his husband sucks hickey after hickey into the skin around his nipples is even worse.

“Fuck,” Oscar curses.

When he orgasms, it feels a bit like dying, and he welcomes it, the sweet release of emptying into Lando as Carlos jerks them to completion. Lando looks like a right mess, his own cum streaking across his tan skin like an artist’s brushstrokes and his eyebrows pinched together, his lips forming an ‘o’ on a silent cry.

Oscar barely has the time to blink away the haziness in his vision when Carlos pulls him into a rough kiss.

“Want to go another round?”

Oscar stares at the ceiling. It’s an objectively nice ceiling, with equally nice light fixtures.

He just doesn’t know what to do about the fact that he’s currently trapped with Carlos and Lando on either side of him, a tangle of limbs under the covers. For one, it’s extremely hot, and not in the sense that they’re all naked and just had several rounds of mind-blowing sex. For another, they’re both asleep and clinging to his arms, basically rendering him unable to make his discreet escape.

It’s risky, being in bed with them when anything can happen while his defenses are down. A moment longer surely won’t hurt?

Oscar tries extracting himself from Lando’s hold, freezing when his efforts only earn him a disgruntled mewl and Lando’s arms tightening around his neck. He needs to put some more thought into this before he can execute anything.

It’s not easy, but he manages to extricate himself from between Lando and Carlos, breathing a sigh of relief when neither of them stir, remaining asleep in each other’s arms, and it’s like they didn't even notice Oscar leaving, immediately closing the gap between them back up. They look so peaceful and soft that it’s so tempting to get back in bed with them.

He tugs his trousers back on and does up the buttons of his shirt. The tie, he ignores, but he tucks his gun into the waistband.

Oscar slips his arms into the sleeves of his previously discarded suit jacket, ignoring the wrinkles in what’s supposed to be neatly pressed fabric.

He gets one foot out the door when chaos erupts.

Things seem to happen in slow motion.

A shot goes off, and Oscar barely has the time to step in front of the bullet’s path.

He grits his teeth when the bullet rips through the fabric of his suit, burying itself in his arm. Pain whites out the edges of his vision, but he blinks it away and has his own gun out in mere fractions of a second. From the bed, Lando screams.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake–” Oscar rips a strip from the bottom of his ruined shirt and ties it around his bicep to staunch the bleeding. It stings momentarily, but he’s used to it, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins numbs his wound immediately.

Two bullets fire from the barrel of his pistol in rapid succession, each one finding its target.

Oscar steps out into the hallway, dressed in his suit trousers and half of a shirt, to inspect for more intruders. It’s empty.

He’s never stepping foot in their bedroom again.

“I’ll go get Logan,” Oscar mutters, catching the shirt that Carlos tosses him with his uninjured arm. As he does up the buttons, the telltale scent of Carlos’s cologne wafts into his nostrils, woody with a hint of musk and something else underneath, something sweeter, like roses. “He’ll be your bodyguard while I’m out of commission.”

He leaves without looking back at either of their faces, gently closing the door behind him.

As soon as the adrenaline drains from his body, the throbbing pain sets in, and Oscar speeds up his pace to the infirmary.

If the wound is permanent, then he’s as good as dead.

Oscar likes sleeping. He loves it, in fact.

What he doesn’t love is not having anything to do. It’s also impossible to sleep when he’s sick with worry. Logan has been texting him updates per his request, but it’s also been a whole lot of nothing, and he would much rather be by their side instead of rotting away in his hotel room.

It’s embarrassing that Oscar, who is infamously known to be the cool and level-headed bodyguard of Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz amongst everyone in the underground world, has lost his mind to bed rest and pacing.

"The deal with Verstappen went smoothly. Very little happened."

“‘Very little’…?” Oscar repeats, alarmed, stopping in his tracks. He was about to complete another turn about the room too.

Logan makes a dismissive noise. "One of Verstappen’s men decided to try and take things into his own hands. Suffice to say he doesn’t have hands anymore."

“And Lan– Mr. Norris?”

If Logan catches his slip-up, he’s nice enough to not mention it.

"Unharmed, obviously. At the risk of sounding extremely American–"

“Okay, okay, that’s good to hear,” Oscar interrupts before his friend can go into graphic detail about how he blew the other guy’s brains out.

