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It’s… bold. Different.
Oscar doesn’t typically step outside the box, always mellow and consistent. But a delicious, daring fire flares beneath his skin—licks up his spine to paint his cheeks a wonderful pink—as he slips the fabric up his legs and over his hips in front of the mirror. A smile takes over his face, teeth hooked slightly on his bottom lip. It looks… amazing. He looks amazing.
Oscar doesn’t often try very hard when it comes to his appearance. He’s the first to admit he never does anything with his hair as he opts for sleep rather than styling and only ever really wears basic hoodies with jeans. Considering that, maybe this is a little bit of a ginormous leap.
But it was his first home Grand Prix a few hours ago, and he finished in the points for the first time in a Formula 1 race. Today has been a good day, and Oscar feels amazingly brave, high off victory, ready to just… go for it. Go for this idea that’s been tumbling around wonderfully in his mind for who knows how long, tugging him dazedly towards a store he never really thought he would duck into for himself to buy things he never even considered but can’t stop thinking about now. He’s wanted this for ages, and the image staring back at him blooms frantic butterflies in his chest. It’s everything he imagined. More even.
While he still hasn’t done anything with his hair, the lacey blue underwear hugging his ass—stretched along every arch and curve to line the contours of his waist, frame his thighs—are decidedly very new. Well… less so underwear and more panties, and oh my god Oscar feels a little bit delirious at that. His eyes flutter shut breathlessly as he imagines a different voice—one with a stupid American accent Oscar still can’t believe he’s fallen for—whispering… that as he fingers Oscar open, fucks into him, thumbs at the lace and draws it between his teeth with a slightly crooked smirk. It’s hot and dizzying, like he’s landed on the surface of the sun, ecstasy everywhere all at once.
It’s a lot, the way it makes Oscar feel: delirious with want, desperate with desire, overflowing with pure euphoria. It surges through every inch of him, sweet and sultry like chocolate dipped strawberries. Oscar is melting.
He feels good, feels pretty like Logan always calls him in a way that makes his head spin. And while yeah, to be fair, that’s how Logan always makes him feel and has always made him feel—adored, insane with love and comfort and craving—there’s something so captivating in this. How striking it is, how unlike Oscar it seems while being something he’s positively aching for. Something he knows Logan will probably go absolutely insane and stupid over when he sees it, sees Oscar, especially after the tough race he just had.
With a final sweeping look at himself—taking in the ardent flush dipping down to kiss his collarbones now, running his hands delicately over his hips and along the panties just above where the lace dips between his cheeks to tease his hole—and Oscar grins and turns away. Warmth pools in him everywhere all at once as Oscar quickly pulls sweatpants on, followed by one of Logan’s shirts—soft and cheap and probably years old but perfect all the same—before slipping out of his hotel room.The door slides shut with a satisfying click, a sound singing with anticipation. It settles on his shoulders, those blissful promises that await him, and Oscar lets his eyes flutter at the idea of it. When he raises his fingers to fiddle with his hair before dipping down to brush his cheek, a place Logan loves to shower with kisses, they come away warm: his flush so deliciously intense he’s sure it has stained the tips pink to match.
With a satisfied breath, Oscar pushes up and starts to move down the hallway; Logan’s room is at the far end. The soft slide of his pants against the bare skin where his boxers would normally cover feels addictive as Oscar sways past silent doors and dimmed lights. It’s ethereal and angelic, which is odd, Oscar has half the mind to consider, seeing as the things Oscar wants Logan to do to him are half fucking filthy along with the dazed loving parts. It’s just… everything.
In a haze of love and fervent anticipation, Oscar arrives outside Logan’s door and introduces himself with a knock. As he waits, he fiddles with his fingers, like Logan loves to do any time he can - in between interviews, atop the table at restaurants, in bed as they bathe in the afterglow—with his big, stupid, amazing hands.
It’s only minutes, probably even seconds, before the door swings open to reveal Logan in the artificial light that somehow still makes him glow—adoring smile taking over his face, soft blue eyes taking him in. Oscar’s heart melts through his ribs as Logan pulls him in by his waist, wrapping his arms entirely around him, and just hugs him. “Oscar, baby, congratulations!”
He kisses Oscar’s temple, infinitely soft, before moving to his nose, his cheek, both his eyelids. He picks Oscar up, chuckles at Oscar’s breathless giggles as he spins him around once then carries him to the bed. They collapse in a beautiful mess of limbs as Oscar wraps his arms around his shoulders and brings their lips together.
In between kisses, Logan whispers against his mouth. “You.” Kiss “Were.” Kiss. “Amazing.”
