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It was stupid.
It was far from the first time Oscar had had a clogged duct, but it was probably the one that had lasted the longest.
Leaving Logan was always hard, but with the stress of the championship hanging over his head, it only made him want to cling to Logan more. Every time he was back in Monaco with Logan or Logan made it out to a race behind the scenes, Oscar was practically plastered to the other omega. Mark had had to fuck him while he was wrapped around Logan more than once.
His body was also responding to his stress and anxiety by making more milk than he normally did — and that was saying something. Logan had been nursing from him fairly frequently — honestly back to what it was like before they'd had Mark and Fernando when they'd been meeting each other's needs as best as they could alone. It wasn't to say that Oscar didn't manage to sneak in his own cheeky feed, but that may have honestly been contributing more to the problem than expected.
Regularly being drained dry by three eager mouths, getting knots, and stress about performing and being enough; perfect recipe for his body to start doing weird shit.
It'd been manageable over the summer break. He'd had all three of his partners to attend to him and he'd been able to have as much of Logan as he could before the American went back home for his new racing opportunity.
He had Mark and Fernando with him, but he wanted Logan; as selfish as that was.
Without the omega draining him (and that lovely feedback look of endorphins only other omegas could provide), Oscar found himself having to pump quite a bit.
He woke up sore and swollen, pumping while he ate breakfast so that he could make it through the work day. It worked mostly… he was still sore and irritable when he pumped in the evening. At least he didn't have to discard it. He had two alphas who were more than happy to indulge.
He didn't have Mark or Fernando nurse directly though. It felt weird without Logan there and with Oscar already agitated it only made things worse. It was just more awkward for him with the alphas. It wasn't like they'd done anything wrong, he just… got a little embarrassed.
Besides, it was a race weekend, and they were all pretty strict on any kind of fooling around. Nursing from him directly tended to get the alphas all hot and bothered.
The pumps worked plenty fine.
By no means did he like them, but they emptied him enough that he wasn't constantly thinking about how full and sore his chest was.
He first noticed it the morning before FP1.
He woke up especially sore and grumpy, but he'd figured he'd just slept wrong. It happened. He'd been spoiled by so much time home.
He followed his normal routine — showering then pumping while he ate his healthy prepacked breakfast. Fernando had bought him a fancy portable and wearable pump once it became evident that he would need to pump more often while traveling.
They had the custom machine in Monaco to take care of him when he was being knotted and particularly swollen, but there was no way that Oscar would be hauling that thing all over the world. That thing was embarrassing.
Previously he'd been using a small manual hand pump. He'd argued that he'd use it as physical training, but Fernando had thrown it away with prejudice when he'd found out. He'd insisted upon replacing it immediately.
In hindsight, the Spanish alpha had been right to do so. Oscar could admit that the wearable pumps were just much better. They weren't comfortable, but Oscar was sensitive enough that no pump really was. They were good at their job though.
That was why he was somewhat surprised when one pump was half empty that morning. Normally he was able to fill both reservoirs in the half hour he had in the morning, so it was quite strange to see that he hadn't. He figured that it was probably his body finally winding down now that Logan's pheromones and milk weren't encouraging his body to do more.
He didn't really gave time to think too much on it. He'd been focused on getting ready to be on track. It was the Friday of a race week. He had a job to do!
It became much more of a concern at the end of the day though. He'd climbed out of the car at the end of FP2 with tits full of milk and a strange awful ache in the one side of his chest more so than the other.
That night, he pumped for longer than usual, trying to empty himself so that he could sleep. He was too sore and qualifying was the next day.
He had a sinking feeling in his gut and he realized that even when pumping for longer than he would have liked, he still got barely anything from the left tit.
He had a clogged duct.
In the past when this had happened, he'd been able to dedicate some time to working the clog from his tit. He'd have the time to take a nice warm shower and massage his tit until he could pump the clot out. He could normally get to it right when he noticed the clog and it would be over before he really felt pain for too long. Sometimes Logan would help out and they'd work through it even faster.
