just keep watching

by girlafraid_x

Summary:

Given how much time Oscar Piastri spends beneath an incredibly popular club, one would be surprised to find out how much he hated them.

He didn’t like the lights, the music you couldn’t really decipher that was loud enough to deafen the elderly or young babies (house music was different, Logan disagreed but Oscar was right), the stench of sweat, alcohol, weed, cigarettes, vapes… he could probably go on.

Moral of the story, he didn’t like clubs very much.

That was, until he saw Lando dancing on stage, of course. He moved his body to the music with such grace and fluidity Oscar could only dream to have.

It was captivating.

Chapter 1: goes like this, start with the track

Summary:

Lando and Oscar meet x

Notes:

AHHH this is my first fic that i've posted on here! i hope you enjoy xxx

Breathe in.

 

Hold.

 

Breathe out.

 

Oscar shut his eyes. 

 

He felt the wind brushing his hair across his forehead, rustling the leaves on the trees behind him. He was up on a hill, about ten meters from the house.

 

He could smell the dirt, the grass, and that crispness the air always had in late December. There was the faint tang of chlorine from a pool, and the slow bubbling of a hot tub left on without a care for electricity bills.

 

He listened to the crickets, the odd wing flap of a bat, the hoot of an owl.

 

Breathe in. 

 

Hold. 

 

Breathe out. 

 

When he opened his eyes again, his heartbeat had calmed, his hands were as steady as a marble statue, and there was zero remorse to be found anywhere in his body, anywhere in a ten foot radius of himself.

 

He lifted his rifle up so the recoil pad was securely between his bicep and his pec. He clicked the safety off and looked through the scope.

 

He watched through floor to ceiling windows as his mark paced back and forth in her kitchen. Some too rich political arse who was getting too comfy with another Mafia. Stella told him to take her out. He only usually got marks from the Italian, never really from Zak. Zak was more about keeping the front to their business - their club, Papaya - lively, busy, and unassuming.

 

When his mark stopped pacing after angrily hanging up, she was perfectly in line with her back to the window, and Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly in delight. This was going to be ridiculously quick and easy. Oscar’s finger hovered over the trigger. He double checked his aim by closing his left eye and staring down the scope with his right.

 

He hesitated merely a millisecond, just enough to breathe in in anticipation of the recoil, before pulling the trigger.

 

He watched the bullet pierce the glass, it immediately shattered around the deadly metal, only a small hole with hairline fractures exploding out from it like lightning.

 

Oscar watched his mark collapse, phone clattering from her hand. He felt the wave of grim satisfaction at a job cleanly executed, perfectly done. He would even go so far as to describe it as clinical. He let himself revel in it for a few moments, sue him - he did this as a job, he couldn’t not enjoy it a little bit. He watched the blood pool around her head, marvelling at how disgusting it would feel in her hair, but then again, she was dead so she wouldn’t care. 

 

After a few more moments, he began dismantling his rifle. He let his mind drift to the money. He’d had his first half - ten-k - and would get the rest later. All he had to do was take a picture and send it to Stella.

 

He lifted his camera, some piece of too expensive technology Oscar would never understand besides the basic ‘look through the lens, focus, take the picture’ spiel he’d had to teach himself.

 

He sighed as if he’d just worked for ten hours straight without a break and took the picture. He lowered the camera to briefly admire his photography, pursing his lips and furrowing his eyebrows. He’d done worse, but he could do better. He lifted the camera again, taking another photo. He examined this one, eyes flicking over the image. He hummed in acceptance. It wasn’t that much better than the first one, but oh well.

 

He’d done his job, he’d killed her. 

 

Now, he could go home and collapse in the apartment he shared with his best friend Logan before getting up and having to put the picture on his USB with his fifty (give or take) other victims and giving it back to Stella.

 

Merry fucking Christmas.

⪻────𖤓────⪼

Given how much time Oscar Piastri spends beneath an incredibly popular club, one would be surprised to find out how much he hated them.

 

He didn’t like the lights, the music you couldn’t really decipher that was loud enough to deafen the elderly or young babies (house music was different, Logan disagreed but Oscar was right), the stench of sweat, alcohol, weed, cigarettes, vapes… he could probably go on.

 

Moral of the story, he didn’t like clubs very much.

 

But, if it was for a friend’s birthday - like it was right now - he’d suck it up and endure. Logan Sargeant. It was his flatmate and best friend’s birthday that they were celebrating, which also dubbed as a New Years Eve do because it was his birthday on December thirty-first.

 

If he was being real, clubs weren’t that bad. Oscar was just quite passionate about the things he disliked even the slightest. If that was the case with something? Whoever he was with would know all about it. He found, with his friends anyway, that complaining was the best conversation starter.

 

Since it was Logan’s birthday, and he was in uni he was looking for a cheap night out for him and their friends. Obviously, Oscar suggested the one place he could go for two reasons. One; he’d be able to get them discounted drinks the whole night because, well, because he worked there. And two; he’d be shot on sight if he tried to set foot in any other club in Monaco.

 

Okay, maybe a little brash. They wouldn’t make his death that public. They’d kidnap him, maybe torture him a little to try and get some information out of him, maybe hold him for ransom for a while, then they’d kill him. Or he’d get poisoned by the bartender. 

 

Dramatic? Yeah. That’s Mafias for you.

 

As they approached the club - a group of a few of Logan’s uni friends that Oscar had also befriended by-proxy, Logan, and Oscar - he nodded to the bouncer, skipping the queue, getting VIP wristbands and heading straight inside.

 

“Jesus, mate, how’d you convince your boss for discounted drinks and VIP on New Year’s?” Logan asked, bewildered as they beelined for the bar. Oscar just grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the bartop.

 

“I am a favourite employee.” He said vaguely. That didn’t even begin to cover Stella’s favouritism for him, something Oscar graciously ignored. “Great at washing cups and selling drinks.” He joked. They never put him front of house. When he wasn’t out assassinating annoyingly nosy, stuck up, pretentious politicians, he was working logistics in the basement with Andrea, Zak, and sometimes Max, Mark, Lewis, Fernando, or Jenson. Him and Max were the only ones of that group that didn’t have the side-hustle as a bartender or security guard because they were out in the field the most often. 

 

“Well, we thank you.” Fred said, clapping Oscar on the shoulder with a bright grin.

 

“It’s no problem.” Oscar shrugged nonchalantly. He turned to the group. “This round’s on me so, what do you guys want?” He asked, looking between his friends and the bartender who’d sidled up in front of him.

 

Everyone told Isack their orders, the young Frenchman nodding. He worked with Oscar, but he was a rookie so he had to still work his way up the ranks and one way he was doing that was by bartending with Alex. 

 

“And for you, Oscar?” He asked, looking up from his notepad. 

 

Oscar hummed, scanning the racks behind the bar. “I’ll have an Australian whiskey, please Isack.” He smiled, getting a wide, cheeky grin in response. 

 

“Right away.” He said, winking. Oscar rolled his eyes with an amused smile. 

 

As he did so, his eyes caught on the dancer that was currently on stage and his breath caught in his throat. He turned almost his whole body towards the back of the club. 

 

This man was gorgeous. 

 

His tan skin glistened under the club lights, maybe with some glitter, Oscar couldn’t tell from this far away. He had a mop of dark brown curls cut into some kind of mullet that was almost as long at the sides as it was at the back. 

 

His back muscles moved gracefully under his skin, showcasing his strength while he still remained lithe. When he turned it was like all the oxygen had been forcefully removed from his lungs. 

 

His chest definitely had glitter on it, nobody was naturally that shiny. His torso was like it was sculpted by an ancient Greek artist. Oscar followed the contours of the dancer’s muscles down to a tapered waist with shorts that were lethally small and incredibly low waisted. 

 

They sat on his hipbones. 

 

This man had more trust in those things than Oscar had in his rifle. And that was a lot of trust, the thing was like an extra arm. 

 

He moved his body to the music with such grace and fluidity Oscar could only dream to have. 

 

It took Oscar probably way too long to notice there was another dancer on stage, he only noticed when the taller brunet came up to the first guy and placed his hands on his hips. Oscar felt this weird… irrational jealousy flare up in his lower stomach that he knew was completely unreasonable as he watched the second dancer press his chest to Oscar’s dancer’s back. His hands were resting on his hips and Oscar had to dig his nails into his palms to get a grip on reality again. 

 

Isack loudly placed Oscar’s whiskey on the bar top, making him jump. The Parisian chuckled before following his line of sight. 

 

“Ahh, Charles and Lando.” He sighed, almost wistfully. “They are one of the most popular pairs.” He told Oscar. “Charles and Pierre are also very popular, Lando and Daniel were too before Daniel disappeared.”

 

Oscar’s brows pinched slightly but he brushed it off. Andrea and Zak didn’t look into it, so it must’ve been something completely out of their control. “Which one is Lando?” He asked instead. 

 

“Lando? Ah, the, uh, the littler one.” Isack said as they watched him grind on Charles. 

 

Charles. A stripper. Who worked in a club. “Is Charles Monégasque?” Oscar queried, brows furrowed as he pieced things together. 

 

“Uh, yes? I think so.” Isack chuckled, drying a glass he’d got from somewhere. 

 

“Huh.” Oscar hummed. “Cheers, mate." He suddenly remembered another thing. Shouldn't Yuki be working tonight? "Hey, Isack." He called the young bartender back. "You seen Yuki?"

 

"Yeah. He went to the restroom. With Pierre." The Parisian deadpanned, one eyebrow raised as he grimaced.

 

Oscar just laughed. "Thanks again, mate, good luck. See you later.” He lifted his glass to him and Alex who nodded at him, Isack offering him a slightly confused, but completely friendly smile as Oscar walked off towards his group who’d been nervously shifting towards the VIP entrance. Anyway, Oscar had made an educated guess and he believed (seventy-six per cent knew for sure) that the Charles on stage was Charles Leclerc, none other than Max Verstappen’s boyfriend. 

 

“Oscar!” And Arthur Leclerc’s brother.  “Why did you suggest this club? This is the one my brother works!” He whined when he saw Oscar, their friends laughing at his disdain. His theory was correct. Same Charles. 

 

“Just don’t watch.” He shrugged cheekily. 

 

“Ha, you are very funny, Oscar.” Arthur deadpanned, his face pinched in annoyance. Oscar just clapped a hand on his shoulder, chancing a glance back at the stage. Now closer, he saw Lando and Charles dancing basically nip-to-nip, somehow rolling their bodies from their chests to their hips in time with each other and the music. Their hands were wandering over the other’s body with familiarity, and practiced-to-perfection ease. 

 

Oscar shook his head. “Sorry you’re looking at your brother in what is basically just boxers and glitter.” He apologised, not sounding even remotely sorry and instead like he was finding this very hilarious. Which he was. 

 

“They are leather, Oscar, that is worse. I should not know what my brother’s ass looks like in leather.” Arthur grumbled, making Oscar laugh again. 

 

Once they’d had a few drinks, they went back out into the main bit of the club. 

 

They headed for the dance floor, much to Oscar’s dismay, and assumed the role of loud uni kids from different countries. Oscar stayed to the edge of their mass of young adults, nodding his head. 

 

A couple songs in and they’d slowly been pushed closer to one of the smaller stages. There were three in total, the big main one where Charles and Lando had been around an hour earlier, then two smaller stages with enough space for one person to dance comfortably on that were equidistant from the main stage. 

 

As the song changed, so did the lights, only slightly. Only enough to be visible to anyone still sober enough to pay attention to something so mundane as how lighting changed. 

 

Like Oscar. 

 

There were now subtle spotlights on the stages and, because Oscar is the luckiest guy in the world (not sarcastic), Lando walks - no, struts onto the stage closest to them like he’s walking onto a podium to claim first place. 

 

His aura somehow fills the space but isn’t suffocating. He… he takes up space but leaves enough for everyone else. Like he’s comfortable enough with his self worth and knows he doesn’t need anyone else to tell him how gorgeous he is because he knows he is. Now, Lando could be the most insecure person in the world in reality, Oscar is likely to never know. But he lets himself indulge anyway.

 

His mouth is wide open, he knows it is, but he just can’t bring himself to care. Not when Lando locks eyes with him, half-lidded and sparkling with a seductive cheekiness that is more addictive than any drug. 

 

He knows he looks stupid, gawking at this gorgeous, godly man, but he just doesn’t care because Lando is looking at him. His eyes found Oscar’s in a club where there are so many other people, more interesting people, but no. Lando’s looking at him. 

 

He sees the dancer’s smirk widen slightly into something more akin to a smile at Oscar’s blatant ogling, and that just does it for him and Oscar’s brain short-circuits and all he can think about is tanned, glitter covered skin. 

 

He can’t feel the pulse of the too-loud music, can’t smell the sweat, and the booze, and the vapes, can’t feel the too many bodies bumping into him as he’s stopped trying to move with the music so he can properly watch Lando. 

 

Christ, the man was breathtaking. Oscar was captivated. That was the only way to describe this… fixation. Infatuation, maybe. 