Oscar is melting, melting, melting. “Thanks, I try.”
Logan chuckles again, it reverberates through Oscar. He wants to bottle the sound, the feeling and never let it go. Logan kisses him again after that, deep and all consuming. When they break away for air, Oscar buries his head against Logan’s collarbone. “I’m sorry. About your ra–”
“Uh uh,” Logan cuts him off with a faint kiss on his neck. He pulls back to meet Oscar’s gaze, his smile still brilliant and unwavering, slightly crooked which Oscar is fucking insance over. “Tonight is for celebrating. None of that, baby. I had a bad day, it happens. Wanna move forward, the next race will be better. ‘M just happy for ya.”
Something impossible blooms in Oscar’s chest, something that feels a lot like forever, because Oscar knows he would feel—has felt—that way about races where their situations are reversed. Maybe that’s not how ‘serious’ racing drivers should be thinking. Oscar doesn’t fucking care. He and Logan will be amazing together.
Oscar nods, smiling so ridiculously wide. “I’m always here to talk though, you know that? I wanna be there for you.” His fingers come up to fiddle with the collar of Logan’s shirt, to cradle his jawline and feel the faint scruff there.
Logan visibly melts at that. “‘Course, baby. Of course.” He kisses Oscar, deep and all-consuming - devouring in the most adoring way. When he pulls away though, his smirk is back.
“But like I said.” Logan traces his lips along Oscar’s jaw, sweetness mixing into something hot and passionate. Oscar shivers: smirk of his own playing at his lips where Logan can’t see. Oscar pushes his hips up fleetingly, and Logan meets it by grinding down against him. “Tonight’s about you.”
Oscar hums, feels the panties stretch beneath his sweats as he arches off the bed. He giggles, breathy and teasing. “I like the sound of that.”
Logan hums back and slips his hands slowly beneath Oscar’s tee and up his sides, rucking the fabric as he goes. The weight and heat against his flushed skin is perfection, slipping higher and higher until it… abruptly stops. Logan pulls back and laughs all bright and thrilled, a stark contrast to the hot and heavy push of his body on top of Oscar’s, the bulge resting between his thighs. Oscar blinks dazedly because that was not where he thought this was going. Logan places a kiss where his brows have furrowed slightly then meets Oscar’s eyes, cheeky but fond smile spread across his face. “Is this my shirt, baby?”
He rolls the hem between his thumb and forefinger, eyes sweeping over the worn material stretched loose and dull after years of wear across his torso. Oscar flashes a shameless grin back at him, hands splayed on Logan’s chest. “Dunno, maybe.”
“Was gonna ask you what you wanted, how you wanted to celebrate.” Logan bites playfully at his collarbone that the shirt has slipped to reveal. “Guess you already got your present, huh?”
Oscar scoffs and rolls his eyes, smile never fading, warmth in his chest never cooling. “Whatever, mate. As if you don’t like it. You’d let me take all your clothes so you could go shirtless all the time or something. You’re from fucking Florida.”
Logan laughs that amazing amazing laugh again. “ ‘S not why I like it, baby.” He ducks down, pressing their bodies flush again, and speaks against Oscar’s lips. “But you’re right, I’d give you fucking anything.”
He brushes their lips together, so soft Oscar wouldn’t be sure it actually happened if he weren’t so intune with Logan, so in love with him. “So, what d’you want, Oscar?”
Oscar breathes in once. This is it.
“I was thinking…” Oscar pushes up in a swift movement and rolls them over so he straddles Logan’s hips. He grinds down once, long and lingering. Beneath him, Logan grabs his waist and soothes his ring fingers over the small of his back. Oscar feels his eyes flutter, bites his bottom lip softly through his smile. “Want you to fuck me.”
Logan groans and thrusts his hips up at that. “Fuck, yeah baby. Yes.”
He sits up to pull his shirt off, revealing his gorgeous chest in its entirety, before tossing it carelessly to the side and dragging Oscar down with him as he collapses back on the pillows again in an intense kiss. They press closer, closer, and closer still until there’s no space between them. Oscar rocks atop Logan, pushing against the tent of Logan’s dick beneath his pants. Logan’s hands move back under his shirt, fingers grazing Oscar’s nipples, making him gasp. At the opening, Logan’s tongue slips past Oscar’s lips to tangle with his own. He tastes like everything Oscar has come to recognize and adore, and he sighs into it.
Slowly, Logan’s hands slide down to trace the waistband of his sweatpants and Oscar’s breath hitches. This is it, this is it.