But now Oscar was a Formula 1 driver with way more demands on his time. Now it was a race weekend. Hell, it was the night before qualifying now.
The clot must have formed sometime in the night so he'd be coming up on 20-ish hours. Far from ideal.
Well, he didn't have Logan, but he did have some time before he had to sleep. He took another shower, this time indulging in warmer water and the nicer smelling omega-friendly soaps that the Hilton offered. He took care to massage his own chest — gentle, all too aware of the increasingly sharp pain and pressure. His tit looked visibly swollen, red and flushed from both the massage and the heat from the shower.
When he finally pulled himself out, he cleaned the breast pumps and reattached one to the sore and swollen tit. His nipple complained a lot, but he didn't really have another choice. He needed the clot gone as soon as he could get it. He reattached the second pump when his other nipple began weeping in sympathy.
Damn things were properly trained — just not in his favour.
Pumping even after the hot shower and massage didn't do much unfortunately, and after a glance at the clock, he gave up. He settled into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, his chest was even more tender and painful. It wasn't all that unlike the time he broke his rib. At least he knew that it wouldn't stop him from driving. He'd won a race with that broken rib after all.
Still, it was painful and Oscar would like it to stop, please.
Another hot shower and ginger massage later, Oscar was sat on the hotel bed with his pumps going while he picked at a container of fruit. He didn't really have all that much of an appetite at the moment. His chest felt heavy and swollen. It was. He could see the way the skin over his tits was stretched. Even touching it for the light massage was almost too much and had him misty eyed.
Pumping felt horrible. he had to sue a lower setting than normal because his nipples and the surrounding flush were way too sensitive for anything higher. The suction was strong enough still though that it made him feel like his nipples were being pulled off. Maybe that was a bit because of the clogged duct. It had to be done though. He had no other option but to try and pass the clog.
Gods it hurt though.
Oscar would like to think he had a pretty high pain tolerance — he was an F1 driver who'd gotten his fair share of injuries — but this really did have him fighting tears. He lost the battle to a few sniffles though.
That was how Artturi found him.
"Oscar? Are you ready to go?"
Oscar sniffed, staring down at his chest where the pumps were still going, the reservoirs frustratingly different. The clogged tit had barely released any milk despite the 30 minutes the motor had been going (he was so lucky that these were the expensive kind and had batteries that lasted basically forever) while he'd already had to empty the other one twice. And he was still leaking! Not promising. He was going to have to bring his pumps to the damn track. Great. As if he didn't already have a million things to worry about.
"Just a bit," Oscar replied, looking back up to make eye contact with Artturi as the man had made his way into Oscar' hotel room. The trainer looked concerned as he saw the state of undress Oscar was in. He'd seen Oscar shirtless and in only boxers loads of times before — undress was unfortunately a common part of their working relationship — but he didn't think that Artturi had seen him pumping before. Well, it was bound to happen at some point. "Just gotta clean these." And throw on clothes.
"I'll pack your bag," Artturi said, just going along with it. He was cool like that. Just going with the flow. It was nice not to be questioned consistently like how he was whenever Lando deigned to stick his nose into things. Artturi was a simple man — a beta who had no issues taking a male omega as a client. It was nice.
He cleaned and packed his pumps and backup batteries and then threw on clothing. Normally he would have gone on with team kit, but the fit was too tight for comfort, so he found his largest shirt — he thought he may have stolen it from Mark but he couldn't be sure. Even then, he had to hunch his shoulders so the material didn't touch his chest.
He briefly contemplated putting some kind of bandage on over the nipples, but his skin was too sensitive for the adhesive. It would be hell to take off when he had to pump. There would be no point.
He just had to hope that he wouldn't leak through the shirt and get photographed. That was not what he needed to be dealing with.
Seriously? One tit that wouldn't stop leaking and the other that just wouldn't pass anything.
Because of course that was what would happen to him.
