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Lando didn’t realize what was happening until it was entirely too late.
It started small. He had been in the McLaren hospitality suite sitting across the table from Oscar while they had lunch. Nothing unusual - if anything, painfully mundane. But then Oscar had leaned back in his chair to pull his hoodie off, his biceps flexing as he stretched his arms up to pull off the fabric, the maroon t-shirt he wore underneath riding up just slightly to reveal a small strip of skin on his stomach. Lando caught himself staring for just a second too long, earning a raised eyebrow and a quiet laugh from Oscar who (thank god) didn’t seem to care too much.
Lando boiled down the fact that he soon after excused himself from the table to get himself off in his drivers room to him just being especially horny that day. Sure, he’d always found Oscar a bit unbearably attractive, but god he looked good in that shirt. Something about it made him want to tear the damn thing off with his teeth. He tried to push those thoughts away whenever they arose, because that was his teammate, and that’s weird. But it didn’t stop him from semi-regularly jacking off in the shower about it.
The next time he wore it, Lando found it a bit harder to stop himself from staring. In fairness, it had been especially hot in Miami that day, and the maroon shirt was damp with sweat and clinging to his body as if Lando deserved some sort of punishment just for being in his presence. Oscar grinned at him as he walked by, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and squeezing for a second before he kept walking.
And, Lando’s brain short circuited for a moment. He let his eyes linger on the way the muscles of his back looked under the fabric, because Jesus he looked incredible from behind, and Lando, once again, found himself escaping to his driver's room. He palmed himself over his boxers while he imagined Oscar shoving the fabric of the shirt into his mouth to keep him quiet, the thought of it alone making his cock twitch immediately. Lando couldn’t help but wonder what Oscar would think - or maybe even what he’d do - if he could see inside his head.
It was only annoying - or, inconvenient, rather - because Oscar seemed to love the damn thing so much. Which, fair enough, rightfully so. Lando wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked so good in a damn plain t-shirt; he’d be insane to not wear it as often as his washing machine could handle. But that also meant Lando started finding himself getting off to the thought of his teammate on a consistent basis, which quickly translated into him secretly anticipating whenever he’d wear it next. It was almost like a game that Lando himself was the only player of, and also the only one aware of the games existence in the first place. He won every time Oscar wore it, lost whenever he didn’t, but would get off to the memory of him in it regardless. So, he actually won every time, he supposed.
It only started becoming particularly odd when it moved past the stupid shirt. In the hospitality suite a few weeks after this had all started, getting his lunch from the cafe with Oscar (wearing a McLaren polo, to Lando’s disappointment), Lando was at the salad bar loading arugula and spinach into a bowl. Looking around the array of toppings, he suddenly froze in place when his eyes landed on a bowl of pomegranate seeds. He stared at them for more than just a few seconds, trying to decipher why the hell he felt a wave of heat shoot through him at a goddamn bowl of fruit. He was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Oscar’s voice and a playful nudge to his arm, and he quickly looked away to meet his eyes.
“Mate, quit eye-fucking the pomegranate. You gonna take some or not?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at Lando while he laughed quietly.
Lando swallowed hard, huffing while he rolled his eyes and dumped a large spoonful of them onto his salad.
“Was just trying to make up my mind,” he replied with a shrug, suddenly feeling a bit too overwhelmed to come up with something funny to say.
After they sat down at a table, Lando found himself pushing the salad around with his fork while he stared at it for longer than he actually ate anything. The colour, he deciphered, was horribly close to the same colour as Oscar’s shirt. The thought ruminated in his head, and concerningly fast, he found himself starting to get hard because of his goddamn lunch. He looked up at Oscar, who seemed none the wiser to his current internal crisis while he ate his own food, and he let himself stare for a few seconds before clearing his throat and standing up from the table.
“I’ll be back in a few,” he murmured, already turning around before Oscar had time to reply.