"How are you feeling, mate?"

“My arm is nearly fully healed,” he replies. “It’ll just be another scar to add to my collection, and then I can finally stop being a nuisance.”

"Take another day off, Oscar. It’ll do you some good."

After Oscar hangs up, he lies back down and counts sheep, pushing unwanted thoughts about Lando and Carlos being in danger’s way from his mind, until he falls asleep.

Oscar’s teddy bear smells like Dior Sauvage.

Wait.

The last time he even had a teddy bear was long before he left for university, long before he got involved in the organized crime scene.

“Fucking–”

Lando’s brows pinch, and he unconsciously cuddles closer, curling his fingers into Oscar’s shirt. The bandage wrapped around his arm is mostly for show now—not that he’s exactly showing anyone—but the way Lando carefully avoids it even in his sleep warms Oscar’s chest.

Tranquil is the right word to describe him at this moment, like coming into Oscar’s room and sleeping by his side was the only option for any sort of peace after a whole week of being apart.

God.

Get a grip.

Oscar retracts his hand where he was just about to run his fingers through Lando’s fluffy hair and cranes his neck.

Just as he expected, he spots Carlos fast asleep in the armchair opposite the bed with his legs splayed and his head dropped into his palm. He twitches in his sleep and frowns, and maybe, just maybe, Oscar is delusional enough to think that they were both worried about him too.

Careful not to disturb Lando, where he’s pillowed on his chest, he reaches out to grab his phone and squint at his notifications. Sure enough, there’s a message from Logan at the very top.

LS: rise and shine buddy! btw The Bosses insisted on sleeping with you 😉😉and im outside ur door so dont worry

OP: … thanks.

LS: 🫡

LS: pls dont fuck before i leave

Oscar thinks that staying in bed for just a while longer won’t hurt. The ceiling is plenty interesting.

And so is having two ridiculously attractive men in his room, one of them curled up to him in his own bed, but that’s neither here nor there.

Like he can hear the direction that Oscar’s thoughts are heading, Lando stirs.

“Hi, Osc.”

Oscar swears his voice doesn’t shake when he replies, “Hello, sir.”

“Lando.”

“Hello, Lando.”

Lando tilts his head up to press a kiss to Oscar’s cheek, slipping his fingers underneath the sleeve of his shirt, presumably to observe his healed wound.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Oscar tells him, once he’s certain he’s not blushing anymore. “It was just a bit sore, but it’s not going to hinder me in the future.”

“I was more concerned about how you were doing, thank you very much.”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “Well, you know how much I love sleeping,” he tries joking, and it falls flat when Lando just looks at him with those damn kitten eyes. “But if you want my honest answer, I hated not being near you… or him.”

He jabs a thumb at Carlos, who yawns before suddenly sitting up, wide awake, and does a double take at the sight of both his husband and their bodyguard already staring at him.

Expression flattening as he relaxes, Carlos rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it’s good to see you’re okay, cabrón.”

“It’s probably not the best idea,” Oscar gasps. “Fucking on your husband’s desk.”

“Nothing’s ever happened to it before. Just keep going,” Lando urges. A moan is punched out of him when Oscar suddenly thrusts all the way in, using more force than necessary.

The solid oak creaks.

Underneath them, the table gives way, and they crash to the floor in a heap.

Lando cries out in pleasure.

“Oh, you’re so deep.”

Oscar merely grunts in response, the air knocked out of his lungs, and he presses his face into the soft skin of Lando’s neck as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

"Keep going," Lando demands, and Oscar has no choice but to obey, fucking into him with steady strokes until he comes all over the ruined desk, painting every important document and file with his cum.

The curve of Lando’s back, the way his arse clenches, the white-knuckled grip he has on the edge of the destroyed desk, the slight twitch to his lax body.

The sight alone is enough to make Oscar come so deep in him he sees stars, catching him unawares.

It takes a moment for the post-coital bliss to clear away, and in its place is the horrifying clarity that he not only fucked Carlos’s husband but also destroyed his undoubtedly expensive desk in the process.

“Mr. Sainz is going to behead me.”

"Mm," Lando slurs, trailing a finger through the puddle of cum on his stomach like a satisfied little cat. “No, he won’t. Who’s gonna fuck him then? ‘Cause I certainly will not.”