His fingers toe the line between fabric and skin for what feels like hours as Oscar’s heart pounds. Dizzying lust floods his brain—takes over his consciousness—as he finally finally pulls the elastic back and cups his ass and… absolutely freezes.
Against Oscar’s lips, Logan has gone completely still. Oscar pulls back to see gaping eyes and parted lips. Logan blinks so so slowly, then all at once his gaze snaps furiously to look at Oscar’s waist. He grips Oscar’s pants and pulls them off carefully, stare intent and fiery. His breathing is ragged as inch by inch Oscar’s legs are revealed, as he takes in what Oscar is wearing.
“Logan?”
He doesn’t move, barring his fingers dancing around the lace: exploring everywhere they touch, all the way along his inner thighs, brushing past his hole. Oscar whimpers. “Logan?”
At his desperate tone, his borderline begging with just a single word, Logan looks up quickly. His eyes are blown entirely black—blue entirely overtaken by his pupils. His mouth is still fallen open, at a loss for fucking words apparently. Oscar keens - perfect, perfect, perfect.
“Something wrong?” He teases, bringing one of his hands to rest on Logan’s own and weave their fingers together.
“Wrong?” Logan chokes out. He sounds breathless, raspy, and completely gone. He squeezes Oscar’s hand just once, throws his head back and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Holy fucking shit.”
Oscar hums, feeling his blush burn hotter and hotter. Surely the lace has begun to melt between Logan’s hands and Oscar’s hips. He leans down to press a kiss between Logan’s pecks. When he sits back up, Logan’s eyes are open again: scalding and determined and fucking flawless.
He rolls them over: caging Oscar beneath him, holding his legs securely around his waist, rolling his hips down against him like he’s fucking desperate for it—to be inside of Oscar. Like Oscar is all there is, all he ever wants to see. He smoothly pulls Oscar’s sweats the rest of the way off and sweeps a long, devouring look up and down him. “Fucking, oh my fucking god, Oscar. What the fuck.”
Logan pulls the panties’ hem taught: branding them tighter against Oscar’s flushed skin, along the hard line of his dick and his hole fucking fluttering with need. Oscar mewls, that’s the only way he can describe the probably embarrassing sound he lets out. It’s so soft and light, but dripping in lewd rapture Oscar thinks he wants to drown in.
Somehow, through trembling lips as Logan dips to trace the lingerie with his fucking tongue in fervent wonder and spread his ass with flaming palms, Oscar manages a grin. “Do you like them?” As if Logan doesn’t look like his whole world has been flipped so wonderfully upside down. As if Logan isn’t tattooing a love-bitten, velvet reminder of the fabric’s contours on Oscar’s thighs with his teeth.
At the question, Logan stops and breathes furiously for a few seconds. When he collects himself, he moves back up Oscar’s body and captures his lips in a deep deep kiss.
“Baby. I–” Another kiss, and another. His fingers never leave the lace. “I fucking love them. Oh my fucking god, how are you real?” He dives back in, swallowing every pleased, wanton moan that spills past Oscar’s lips.
Oscar arches up into him, as far as his back can go, to press the lace against Logan’s v-line. He groans at that, intense and longing. Against Oscar’s mouth, he rasps. “You’re so pretty, baby. Fucking gorgeous. Oh my god, look at you.”
Oscar feels lightheaded, panting and whimpering at the praise that brands itself against his skin. He thinks maybe his stomach has been turned inside out at the furious, delicious heat coiling there. He’s maybe a little dizzy, and only falls further and further as Logan keeps talking.
“Fucking beautiful in your perfect little panties, holy shit baby, you make me fucking crazy.” He’s rambling—all deep and hoarse and fervid—like he’s losing his mind over nothing but Oscar. The room, the press of Logan’s now ruddy skin against him, their heavy breaths mingling are hot, hot, hot. “Looks so fucking flawless.”
Oscar can barely breathe and they haven’t even started yet. He buries his hands in Logan’s hair. Sparks shoot up his spine all the way to the very edge of his fingertips that have found solace in the solid expanse of Logan’s bare shoulders at that thought. He wants and wants and wants—Logan inside him, pushing the lace with every thrust—and clearly Logan does just as much, so Oscar whispers a breathless, “Will look even better if you ruin them.”
And that does the fucking trick.
Logan moans and kisses Oscar once more before pushing reluctantly off him to shed his jeans and boxers, let his dick spring free—hard and huge and god Oscar needs him. “Gonna get the stuff.” He makes his way probably ridiculously quickly to the bathroom, and while he digs through his toiletry bags, Oscar realizes he’s still wearing Logan’s shirt.
He doesn’t take it off.