“You’ve barely touched your food, where are you runnin’ off to?” Oscar called over to him with a confused expression, but Lando didn’t look back. Didn’t reply. He had shit to do - shit which consisted of getting himself to come as quickly as humanly possible with a mortifying google search of ‘ocsar piasti red shirt’ pulled up on his phone.
The following week, in Montreal, it happened again. It somehow felt even stupider this time. He and Oscar were doing a photoshoot for a sponsor, and upon seeing the set, Lando stopped in his tracks for a moment. A velvet, maroon armchair was set up in front of the background, and his thoughts turned to static briefly while his fingers flexed at his sides.
“All good, Lando?” The photographer asked, snapping him out of his daze.
He looked up quickly, forcing a smile while he nodded. “Yup. All good.”
Oscar was up first, and Lando intentionally busied himself on his phone for the sake of not getting hard in the middle of a damn contractual obligation. But, god, he wanted to watch so bad. He wanted more than anything to see Oscar sprawled out over it, posing like a goddamn model, the deep red a stark contrast against his pale skin. Before he could get too lost in his wandering thoughts, Lando’s name was called, and it was his turn to model whatever stupid Puma products they wanted him to sell. It all felt particularly pointless right then.
He did his standing shots for what felt like forever before the photographer instructed him to sit down on the chair, and Lando’s heart nearly stopped. He played it cool, keeping his face as close to neutral as possible while he sat down onto the soft fabric, trying hard to focus on how he was being told to pose. But he couldn’t stop himself from tracing his fingers over the velvet texture, his eyes locked onto his own hand where he touched it. Lando took in a deep breath, trying so hard to stop himself from imagining that it was the fabric of Oscar’s damn shirt instead, that it was hard muscle under the fabric instead of whatever wood and cushioning was actually there.
But the photographer was suddenly giving him more directions, and he looked up - only to see Oscar staring directly at him. His head slightly tilted, chewing gently on his bottom lip. He was staring at him intently, almost intrigued, like he was trying to figure something out. And Lando didn’t know what the hell to do with that other than immediately look back away and try to control the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest.
As soon as the shoot was wrapped, Lando grabbed his things and speed walked out of the studio towards the parking lot after saying a quick, clipped, “thank you,” to the staff. He didn’t bother to wait up for Oscar, obviously, given that he was the entire goddamn problem and if he had to interact with him again one on one right then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his cool. But upon reaching his car, he heard a shout of his name, and, fuck.
“See you later, yeah?” Oscar called to him from a bit behind, swinging his car keys in his hand.
Lando took in a deep, unsteady breath while he looked back, forcing a tight-lipped smile and nodding. “Yup. See ya,” he replied, immediately getting into his car and slamming the door shut unintentionally hard.
No, Lando could absolutely not be patient enough to get off in the privacy of a bathroom or his driver's room, and yes, he absolutely did immediately get himself off in his car.
The next day, Friday, Lando was just excited to get back in the car for FP1. It would be a good distraction to the way he was starting to feel more and more insane about this bullshit. That was, until he arrived at his driver's room to put his bag away. Because hanging on the doorknob to Oscar’s room was the goddamn shirt. The same one that had created this mess to begin with. He stopped in place, his hands clenching into fists where he stood while he stared at it. Oscar was definitely around somewhere, he just didn’t know where. But the stupid thing was right in front of him, and no one was around, and before Lando’s brain could catch up with his body, he was already snatching the shirt up before quickly stepping into his own room.
His adrenaline was pumping like crazy, his heart rate just as fast as if he were in the middle of a race, and the thrill of having it in his hands was enough to overtake any anxiety about the possibility of Oscar somehow finding out.
Lando threw himself down onto his couch, breathing heavily while he stared down at the fabric in his hands. He looked at it for a good few moments before taking the shirt up to his nose, inhaling deeply into the fabric. He couldn’t help but let out a quiet, stifled moan into it while he breathed in the familiar scent of Oscar’s cologne and fabric softener, moving his free hand down to palm at his already achingly hard cock.