 

When Lando looked away, he turned his head first, keeping his eyes locked with Oscar’s who felt a stupid flutter in his stomach. Traitorous butterflies. His heart supplied his brain with ‘he didn’t want to break eye contact’, and his brain went to smack his heart with ‘it could be a marketing strategy, he has to flirt with people to get paid’.

 

Oscar was momentarily terrified by the fact he wouldn’t mind paying Lando to flirt with him. 

 

“Oscar, bro!” Came Logan’s obnoxious, yet comforting, American drawl, paired with a boisterous alcohol-fuelled cackle. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed!” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, point and laugh.” Oscar muttered, rolling his eyes because Logan was actually pointing and laughing. 

 

“Oscar!” Fred cackled. “You think he’s pretty! You like him!”

 

Like? Lando didn’t deserve such a weak word. He deserved someone who didn’t just like him, he deserved someone who was completely and utterly devoted to him.

 

“Shut up!” Oscar said instead, burying his face in his hands as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He chanced a glance up towards Lando and immediately regretted it because the man was squatted down in a crouch with his knees further apart than should be humanly possible. He had his head thrown back, exposing the delicate line of his throat.  Oscar had the briefest, most vivid picture of Lando lying beneath him, back arched, head thrown back, neck on display just like it was right now, and he was licking a line from Lando’s navel to lips. 

 

Oscar groaned at his own weakness. And his dirty mind. 

 

Christ, this was the man’s job and he was lusting after him like some horny teenager or a creepy old man. 

 

He mentally shook himself, told his heart to get a fucking grip! then tuned back into his surroundings. 

 

Before he knew it though, his friends were bumbling off the dance floor and back towards the bar. Oscar, obviously, followed. Albeit incredibly reluctantly. 

 

He looked back at Lando again only to lock eyes with him again. Oscar glanced at his friends and then looked at Lando once more. Oscar felt his lips part in a silent, desperate explanation, trying to get him to understand that he didn’t want to stop watching. 

 

He watched the dancer’s eyes dip slightly, his glossy, parted lips tugging up a little at the corners and Oscar knew he was seen. The expression sat on Lando’s face appeared almost teasing, like he was trying not to giggle at Oscar’s dilemma. 

 

Before he could though, Oscar felt a tug on his shirt sleeve. Logan was hauling him out of the crowd and over to the bar where their friends were being served by Alex. 

 

“Hey, mate.” He greeted the way too tall man. 

 

“Oscar! Never thought I’d see you in here out of hours.” Alex laughed. 

 

“Well, Albono, I happen to like my friends enough to put up with this place more than I have to.” Oscar chuckled, smiling a softly exasperated look at Logan. 

 

“Take that as high praise, mate, you must be special.” Alex raised his brows, scoffing. “He hates being anywhere but in the back. Any and every chance he gets he’s doing stock.”

 

“Okay,” Oscar laughed breathily. “Stop exposing me.” He rolled his eyes. 

 

“Well. Drinks?” Arthur suggested with raised eyebrows, his signature Leclerc grin on his lips. 

 

“Of course, what can I get you guys?” Alexander asked, palms on the bar top with a tea towel slung over his shoulder. 

 

“Oscar wants that dancer!” Fred slurred, draping himself over Oscar’s shoulders and pointing over his shoulder at Lando. Oscar went bright red as Alex cackled. 

 

“Lando?” He asked incredulously and Oscar bristled. 

 

“You know what, yeah. And what about it?”

 

“Andrea will kill you.” Alex told him bluntly. To other ears, it would seem like a joke. Just something that was exaggerated. To Oscar? It was likely the truth.

 

“What? He’s got a thing against staff getting together?” Oscar asked huffily, pouting. What he really meant was ‘he’s got a thing against his real work and his cover story mixing?’ and ‘you can’t say a thing.’

 

“Yeah.” Alex nodded, brows raised and eyes wide. 

 

“Oh. So…”

 

“No.”

 

‘So’ being neither Zak nor Andrea knowing about Alex and George or Max and Charles. Oscar already knew Mark and Fernando kept it secret, the two assassins had been together long before Mark retired after training Oscar. Fernando was still going strong. 

 

“Well, shit, man.” Oscar mumbled, Alex huffing another ‘yeah’. “On that happy note, cheers for these.” He nodded towards the drinks in his friends’ hands, smiling and waving as they walked to a table (regrettably not in the VIP area). Alex waved back, though his eyes held a clear warning that Oscar was going to completely ignore. Ignorantly, blissfully, and happily.

 

They sat down, all boisterous testosterone and booze. They complained about not being able to go home for Christmas because of work commitments, and then they checked the time to see it was nearly midnight and they had another forty minutes. They were halfway into the tennis talk that Oscar had zoned out of, something about Alcaraz and a Sinner? Well, whatever it was, he started paying less attention when he saw Lando walking around towards him. He’d thrown on a hoodie that… looked like Max’s but his legs were still bare which suggested it was thrown on in great haste. Maybe Lando just has the same hoodie, or he stole it from Charles who stole it from Max. Lando’s eyes met Oscar’s for the umpteenth time that night and it’s like he suddenly had a purpose.

 

His stride speeds up and he looks like he’s on a mission. Oscar feels those devious, dishonourable, disloyal, cheating, sneaky butterflies worm their way back into his lower stomach. 

 

Lando’s within touching distance, okay, well, no, but if they were in public Oscar would be able to say ‘hey,’ at a normal conversational level and be heard. Anyway, Lando was close enough for Oscar to see how the light reflected high on his cheekbones when Andrea fucking Stella intercepted him.

 

Oscar ignored the way he straightened with furrowed brows, eyes watching their interaction as something protective swirled and grew in his chest like a tornado.

 

Stella had grabbed Lando by the arm and the latter had jumped out of his skin, looking up at the Italian man with wide eyes. His brow creased further as Stella continued talking before Oscar watched him deflate in real time. Andrea held his hand out as Lando peeled the hoodie off, placing it in the other man’s hand like a scolded child. He looked like a kicked puppy, his head tipped downward as Stella continued to mutter to him as he moved his grip to the back of Lando’s neck. He then swept the arm with the hoodie out towards where Oscar knew the private rooms for the clients who paid for dances were.

 

His eyes followed the way Lando turned and Stella’s hand trailed down Lando’s back as he walked away. If he hadn’t been watching the interaction so closely, he would’ve missed the way Lando tensed as Andrea’s fingers ghosted over his skin.

 

He was about to get up and go after him before Andrea turned and immediately stared into Oscar’s soul.

 

Andrea floated through the club as if he were a ghost that the crowds parted for, making a beeline for Oscar who had only five seconds to contemplate what his boss would want.

 

“Hello boys, may I please steal Oscar?” Andrea asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, his salt-and-pepper hair appearing almost black in the club darkness. “It will be only for a moment.” He reassured, his Italian drawl more pronounced as he laid it on thick, topped with a charming smile.

 

“Guys, this is my boss.” Oscar introduced, face a perfect mask of friendly indifference, as if he hadn’t just wanted to rip out his boss’ fingernails one by one for making Lando uncomfortable. “I’ll be right back.” He winked at his friends, a warm smile taking its usual place on his face.

 

“Oh, yeah, no worries, Osc.” They chorused. Oscar turned away, the smile dropping into a scowl the second his back was turned. He had the absurd urge to shoulder check Andrea as he walked past. Instead, he maturely showed incredible superhuman restraint and didn’t.

 

Andrea overtook him, leading the way behind the bar towards the storage room. He ignored Alex’s knowing look as they passed the bar, keeping his gaze flat.

 

They walked into the storage room, taking the door to the immediate left which opened into a stairwell leading down that Stella unlocked with a set of keys. They walked down two flights of stairs, far enough that they couldn’t hear the bass of the music or the many feet jumping, dancing, and stomping on the floor. The stairwell was dark grey with orange lights on the walls, bathing it in some kind of seventies-esque hue. The walls were surprisingly free of damp, though it did smell rather dry and dusty, slightly earthy if you wanted to stretch it that far. But most of all, it smelt like gunpowder, paper, and dirty money.

 

They got to the bottom of the stairs and he got out another set of keys, unlocking that door, too (three different locks, just like the upstairs door just with one biometric this time), and they were into the base. They walked another hundred odd meters down winding, branching corridors before getting to what Oscar knew was the boss’ office. Both Zak and Andrea shared a room. All this money, you’d think they’d splash out a little on getting their own offices, but maybe not. Maybe they got lonely.

 

“Sit, Oscar.” Andrea motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Oscar begrudgingly stayed standing. It’s the little petty things in life he loves. Andrea just sighed in exasperation, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose before accepting it.

 

Oscar’s eyes tracked his movements as the man reached into a side drawer and brought out two envelopes. One was thick, slightly off white and Oscar knew that was his money from his last job on Christmas eve. The other was thin and something closer to a brown than a white, some sort of mid cream or a beige.

 

Andrea pushed the envelopes across the table. “You have two weeks.” He mumbled, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him.

 

Oscar grabbed the envelope with his money, putting it into his knife holster that was on his chest beneath his shirt. It was an incredibly discreet, fifty shades of grey style harness that was very useful and secure. In their line of work, it was safer to carry something just in case.

 

He picked up the second envelope and opened it. Even after all these years, he was still obscenely terrible at opening them. After a painful ten seconds of him struggling with the seal, he finally got it open with a huff. “Maybe you should just give it to me unsealed.” He grumbled, taking the photo out. He didn’t know of them, which was good because it wouldn’t get too much news coverage.

 

The photo was of a man walking along Monaco harbour. He was old looking, pudgy, likely in his late fifties, probably a smoker from what Oscar could see of his teeth. His ears were too long, remnant of some old teenage piercing done by a friend or something stupid and ‘edgy’ like that. He was in a ratty suit that was at least a size too small for him if the way his stomach hung over his trousers was any indication, he also very clearly couldn’t do up his suit jacket and the buttons on his shirt were straining and struggling not to pop off in any and every direction.

 

Long story short, this man didn’t look like he belonged in Monaco. 

 

No Richard Mille, no jewellery, greasy hair and greasier skin… the guy was a mess.

 

“Why?” Oscar queried, not looking up from scanning the glossy print. He always liked to know why Stella and Brown wanted to kill someone.

 

“Owes me around ten thousand in produce,” produce was code for drugs, “and he’s already had a year to pay it back and hasn’t.” Oscar finally looked up at his boss with a raised eyebrow, a year was incredibly generous. “I know, I know. But he was a friend of a friend of a friend of Zak’s or something.” He waved his hand around with a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, Zak’s finally agreed to just killing him because we are not getting our money back either way. 

 

“He’s a frequent at this club, is a big fan of a couple of our dancers so we’ve probably used the money he owed us to pay them.” He huffed. “You have two weeks.” Stella repeated. “Twenty-five-k. If you want it. Five-k right now.”

 

Oscar weighed it up. Pros? Great money, easy to figure out his patterns if he was a frequent of the club. Cons? Oscar couldn’t see any. Which is why he’s suspicious. He guessed that being distant friends with Zak could make the job conflicting, and slightly personal, but… there had to be another thing.

 

“He’s also quite unsavory.” Andrea tacked on slyly, looking at his nails as if telling Oscar this information was an afterthought, as if he knew that Oscar would take the job immediately after hearing it. “History of being an abuser, a few sexual assault cases. One case was a young man with dark curly hair.”

 

Oscar’s eyes snapped up so quickly to see the grey haired man’s face set like an angry marble statue.

 

“Leave the dancer be, Piastri. You wouldn’t want to drag him into this world, now, would you?”

 

Oscar had to grit his teeth. There was no way he was saying no to this, not now. He took a second to gather his composure, straightening slightly, lifting his chin almost imperceptibly as the mask of unshakeable calm, the look he usually wore when talking to Stella, overtook his face.

⪻────𖤓────⪼

Oscar had never been upstairs in the club so often. It was basically every night the club was open and he was sick of it now. The whole two weeks he’d been working he had switched between bartending and being a security guard. He’d finally - finally - had his time as a bartender. Easy to keep an eye on clients and fun when he was working with Liam, or Jack, or Isack, or Alex. Alex was the only one of them that was actually a bartender, no second job. But he knew everything, had found out by accident. Zak said they should keep him alive because he could help their cover, train up the younger assassins so they had a decent side-hustle for when they weren’t working working.

 

Working as a security guard meant he had to deal with the less than savoury people, batting a few off Alex’s partner George, and one of the younger dancers called Kimi. Lando hadn’t worked the same night as him in a while, and of course as soon as he has to sidle up and seduce his greasy old mark, Lando’s working.

 

He's in the club as a customer tonight as it’s nearing the end of the two weeks. It’s tonight he has to do it because Logan goes back to uni and when he's in uni he just keeps pulling all-nighters so Oscar can’t sneak out.

 

Oscar would’ve liked to go to university. He would’ve studied engineering, maybe ended up in Formula One. But instead he got trapped, doing Stella’s dirty work.