He simply rolls over and settles himself on his forearms and knees, pushing his ass up. The shirt slips up his frame just the tiniest bit to expose the lines of his back. The panties stretch and stretch and stretch. He waits in shaking anticipation until he hears the tell-tale signs of Logan heading towards the bed again—footsteps on the plywood floor—before arching almost ludicrously. He fists his hands in the duvet beneath him when he hears the steps abruptly stop. A near silent curse graces the steamy air. Oscar can imagine Logan heaving, digging his fingernails into his palms as he works the cap of the lube off while a few seconds elapse. Oscar is cold where Logan was before, needs him back. “Logan? Hurry.”
In the blink of an eye after that, he envelops Oscar again. His dick rests—just barely dipping in—at the crease of his thighs. Colliding with nothing but the lace in between is everything. Oscar thinks maybe he’s about to die, ascend to another plane of existence, come harder than he ever has off nothing but With his fucking huge ass arms bracketing his shoulders, Logan lays kisses along Oscar’s lower spine, the small of his back, the cleft of his ass where the panties rest. He drops a condom down beside them, but Oscar grabs it without care and tosses it swiftly away.
Logan watches him do it, then stalls for probably the millionth time that night. When Oscar turns to look at him, he has that astounded stare back at full force. His eyes are on fire, absolutely blistering. He’s so stupid sexy Oscar has to look anywhere else before he collapses in a useless heap of desire when they haven’t even fucked yet. Logan’s fingers tighten in the covers on either side of Oscar, muscles pulsing and flexing, and he drops his head to rest on Oscar’s neck. “Fucking– fuck. Oh my– Oscar.”
“We’re both clean. Checkups.” Oscar somehow whispers through the overwhelming desire pulsing through him. He finds the strength to determinedly push back even further so Logan’s length slides deeper between his legs as Oscar spreads them devilishly more and more.
“I– You– Oh my god.”
“Wanna feel you.” It’s high and desperate and filthy.
“Holy fuck.” Logan’s hips stutter and his arms give the tiniest bit. Oscar drinks it in with an open-mouthed moan. “Baby, baby, baby. Fuck, yes. How are you real?”
Oscar laughs, but it’s barely more than an amused exhale at this point. “You already said that.”
Logan laughs too—a disbelieving, amazed sound. He sits back on his knees and Oscar mourns the loss for a few seconds before he hears the wet sound of lube being squeezed on Logan’s fingers behind him. His heart pounds furiously. “Gonna fucking say it every fucking day. Tell you how fucking gorgeous and perfect and unreal you are.”
And with that, Logan leans back down so they’re pressed together again and pushes a finger past the tight muscle of Oscar’s rim. He eases it in, careful but passionate and devastatingly toe curling even though the stretch is barely there, and Oscar melts into it. The lingerie is pulled slightly to the side so Logan can work in and out, plunging his finger as deep as it can go until Oscar is ready. “More.”
Logan wastes no time, drawing his finger out to pour more lube before sliding back in with two. “Gorgeous, baby.” He glides in and out, scissoring them apart, before diving in so far they grace Oscar’s prostate. He gasps and jerks back, fucking Logan’s fingers in so they push firmly there. He trembles at the pressure, pleasure exploding everywhere it can reach, and feels himself go floaty as Logan strokes that spot again and again before drawing back, stretching his hole more, and pulling out. Distantly, Oscar thinks he can hear Logan mumbling praise against the dip between his collarbones and his fingers being coated in more lube, but it’s hard to make out much over his heartbeat in his ears, pounding at his temples. He dick leaks onto the bed beneath them, slick and aching. “Can you take another?”
Oscar nods helplessly into the pillows, reaching back to shakily guide Logan’s other hand to tug at the panties—pull them tight between his cheeks to tease him. “Hurry. I need you.”
“Fuck, almost there baby. Promise.” Logan adds a third finger, prepping his hole wide and gaping to take all of Logan. He works his fingers back and forth, every so often brushing past his prostate, and the stretch is so so good, but not enough. Oscar wants.
“Logan, ‘m ready. Please, please.”
Logan reaches up to grab Oscar’s chin, guide his face back from where he’d been practically drooling into the pillows, and kisses him. “You sure, baby?” Oscar can feel him shaking just slightly, arousal heavy. Oscar nods. “Words, baby. You sure about no condom?”
Oscar whimpers. “Yes, yes, yes.
A guttural groan breezes past Oscar’s cheek. Logan’s fingers spread apart once more before pulling out. “Alright, fuck yes, baby. ‘M not gonna last long though, god you’re fucking everything.”
