Work Text:
Night
Special
It all started like it always did. I mean, what’s so special about shooting yet another piece of PR nonsense for McLaren? Nothing at all – just a typical video. A stupid one, honestly. At least, that’s what Oscar thought. But hey, it was part of the job; he knew what he was signing up for.
And so, there he was, sitting across from his teammate with a lie detector on the table between them. Oscar didn't actually believe the thing could read anything. Whatever. Everything went according to plan, and he was up first. Hand on the sensor, and Lando started throwing questions at him. Half of them were purely for the content – because why else would they even be there?
Most of the questions were completely standard, some even made Oscar laugh. But then came the last, damned question:
— Am I the best teammate you've ever had?
Oscar managed to joke his way out of it, saying Lando was his only teammate in Formula 1. But Lando wasn't letting him off that easily:
— So in any of your racing?
And Piastri gave a simple, ambiguous answer: "Sure." They both had a good laugh. The shoot carried on: questions for Lando, some more laughs, and a goodbye at the end. Everything turned out great.
Except later, back in his hotel room, lying on the crisp white sheets, Oscar got stuck in his own head. He kept thinking about Lando’s question. Yeah, he was damn right. Lando was Oscar’s best teammate ever. In F1. His first and only. Someone who felt truly close.
But then Oscar started overthinking the fact that he wasn't Lando’s only teammate. Lando had had two others before him.
Carlos and Daniel.
And though he’d never admit it out loud, Oscar wanted to be special to Lando. Lie as he might, he couldn't deny it. It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind.
Oscar had spent plenty of time comparing his own bond with Lando to the ones the older driver had with his previous partners. He ruled Daniel out right away – there was nothing more than pure friendship there. Sure, Lando was attached to Ricciardo, but it wasn't that.
Carlos was a different story. His first teammate. Damn it, Oscar would be lying if he said he’d never stayed up late scrolling through Twitter, reading comparisons between Carlando and Landoscar. But it comforted him to know that right now, Lando was closer to him anyway. No matter what.
No, Piastri wasn't jealous. He just kept telling himself that yeah, Lando was his. He liked knowing they had something the spaniard never had and never would. But Oscar needed proof.
A nasty little voice inside kept whispering, "Go on, just ask him." Driven by that voice, Oscar decided to take the risk.
He didn't text. It was 2:30 in the morning – normal people were asleep.
"The only abnormal one here is you, Piastri."
If he texted, Lando wouldn't read it immediately like he usually did. And Oscar, terrified of the response, would just delete the message twenty minutes later, losing his chance forever.
So he called him. Calling someone at 2:30 AM was the absolute worst decision. The line rang, but Lando didn't pick up.
— Obviously, you idiot. — Oscar thought. — He’s asleep.
Just as he was about to hang up, there was a rustle on the other end, followed by Lando’s quiet, raspy, sleepy voice:
— Hello? Yeah, Osc… did something happen? Why are you calling so late?
A fresh wave of thoughts hit Oscar: Had either of those guys ever called Lando this late? Did he pick up for them? Or was Oscar actually special?
Screw it – it was now or never.
— Lando, am I special to you? — Oscar asked, trying to sound completely confident.
— Huh? What? — Lando mumbled, thoroughly confused and half-asleep.
— I know I’m not your first teammate and I never will be, but I want to be special to you, Lando Norris. — Saying it felt like a massive weight off his chest. Only for a new one to take its place immediately.
Lando-damn-Norris was silent on the other end. Then he hung up.
— Fuck.
Now what?
"Damn it, you just ruined things for the whole team, Oscar. What is Lando gonna do? Come over to demand answers? What’s he gonna say to me? Is he gonna hit me? Or suggest we just forget it and pretend everything’s normal?"
A total frenzy of thoughts exploded in Oscar’s head over those five minutes.
And then – a knock at the door.
Oscar would never admit it, but he felt a sharp pang of fear.
He pulled open the hotel room door. Standing right there was none other than Lando Norris. Half-asleep, a pillow mark pressed into his right cheek, wearing ridiculous beige pajama pants and a team polo.
And while Piastri stood there frozen, Lando took control.
He stepped into the room, slammed the door shut behind him, and shoved Oscar against the wall in one swift motion.
And kissed him.
Lando kissed him hungrily, desperately, trying to deepen the kiss right away.
The only thing Oscar managed to process in that last minute was that Norris was a mind-blowingly good kisser. Weak-in-the-knees good.
Lando pulled back from a stunned Oscar, who looked like a kid lost in a huge supermarket.
— Why are you looking at me so surprised, Osc? Isn't this what you wanted—to be special to me? Well, you got it. Now enjoy it. If you only knew how long I’ve been waiting for this, — Norris rasped out.
And pulled his teammate back into another kiss.