They made it to the track okay, Oscar doing his little closed-lipped smile and waving at fans. But his body really seemed to have it out for him and he was leaking again. He still had shit to do though, and the world was not going to wait for his tits to sort their shit out.
So with great sadness, he ducked into his driver's room and attacked his breast pumps again before needing to the engineering meeting his presence was required at. They could just deal. it was this or have him leaking milk the whole time.
He was one fo the last to arrive — no surprise there — so of course all eyes were on him as he slipped in. he could admit that the pumps weren't exactly subtle. While Oscar did have a fair set of omega tits, they still weren't like… staring anyone in the face. Especially since Oscar didn't really wear tight clothing unless it was the fireproofs and the colour and sponsors hid the swell of his chest well enough.
With the pumps though, his shirt was pulled taught at the chest due to how far they projected. There really was no hiding them. And that was without the soft noises that they made.
He smiled a little awkwardly at the room as he took his seat, trying in vain to not draw attention to himself or the pumps.
Thankfully, the engineers knew how to maintain decorum and didn't comment on it outright. They just started the meeting, working valiantly to ignore the rhythmic suction noises. A few stared though, but Oscar couldn't blame them. It wasn't exactly a normal sight.
Oscar wasn't exactly a standard expected omega. Many people assumed that he was a beta or even a particularly calm alpha. Especially when he was with Logan. It wasn't like Oscar hid his dynamic, but people tended to still be surprised. Oscar thought that he acted normal, but the reception suggested otherwise. Wearing breast pumps like a working mom was pretty undeniably omega though. He was sure that at least a few people got cognitive dissonance from that.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it. He needed to work the clog out of his breast and he didn't have the luxury of other methods to do so. He could only hope that this worked before he had to get in the car again. He was not looking forward to how sore he was going to be from all the pumping after the clog was gone. He didn't want to deal with more pumping and a clogged duct. That sounded hellish.
He did his best to pay attention during the meeting, but there wasn't much he could really contribute so it was just above doing his best to understand all the jargon and what the minor changes did to the car.
The team had accomplished some things during the summer break after all.
Thankfully, no one seemed to expect much from either him or Lando, and Oscar was able to make it through the meeting with most of his dignity intact. It was when the meeting was over that someone confronted him about the pumps. Oscar had thankfully not had to step out to empty the one non clogged side. It would appear he was at least close to the end of his supply there for the time being. It had seemed never ending.
"Hey Oscar, everything okay?" Zak asked, having not gotten up from his seat to leave like the majority of the men in the meeting had.
Oscar offered him a tightlipped smile. "Bit of a clogged duct," he said awkwardly. He was not one to typically share much, but well, Zak had asked and Oscar was tired. His sleep had not been good because of the pain, and so far his morning was not shaping up to be much better. Not much to be done about it.
"I see," Zak said in the way people did when they very much did not see. Oscar wasn't going to explain any more.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Andrea said, ever the one to be both professional and awkward at the same time.
Oscar shrugged minutely as the pump tugged viciously at his sore and irritated nipples. Yeah, wearing fireproofs and sitting in the car later was not going to be a good time.
Maybe he ought to give those sports bras the FIA had cleared a chance. He never had before because one piece of FIA provided underwear was already uncomfortable enough. Besides, Oscar hadn't really thought that he had enough tit to require any kind of bra. He never had before. He knew other grid omegas did, but he just hadn't seen the necessity for himself.
But now he was definitely far into oversupplying, and he was more swollen than normal. Maybe more support and a softer fabric wouldn't be that bad.
(But changing stuff up right before a race was a risk. It could always negatively impact his race results either because it was restrictive or because it felt bad. It could even be just because he wasn't used to it and it threw him off. The pain and swelling was already throwing him off though, so maybe he'd have to genuinely consider it. It was a little short notice…)
Lando was still watching Oscar, his eyes fixed on the lumps that the pumps made underneath his shirt. His eyebrows furrowed.
"Looks like it hurts," he said noncommittally.
Oscar thought that you couldn't really see much, but Lando sometimes had moments of perceptiveness and insightfulness.