 

His eyes caught on his target, snapping him out of his brood. He knew how he had to play it, coy, slightly submissive, fuel his ego, bat his lashes. 

 

All he needed to do was get as ‘inebriated’ as possible (he wouldn’t get drunk, Alex never served him alcohol on the clock,) and fake it so the man brought him home and just poison him there. Perfect plan. If the man was into tall, sort of muscly, light (ish) brown haired men.

 

He was about to get up and approach him when he saw who’d gotten there first. Fucking Carlos?

 

Carlos was trying to flirt with his mark? What? Why? 

 

Oscar narrowed his eyes slightly, sipping his drink. Lewis called it Almave. He’d manufactured the perfect recipe to make the spirit taste and smell like alcohol while having no alcohol actually in it. Perfect for cover work while in the club. Blend in while not hindering the senses. It would be rather suspicious for someone on their own to not be drinking.

 

His eyes tracked Carlos’ movements, a flirty touch to the shoulder, a flick of his hair, a flutter of long, dark lashes. He held Oscar’s mark’s eyes as the hand on his shoulder slid down his pudgy arm towards a wrinkly wrist. At the same time, Oscar watched as Carlos let something drop discreetly into the guy’s drink and Oscar’s chest blazed with righteousness. This was supposed to be his kill. His mark. His money.

 

Carlos leaned in and whispered something in the man’s ear, he nodded and got up. Carlos walked past him towards the door and sent Oscar a sly smirk, his hand entwined with their shared target’s. Oscar took a sip of his drink, suddenly wishing it was alcoholic.

 

He necked it back, setting it roughly on the counter with a huff.

 

“Hey, Liam.” He called to the rookie who was bartending with Alex that night. The Kiwi came over with an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

 

“What can I do for you, Oscar?” He asked, drying a cup. 

 

“Carlos just butted in on my gig. Stole my guy. Can I have something actually alcoholic?” Oscar grumbled unhappily. 

 

Liam snorted at his misery and Oscar shot him a withering look that the blond just ignored. “What, did Stella double book you, or something?” He laughed.

 

That clicked something in Oscar’s brain. It was to get back at him for how he’d acted about Lando. “Huh. Must’ve.” He hummed in agreement.

 

“Anyway, the usual whisky? Or…” Liam trailed off, looking past Oscar, “a certain brunet dancer?”

 

As if by magic, Oscar was very hyper aware of everything around him. He glanced up to see Liam looking at him through his messy blond hair. He used his eyes to motion to something, no, someone behind Oscar.

 

The brunet whipped around on his barstool to see Lando approaching him.

 

“Brown and Stella aren’t here. Away on business.” Liam said in his ear.

 

The dancer was wearing something different tonight, but he looked no less gorgeous. He had on sequin mini shorts and a cropped t-shirt that showed off his hipbones, v-line, abs, and quite likely his lower back, too. Yes, Oscar. That is how a crop-top works, you genius.

 

His hair was glittery, like he’d put some glitter spray in it and his cheekbones were shiny. His brow was glistening with a slight sweat from the heat of the lights and the exertion of dancing.

 

He entertained the few people that stopped him briefly to compliment him, to touch him, to ask him for a dance, to have a tiny moment of his time, but his intent was clear. It was to get to Oscar. He’d politely excuse himself each time and continue his path towards him. 

 

“No drink, Lawson. I’m all good.” Oscar muttered distractedly, missing how Liam rolled his eyes, laughed, and moved on to flirt with a customer who Oscar later found out he was dating.

 

Oscar didn’t have the brain cells left to take his eyes off Lando, let alone shut his mouth.

 

“Hi.” His dancer smiled coyly. “You might want to shut your mouth, mate. You’ll catch flies.” Before the words even computed in Oscar’s brain, Lando had reached up with a gentle, large, hand and pushed Oscar’s mouth closed.

 

“Yeah, uh… sorry.” He mumbled, reaching up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck.

 

“Don’t be, I’m used to it.” Lando shrugged before cringing at himself. “That sounded incredibly self-centred, huh? My bad.” He chuckled and looked away, equally as awkward which was something Oscar took great relief in. 

 

He stared at the dancer in front of him, thinking there maybe was something in all that non-alcohol he drank with how light he now felt. He snapped out of it, extending his hand with a soft, “I’m Oscar.” 

 

“Oscar.” Lando repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if his name were a piece of gum. “I’m Lando.” He offered his hand back which Oscar eagerly grasped. He immediately noticed the sheer size difference of their hands, the Aussie’s basically just wrapping around the brunet’s thumb.

 

His eyebrows ticked up minutely in recognition and a deep heat began simmering in his lower stomach. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Lando.” Oscar said politely, as if he hadn’t been hawking over this man since the first time he saw him.

 

“So. You like my dancing?” Lando teased, Oscar flushing immediately with another put-out chuckle. 

 

“Not that subtle, huh?” He looked up to see Lando grinning widely, his mouth almost a heart shape.

 

“Not at all.” He shook his head, beaming all the while.

 

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to leave the country, then. Nothing dramatic.” He sighed sarcastically.

 

Lando barked a laugh and Oscar straightened in pride. He made Lando laugh, he coaxed that melodic sound from the Brit’s throat.

 

He suddenly became bashful, dipping his head and looking up at Oscar through his lashes. “Or I could offer you a dance? Private, of course.”

 

Oscar’s brain bluescreened. Full beachball of doom moment. He was frozen, wide eyed. With horror, he watched as the dismay spread across Lando’s face like wildfire.

 

“U-unless I’ve completely read this wrong, and in that case that’s okay, I can just go.” He began backtracking, and Oscar’s brain was still short-circuiting too much to realise the other man was physically backtracking, too, putting some distance between them as he stumbled backwards. “Frickin’ Charles, telling me this was a good idea and I should go for it.” He grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, for bothering you, Oscar, I-”

 

“Wait!” Finally, Oscar’s brain was back online. Lando side-eyed him slightly. “I’m sorry, I just-” He stammered. God, Oscar, mate, get a grip! “Fuck, it’s- I’ve never… had a dance before.” He admitted, eyes shut and head hung low.

 

He genuinely, truly, whole-heartedly believed he’d royally messed this up. Like, he now had about as good a chance as he would if he showed up to a job without his sniper or his knives. He sighed, shoulders hunching. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, because if he did he was certain he’d see Lando walking away, even worse he’d see the back of Lando walking away, teasing him with that cute ass of his and his slutty little waist. Something he’d never get to have because he was just so awkward-

 

There was a hand on his wrist.

 

Correction, there was a hand engulfing his wrist.

 

Tan on obnoxiously pale.

 

Lando on Oscar.

 

Oscar snapped his head up to look at Lando.

 

“Is that a yes?” He asked hopefully, looking nervous. Oscar thought it was unnatural for someone so gorgeous to look so unsure. 

 

“Yes.” Oscar nearly groaned in response.

 

Before he knew it, he was following a dark curly mullet through a darker club towards the dance rooms, his hand was hot on Oscar’s wrist, sending tingles the whole way up his arm.

 

It was like some kind of out of body experience, maybe a spiritual awakening and Lando was going to be the deity that he devoted his life and soul to. You know, normal feelings for someone you’ve talked to for a couple minutes. Totally.

 

He didn’t properly come back to himself until he was deposited on a comfy love seat and the door was slammed and locked behind them.

 

His heart was in his throat, his pulse jack-hammering against his skin so hard it was as if it was trying to escape his body. His cheeks warmed as Lando stalked towards him and Oscar suddenly felt like he was being hunted.

 

He swallowed thickly as Lando crouched in front of him. The Brit put his massive hands just above Oscar’s knees.

 

“Normally I wouldn’t let a client touch me, but…” He trailed off, glancing up at Oscar who was trying to appear relatively normal about this situation. It was very much not working. “You seem sweet, so as long as your hands stay above clothes, I’ll allow it.”

 

Oscar went rigid in surprise. “Huh?” He asked dumbly, making Lando smile.

 

“Just do what feels natural.” The other man shrugged nonchalantly, unintentionally making Oscar feel little and inexperienced.

 

“Uhm… okay?” He tried, brows raising and teeth bared in a nervous smile that ended up being more of a grimace.

 

Lando giggled at him and got up, connecting his phone to the room’s speaker. Oscar’s brain had been so loud and so completely offline he’d not even realised how sound-proof the room was.

 

Some sexy club song Oscar distantly recognised came on and Lando stalked towards him like how a predator would stalk his prey. Oscar blinked up at the approaching man, lips parted in awe.

 

How he’d managed to snag this man’s attention, he’d never know.

 

When Lando got to him, he caged Oscar in with his arms, squatting down before letting his hands land on Oscar’s thighs, running them up and down quickly before letting them rest on Oscar’s knees and spreading his legs. Fuck, Oscar thought desperately, trying to will the boner that was already forming away.

 

Lando stood back up after making sure Oscar knew to keep his knees parted with a stern look before turning around. He now had his back to Oscar and was bent over, shaking his ass in Oscar’s face.

 

He then placed his hands back on Oscar’s knees, and dropped low once, twice, three times before stepping out of Oscar’s space who immediately missed his proximity as if Lando were another limb.

 

Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off Lando as he walked around the back of his chair, letting his big, tan hands glide over his shoulders and down his chest.

 

“Fuck, you’re ripped, hm?” Lando murmured in his ear. Oscar’s composure really didn’t appreciate it. “I’ve seen you bodyguard recently…” He breathed, the warmth tickling the back of Oscar’s ear and making him shiver despite the pure lava that was his blood right now as it trickled south. “It’s hot.”

 

It took Oscar an embarrassing three seconds to find his voice. “Oh yeah? You like it?” He teased which earned him a pinch to his nipple. He hissed and twisted, staring up at Lando in offence.

 

Lando didn’t care and turned his head back to face forward by his jaw. The only thoughts that were running through Oscar’s brain at that point in time were ‘fuck’, ‘his hands are so warm’, and ‘what is he doing here’.

 

They were all quickly silenced as Lando came back around to the front, letting his fingers trail over Oscar’s collarbones as he went.

 

He nudged Oscar’s knees closed once more before sitting on his thighs and letting his palms drift the whole way down from his shoulders to his abs and back up again.

 

He then used his hands on Oscar’s shoulders to lift himself up slightly so he could grind on Oscar and, holy fuck, Oscar’s died and gone to heaven. His hands flew to Lando’s hips before he remembered himself and let them hover, looking questioningly up at the Brit who nodded with a sweet smile that made Oscar want to ravish him.

 

He let his hands settle on Lando’s hips, not hindering the movements at all, just leaving his hands there in a poor attempt to ground himself. It didn’t really work because now all Oscar could think about was how he could feel Lando’s hips beneath the sequins.

 

Lando got up gracefully and Oscar mourned the loss as if it was the death of his first born child even though he knew Lando was coming straight back. His heart fluttered traitorously when he settled back down, this time with his back to Oscar. He leaned forwards again, propping himself up on Oscar’s knees as he grinded his ass back on Oscar.

 

“Oh, fuck…” He hissed, biting his lip as Lando reached back and guided one of Oscar’s hands to him.

 

The Australian let one of his hands press to Lando’s bare lower back as his other went back to his hip. 

 

“You’re so good… so pretty…” He breathed and he had zero idea where that had come from. He felt Lando stutter in his movements and panicked. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

 

“It’s fine.” Came the slightly breathless response and if Oscar wasn’t already hard, then he definitely would be now.

 

“Lando-”

 

He stopped moving and Oscar wanted to cry because that wasn’t his goal. “It’s fine. Just relax, would you? I can feel how tense you are.” Lando was looking at him cheekily over his shoulder. Oscar swallowed thickly and nodded, letting Lando continue, letting him do his job because Oscar wasn’t his only client.

 

The thought landed bitterly in Oscar’s throat before he remembered that Lando was letting him touch him, and he normally didn’t allow that.

 

So, as Lando had told him to, he relaxed, letting his spine soften and his thigh muscles un-tense.

 

“There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?” Lando murmured and it sent a hot lightning bolt of arousal straight to his core. All Oscar could do was nod because he felt so out of his depth, which was weird because he’d hooked up with plenty of people before, but he’d never had a lapdance. It was so intimate, but so different and it messed with Oscar’s brain a little because he couldn’t be his usual ‘bed personality’ or whatever you wanted to call it, because he felt like he’d been launched carelessly into the deep end of a pool and he forgot how to swim.

 

He let Lando lead for the thirty-odd seconds remaining of the song and Oscar genuinely thought they were the best thirty-odd seconds of his entire life.

 

By the time the song had finished, Lando was facing him again, hands linked behind Oscar’s neck and he was toying absentmindedly with the hair at Oscar’s nape and he wondered if Lando even knew he was doing it.

 

He gave Lando’s hips a squeeze. “Jesus, mate.” He laughed breathlessly. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were good at that.”

 

Lando beamed down at his chest bashfully and Oscar’s eyes lingered on his face. Watching how his curls fell over his eyebrows and his eyes squinted up with his heart-shaped smile.