Oscar shivers: overwhelmed in the best possible way at how undone Logan sounds, the sounds of Logan slicking himself up, how wet he is for Logan, how much wetter he’s going to be and…
Oscar’s vision goes fucking white as Logan sinks into him. The feeling of him, stretching and pulsing and bare inside of him, is so– It’s just– Oscar isn’t–
“Oh.”
Oscar fumbles to grab his dick harshly so he doesn’t come harder than he ever has in his fucking life this early, a mess of panting and desperate whimpers as his legs start to tremble. Oscar thinks maybe he wants to stay like this forever, absolutely complete. Logan is everything, everywhere, Sweat pools along his neck, his brow, between his thighs. He blinks his eyes slowly to come back to himself before begging for Logan. “Please. Logan, fuck me.”
And Logan does.
He pulls out, so only his tip remains, before slamming back into Oscar. “Fucking– Fuck, baby. You feel– You’re fucking heaven baby, you feel amazing.”
He thrusts in and out furiously, lifting Oscar’s hips up to angle them just so, and nails his prostate.
Oscar fucking screams.
“Look at you, oh my god. You take me so fucking perfect, look so perfect on my cock. Wanna feel you forever.”
The lace catches on his thrusts and slides into his hole alongside Logan’s dick and Oscar is going to die. Everything is blurry and disoriented, reduced to nothing but useless moans and weak hands pawing at Logan as if he can somehow bring him closer.
“Lo.” It’s the only syllables he can manage, a warning that he’s about to come. But Logan pulls out then, leaving Oscar to gasp unpleasantly. His sounds of protest quickly morph to strangled “yes, yes, yes”s, though, as Logan flips Oscar over to bring them face to face again.
He’s devilishly, devastatingly, stunning. His dirty blond hair is stained darker with sweat that drips down his pecks and over his abs, catching on the hair dusting towards his v-line. His eyes are molten, and he leans down to capture Oscar in a feverish kiss of lust and love and everything in between as he fucks back into him.
The angle is different, but infinitely more intimate and perfect. Logan fucks into him over and over, deeper and deeper. He wraps a hand around Oscar’s dick—still erect and spilling—and the combination of finally being stroked, the grip of both the lace and Logan over his erection, Oscar is coming—seeping through the thin fabric he’s still wearing.
He whimpers, long and drawn out—the neighboring rooms are probably filing a complaint—and Logan stutters above him before finishing inside of him. It completely fills Oscar up, hot and wet and wonderful. Oscar can’t breathe, can’t think. He wants to plug himself up and feel this every day: even when he’s fucking racing.
“Oh my god.” It’s barely a whisper.
Logan only nods and collapses on Oscar. His dick throbs inside of him. They do nothing but breathe in sync for a few minutes, connected in every possible way, until Logan pushes himself off of Oscar and pulls out. Pearly white shines on his cock and at finally being empty, come spills out of Oscar’s hole. Logan watches with rapt attention, mouth hanging open, and Oscar props himself up weakly on his elbows to watch as well. It pours out, spilling past the panties as it stains the blue lace, and Oscar is going to pass out.
He falls back on the bed and lets Logan delicately pull the fabric down his legs and off his body to hold in his hand. Oscar expects him to throw them to the side—completely ruined—but instead Logan falls down beside him, holds them up, and smirks. “I’m fucking framing these.”
Oscar is entirely too boneless to do anything but blush somehow more than before and weakly shove him. “What the– Logan. No you won’t.”
“Watch me.” He grins and laughs at Oscar giggling and pushing at his arm until he takes the hint and drops the piece to envelop Oscar in his arms. He kisses his shoulders gently, everywhere his flush reaches. “You’re fucking insane.”
Oscar hums, cuddles into his chest. “Good ‘celebration plus cheer up my boyfriend after the race’ idea?”
Logan’s eyes go all soft at that—endlessly adoring, cherishing. He kisses the side of his mouth softly and hugs him closer. “Absolutely. God, I love you.”
The butterflies Oscar is so familiar with drift into flight. “I love you too.” He pauses for a moment, bathing in the afterglow. Eventually though, things start to dry and crack uncomfortably. “And I love cuddling, but maybe after a shower?”
Logan chuckles, kisses his temple. “Sure thing, baby.”
Oscar gets up and starts walking towards the bathroom on quivering legs. Logan lazes behind him for a minute before Oscar feels more come running down his legs and dripping to the floor at the change in position and hears Logan’s breath hitch.
“You coming?” He calls over his shoulder, teasing smile back on his face.
The sounds of someone frantically floundering to stand up and carry him past the threshold are Oscar’s brilliant answer.