"Well, it's certainly not a pleasant one."
He moved to stand up then, not wanting to stay under scrutiny if he didn't have to.
"I better empty these out," he said, gesturing vaguely towards his chest. "Gotta go prepare for practice."
He didn't wait for dismissal — he didn't need to. He tried not to look like he was retreating with his tail between his legs from embarrassment. He was only moderately effective though.
Much to his frustration and disappointment, the additional pumping time really hadn't done much in terms of progress in passing the clog. Instead it just made his tits more sore and inflamed. Oscar honestly really wanted to cry about it. He was just in so much pain and so tired. And he had to go do his job.
Artturi did him the service of not talking about it as they went through their pre car session routine. He just quietly guided Oscar through the stretches and exercises. While Oscar was putting on his fireproofs and race suit, Artturi took his pumps.
"I'll clean these and charge them during the session," he told Oscar.
"Thank you," Oscar replied. "It's okay to just discard the milk. I don't think it's very good quality right now, and I'm sure I'll have made more by the time practice is over."
It was true. His milk was actually tinged pink in both of the pumps. He'd definitely been pumping for longer than was recommended. Omega milk was precious and normally would be kept, but Oscar made a lot. Seriously, a lot. There was already more than enough for both Mark and Fernando this weekend in his hotel room already. This pink (and therefore slightly bloody) milk was unnecessary. It was probably a bit sour from his pain anyways. It was no good. He could only hope that he wasn't too sore after FP3.
He really needed to be able to drive well for qualifying.
Every race mattered in a championship battle.
FP3 went fine.
Zandvoort had never been one of his good tracks, but 2025 seemed to be his redemption season and he'd felt things clicking even with the pain in his chest.
He'd won a race with a broken rib. He could deal with a clogged milk duct.
The adrenaline from being in the air and driving definitely helped. He didn't really feel his body much, focusing on so many other things his body couldn't keep up with everything.
It was only when he made his way back to his driver's room that he really began to feel it.
True to Artturi's words, his pumps were waiting for him on his small table, clean and empty. Nonetheless, the very sight of them though filled him with dread.
He had to practically rip his fireproofs off in his desperation to not have anything touching his chest. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his nipples burned.
The actual flush of both his tits was swollen again. The left side more than the other, although he'd definitely replenished his supply in the right side during the drive. That fact was beyond irritating. He'd really love for it to take a bit longer to fill up, thanks.
He was so sore and tired that even the thought of pumping anymore brought tears to his eyes.
God, he just wanted it to be over already.
He laid down gingerly on the couch he had in his driver's room, sighing as the cool leather touched his sensitive skin.
His chest stung even with the only thing touching his nipples being the open air. He left out a small whine of distress, thinking about how qualifying wasn't even that far away.
Okay, so pumping was out. That didn't leave him with many options. He reached up and began to gingerly feel around the taught skin for the gland. His left breast was almost hard, while his right still had some give.
It hurt to touch, but not as badly as the suction from the pumps had felt. Manual expression it would be.
He laid there for a bit longer while he worked up the courage to sit up again. Eventually, he did and he even managed to snatch a towel that he could dirty. He didn't have the energy to get himself out of the racing suit yet, and he really didn't want to stain it with any more milk than he absolutely had to. Milk was hard to clean and could even leave a nasty residue. Logan swore that he could always smell it even after it'd been thoroughly cleaned. Oscar couldn't exactly say that he was wrong.
His fireproofs were already a bit doomed. No need to completely soak himself in milk when it was hours yet before he could properly get cleaned up.
Zandvoort was not a track where he had access to a shower mid day sadly.
He laid the towel beneath the swell of his chest and made sure to cover the rest of his torso and lap. It wasn't a large towel, but it was absorbent and Oscar knew how to get creative.
He gently massaged and squeezed his best, one breast to each hand. It was a good thing his left hand was weaker, because he had to be extra careful with the clogged tit. A fraction too much pressure and his vision actually blacked out. Fuck.