He took some more deep breaths into Oscar’s shirt before taking part of it between his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest while he thought back over every time Lando had touched him over the last couple weeks. It was bringing him embarrassingly close to the edge already, not even having properly touched himself yet, but could anyone really blame him?
Burying his head fully into the fabric, Lando unzipped his pants and finally reached under his boxers, wrapping his free hand around himself with another muffled groan. He really didn’t have time to be doing all of this; Fridays were busy enough to begin with, but this was an opportunity he knew he had to make the most of. As he stroked himself, fast and desperate, Lando wished so much that he could get away with coming onto the fabric. He knew he couldn’t, but god he wanted to. He wanted to return the shirt back into Oscar’s room stained with the proof of how badly he wanted him, wanted him to somehow hear him and walk in. Would he even know it was Lando if he never returned it? Would he be upset, or just buy a new one?
After not long at all Lando finally reached climax, biting down hard onto the fabric between his teeth while he worked himself through his orgasm. It felt so much better to do this with the real thing, solid and tangible, instead of just thinking about it or looking at photos. The only thing that would make it even better was if Oscar himself was here, too. Breathing heavily, he finally pulled the shirt away from his face, staring down at it for a few moments before grabbing a tissue to clean himself up. He tucked himself back into his pants and stood up with a small grunt of effort, moving to his sink to wash his hands and splash some water over his face. He really didn’t want to return it so soon, it felt unfair, cruel even, but he didn’t have much of a choice.
Land took a quick peak into the hallway to make sure there was nobody nearby before hanging the shirt haphazardly back onto Oscar’s doorknob like it had been before, then took a deep breath to steady himself before finally walking back towards the lobby for a meeting that he was now definitely a couple minutes late for.
Throughout the entirety of the meeting, Oscar couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Lando from where he sat across the table from him. Every time he looked up, Oscar was already looking at him - and worst of all, he never looked away when Lando caught him staring. Almost like he wanted him to know he was watching him. The constant knowledge that he was being perceived so heavily made Lando squirm in his seat, feeling restless and damn near vulnerable. Especially with the partial guilt of knowing what he had done directly before this.
When things finally wrapped up, Lando stuck his phone into his pocket and grabbed his notebook, intentionally avoiding Oscar’s eyes while people started filing out of the room. But before he could go, too, Oscar walked over, standing much closer than necessary.
Lando swallowed hard while he looked up at him, shifting his weight between his feet while he tried to control the rapid beating of his heart.
“You get the present I left for you?” Oscar asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. His expression was painfully neutral.
Lando felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. Had he left the shirt there intentionally? What was he insinuating? How the fuck did he know? If Lando was misreading this, he’d never be able to recover from the mortification.
“I don’t… Understand,” he replied carefully, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek. “What present?” The words came out pitched just slightly too high, betraying the facade of nonchalance he had been trying so desperately to maintain.
“Come on, I know you saw the shirt. Is that why you were late? Too busy thinking about me?” Oscar asked, a slight smirk now playing on his lips. His voice had dropped, quiet enough that the few remaining people in the room wouldn’t be able to hear him, but Lando still felt like every pair of eyes in the room were on him.
His fingernails bit into the palms of his hands while he clenched his fists, heat immediately creeping up his neck. Oscar fucking knew. He left it there on purpose. What was he supposed to do with that? His eyes flickered over Oscar’s face, trying desperately to figure out what he was thinking, to get any more context than he had now.
“Uh… Yeah, I-” Lando’s voice cracked, and he took a second to clear his throat and take in another deep breath. “I saw it, yeah.”
He paused again, unable to answer Oscar’s last question, but he forced out a quiet, measly, “thank you,” instead.
Oscar grinned, taking a step back and looking down Lando’s body quickly. “Meet me in my driver's room in twenty, yeah?” He replied before walking off like nothing had even happened, and Lando nearly passed out then and there.
Waiting for twenty minutes to pass felt like an eternity, and he all but counted down the seconds until he finally knocked on Oscar’s door. The shirt wasn’t on the doorknob anymore, and his mind raced at the implications of that.