Upon hearing such a lewd statement, Oscar’s dick twitches weakly where it’s still buried inside him.

“And you can call him Carlos.”

“Um.”

Lando whimpers at the drag of Oscar’s cock against his sensitive rim as he pulls out. “I know, I know, I promise he likes you, even if he can be a little grumpy-pants about it. Carlos always looks like he doesn’t enjoy it, but I swear he gets off on being degraded a little.”

Oscar’s mind blanks.

“Oscar?” Lando prompts.

“Good to know,” Oscar replies, voice raspy. “I reckon you also like that, huh.”

“Obviously, I like that. I also like you.”

“Yep. I, uh, gathered as much.”

Lando scoffs. “‘You gathered–’ God, you’re such a fucking nerd. I can’t believe I’ve been in love with you for literal years.”

Carlos barges into his study before Oscar even has the time to process what he was just told.

“Amor, you’re replacing my desk,” he groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Lando gives him a sheepish thumbs-up.

Oscar’s eyes fly wide. “You’re in love with me?”

Carlos glances between the two of them, entirely nonplussed about the fact that his darling beloved husband just confessed to loving another man in front of him. He crosses his arms and asks, “You just now figured that out?”

Quite frankly, Oscar is at a loss for words, but deep down, he thinks he knew that Lando returned his all-consuming feelings this whole time. He just never really considered that acting on those feelings was ever a possibility.

Oscar turns to Carlos, studying him for any changes in his body language.

"And you?"

“Eh, I’ll get there eventually.”

In honor of officially being together, in classic Lando style, he picks out a place for them to all go on a date.

Naturally, that means traveling all the way to the States, just because he wants to experience a boardwalk along a beach in California. The beach in Monaco isn’t good enough for him, apparently. Something about healing his inner child.

Getting through security is going to be a little bit of a hassle, but it’s nothing that can’t be taken care of with a little bribery. Oscar needs to remain armed, so Lando obliges, convincing the airport staff with a cruel flutter of his lashes before flouncing onto his private jet. 

“Here’s our game plan,” Lando starts. Oh god. He actually has this all planned out. “We start over here with the ring toss. Make our way around the fair in a clockwise path, and then we end at air hockey. Whichever one of us scores the most points gets to decide how many times each person comes. Deal?”

Oscar’s jaw drops. “You can’t just be dropping that in the middle of a fair, sir. There are children here!”

“I told you to call me Lando.”

“I know, sir.”

Carlos, on the other hand, smirks. “I’m down for the challenge.”

“Fine.”

Excited, Lando takes their hands and leads them both over to the entrance, trying to avoid any little kids that might stare up at the three of them in wonder. Despite being dressed down significantly, two prominent members of the underground crime scene and their bodyguard at a fair would definitely turn some heads. Make some headlines.

Oscar plucks at his unflattering touristy print shirt and wonders how Carlos and Lando somehow manage to pull such garish pieces of clothing off, like fucking models or something. He feels a bit like the clown mascot that children are lining up to take photos with… or crying at. The things he does for his bosses, honestly.

At least he gets to wear shorts on the job for once.

Before Oscar can even think about taking his wallet out, Carlos beats him to it, whipping out his American Express black card to pay for their tickets. He waves the strip of tickets triumphantly as he marches up to the first game.

The poor teenager working the ring toss booth looks scared shitless, eyes darting between the prizes—giant stuffed animals—and the three of them.

Carlos picks one of the rings up, examining it with a playful little grin. “Think you can beat me, Oscar?”

“Yeah. Of course, sir.”

“I have horrible aim, so...” Lando starts. Oscar already knows he’s going to lose on purpose, despite being an excellent shot. The real competition is between him and Carlos, if he’s truly being honest.

Never mind that these boardwalk games are usually rigged.

The two of them step up to the booth, both too focused for their own good—after all, Oscar does want to win. He would love to see both Lando and Carlos struggle while simultaneously satisfying his twisted curiosity involving just how many times he can get them each off. Before he embarrasses himself, he shakes off the mental image of both of them naked and grabs a ring, feeling its weight in his hand.

This would be a wonderful cock ring, Oscar thinks to himself. Suddenly, he hears someone shout, “Ready, go!” and quickly blinks away any dirty thoughts in time to observe Carlos line a shot up. The ring is tossed with practiced ease, but it misses by a hair, landing just outside the target. He shrugs, his playful grin never once fading.