Milk spilled from his non clogged tit, the gentle ministrations making the still slightly pink liquid dribble down onto the towel rather than spray out all over the floor.
His clogged tit produced nothing.
He whined and whimpered to himself as he kept trying. He felt pretty pathetic about it, but sue him; he could be pathetic about it if he wanted to. He was alone and in pain, and an omega. He was steadily getting stickier with milk and already sticky with sweat. He was objectively miserable.
He didn't know how much time he spent working over his own tits before he heard a soft knock on the door, but he really wasn't making any progress. He pulled his hands down from his chest, wiping his fingers off on the edge of the now wet towel. He didn't bother putting on a shirt. There was no point and honestly, he really couldn't be arsed to care about modesty at this point of the weekend.
"Come in."
It wasn't Artturi or Lando, or anyone else from McLaren that opened the door. Instead, it was a semi sheepish looking Mark who ducked in. He offered Oscar a smile as he closed the door behind him, but his face dropped once he saw the stat Oscar was in.
"Oh pup," he said, his face twisting up with obvious worry. "That looks painful."
Oscar looked down, taking a minute to actually look at the state of his chest. The flush looked angry and red, making the drips and stains of milk stand out all the more. Only his left side was tinged pink at the moment thankfully. The white towel beneath his pecs really made his skin's soreness all the more apparent. His nipples were both fat and puffy, suction bruises evident around the areola. He winced — those would only darken up more. He really had overdone it with the pump.
Fernando would not be pleased.
"Clogged duct," Oscar replied, a beat too late to be natural, betraying his weariness. "It's been days and pumping has clearly not helped."
Honestly, with Mark — one of his alphas (the one that was more his) — were seeing him like this, he couldn't really hold back the tears anymore.
It was just so horrible. His chest hurt so much and he was so tired. It was hard.
His eyes welled up with tears and his vision blurred. He even felt his lip begin to tremble slightly. His alpha was here and he didn't want to handle this by himself anymore.
"Oh, pup," Mark cooed, moving towards Oscar with zero hesitation. He sat next to Oscar, ignoring the existence of both the milk sodden towel and Oscar's sweaty race suit. He just pulled him into a hug, partially on his lap. Oscar practically collapsed into the hold, more than eager for some comfort. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Oscar let out a big sigh, leaning more forcefully into Mark's chest. "It hurts," he said — well, more like whined if he was going to be honest. "It's so hard to deal with in the car and nothing I have tried was done anything. I even wore the pumps during an engineering meeting."
"You probably won't be able to pump anymore until those bruises heal," Mark told him, his voice gentle but delivering bad news all the same.
Oscar whined, upset. "But I'm still over producing."
"I'm sure Logan won't mind traveling to attend Monza," Mark told him.
"But his tests—"
"Then Fernando or I will take care of you."
Oscar's mouth shut with a click. "Oh."
Mark laughed softly. "That is the point of having alphas, pup," he pointed out, gently reaching up to brush a stray strand of Oscar's hair off of his face. He tucked it behind Oscar's ear. Normally, the omega would find that super endearing, but he was just so upset and desperate for relief.
"Can you help now?"
"Help how, pup?" Mark coaxed, clearly wanting him to say it.
Oscar bit his lip. He squirmed a bit in Mark's hold. "Can you… use your mouth?"
Oscar had tried everything short of having another person work the clog out. He'd done the warm shower, massaging, pumping, manually expressing — all that was left was someone pulling it from him with their mouth. It was much gentler than pumping and came with the bonus of hormones and pheromones to ease the process.
Especially if it was an alpha who was feeding from him.
Mark smiled down at him. "Of course."
He rearranged Oscar — the omega not providing much help, but that didn't bother the alpha. He laid Oscar back so that he was comfortable laid down, legs resting on the rest of the couch. Then Mark climbed over him and enveloped him.