 

“Can I take you out for dinner?” Oscar blurted, feeling his heart race.

 

Lando’s head snapped up to look him in the eyes. “Huh?”

 

Oscar’s heart dropped and his earlier confidence leeched out of him. “I-I understand that you’re really busy, and this is probably a breach of some contract or other, but I just think you’re really, really fucking pretty, and I want to get to know you properly, and- mmhp-”

 

Lando had covered his mouth with his palm, effectively shutting Oscar up completely. His eyes flicked down to the hand on his jaw before looking up at Lando. “I’d love to.” He murmured, his cheeks were slightly flushed and he looked nervous which to Oscar was just adorable.

 

This gorgeous man was sitting in his lap, having just given him a lapdance and was now nervous because he’d asked him out? Safe to say, Oscar’s heart was soaring. Like, in the upper atmosphere he was so elated.

 

“Yeah?” He murmured once Lando had taken his hand off Oscar’s face.

 

“Yeah.” The Brit nodded.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Mint.”

Notes:

can you tell i have no idea how a strip club works

if you did enjoy the chapter or want to chat about anything please leave a comment and kudos <3

ALSO HOLY BEJESUS THAT MEXICO GP??? george crashing out was amazing, miffed about the vsc tho BUT lando championship leader once more (even tho it's only 1 point) xxx

lots of love xx

Chapter 2: eyes on me, how you like that?

Summary:

Lando's... where?

Notes:

i wanted to post this on sunday and it's now tuesday... sorry gang

anyway, this chapter is kinda graphic sooooo warning!

enjoy xx

Oscar was stuck in Lando’s head. Every other thought was about him. It was bad.

 

Lando had given Oscar his number after the dance and Oscar had immediately texted him. They’d chatted back and forth, trying to figure out a good day to go out together. But after a couple days, Oscar said he’d been given a new project and he’d be completely swamped with work for a while. 

 

Lando found out that Oscar worked in the same sector as Max did, which meant everything and absolutely nothing because all Lando knew was that Max was very high up in the chain and involved in some dodgy things.

 

That’s a lie, that’s what Oscar thought he knew. Max Verstappen was one of his best friends, he knew exactly what Max did for a living and therefore knew what Oscar did for a living.

 

Now, that would usually scare someone off, if that someone was sane, and hadn’t lived with Max Verstappen for nine years and counting, or gotten roped into working at a strip club that was the cover for some mafia type gang from the age of sixteen.

 

That sounded really bad. They had him in the back to begin with, working his ass off washing dishes to make up for the watch he and Max stole from Zak. 

 

Max had grown up being somehow part of the Dutch mafia and a rival Belgian gang, Lando didn’t understand the geography of it either but Max had always been an overachiever.  The Belgian gang he was a part of was where he met Lando before they ran away to Monaco of all places. Max had been on a job that was going to clash with his alliances, so he had to run away to somewhere with an equally powerful rival to both affiliations. Lando got caught up in the middle of it all and had to flee, too.

 

He hadn’t known properly what his family was a part of yet, having been sheltered from most of it by his parents so he and his siblings could have a normal childhood, being sent to the UK to go to boarding school, then spending his summers in Belgium.

 

Of course they’d sort-of known what was going on but they’d never had any out of the ordinary martial arts training, like knowing how to fight with knives or guns. Lando had been enrolled in dance, for Christ’s sake! But then again, he had been trained in pain endurance…

 

Anyway, Max’s ability to wield weapons had made him incredibly valuable to Zak and Andrea as he knew how two of their rivals worked.

 

How did they ensure his loyalty? Lando.

 

They used Lando as leverage.

 

Now, of course, having grown up in a family with Belgian and British gang affiliations he was pretty used to being threatened, but have his life be put so blatantly into someone else’s hands? That was enough to scare any sixteen year old shitless.

 

But it was more than his life, really. Max refused to tell him much, only that Stella had once threatened to let one of Zak’s friends ‘have his way’ with him and Max never chanced it. Didn’t want to risk Lando’s life or his wellbeing.

 

Lando chewed on his nail at the memory.

 

He’d never seen Max so pale or distraught.

 

Anyway, once Lando was eighteen, they moved him out of the kitchen and away from his newly-made bartending friend, Alex (Albono), and onto the stage. He’d kept up his dancing, it was something he loved, and then his bosses put him into some pole dancing classes where he met Charles and George.

 

Turns out Max and Charles had bumped into each other a few times around Monaco, and he meant that in the most literal sense. Charles had once been backing out of a coffee shop, his hands full of coffee as he always got one for him and George before their classes, when Max, who’d been talking to one of Lando’s old co-workers Daniel, had walked right into him, making Charles spill some coffee onto his favourite jumper. In a fit of blind rage, that Charles still insists was justified, he ‘accidentally’ poured some of the cappuccino straight onto Max’s shoes.

 

Max talked about him for hours that night. It drove Lando insane.

 

Anyway, present day, and now Max and Charles were dating, and Alex and George were dating. And Daniel was missing.

 

Even more present day, Charles was waving a hand in front of Lando’s face to get his attention. 

 

“Hm?” He hummed.

 

Charles just rolled his eyes fondly. “Come. We are on stage in ten and you need glitter.” 

 

Lando let the other dancer pull him up and over to where Nico (nicknamed Britney, which later became his dancer name), a retired dancer-turned-makeup-guru, was fussing over one of the rookie dancers, Kimi.

 

He was patiently applying some highlighter to the young Italian’s cheekbones, muttering to himself how Kimi was too young to work in a place like this, who, in return, just grumbled about how he was, in fact, eighteen and could work there.

 

“I am not too young.” He finished, pouting in a way that contradicted what he was saying.

 

“Then don’t pout.” Lando giggled, shrieking when Kimi reached out and pinched his side with his cold, witchy fingers. “Not funny!”

 

Lando was dragged away over to his dressing table before he could get back at the young dancer. Charles sat down in his chair and before Lando could complain, tugged him gently into his lap. He reached behind and grabbed Lando’s brush, his shimmer, and some vaseline so it would stick. A trick Seb had taught them.

 

He applied the vaseline to his collarbones before wafting it with his left hand so it would dry slightly and become tacky.

 

“Do you think he’s coming tonight?” Lando murmured, playing with one of the tassels on Charles’ short-shorts.

 

Charles stopped his frantic wafting, letting his hand rest on Lando’s thigh. “I am not sure,” he replied truthfully. 

 

Lando scoffed. “Maybe he doesn’t want me.” He mumbled. “Maybe he’s ghosted me and I just need to take a hint.”

 

“You and Max both say he is not like that, but… maybe he's a coward and doesn’t know how to say he’s intimidated by you?” Charles suggested, going back to his wafting. “Plus, if he did not like you, then he is very stupid.”

 

“I know he’s just busy with that project.” He sighed. Charles knew what Max did, so he knew what Oscar did. They didn’t know how many of the other dancers knew what they were all covering up, but Lando was certain they were suspicious something was going on. None of them were stupid. 

 

Charles stayed silent as he finished off Lando’s shimmer. “There. Nice and shiny.” He smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Lando’s nose. “Now, let’s go and dance so I can eat tomorrow.” He joked. 

 

Lando frowned, not liking those kinds of jokes Charles always used to just throw around carelessly. 

 

“Kidding.” He put his hands up in surrender. That’s what it used to be like for him, for them both, until Max started getting proper jobs, good jobs. High risk jobs. He was always fine, obviously, it was Max. But that didn’t mean they liked him putting his life on the line and they worked every night the club was open to help Max out. Monaco was expensive, but they couldn’t leave. Not when Zak and Andrea had their claws sunk deep into them.

 

“Tu es pret?” Charles asked, tapping Lando’s thighs. Lando knew enough basic French to understand maybe sixty per cent of what Charles said on a daily basis. Pierre on the other hand? No chance.

 

“Yep.” Lando nodded, hopping up off Charles before beginning his warmup.

 

They both stood opposite each other, chatting as they stretched for a couple minutes. They were then in a straddle split, holding each other’s forearms to help try and stretch the other more. Lando was a little more flexible than Charles, so when it was Charles’ turn to tug Lando, the younger man’s torso was practically on the floor.

 

“I hate you.” Charles grumbled as Lando rocked in the stretch to warm his hips up. “Why are you so flexible?”

 

“I’m just naturally gifted, Charlie.” He grinned up at the Monegasque. 

 

“You are not gifted, you are hypermobile.” He snarked, giving Lando a sharp, pointed tug that made the Brit yelp in surprise.

 

When it was finally time to go on, Charles grabbed his shoulders and they jumped up and down slightly together, their pre-dance ritual. As Charles turned, he tried to wink at Lando. Key word: tried. He ended up just scrunching his whole cheek up. Lando patted him on the ass as he strutted onto the stage. Charles had the first thirty-odd seconds to himself before Lando would join him.

 

Lando shook his arms and his legs out, twisting his spine and stretching his neck. He leaned down and touched his palms flat to the floor. He walked out into downward dog and back up again before raising his chin and walking onto the stage.

 

The brief blindness from the lights was an expected sensation, welcome in its familiarity.  He stalked over to his side of the stage, walking up close to the crowd as the DJ played their mix.

 

It was Charles’ moment on his side of the stage, climbing up the pole before letting himself tumble down a little as Lando crouched and played with his bit of the crowd.

 

He continued to dance all sultry, winking and grinning at people who chucked five, ten, twenty euro notes at him, revelling in the papers that landed at his knees as he stretched one arm above his head.

 

He couldn’t help the way his eyes scanned what he could see of the crowd, looking for the swoop of dark blond, almost brown hair, chocolatey eyes, and the constellation of moles that made up Oscar.

 

He tried his best to not let his disappointment show when he found he couldn't see the Australian.

 

He shook it off by shaking his ass for the crowd, ignoring the slimy feeling he always got at all the wolf whistles, ignoring how it threatened to tense the line of his shoulders up.

 

Charles came down from the pole and it was time for one of Lando’s favourite parts. They would dance together, sharing the weight of the crowd’s eyes, their expectations.

 

He greeted Charles with a smile that he knew a few of the lonelier, greasier, older men would take back to their bedrooms that night. He let the thought melt out of his brain like butter on a hot pan as he and Charles made contact, his back to the Monegasque’s chest.

 

Charles’ familiar hands landed safely on his hips and Lando reached up with one arm, letting his head fall back to rest on Charles’ shoulder as they swayed together. He let his mind drift to later on, when he’d be back out on stage with George. His body moved on autopilot as he wondered how this crowd would react to them both. 

 

Lando was way shorter than George, which appealed to a lot of people, but Lando couldn’t really know why. Sure having a height difference to your partner is hot, and is something Lando often thinks about when it comes to Oscar. The Aussie has a good couple centimeters on him, so much so that when they’d stood close together that night that felt both like yesterday and years ago, Lando had had to look up. It made him weak in the knees.

 

He felt Charles squeeze his hips twice, his signal that he should turn and they would body roll into each other. Lando had confided in the older man about how he took that moment in the routine to disassociate. He let his mind wander as a method to calm himself down slightly at being front-on to a crowd while wearing minimal clothing.

 

The others said he hid his discomfort and nerves well. He was glad.

 

The routine wasn’t much longer, only his pole solo and another quick moment with Charles left. It went by quick as a flash, and before he knew it, he was tucked beneath Charles’ arm and blowing kisses into the crowd.

 

When they walked back into the dressing rooms backstage, George came at them quickly. 

 

“You guys looked great out there, as usual.” He complimented, hand ruffling Lando’s curls who swatted him away with an indignant noise.

 

Charles grinned up at the other Brit. “Thanks, Georgie. Can’t wait to see you two up there, later.” He squeezed Lando’s shoulders before letting him drift towards his dressing table.

 

He let himself collapse into the comfy chair, staring at himself in the mirror. His jaw clenched as he trailed his eyes over his face, deciding it was better for his wellbeing to look away before he got too critical.

 

“You are beautiful, Lando.” Charles murmured from behind him, squeezing the back of his neck gently and pecking his cheek. He just hummed in response, picking his phone up to avoid eye contact, taking a sip from his drink.

 

As soon as the screen turned on, his eyes bugged out of his head and his breath hitched so violently he choked. He saw Charles side-eye him, slightly concerned. Coughing, Lando just turned his phone screen to the other man who leaned down, squinting.

 

“Holy shit!” He laughed happily. Lando was still in a state of shock. Oscar had messaged him. Not only that, Oscar had messaged him to tell him he looked gorgeous tonight. Oscar was here. “You’re blushing so much, mate!” Charles pointed and laughed.

 

“Fuck off!” Lando whined, hiding his face in his hands. 

 

“Baby’s in love!” Charles sing-songed, dragging out the ‘o’. Lando sank down in his chair, hoping it would open up and envelope him so he didn’t have to deal with this at all.

 

“I have known him a week and a half, Cha.” He muttered, missing the way Charles shrugged.

 

“Pshh. You talk every day. He is besotted with you, Lando.”