“Your turn,” he says, handing the next ring to Oscar.

Oscar takes a deep breath, aiming carefully. He throws the ring, watching it soar through the air. It lands perfectly around the bottle neck, earning a smattering round of applause from the onlookers. He turns to Carlos with a smug smile.

Carlos raises an eyebrow, impressed but determined.

“Not bad,” he admits, picking up another ring. He narrows his eyes, focusing intently before tossing it. The ring lands on the bottle with a satisfying clink.

The crowd cheers, and Oscar feels the competitive fire ignite. He grabs another ring, his jaw set in determination.

“Let’s see you top this,” he mutters under his breath, launching the ring. Carlos inhales sharply as the ring sails through the air. It lands flawlessly, and their small audience roars again.

They take turns tossing rings until they’re tied at the end. Quite frankly, it’s ridiculous how invested in a silly game at the pier Oscar is, but it’s soothing to see that his boss is no better. With only one ring left each, the tension is palpable.

Oscar takes his time, his heart pounding. He throws, and the ring circles the bottle neck, teetering for a moment, before settling in place. The crowd that seemingly doubled in size since the last ring he threw erupts in cheers, and he can’t help but grin triumphantly.

Carlos steps up, the final ring in his hand. He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the target. He throws, and the ring sails through the air, landing just shy of the bottle. The crowd gasps, and Carlos shakes his head with a rueful smile.

His hand lands on Oscar’s shoulder.

“Well, cabrón, you better start figuring out which toys you want for your prize.”

The only thing stopping Oscar from cursing out loud is the throng of little kids and their bored-looking parents surrounding them.

“Uh, which prize do you want, sir?”

Oscar nearly jumps at the sudden interruption from the guy behind the counter. He can’t be developing a Pavlovian response to the word ‘prize’ now. To hide his growing embarrassment—and yes, his embarrassment is the only thing that grows—he inspects the plushies hanging above his head with more focus than necessary.

“I’ll take that one.” He points to a massive orange cat and thanks the employee, who struggles with it for a moment, before immediately handing it off to Lando. It nearly swallows him whole. “For you, sir.”

“Oh, fuck you, Osc,” Lando complains, voice muffled behind all the fluff. The only part of him that’s visible is the very top of his head.

Oscar immediately replies, “No fucking where there’s children.”

Carlos rolls his eyes.

But Oscar wins against him again at shooting moving clowns, and Carlos retaliates by beating him at balloon darts, much to his chagrin. It’s still worth it to see a pair of otters and then a small octopus get added to the massive cat in Lando’s clutches.

At this point, it’s obvious that Lando has no desire to partake in the competition, instead finding great pleasure in peering around the ever-growing collection of plushies stacked up in his arms to watch his husband and their– their lover go head to head.

Oscar nearly misses his next balloon at the thought of being their lover.

That’s really embarrassing for him.

“I bet I can catch more fish for Lando than you,” Carlos whispers, leaning close to him. The scent of his cologne is prominent, a blend of sandalwood and amber with an undertone of rose, as he hooks his chin over Oscar’s shoulder and points to the nearest booth.

“It’s impossible to catch fish in paper nets, sir.”

They try their best anyway.

It’s frustrating, to say the least, and no matter how fast Oscar is, the nets disintegrate faster, and the only reassuring part about this game is that Carlos is struggling just as much, if not more. And when Oscar finally manages to get a fish in his net, it wiggles its way right out and plops back into the tank.

Off to the side, hidden behind his mountain of plushies, Lando weakly protests, “I don’t even like fish.”

Oscar and Carlos both promptly give up, throwing their useless paper nets down in unison.

Fuck the stupid fish.

“I can carry that for you,” Oscar offers, after the three of them have gone and redistributed every other plushie they’ve earned. There are a lot of really happy children now.

Lando moves his cat plushie out of the way, coming too close to tripping over its legs, and glares at him. “You’re going to have to pry Oscat from my cold, dead hands, darling.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar sees Carlos muffle a snort and hide his mirth by busying himself with wiping his distinctly spotless sunglasses.

“Interesting name you gave a stuffed animal, sir.”

“Don’t make fun of me. Besides, you’ll need your hands free for that.” Lando angles his chin—his own hands are still very much occupied by… Oscat—at their penultimate game.