He was skinnier than Oscar, but he still had an inch or two on him in height. It was enough for Oscar to feel protected and hidden which — as much as he loathed to admit it — soothed his inner omega. He felt himself melting a bit more into the couch.
Mark moved so that he was at chest level, leaving the towel across Oscar's torso. He was careful with his weight too, making sure that while he didn't crush Oscar, he still offered him some compression.
Without asking any additional permission, Mark latched onto Oscar's clogged tit.
At first, all he felt was pain; sharp and unignorable. But that faded quickly as Mark let out relaxing and soothing alpha pheromones. Then he was able to focus on how good Mark's mouth felt.
It was hot and wet, and it enveloped his tit with ease. Mark was careful, making sure that there wasn't even a hint of teeth — not like there would be with Fernando. He was gentle and soft with Oscar, aware that he was hurting.
(He was Oscar's manager, he wanted Oscar to be a world champion maybe more than Oscar did. That was why he could trust him to be his alpha even when he acted more like a traditional alpha. He wanted to take care of him, but he wouldn't let that drive stop Oscar from getting what Oscar wanted.)
(Mark just wanted him to be healthy while he got what he wanted. Oscar could hardly hold that against him.)
Mark's mouth gently began to suck at his tit, the warm pressure just on the good side of uncomfortable. The pheromones went a long way towards Oscar being relaxed and limp. It encouraged the production of endorphins too, so Oscar was beginning to feel al little fuzzy in the head.
Mark made a satisfied rumble as he felt Oscar ease into it, pulling just a bit harder with his mouth. he laved his tongue over the nipple, trying to soothe even as he worked the stubborn cloth from Oscar's nipple.
Oscar wasn't really aware of time passing. It didn't really seem important. Mark was there and he would take care of everything. All Oscar had to do was lay there and be a good omega.
He felt it as the clot began to pass. It was strange — painful, yes, but mostly strange. He'd passed clots before (even with the help of Logan's mouth) but it hadn't really felt like this. It felt like Mark was like… coaxing it out of him? Pulling it out in one large clump somehow.
He blinked dazedly, his vision somewhat blurry. He glanced down at Mark, ignoring the somewhat awkward angle that it put his neck into.
Mark looked like he was having a great time. He always looked blissed out whenever he had one of Oscar's or Logan's tits in his mouth. It was an alpha thing — or so Oscar thought. Maybe Mark just had a mouth thing. He sunk into Oscar's chest with vigor, not looking grossed out at all despite sucking an objectively gross thing from his nipple.
When Mark pulled away after a small eternity, his mouth still looked full. He glanced up at Oscar, maintaining eye contact as he opened his mouth.
Oscar's eyes widened a bit. The clot was undeniably huge. It had congealed into a strange blob sat on Mark's tongue. It was a yellowish cream colour, somehow devoid of blood despite it all. It rolled off of Mark's tongue with a gross 'plap' sound. It landed on the towel still covering Oscar's torso. It had to be at least an inch or two wide.
No wonder it'd hurt so much.
His chest ached something fierce, but there was relief too. His left nipple was actually freely dripping milk now.
Mark glanced down at his wrist, still crouched above Oscar. "Sorry pup, you'll have to worry about getting the rest of the milk out after qualifying. Just about enough time to get cleaned up."
Oscar groaned, pulling himself up a bit on his forearms. "It's fine," he grunted. "I'll just deal for another few hours." He watched as Mark heaved himself up and off of him. He did his best to resist pouting. That was unbecoming of him. "You'll help me after though?"
Mark smiled gently at him, taking the towel and milk clot off of him so Oscar could get up. "Of course. You know I'll never pass up a a chance."
Oscar snorted weakly, but did reluctantly rise to get ready for qualifying.
Of course Mark would never pass up the chance. Oscar usually dedicated himself to Logan and the alphas had to deal with pumped milk. This was absolutely an indulgence for the older man.
"Good," he said simply, stretching. His chest still hurt, but there was relief too. It would be much easier to deal with in the car.
"I'll see you after qualifying."
"I'll get pole for you."