 

“Wow, big word, where’d you learn that?” He snarked, getting a smack to the back of his head.

 

“I can know big English words.” Charles huffed indignantly before adding a quiet, “George told me,” making Lando snort.

 

“Anyway, you are not one to talk!” Lando cried self-righteously. “You and Max are disgusting! All, ‘oh, Lando, Charles poured cappuccino on my trainers, do you think he was flirting?’” He badly mimicked Max’s accent, making Charles and a few others who’d been eavesdropping laugh. “‘Oh, Lando, does Max even like me?’ No, Charles, he just followed you around like a lost guard dog for months for fun.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

⪻────𖤓────⪼

 

Lando had another hour and fifteen before he was supposed to go back onstage with George, and he was taking the time to do some yoga. He’d gone out to hopefully find Oscar, but had been swarmed by people immediately so he’d retreated quickly and settled to just thanking the man over text, trying to start a conversation.

 

He was doing yoga to distract himself from the fact Oscar hadn’t replied yet.

 

He didn’t blame him, the reason he was here was probably for work, so he was probably busy and Lando needed to stop overthinking quite so loudly because Seb was shooting him looks.

 

They were the only two in the room and Seb had granted Lando his privacy to attempt to stop his thoughts from hurtling around in his brain like a destructive hurricane. Not much progress was being made.

 

Lando was in downward dog, back flat, hips up, as he stretched his shoulders out with a pleased sigh. Suddenly, George burst through the door, looking frantic.

 

“Oh, thank god.” He sighed at the sight of him and Seb, Lando now on his hands and knees and looking up at George with a raised eyebrow. “Some creeps are hassling Kimi and Ollie, won’t leave them be, don’t understand they can’t touch.”

 

Lando had never got out of a room quicker, Seb and George hot on his heels.

 

It must’ve been a sight, seeing someone in a nightclub in joggers. Lando had chucked them on over his outfit to keep warm, having taken his hoodie off for his yoga.

 

His eyes swept across the floor as George overtook him to go lead him to the furthest corner, where the security had just patrolled so they wouldn’t be back for a bit.

 

He saw a group of around seven large men crowding Kimi and Ollie, trying to get them to give them a dance, or most likely more. 

 

The two youngsters were back to back in the circle of big guys, wide-eyed and panicked.

 

“Oi!” Lando yelled. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was close enough that his voice actually carried over the music. Some of them turned, annoyance clear as day on their faces.

 

“We’re just tryna’ get a dance, bro.” The one closest to Lando scoffed, he had a cap on backwards, American flag in the middle of his forehead. American tourists. Now, don’t get him wrong, he normally didn’t mind tourists. They tipped well, and were mostly respectful, but these were definitely ex-frat brothers who thrived off bullying kids and peaked in high school. “Unless you wanna gimme one, pretty thing?” He bit his lip, letting his eyes travel over Lando who felt the urge to shrivel up and die.

 

“You won’t be getting a dance off any of us if this is how you’re going about it.” George huffed, arms crossed. He was taller than all of the guys but one, who was the same height as him. They were all wearing the same basic jeans-and-plain-T-shirt uniform that guys who didn’t have a sense of uniqueness wore. But not Oscar. Or Max. They didn’t count.

 

“Hey, we know the owner!” Another called, some beefy guy with massive arms.

 

“Oh, really?” Lando scoffed, arms crossed with his hip cocked out to the side.

 

“Yeah, Zak’s an old family friend.” The tallest one smirked as he name dropped, proving Lando hadn’t called his bluff. It was as if someone had chucked him into the harbor. His blood ran colder than ice, dread trickling down his spine.

 

“Still doesn’t give you the right to threaten my colleagues.” He tried to remain firm but he was drowning.

 

“Yeah, but I can ask Zak personally for a dance with you, can’t I?” The guy sneered, walking up to Lando menacingly. George had darted into the gap they’d made to get to Kimi and Ollie, leaving Lando alone. “A pretty little thing like you…” Lando’s heart dropped as the guy kissed his teeth. “God, what I would do if I got my hands on you.” He froze like a deer in headlights. For fuck’s sake, he should fight back, say something, do something to protect himself!

 

It was like his mouth was glued shut, like his tongue was suddenly made of lead, he hated it. “You can’t touch the dancers.” He tried to sound self-assured, but there was a tremor in his voice as he got backed up closer and closer to the wall.

 

“I’m sure Zak would make an exception.” He laughed horridly, grinning at Lando as if he were easy prey. “I saw you up on the stage.” He jerked his head towards it as if Lando didn’t spend most of his life in this building. “Submissive little thing aren’t you? The way you let that other dancer touch you?” He groaned, advancing more and to Lando’s horror, he felt his back hit the wall. “God, I could do so many-”

 

“Get the fuck away from him.” Came an angry voice, more like a growl. Lando knew that voice. He’d never heard that voice sound so inexplicably murderous before. Oscar Piastri thundered over, his expression a marble sculpture of fury as he shoved the guy’s shoulder.

 

Lando looked to his right, seeing Max, Carlos, Jack, Jenson, and Seb following him, each looking just as furious. That’s where Seb had gone. He’d gone to find his husband who was working that night.

 

The guy who’d cornered Lando laughed with his hands up. “Woah, sorry bro. Didn’t know he was yours.”

 

Oscar had positioned himself between Lando and the man, practically in his face to ensure Lando was separated from him. Lando felt his shoulders drop in relief. Carlos rushed up to him, pulling him from between Oscar and the wall and into a gentle hug while Lando tried not to show how much he was shaking.

 

Oscar’s shoulders were tense, arms crossed protectively over his chest as he made himself look bigger to shield Lando. If he wasn’t trying to control his breathing he probably would’ve swooned.

 

Carlos’ hand made its way into Lando’s hair at the back of his head, scratching his scalp comfortingly.

 

“Might want to watch him with other guys, mate, they’re a bit close.” Lando’s stomach fell down to his feet, maybe to hell, actually.

 

“Thanks, mate.” Oscar spat, venom lacing every letter. “But I actually know him.” He said dismissively.

 

“Right, you guys are leaving.” Jenson said sternly. He had a shaken Kimi tucked under his arm.

 

“But, we know-”

 

Jenson raised a hand like a disappointed parent, immediately cutting the guys off as he spoke over them. “I don’t care that you know Zak.” He snarled. “You threatened to break our rules, threatened to touch the dancers, tried to threaten them into giving you a dance,” he listed. “You are not remaining in this establishment. We will escort you out. Now.”

 

Lando felt Carlos detach himself from the hug with one last squeeze. He was immediately replaced by Seb, the older dancer gathering him up in his arms as Jenson passed Kimi over to them, Ollie having been taken back to the greenroom by George.

 

Lando inhaled a shaking breath as Kimi trembled in his arms. Oscar looked back over his shoulder, the anger visibly melting off his face as he checked in on Lando with soft eyes.

 

“I’ll come find you, yeah?” He prompted gently, only turning around to finish hoarding the boys out of the club once Lando had nodded.

 

“You’re okay.” Seb murmured. Well, said, but it was so quiet because of the music. Lando let his eyes fall shut, feeling Seb press a light kiss to his hairline. “Let’s get you both in comfy clothes, yes?” He suggested, beginning to manoeuvre the two of them back to the dancer’s room. 

 

As soon as the door fell shut behind them, Lando quietly detached Kimi from his side and politely excused himself. Or at least he hoped it was polite, it probably came out a little bit strained as he couldn’t currently breathe right. He was being so stupid. He’d had encounters with people who were way worse than that guy, so why was he being so stupid about this?

 

He walked quickly to the bathroom in the back, shutting the door behind him as he sucked in deep breaths. It wasn’t anything serious, he just needed to regulate himself.

 

“Lando?” Came Seb’s voice, the German knocking softly at the door. “Can you let me in, please? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

 

Lando wanted to deny Sebastian, wanted to say he was fine, but there was something invisible wrapping around his throat and constricting his airflow. He didn’t want to burden the older man with this, didn’t want to make a fuss, didn’t want to cause a scene.

 

“Lando? Can you hear me? Let me in.” He pushed, Lando relented.

 

He got up, taking deep steadying breaths while he massaged his chest to will away the ache of taking too long with his breathing. He unlocked the door, opening it enough for Sebastian to sneak in.

 

He immediately pulled Lando into a hug, pressing kisses to the crown of his head as he tucked Lando’s face into his chest like a mother hen.

 

“Shh… it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He whispered softly, something Lando usually refused, but allowed it because it was annoyingly comforting.

 

“I’m okay Seb. I’ve dealt with people like that before.” He murmured, it came out a bit muffled due to the fact Sebastian was squishing Lando’s face against his collarbone.

 

“Still. You shouldn’t have to.” He grumbled angrily. “What stupid people. Pricks,” he decided on.

 

Lando’s heart was racing from the encounter and he took a few moments to just breathe in the smell of Seb, tinged with some of Jenson’s cologne as it was his crewneck the man was wearing. It took him a few minutes, but he calmed down enough again, enough to remember that Oscar said he was going to meet Lando.

 

“Oh, shit!” He suddenly cried, untangling himself from Sebastian, briefly touching his cheek so he knew Lando appreciated him. “Oscar said he’d meet me about now, so… gotta go.” He darted out of the bathroom, leaving behind a slightly perplexed Seb.

 

“Watch him! He's Mark's boy!” He heard Sebastian call out once he’d regained his bearings, Lando merely waved the older man off and continued on his journey back out.

 

Oscar was waiting by the door Lando had bolted through earlier, looking slightly out of place. He was studying the door with a sort-of blank look on his face. It was bordering on analytical, to be honest.

 

“Oscar.” Lando greeted, watching as a gentle smile spread itself over the Australian’s face. 

 

“Hey.” He breathed and Lando thought he might pass away. “Should we sit down somewhere?” He almost missed what Oscar said because he was too busy tracing the constellation of moles that decorated his face.

 

“Uh… yeah.” He replied lamely, gesturing stupidly towards one of the corner booths that was a bit quieter. If that was possible.

 

They sat down opposite each other, Lando slouching back and Oscar leaning his forearms on the edge of the table and clasping his hands.

 

“First things first, are you okay?” Oscar asked, eyes shining as they flicked over Lando’s face, no doubt scanning for any signs of discomfort or unease.

 

“I’m okay, Oscar.” Lando nodded, a dismissive smile on his face. He watched as a singular eyebrow climbed up Oscar’s forehead. “Seriously, mate. I am okay.” He laughed, looking away as Oscar’s chocolatey gaze continued to pierce his soul. “Jesus Christ, fine, okay? It was shit!” He relented finally with a shrug, arms crossing around his middle.

 

Oscar’s brow furrowed. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

 

“I know that, Oscar. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He raised his voice defensively. “It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but I work a high risk job, it’s going to happen. Unfortunately this is the mildest it gets.” He deflated, his metaphorical hackles lowering as the anger seeped out of him. All he felt now was guilt. This man had done nothing but be nice to him, fend off that creep for him, tell him he’s really pretty, and what does Lando do in return? Snap at him for no reason. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” He amended immediately. “I shouldn’t have snapped, you’ve been nothing but lovely to me, you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” Lando looked up at him, probably resembling a kicked puppy, but Oscar just smiled softly and repeated another ‘it’s okay’, before looking out into the club, towards the stage, lost in thought.

 

Then Oscar clenched his jaw and Lando’s brain supplied him with the fact he found it insanely hot.

 

“How bad has it gotten?” The brunet queried, making Lando’s train of thought come to a screeching halt in ‘oh fuck’ ville. “If you don’t mind me asking, if it’s too…” He trailed off, but Lando got what he meant. “Just- don’t feel pressured to tell me anything.” He rambled and Lando just chuckled at him, watching as Oscar crossed his arms on the table and hung his head as he laughed breathily, his shoulders shaking.

 

“I mean, it’s not something I like to talk about, but some customers are always just too handsy.” He said blandly, keeping his left arm folded over his middle as he traced the patterns in the wood with his right index finger, successfully avoiding Oscar’s intense ‘I’m listening to you’ eyes.

 

If Oscar hadn’t tapped Lando’s shin with his foot to make Lando look up at him, he would’ve missed his soft, “I’m sorry,” because he wouldn’t have been able to read Oscar’s lips.

 

“Not your fault.” Lando huffed to the table.

 

“Still. And it’s not yours either.”

 

That hit Lando like a truck. Or a bullet. Or a truck-sized bullet. They sat in a brief silence as he mulled Oscar’s words over. Oscar ended up being the one to break it.

 

“About that date?” He suddenly seemed incredibly shy, biting his lip and not meeting Lando’s eye.

 

“Yeah?” Lando brightened. “Where d’you wanna go?”

 

“I was thinking we could do something, you know?” He began, licking his lips and hesitating before continuing. “Then I could… take you to… dinner?” He winced at himself, but none of it mattered to Lando who was beaming.

 

“Really? You’d do that?” He asked excitedly, practically vibrating out of his seat as he leaned forwards across the table to get closer to Oscar.