Oscar opened the door immediately, stepping to the side with a smile to let Lando in.
After hesitating for just a second at the entryway, Lando walked inside, trying to force some kind of greeting but unable to find the words. He watched as Oscar turned the lock on the door, the silence heavy between them, and Lando swore he’d be able to hear how hard his heart was beating. But before he could form another thought, Oscar was shoving him against the wall by his shoulders, holding him there firmly. Lando gasped, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides, and he considered for a moment if this was all some extremely vivid wet dream.
Their faces were so damn close, and Oscar was looking him over as if he could eat him alive then and there.
“Tell me what you did with the shirt,” he asked, his voice quiet and controlled.
Lando stared at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open while he attempted to get the words out. This was all mortifying in the best way - the dread of being found out mixed with the excitement that Oscar was actually doing something about it. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of this.
“I- Fuck, I touched myself,” he finally replied, the words slightly broken. “Smelled it. Thought about you,” he added quieter, his chest rising and falling quickly as he breathed.
Oscar hummed softly, moving one of his hands down to Lando’s hip and squeezing it. “And you gave it back after? How considerate.”
Lando inhaled sharply as Oscar finally let go, turning around and walking over to his chair only to pick up the damn shirt before he returned to where Lando was still frozen in place.
“You’re pretty obvious, y’know. You think I haven't been able to tell what’s going through your head? Think I haven’t noticed how you look at me, the way you freeze up before sneaking off?” Oscar added, pulling his own shirt off before replacing it with the maroon one.
Lando stifled a quiet noise, his fingers twitching at his sides with the urge to reach out and touch him. He let his eyes linger on Oscar’s chest, his biceps, anywhere and everywhere. He still couldn’t find the words to respond, too shell shocked at the knowledge that he had been aware. That the game he thought he had been playing with himself, Oscar had been playing too. And Oscar had definitely been winning.
But before he could form another thought, Oscar stepped closer again, one hand moving to grip Lando’s waist while the other slipped just barely beneath his waistband. He gasped at the contact, his hips instinctively twitching forward while his hands flew out to grab Oscar’s forearms. In fairness, he had been hard basically from the time Oscar initially confronted him in the conference room - but he hadn’t dared do anything about it due to the all-encompassing hope that Oscar would touch him instead.
“Please,” he breathed, his grip tightening on Oscar’s arms. “Fuck, Osc, please.”
Oscar watched him intently, taking in every movement, every reaction, every plea for relief. He decided to show some mercy, undoing Lando’s jeans before moving his hand down farther to palm him - just barely - over his boxers.
“Dunno, Lan. Should I touch you, or should I make you touch yourself like you've been doing this whole time without telling me? Not very nice, is it?” Oscar replied, chuckling quietly while he pulled his hand away.
Lando whined immediately at the loss of contact, looking at Oscar like he had just told him the world was ending. Because that wasn’t fair in the slightest.
“You can’t just- Fuck, please touch me, please, ‘s not fair,” he complained, desperate for any kind of friction.
But Oscar simply tutted before moving away again, this time sitting down on his damn chair, leaving Lando glued to the wall while he stared over at him with wide eyes.
“Go on, then. Show me what I was missing out on when you kept sneaking off,” Oscar replied, undoing his own jeans while he sprawled out on the chair. He then took the maroon shirt back off, tossing it carelessly over towards Lando (who just barely managed to catch it).
Lando continued staring over at him, his mouth agape and his face flushed, before looking down at the shirt in his hands. As desperate as he was for Oscar to touch him, the thought of being watched like this was making his head spin, and he wanted nothing more than to feel some kind of relief. So he clutched the fabric tightly in one hand, moving the other down to push his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock. He gasped quietly at the feeling of the cool air hitting his skin, then finally began stroking himself while his eyes dragged over Oscar’s body.