They stand a little ways off to the side in order to observe a group of teenagers bend over at the waist, dunking their faces into a bucket of water that cannot possibly be hygienic. This has to be a fetish or something.

Lando cocks his head. “Well, I suppose you don’t actually need your hands, but holding Oscat would definitely still hinder you.”

Once again, the things that Oscar does to please his boss.

It’s cute when Lando buries his face in his cat plushie’s fur, though.

Oscar turns to Carlos, who looks even less enthusiastic about it than he feels. “Um, I reckon whoever gets the most apples wins?”

Carlos just nods, but Oscar has worked for him long enough to know that he’s silently lamenting his perfect skin.

Lando is the only one who looks absolutely delighted about Oscar pulling his face out of the water with an apple stuck between his teeth. He even fans himself a little when Oscar bites down on the fruit and immediately spits the chunk out.

God .

“Ooh, that was sexy!” Lando cries, and Oscar’s cheeks turn as scarlet as the apple’s skin.

Oscar nearly chokes on his next apple when Carlos finally emerges. He doesn’t have an apple in his mouth, but he is dripping wet, and that’s just fucking unfair.

It seems like Lando isn’t exactly immune either. He glances between the two of them, and his face grows redder as he attempts to hide it by hugging Oscat a little tighter. Oscar is so torn between feeling horny and endeared right now.

“It’s rare to see you so flustered, amor,” Carlos teases, and his husband squeaks.

As soon as nobody’s watching, Oscar drops an apple into Lando’s waiting hand and coughs to hide his laughter when it’s promptly lobbed in Carlos’s direction and smacks him right in the face.

“That was uncalled for.”

“Suck it,” Lando mutters.

Before Carlos can say something lewd and truly uncalled for in response, Oscar drags them both off to play air hockey. He is not getting paid nearly enough to babysit his employers—lovers?—on what’s meant to be a date.

“I think I win,” Oscar points out matter-of-factly after spending ten minutes striking pucks into Carlos’s hole, and then Lando’s. Hole? Goal, is what he means.

Even his stream of consciousness has turned far lewder in the span of the past few months.

“Hm? Oh, I wasn’t even trying.”

“I know, Lando,” he replies, rolling his eyes when Carlos echoes him.

Lando sulks into the fur of the plushie that he’s been lugging around all day, but Oscar has known him for long enough that it’s not anything serious. He’s just about as far from the intimidatingly seductive husband of the head of the Sainz family as one can be.

“Claim your prize, then,” Lando retorts.

They end up defiling the rental car.

It’s a tight fit, but… all good things are.

“The windows are tinted,” Carlos gasps, as Oscar thrusts into him from behind, and the force of it pushes him into his husband in turn. Lando’s head tips back against his plushie as he moans, loud and high.

“Yeah, thank God,” Oscar grunts. He sinks his teeth into Carlos’s shoulder, making him yelp from the sudden sensation. It’s satisfying, to be the one to call the shots like this, to be the one to set the pace for all of them.

Oscar never thought he’d have so much power over his own bosses.

Lovers.

And yet they relinquish it so willingly to him.

Don’t they know a man can get drunk off of it?

“Anyone passing by will definitely see, though,” Oscar adds, but he doesn’t slow down in the slightest. “They can probably hear you from a kilometer away, Lando.”

In response, Lando sobs, a tiny whimper leaving his mouth with each thrust until he’s making a mess of himself, of Carlos. His cum miraculously misses the plushie he’s propped up against.

Oscar pulls out to give them all a much-needed break. The nastiest idea comes to mind as he takes in Lando’s and Carlos’s sweat-soaked, cum-stained bodies, and that’s certainly saying something given all the crazy marathon sex they’ve been having.

But he hesitates. What if they don’t–

“Just say what’s on your mind,” Carlos interrupts Oscar’s train of thought, staring at him with pretty, half-lidded eyes. Lando looks even more dazed, if that’s at all possible, but he still finds the energy to nod in agreement.

“I want both of us,” Oscar blurts out, gesturing between himself and Carlos while he looks straight at Lando, “to fuck you at the same time.”

Trust Lando to perk up as soon as he’s promised a good dicking.