 

“Yeah.” He nodded, smiling that soft smile that gave him heart-eyes. “Do you have any idea what you’d wanna do before that, or…?” He trailed off, eyes squinted, eyebrows raised, and teeth exposed in an unsure, downturned smile.

 

Lando hummed, staring off to the side and resting his chin in his palm. “What about… the aquarium? I’ve lived here for years and never been.” 

 

Oscar’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Really? Wow. Yeah, we definitely need to go there, then. It’s incredible.”

 

Lando laughed. “You an ocean nerd, Osc?” 

 

“‘Osc’?” He repeated, a teasing smile on his face as he tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow as Lando spluttered. The nickname had just slipped out, he hadn’t even thought about it. He began to try and backtrack but Oscar merely shook his head, shutting Lando up. “I like it. It’s cute.”

 

“Well, you’re cute.” He shrugged, then tried to play off how much those three simple words made him want to crawl into a hole and hibernate until Oscar forgot who he was or somehow developed low grade amnesia and forgot this entire part of the conversation.

 

Instead of that, of course, Oscar just folded in laughter, his eyes twinkling as his swoop of hair fell over his forehead. “You think I’m cute?” Lando just buried his face in his hands with a dramatic groan. 

 

⪻────𖤓────⪼

 

Lando had had to leave to dance with George at one point, but he came straight back and they continued to talk for a while longer, getting to know each other better in person instead of over text. Oscar said he’d watched the dance and could see how comfortable he was with George, and Lando told Oscar how he always used to dance with George and they’d both performed at the Monaco grand prix after party once. They’d already known they both were F1 fans, that they’d both gotten stuck working for this place through one way or another, but now they were onto families.

 

Oscar, similarly to Lando, had three siblings. But Oscar was the older brother to three sisters, whereas Lando had an older brother and two younger sisters.

 

Oscar had nodded in realisation after finding out his mum was Belgian, muttering about how ‘he wondered where the accent had come from’.

 

Lando was just finding out about how Oscar’s grandfather was Italian when, as if merely mentioning the country summoned him, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around to see Andrea. His heart immediately dropped, it couldn’t be good.

 

“Oscar.” Stella greeted, his voice sickly sweet. 

 

“Andrea.” Oscar nodded respectfully in response, the laughter that had previously resided on his face disappearing rapidly into a stiff, professional smile.

 

“Lando, there is a man who would like a dance, my boy.” He squeezed Lando’s shoulder where he was still gripping tightly. “He is high paying, so he will be allowed to… bend some rules.”

 

Lando swallowed thickly, avoiding Oscar’s sharp eyes. He hated the high payers. They were the greasiest, weirdest ones out there.

 

He fought the urge to flinch away as Andrea leaned down to speak in his ear. “You know what to wear.” He pulled back, fixing the dancer with a look so sharp it could probably cut diamond. Lando lost his words completely and could merely nod in response, feeling sick. The Italian straightened up again with a sleazy smile. “Perfect. Be ready in ten minutes. Off you go.”

 

Lando got up, his head hanging as he looked regretfully back at Oscar. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on the least incriminating thing to say while Andrea was around. “See you.”

 

He bolted, but not before he felt fingers trail down his almost bare back.

 

He stomped angrily through the dressing room, catching Charles’ attention.

 

“What did Oscar do?” He asked incredulously.

 

“Not Oscar.” Lando snapped, wrenching open his locker. “Andrea. I have a dance. He interrupted me and Oscar again.”

 

Charles cooed empathetically. “You will be able to catch up with Oscar properly.” He promised. Lando just sighed with a nod, pausing before wrenching out the outfit - if you could even call it that - reserved for high paying clients as if it weighed a hundred kilos. Charles sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Oh, baby, one of those?”

 

Lando just nodded, face flushing in anticipated humiliation. “Fucking hate this shit,” he muttered, refusing to look at Charles’ empathetically pitying face.

 

Lando disappeared into the changing room, pulling on the smallest shorts the world had probably ever seen. He pulled on some trainers, Stella hadn’t told him which shoes were needed so he went for comfort. 

 

He walked back out to see Charles waiting for him with a robe. “Thank you.” Lando whispered, sincerity dripping from his words like honey. He wrapped the fabric around himself like a shield, as though he could wrap himself up in it so tightly that everything else would disappear.

 

“I will wait for you, then we can go home, I will have Max run you a bath, then we can watch a film, or talk about Oscar and what you’re going to do on your date,” Charles had thrown an arm around Lando’s shoulders as he was talking, jostling him slightly as he mentioned the assassin and bringing a bashful smile to his face.

 

“That would be nice.” He mumbled, sighing heavily. He took a deep breath, getting into the ‘work zone’ as George loved to call it. “Does my hair look alright?” He asked Charles. “Do I need anything touched up?”

 

“Hmm.” He scanned the shorter man’s face, checking everything was okay. “Maybe a little powder.” He nodded to himself. “Paul!” Charles called over the rows of vanities. “Do you still have my powder?”

 

“Yep!” Came the reply, and soon enough Paul’s blond hair bounced into view. “Here you go, Charles.” He handed it over, smiling in greeting to Lando. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen Franco? He was on the opposite stage to me earlier, now I can’t find him, he’s got my joggers.”

 

Both men looked at each other before turning back to Paul with a shake of their heads. “Nah, sorry, mate. I haven’t. Maybe he’s with Pierre? They’ve been paired for a dance recently, they might be practicing.” Lando suggested.

 

Nodding, Paul thanked them and then walked back towards his mirror.

 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and in walked Zak Brown. Lando and Charles both looked at each other in slight confusion before Zak bellowed out an obnoxious “Lando!” as he spotted them and walked over. Zak never usually came into the dancers’ space. The only time he did was when he was giving out paychecks, and payday wasn’t until next week.

 

He hoped he hid his wince well. “Hey, Zak.”

 

“Are you ready?” He asked, eyes shining.

 

“Uh, yeah, just about. Why?” He felt Charles’ eyes on him, mirroring the confusion he felt.

 

“Great! He wants you in there for when he walks in.”

 

Lando blanched. He heard Charles choke on his own breath next to him. They never did this. This guy must have been willing to pay a fortune for him, and now that was something Lando couldn’t comprehend. 

 

“He- what?” He stuttered. A dancer’s entrance was a way to assert dominance, to take power over the situation. This was stripping him of that necessity of initial control. It was almost enough to send him into a flat spin. Almost. 

 

“You heard me! C’mon, son, get cracking!” Zak was overly enthusiastic, motioning for Lando to remove his robe. Lando did so as if he were in some sort of trance, ignoring how Charles was fretting over him, ignoring how Nico and George were shooting him nervous looks from ten meters away. Zak ushered him towards the corridor that led to the backdoors of each private room, trying to hype him up the whole time but Lando’s head was underwater. His ears were filled with cotton. A frog had made a home in his throat.

 

“Can you give me a couple minutes to stretch and warm up?” He heard himself croak. He watched as Zak nodded and left, shutting the door behind him and leaving Lando alone in the room’s colourful lighting.

 

This would be nothing like the dance he gave Oscar. 

 

This would be unpleasant, and stressful, and uncomfortable, and scary because this guy was allowed to touch him. This guy had the power of entering the space however he saw fit. The only power he seemed to maintain was the choice of music, and he was taking each and every dreg of authority he could grasp.

 

Time flew by about as quickly as if he were trying to sprint through molasses. Yet, he received the knock on the door to let him know the client was about to enter far too soon. 

 

He scrambled up, situating himself on the loveseat. He brought one leg up, wrapping his arms around it and resting his cheek on his knee, eyes locked onto the door like a missile.

 

The door opened and in walked his client. He jolted as if Kimi had just poked him with his cold fingers again. He recognised this guy, he’d been a returning client of Daniel’s, had been distraught when they’d told him Daniel had ‘resigned’ after he’d shown up almost every opening day for three weeks after he’d disappeared, yet for the life of him, Lando couldn’t remember his name.

 

“Hi.” He greeted, looking up at the man with a cheeky grin on his face. That was his… character. It wasn’t the hardest as it wasn’t too different from his actual personality, but he’d had to substitute the sass for cute cheekiness.

 

The guy didn’t speak. Just sent a grin Lando’s way, eyes trailing over him as Lando reached over to start the music.

 

He unfolded himself gracefully, gesturing to the chair as the first few beats of the song rang out. The grey haired man wasn’t too much shorter than Lando, maybe a centimeter or two, but he still had to slightly tilt his head down to meet the guy’s eyes when he came up way too close to him.

 

He placed his hands on Lando’s hips and he had to fight against the way his body wanted to squirm away from the touch. The guy smelled like expensive cologne and hair product, his top two buttons of his navy shirt were undone, likely to seem ‘cool’. He leaned in closer to Lando, inhaling deeply.

 

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” He drawled with a sleazy grin adorning his lined face.

 

Lando cringed internally. Instead of letting it show, he just giggled, as if he were flattered by this man’s advances.

 

With this money, he’d be able to treat Max and Charles with something. Or maybe Oscar?

 

“Would you like to sit?” He offered with a charming smile, knowing the song was about to get going, and he really didn’t want this guy to request any more time with him.

 

“No.”

 

Lando’s brain stuttered to a stop and his hand hung awkwardly, suspended midair with no purpose. This wasn’t part of the script? Why was the customer not following his script? Lando didn’t have a response for this. He had, ‘relax, enjoy this’, ‘remember, no touching!’, and a cheeky giggle with a slight push to the chest if the client was halfway in the chair. 

 

But nothing if they outright refused.

 

“N-no?” Lando echoed unsurely. “I mean, I could give you the dance standing up, but I don’t know how good it will be. I’m not used to-”

 

“A dance won’t be necessary.” The man pulled his phone out, successfully confusing Lando even more. He barely held back a ‘huh?’ He was dutifully typing away at his phone before shoving it at Lando with a cold expression. Lando felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him lightheaded at what he saw on the screen. “You’re coming with me tonight.”

 

On the phone was what looked like security camera footage. Of their dressing room and their practice room. He watched as Charles taught Kimi and Ollie a move him and Lando had made years ago, how George and Nico snacked on something. There was also a feed of the back door, showing nobody patrolling it as a black BMW rolled into frame. And, most horrifyingly, in the bottom right corner, was of a singular man in what appeared to be a room with only a bed, a sink, and a toilet. Lando lifted the device closer to his face, squinting. He’d know those curls anywhere.

 

He gasped, nearly dropping the phone as he stumbled back. “Is this live?” He breathed.

 

The guy who’d kidnapped Daniel - Christian, Lando’s brain lamely supplied him - rolled his eyes as if he was getting bored. “Yes, it’s live.” He sighed. “Now, I wouldn’t want to take more time if I were you, we’re on a tight schedule, you see.”

 

Lando was shaking. 

 

This was why he’d felt so deeply uneasy. Daniel had been asked to get into his high payers outfit, had been asked to wait in the room for the client, and then he’d disappeared after his shift that night.

 

Lando had never been more terrified in his life.

 

“W-what…?” He stuttered, brain going blank as his fight, flight, or freeze kicked in. He paused for a millisecond, just enough time to decide that he didn’t have more time to come up with a better plan. So, he threw Christian’s phone at him before making a run for the back door with a futile shout for help.

 

There was an outraged cry behind him, but just as he’d reached the doorknob, Christian’s boot landed right by his hand, effectively slamming the barely open door shut again.

 

“Enough of that.” He snarled in Lando’s face. “You want to put your friend’s lives on the line?” He grinned evilly, his tone mocking. “I have five men waiting in that car, there is nobody at the back door and nobody guarding your dancer rooms.” Lando gulped audibly, making Christian’s grin twist into something downright cruel. He reached up a hand to caress Lando’s face with the corner of the phone. Lando tried his very best to jerk away from the touch but Christian was simply too close. “You gonna come quietly? Or do I need to force you?”

 

Lando’s thoughts were whirling. He snatched Christian’s phone, using his element of surprise and the brief moment his attacker was off balance to shove him and make a run for the other door.

 

For a brief second, he’d done it. He’d made a break for it. He was closing the distance to the main bit of the club, his saving grace.

 

Then he felt the arms wrap around his waist, felt himself be lifted up. His arms and legs flailed like a woodlouse on its back before Christian threw him to the floor.

 

Lando landed heavily on his side, winded and smacking his head against the floor so hard he saw stars. Black spots danced across his vision as he gasped for air.

 

“See, there was no need for that, was there? Now I’ve got to hurt you. This is your fault, and your fault alone, pretty thing.” Christian mocked before he felt a heavy boot stamp down on his side. 

 

Lando cried out, instinct kicking in as he curled up to protect his stomach and chest. He felt a rough hand turn him onto his back and grab him by his hair to lift him up and punch him across the face, sending him and the phone in his hand sprawling. He bit his tongue, gasping as Christian geared up to send another harsh punch to his face and he couldn’t help but wonder where the hell security was?