The sight of him was nothing short of obscene, bare chested, sprawled out against the chair while he watched Lando’s every movement, palming himself where he was tenting the fabric of his boxers. Lando didn’t try to stifle the moans that left his mouth while he stroked himself slightly faster, bringing the shirt up to his nose to breathe in the scent of Oscar like he had earlier. If he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, maybe he could trick his brain into thinking that it was Oscar touching him, instead. But, closing his eyes and ignoring the view just a couple meters away sounded like torture, so he refrained.
“There you go,” Oscar murmured, low and breathy, his eyes flickering between Lando’s face and where he was touching himself. “You want it that bad, huh? That desperate for me?”
It was frankly embarrassing how close Lando was already, and Oscar’s words were only egging him on. His grip around himself tightened while his breath stuttered in his throat, the knuckles of the hand holding the shirt going white from the death grip he had on it.
“Fuc, Osc, I’m- Close,” he choked out, his legs feeling weak where he was still leaning against the wall.
Oscar hummed in acknowledgement, pulling his own cock out from his boxers so he could stroke himself properly, too. “You wanna come on the shirt? Bet you wanted to do that earlier, yeah?”
Lando made a strangled noise, because, yeah, that was exactly what he wanted to do. He immediately brought the shirt down near his cock, his body tensing like a live wire before he finally came, white streaks contrasting over the dark red of the fabric. He panted while he worked himself through it, his eyes never leaving Oscar.
“C’mere,” Oscar said simply, his voice coming out rougher than it had before. “On your knees.”
Lando felt dazed, his brain still struggling to catch up to what was going on, but he didn’t hesitate to do as he was told. Because getting to touch Oscar was all he could ever want right then. He forced his body to finally move, walking unsteadily over to Oscar before dropping to his knees in front of him, still holding the shirt in one hand.
Oscar ran his free hand through Lando’s hair while he continued stroking himself, but let go after a moment.
“Good job,” he breathed, taking the shirt from Lando and draping it over his thigh. “Come on, show me how good that pretty mouth of yours is.”
Lando exhaled sharply, looking up at him with slightly wide, dazed eyes before doing exactly that. He scooted slightly closer, bracing his hands onto Oscar’s thighs before licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. After finally taking him into his mouth he couldn’t help but moan softly around him, the hot, heavy weight of his cock against his tongue sending his mind reeling. He wanted to stay here forever, all his other obligations suddenly felt completely unimportant.
Oscar groaned softly, his grip in Lando’s hair tightening while he looked down at him. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that,” he murmured, chewing hard on his bottom lip while Lando took him deeper, hollowing out his cheeks while he began bobbing his mouth up and down on his length.
The affirmations he received from Oscar only served to further encourage him, speeding up his movements just slightly while he looked up at him through his lashes. A muffled noise left him involuntarily as Oscar began gently guiding his head, and fuck, he loved that. His grip tightened where he held his thighs, but he stopped moving his mouth on him to silently communicate that Oscar could do what he wanted with him.
Oscar immediately obliged, murmuring a quiet, “Christ,” through ragged breaths while he began fucking into Lando’s mouth. The wet sounds echoing through the room were nothing short of obscene, and Lando could tell he was getting close with the way Oscar’s hips stuttered, his rhythm becoming uneven and near desperate.
After just another few moments Oscar let out a ragged moan as he finally came into Lando’s mouth, his grip tightening on his hair while he held him in place. Lando, taking short, uneven breaths through his nose looked up at him like he had hung the damn moon, tears welling in his eyes from the exertion before Oscar finally let go and he pulled off.
Lando swallowed gratefully after gasping for air, resting his cheek onto Oscar’s thigh while he closed his eyes for a moment.
“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice broken and hoarse. “That was so good.”
Oscar, finally coming down his high, ran his hand gently through Lando’s hair while he looked down at him slightly awe-struck.
“Jesus, you’re incredible,” was all Oscar could manage at first, still breathing heavily. But, after another moment, he spoke up again. “You can keep that shirt, by the way.”
Lando had already been planning on it.