Oscar fucks him with his fingers, nearly drools at the sight of Carlos’s cum leaking out of him, and willingly lets himself get pulled into a desperate kiss. Kissing Lando is familiar at this point, as is spreading his thighs and keeping them in place with a firm grasp to slide into him from behind, aided by lube from too many travel-sized packets and the cum fucked back into him.

Lando twists his body to keep kissing Oscar, moaning into his mouth as he attempts to hump the plushie, but Carlos nudges him away and quickly settles into the cradle of his limbs to begin pushing into his arse beside the cock already fit inside of him. It’s a slow process, and Oscar can hear the soft, breathy moans that Lando lets out as he attempts to relax around the stretch.

It’s a strange feeling, fucking him with someone else, but Lando appears to be enjoying himself, and that’s the most important part. His eyes are glazed over, and his mouth drops open with a silent scream when both of them pull out and thrust into him at the same time.

“We’re–” Oscar interrupts himself with a low groan. The slick slide of Carlos’s cock against his, the warmth of Lando’s greedy hole. It’s overwhelmingly good ; he feels high off the pleasure . “We're definitely getting arrested for public indecency.”

“Don’t care,” Lando moans, helpless. His body rocks with each thrust, his back arches when Oscar nails his prostate, and he’s clinging to the stuffed toy for dear life. “Oh, I feel so full. Keep going.”

“Come just like this, amor.”

It’s not a race, but it feels like one, and Lando has been leaking precum onto poor Oscat this whole time. He hugs the plushie when he shakes apart, immediately soiling its soft fur, and Oscar chases his own orgasm, thrusting into Lando’s oversensitive body half a dozen times before he’s coming hard.

They should’ve done this earlier.

“God, the car smells like sex,” Lando complains, his voice hoarse from screaming Oscar’s name, Carlos’s name. His limbs are splayed out, effectively making him straddle his dirtied plush, and he should be in an erotic calendar like this, naked, fucked out, and absolutely glowing from the many loads of cum pumped into him.

Light from the setting sun floods in through the window, dappling his skin and pooling in the dip of his waist. The curve of his back is so, so tantalizing.

Carlos looks just as pretty when he tilts Lando’s face up into a sweet kiss.

“We can’t return it in this state,” Oscar replies absentmindedly, too distracted watching them lazily make out. “Can’t one of you, like, buy it or something?”

There’s no response.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. It can be our designated car sex car when we’re out here in the States if you do.”

Lando pulls away and says, “Done.”

“You’re so predictable, Lando.”

“I just like to be prepared.” He sniffs. “Thinking ahead, and all that.”

“Bold to claim you think, amor. Ever. Unless it’s with your dick.”

Lando retaliates by promptly kneeing his husband in the balls. As Carlos doubles over in pain, whining about how cruel Lando is, Oscar facepalms. Why did he pick these two, of all people, to get entangled with?

Outside, the pier promptly bursts into flames.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have enemies in California too?” Oscar demands, as he scrambles to find his clothes. He forgoes boxers, wincing at the cum drying on his skin and the chafe of his shorts. His horrible shirt is missing all of its buttons, a sad victim of Lando’s impatient hands, and he jams a random pair of sunglasses onto his face.

He supposes there are worse things than driving commando with his shirt open.

The car keys are tossed at him, caught moments before hitting his face, as he vaults over the middle divider and into the driver’s seat. A beat later, Carlos settles into the passenger seat, making a face when he realizes that he is, in fact, sore from taking it up the arse, which leaves Lando in the back alone with the giant cat plushie.

He’s probably going to rub one out on the sad thing while they make their hasty retreat back to the airport. With one hand on the wheel, Oscar backs the car out of the parking lot, periodically checking the rearview for anyone who might be following them.

“We have enemies everywhere, cabrón. You should know that by now.”

“So I might’ve accidentally slept with a married man out in Los Angeles once upon a time. But in my defense, he bought me dinner! And it wasn’t seafood! What was I supposed to think?”

Oscar sighs. He truly chose this life for himself.

“You love us, though,” Lando says because it has been confirmed time and again that he can read Oscar’s mind. Including all the footnotes.

A sleek black Mercedes enters his line of vision just as the earpiece that he refused to part with at the airport crackles to life.

“Yeah, I reckon I do.”

Oscar pulls his gun out.

Old habits die hard, after all.