 

The brighter part of him realised that if Christian had access to cameras he was probably looping the feed so nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

 

The more desperate part of him, however, sobbed as he begged for help that wouldn’t come. After three more hits to his face and another to his stomach that made it even harder to breathe than it already was, he put his hands up in surrender.

 

“I’ll go!” He rasped, pleading, willing to do anything to make this stop. “Please, I’ll go.” He felt a warm trickle of blood slip down his cheekbone from where his assailant’s rings had broken the delicate skin, tasted a metallic tang from a split lip.

 

Christian lowered his fist, letting Lando fall back onto the floor again. His eyes fluttered shut and he missed him reaching into his pocket and pulling out zip ties until he felt his wrists being grabbed and the ties being pulled too tightly around his skin. It pinched, it hurt, and he’d tried to wrench his hands back, only worsening it as the plastic bit into his skin.

 

“You haven’t thought this through.” Lando sneered stupidly. “Everyone knows I’m a dancer, look what I’m wearing.” He laughed. “I found a flaw, this won’t work!”

 

Christian glared at him and Lando just glared right back. He sighed, shrugging off his shirt, leaving him in just a low cut white wife beater. “Sit up.” He demanded. Lando stayed stubbornly laid down on the floor. “Sit up.” He barked, slapping the brunet over the face again, taking his breath away.

 

He willed away the sting of tears, blinking harshly as he put his bound hands on the floor, gasping as his side erupted in flames, pain licking over his torso from where Christian had stamped on him. Still, he managed to get up and Christian put his shirt over Lando’s shoulders, pulling out a knife and cutting through the zip ties.

 

Lando felt strangely smug. He’d pointed out a flaw in this man’s plan. Although, none of it mattered, anyway, as he was going with him and there was nothing he could do about it. Despite how much pain he was in as he put the shirt on, he refused to cry anymore.

 

Christian put another zip tie over his wrists after Lando had buttoned the shirt up halfway. He pulled it just as tight, if not tighter. He could feel his cheekbone and lip, his entire face actually, throbbing and knew they would be swollen and black and blue tomorrow. 

 

Christian pulled him to his feet. “Okay, now, I need you to pretend to be a drunk little whore who wants to come home with me until we get to the car.” Christian instructed, fixing the collar of his shirt on Lando.

 

“And if I don’t?” He challenged, leaning away as much as he could.

 

Christian just yanked him close, whispering in his ear over the chorus of a new song that had come on. “Have you guessed where your little Argentinian friend is yet?” 

 

Lando’s blood ran cold again as he stared helplessly at the shorter man. Franco.

 

He just shrugged. “Don’t worry. We know he doesn’t have any information, so as soon as we’ve got you he’ll be free to go.”

 

“Information about what?” Lando asked incredulously.

 

“Don’t play dumb, it’s not a good look.” The Brit growled, tugging Lando with him as he picked up his phone from where it had been flung. They reached the door as Christian entwined his fingers with Lando’s. “You want your friend alive, no? Play along.”

 

Lando, defeated, bruised, aching, could do nothing but nod. He tucked himself close-ish to Christian’s side as they beelined for the backdoor. They muscled through the crowd then Christian threw open the backdoor. Lando threw one last look over his shoulder.

 

His eyes scanned the club, wishing for a miracle. All he got was the wide, terrified eyes of Paul Aron not even three meters away before the door was slammed shut.

 

Christian pulled Lando around so he was facing the camera that watched the alleyway,  holding up his bound hands with one hand while he waved mockingly towards the camera with the other.

 

Christian then lifted Lando’s arms over his head so his wrists were jammed against his spine. He was then shoved harshly into the backseat of a seven-seater BMW, right next to an unconscious Franco who was then dragged out and unceremoniously propped against the wall. Doors were slammed shut and tyres screeched against tarmac as Lando disappeared into the night.

Notes:

if you did enjoy the chapter or want to chat about anything please feel free to leave a comment and kudos ! x

i honestly don't know when i'll have the next chapter up because school is a right bitch but it shouldn't be longer than two weeks i promise :)

lots of love, see you in the next one x

Chapter 3: just like this, here for the night

Summary:

there he is!

Notes:

LOOOOOOLL SORRY IT TOOK FRICKEN FOREVER BUT IT'S NEARLY 12K WORDS SO MAKES UP FOR THE WAIT?????

applying to uni is actually going to kill me off but I'M NEARLY DONE

yes i read through this instead of doing my work, but do i care? NOOO

anywho, enjoy! xx

warning, this chapter is also kinda graphic?

“Oscar!” Charles yelled, running up to him, he looked dishevelled, frantic, and on the verge of tears.

 

“Charles? What’s wrong? What happened?” He fretted, hands coming to the Monegasque’s shoulders, eyes flitting over his face.

 

“It’s Lando, he-” Charles was hyperventilating and all Oscar could do was rub his hands up and down Charles’ arms as he looked around for Max. He wasn't prepared to deal with this. He swallowed thickly.

 

“What happened to Lando?” He asked, one eye still looking out for the Dutchman. When Charles just burst into sobs, all of Oscar’s attention was immediately on him, his own awkwardness forgotten. “Charles. What happened to Lando?” He emphasised, now gripping him by the biceps.

 

“Someone’s taken him.” Charles cried, tears falling down his face and Oscar noted how he still managed to look pretty when he cried, just like Max had mentioned offhandedly once. But now wasn’t the time for that because - what?

 

“What do you mean?” He demanded, brows furrowed.

 

“Like, Paul saw him being dragged out of the club by some random guy, and he was wearing the man’s shirt, Oscar, and he had been hurt, hit in the face, et je sais pas-” He broke off as he trembled, burying his face in his hands. “Paul is so sad, so guilty.”

 

“It’ll be okay.” He said, now wrapping one arm around Charles as he looked for Max or Carlos, anyone. “It’ll be fine. We’ll find him.” He reassured. Whether or not his words were for himself, or Charles, or both of them, he wasn’t entirely sure. Finally, he spotted Max standing near the door, chatting to Carlos who was one of the security personnel for that night and Oscar felt an unjust wave of pure annoyance towards the Spaniard. He was supposed to keep everyone safe, yet Lando had been beaten up and kidnapped and only Paul had noticed because he’d seen him being taken? Oscar swallowed his bitterness, getting over himself and heading over to them both.

 

It had to have been orchestrated by one of their rivals, it was too well planned out not to be. Knowing the guard schedule somewhat, being able to sneak in and get one of their most popular dancers out without anyone catching onto what had happened? It screamed professional job. 

 

“This is just like Daniel.” Charles cried. “That is why we were so nervous about him dancing for this man, it was just like how Daniel went missing, but it happened too fast to think properly.”

 

“Charlie? What’s wrong?” Max immediately questioned, cutting Oscar off before he could ask Charles his own question, a repeat of ‘what do you mean?’

 

“Lando’s been kidnapped.” Oscar said, already detaching himself from the situation so he could look at it analytically.

 

Max stopped rubbing over Charles’ back, going terrifyingly still. “What?”

 

“That’s what I said.” Oscar grumbled huffily.

 

“Max, it is similar to how Daniel disappeared. There was a really rich guy who was wanting a dance. He asked Lando to be in the room before he arrived.” Charles said desperately. “I should have stopped him, I should have-” his accent was becoming thicker and harder to understand as he got more distressed.

 

“It’s okay, Charlie. Don’t blame yourself. You know Lando, he probably wouldn’t have turned it down. Not if Zak or Andrea were pressuring him. Not if it was good money that would help us with bills this month.” Max squeezed Charles once before telling him to go over to Carlos and tell him. He turned to Oscar, letting him see how his eyes were stony with a fury that Oscar was sure was mirrored on his own face. “We go to security and we look at the footage to see which suicidal fucker decided to take him.”

 

Oscar didn’t have to show his agreement, Max knew he’d follow. He turned and headed for the room that was behind the bar, both practically vibrating with a weird concoction of stress and anger. Once they got to the bar, Oscar grabbed Liam by the wrist, not stopping his stride as he dragged the Kiwi downstairs with them. 

 

“Tell Andrea and Zak that Lando’s been taken.” He said firmly as Max unlocked the second door, completely ignoring Liam’s shocked mumbles. “I’ll tell you more later, but for now Stella and Brown need to know. Tell them we’ll be in the security room.”

 

They barged into security after they got through both doors and thundered down the two flights of stairs. The door slammed against the wall, making Tim jump, turning back to the screens in a futile attempt to hide the fact he’d not been doing his job properly.

 

It made Oscar want to shoot something.

 

And if the way Max’s fists were clenching in an attempt to soothe his own anger was any indication, he was struggling not to hit something too.

 

The room smelt a little sour, a mix of coffee, damp, and sweat. There were at least three empty mugs, empty takeaway containers, crisp packets, biscuits, the list goes on. It was a disgusting room. Tim was a weedy little man, big round glasses that slipped down his nose, food and coffee dropped onto his shirt that had left unpleasant stains. Oscar’s nose wrinkled a little in distaste.

 

“Pull up the security feed from the back door five minutes ago.” Max demanded instantly.

 

“What? Why?” Tim questioned, making no move to actually do it and Oscar saw red.

 

“Don’t be difficult.” He snarled, mirroring Max’s crossed arms stance.

 

“Jeez, okay, fine.” Tim put his hands up, infuriatingly unbothered, taking his feet off the desk and pulling up the backdoor camera. His brows were furrowed as he scrubbed through the footage, rewinding it about seven minutes. 

 

When he pressed play, a big black BMW rolled up, no doubt with stolen plates which would be of no help.

 

They watched as a man came around the corner with an unconscious Franco, chucking him in the back and the tension in the room increased tenfold. Nothing else happened for a couple minutes and they stood in tense silence, Oscar scanning the screen for anything at all. Then, the door opened and out walked this old-ish man with Lando. Lando spares the club one last longing glance, his mouth opening helplessly. That must’ve been when Paul saw him.

 

They then watched as the man yanked Lando around, making him look up at the camera as his bound wrists were shown to the feed and the guy had the gall to wave.

 

“I know him.” Max whispered. “I’ll tell you later.” He said to Oscar immediately, eyes not leaving the footage but likely feeling the Aussie’s inquisitive gaze on him. 

 

Lando’s hands were tugged roughly behind his head before he was swapped with Franco, being shoved into the car while Franco was left out on the street. Oscar felt the anger bubble up inside him. This man had been sitting here on his phone instead of watching the security feed. If he hadn't been… Oscar didn’t want to sit around with hypotheticals, he wanted to do something about this.

 

“Show me the rooms.” Max demanded. “Five minutes earlier.”

 

Tim tapped away at his keyboard, pulling up five feeds of the different dance rooms. Oscar briefly recognised the fourth one, the one Lando gave him his dance in. They crowded closer and watched the footage.

 

Nothing happened.

 

In any of them.

 

Oscar hummed. “That shouldn’t be right. He was giving the guy a dance.” 

 

Tim rewinded the feeds again. “That one.” Oscar pointed at the footage from room three.

 

“What?” Max asked, squinting. 

 

“There was a blip, I swear. Look at the lighting.” He encouraged Tim to pick that feed alone, tapping the screen so hard it distorted around his finger.

 

“Ay, stop.” Tim huffed, batting him off. “Patience, yeah, mate? I’m getting there.” Oscar bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything snarky or sarcastic that would get him kicked out of the room.

 

“Look, it’s looped. The lights jump.” He pointed, gentler this time, to where one of the disco lights spins across the ceiling a couple times before jumping back across unnaturally. “Someone didn’t cut it smooth enough.”

 

“Pull up the backup camera footage for the room.” Max asked, one hand on the back of Tim’s chair, the other splayed out on the desk.

 

“Way ahead of you.” The techie mumbled, leaning close to the screen as he clicked on things that made no sense to Oscar.

 

When a new window opened up on screen, showing the same room, it showed Lando stood close to a guy. They zoomed in a little on Lando’s face, the camera angle only giving them that. They showed him looking slightly caught off-guard, looking like he was stuttering a little.

 

“Is there audio?” Oscar asked. “He might’ve unknowingly given Lando a clue.”

 

“Mhm.” Tim hummed, clicking something and then a scratchy, grainy audio came to life, a sensual song in the background that nearly covered what was being said. Max turned the volume up in hopes of making deciphering the words easier. 

 

“-n’t be necessary. You’re coming with me tonight.”

 

Oscar heard the chair creak as Max gripped it tighter. They watched as the old man handed Lando a phone but the Brit was too quiet for them to hear what he replied as he staggered back.

 

Before they knew it, Lando had thrown the phone in the man’s face, making a run for it with a desperate cry that cracked something in Oscar’s heart. 

 

They were out of frame of the camera for a bit but they heard the thuds, the indecipherable whispers. Oscar’s shoulders tensed as he stopped himself from imagining what was happening.

 

Suddenly, Lando was running across the room again, towards the main door, Max swearing as the man was hot on Lando’s heels, catching him, lifting him, slamming him into the floor.

 

“See, there was no need for that, was there? Now I’ve got to hurt you. This is your fault, and your fault alone, pretty thing.”

 

Max shoved himself away from the desk as Lando cried out when the guy’s boot made contact with his side, hands flying to his hair in pure fury. “I cannot fucking believe him!”

 

“Mute it.” Oscar said evenly, his voice devoid of emotion as he tried to ignore the horrific scene in front of him. He flinched when Lando sobbed for help that would never come. “Mute this shit right now.”

 

“Help! Somebody, please! Stop! Somebo-”

 

The room became deathly silent, Lando’s begging cut off mid sentence.

 

Oscar didn’t know how long he stood there, head turned away from the monitor as Max stormed around the room and Tim sat with his head in his hands. 

 

The door suddenly burst open to reveal their bosses and Oscar glanced up in time to see Max’s fury triple.

 

“Which one of you gave him that dance?” He demanded, pointing at the computer as he stomped towards the two new arrivals. He got no answer, their bosses clearly caught off-guard by the fact that Max was so angry. “Which one of you gave him that fucking dance!?”

 

“I did.” Stella answered evenly after regaining his composure.

 

Oscar felt his crack with how quick his head snapped over to the two men in the doorway. He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking, crossing his arms over his chest to stop him from hitting one of them square in the face. “Well because of that, he’s been kidnapped.” He grumbled, surprising himself with his restraint.

 

“How was I supposed to know that would happen?” Andrea sighed softly, as if trying to talk two toddlers out of a tantrum. “Zak talked to him too, for longer than I did.”

 

“You should’ve known because how the fuck can you not recognise Horner?” When Max finally dropped the name, it was like an atomic bomb had gone off. If Oscar had thought the room was deathly silent before? Then this was like being completely deaf. It was so quiet he wasn’t sure if anyone was even breathing.

 

“Christian… Horner?” Zak spluttered.

 

“No, Christopher Horner- yes fucking Christian!” Max sneered. Oscar had thought he’d never seen Max so furious.

 

“I didn’t talk to Christian.” Zak insisted.

 

“What you’re telling me you didn’t talk to that guy? The one who was in the room with Lando? The one who took Lando?” Oscar snapped, pointing to the monitor where they watched as the door to the private room had just been shut. Oscar was selfishly glad he hadn’t watched the rest of it go down.

 

“No, I know what Christian looks like.” Zak insisted but Oscar was having none of it.

 

“Or were you too distracted by the fifty grand he was willing to pay for your dancer?” He hissed, venomous.

 

“That is not the man either of us spoke to!” Andrea stood firmly. Then he shuffled. “Plus. It wasn’t fifty thousand.” He tried to defend himself. Futile, really, as neither Max nor Oscar had any patience left.

 

“How much was it, then?” Oscar queried, an eyebrow raised as he finally came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Max, forming a wall of pure outrage.

 

“Ten thousand.” he replied, voice small like he knew he was in the wrong. Because he was.

 

“Ten-” Oscar cried, hand rubbing over his jaw to silence himself.

 

“Let me ask you something.” Max began, eerily calm now. If anything, that was more terrifying than the anger. “Who was the last dancer you had such a high bid for?” Nobody answered, everyone knew. “Daniel. Who offered that money for him?” Max didn’t pause this time, answering his own question. “Christian. What happened to Daniel? He went missing. Lando has had a high bid. You know he won’t refuse that kind of money, not if both of you ask him to do it. Someone offers the money. Someone takes Lando. It ends up being Christian.” Max growled, bristling. “What are we doing to get him back?”

 

Zak and Andrea share a look, clearly floundering.

 

“What can we do?” Zak decides on. “We tried looking for Daniel, wasted resources just to not find him. If it’s Christian again, we won’t find Lando.”

 

Oscar and Max shared an incredulous look.

 

“You won’t even try.” Oscar scoffed.

 

“We do have better things to do, Oscar. It would be different if Horner took one of you, you actually know things.”

 

“Except Lando does know things.” Max countered, his voice cutting. “You hired him at the same time as me. An inquisitive little sixteen year old Lando Norris wanted to know everything. You remember how many times he snuck down here. He’s the reason you have the biometric lock.” The Dutchman pointed out.

 

“Shit.”

 

Max laughed mockingly. “Yeah. He knows more than the other dancers, even growing up in the UK, away from his family’s Belgian gang, he was always trained.” Oscar’s brain fumbled on that piece of information. Since when had Lando grown up in a gang? Probably since his birth, Oscar, you genius. “He’s had the required stamina training, but everyone has a limit, Andrea.” Max’s voice softened, almost breaking. Oscar could hear the pure terror Max was feeling for Lando. “We can’t ask him to push it for too long. He will die. Because Lando won’t snitch.”

 

Oscar reached over to Max, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. Max and Lando were such good friends. And, from what he was hearing, they went back a lot further than he’d initially thought.

 

“Look, Andrea. Max, Carlos, Isack, Lewis, Fernando, me, we’ve all got no assignments at the moment.” Oscar pointed out. “I looked at the logs, have been more attentive since your little… mishap with Carlos and me,” he glared, eyes cutting. “Treat this as another assignment. You just won’t have to pay us for this one.”

 

The bosses shared a look, communicating in their own slimy way. Zak sighed. “Look, we can’t fork out resources just because one of your friends went home with some guy who’s probably going to become his sugar daddy-”

 

Tim cleared his throat, cutting Zak off and making Oscar jump in surprise. He’d pretty much forgotten the guy was there, bless. “With all due respect sir, it wasn’t willing. I can show you the security footage, but I thought because of how… close you are to him, you’d care,” The techie held his boss’ gaze, his voice cold, assessing, knowing. Zak paled, straightening. Oscar felt sick, he just knew there was something truly awful there as Tim held firm, pushing his glasses up his nose, “and I wouldn’t need to watch a dancer get beaten up for something out of his control. Because I don't want to watch that again.”

 

Andrea sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He hissed something at Zak that the rest of the room didn’t catch. “Fine.” He snapped. “But if you don’t find him in three weeks, the search will be called off.”

 

The two assassins shared a look, having a silent conversation. Oscar, though annoyed, saw this was the best they were going to get and wanted to urge Max to not say anything more in case he got some of their time taken off them. He nodded, Max mirroring him before he turned back to the powerful men they were basically bargaining with for Lando’s life.

 

“Dissmissed.”

 

They trudged back upstairs - unhappily - and bumped into Alex.

 

“You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on? Why’d you steal my bartender? Did I hear you say Lando’s been taken?” He demanded, the usual teatowel slung over his shoulder. The two assassins shared a look and a sigh before delving into it.

 

“Fucking can’t believe them.” Alex hissed when they finished. “You should’ve shown them the CCTV.”

 

“I doubt it would’ve made a difference, mate.” Oscar admitted sadly.

 

“We should tell the other dancers.” Max said, a hand on Oscar’s back. Whether it was to help regulate himself or Oscar, he wasn’t sure.

 

“I’ll tell Nando, Jense, and Carlos.” Alex offered, the three were working as bodyguards tonight. Oscar winced. All three of them loved Lando to bits, they’d feel so guilty.

 

Max and Oscar nodded, walking over to the dancer rooms. 

 

Max put the code in and Oscar raised a brow at him. “What? Charles told me. In case of-”

 

“In case of emergencies?” Oscar finished for him, getting a petulant glare. “What kind of emergency, Max? Just in case you can’t undo your own belt?” Oscar teased, yelping as Max shoved him through the now open doorway. It didn’t wipe the cheeky smirk from Oscar’s face.

 

Something that did, however, was the sight of all the dancers (except for Kimi and Ollie as they were currently out dancing) huddled together on beanbags and sofas.

 

Charles scrambled up immediately. “Anything?” He asked desperately, hopeful eyes flickering between Max and Oscar. They both shook their heads, Charles’ vain hope visibly seeping out of him. 

 

Pierre came up to him. “Désolé, Calamar.” He murmured.

 

“It was Christian.” Max said, loudly enough for Nico and Seb to hear as well as Pierre. Max had told him on the way back upstairs how Sebastian used to work for Horner’s club before making his way here, and how Max had brought Pierre and Yuki here after meeting them at Horner’s club when he was undercover.

 

He heard their sharp intakes of breath, caught their shared, fearful glances.

 

“Wasn’t that the same guy who used to be obsessed with Daniel?” George asked. Max nodded.

 

“I am guessing he is bad news.” Paul said from where he was holding an ice pack to Franco’s forehead. The Argentine was awake, thank god, though he looked rather dishevelled and slightly confused.

 

“Very.” Oscar answered. “And now he's got Lando.”

 

“Paul, what did you see out that door?” Max questioned. “You know, when…” Max trailed off. He hadn’t been able to say it again, now that the realisation had kicked in.

 

“I could not see much, I am sorry.” He looked down. “Lando and the guy was blocking my view.”

 

“It’s okay, Paul. We've got the CCTV from out there, anyway.” Oscar nodded at him, giving him a soft smile. Paul just nodded back, still seeming guilty. “We will get him back.” Oscar said firmly.

 

⪻────𖤓────⪼

 

The next week and a half was possibly one of the busiest of Oscar’s life.

 

Firstly, he, Charles, and Max had gone wandering around Monaco to try and map the possible route they’d taken away from the club. They’d had to wait five days before they could do any sort of searching, Max had to wrap things up and Charles was still working. So were they, but just as bodyguards and bartenders. It was now a Thursday morning since they either weren’t in at all or had the closing shift later on.

 

“I mean, do you think he’s using the same stretch of territory?” Charles suggested, Oscar and Max shared a look.

 

Oscar shrugged. “Could be.”

 

Max agreed. “Okay, follow me.” He set off, a renewed hope putting a slight spring in his step, powering him onwards.

 

They tailed Max, icecreams in their hands to hopefully not arouse too much suspicion. That’s a lie, they just wanted ice cream. 

 

“Why vanilla?” Oscar asked Charles, enjoying his own dark chocolate. Max was on the other side with a mint choc chip.

 

“Only vanilla thing about me is my favourite ice cream flavour.” Charles winked, making both Max and Oscar choke.

 

“Charles!” Max groaned at the same time as Oscar muttered ‘I didn’t want to know that.’

 

Charles just laughed breathily, a wide grin on his face as he had another spoonful. “Because it is underrated. You cannot go wrong with vanille. It is perfection.” He actually answered, lifting up another delicate spoonful as Oscar crunched on his cone. “I could ask you the same, Oscar. Why dark chocolate?” He elbowed the Aussie.

 

“Uhm… the other flavours are a bit too sweet for me, I guess.” He admitted. “Dark chocolate is just a good balance.” Oscar took another bite, shrugging, the cold made his teeth ache.

 

“Here.” Max suddenly interrupted. They’d stopped just by the tunnel, the one drivers go through in the grand prix. “This is where his territory used to start. I don’t know if it’s the same anymore.”

 

“What an ass. Claiming the most iconic place on earth.” Oscar looked around bitterly before turning back to his friends. “Unless he’s been challenged, or he’s challenged someone else, both of which I believe are highly unlikely, I don’t think much will have changed territory wise.” Shrugging, he had a lick of his ice cream instead of a bite to stop his teeth aching.

 

They wandered further up, keeping their eyes peeled for evidence of Horner’s presence. They ended up finding little markings in some of the brick in alleyways, increasing in number the deeper they got into the territory. It was an educated guess it was him because a lot of the markings Max recognised were from his days with Horner.

Secondly, they spent a whole night back in Max, Charles, and Lando’s little flat scouring camera footage. Yes, about fourteen of them. All in a small open plan living room/kitchen. It was a Monday, so the club was shut, which meant nobody had any obligatory shift. They were already nine days into their allotted time to look for Lando, and people were feeling the pressure.

 

It was Oscar, Max, Charles, Carlos, Yuki, Fernando, Jenson, Sebastian, Mark (you can imagine how that reunion was), Lewis, Nico (you can imagine how that reunion was), big Kimi, Alex, and George.

 

It was awkward to begin with, but everybody was there for a reason. That reason was Lando.

 

They’d taken pizza orders a couple hours into scrubbing through footage from roadside cameras - Yuki was unsurprisingly incredible at hacking and had granted them all access to the feeds. Max and Charles’ poor WiFi was struggling with how many people were trying to run laptops from it, so much so that big Kimi threatened to buy them a WiFi booster.

 

“How many fucking roads are there in Monaco?” Yuki groaned, stretching out dramatically over the kitchen island as though he were a lizard sunbathing on a rock.

 

Oscar had to admit, the flat was really lovely. It was very homely. They had soft couches, a couple beanbags, massive fluffy pillows and blankets everywhere - courtesy of Lando, apparently. According to literally everyone, the man had a habit of falling asleep just about everywhere if he had something to rest his head on, so they just invested in a bunch of cozy things for when he inevitably fell asleep somewhere that wasn’t his bed.

 

Nobody was complaining about the abundance now, however, because it meant nearly everyone had a blanket to themselves. Yes, the collection was that insane.

 

There was art up on the walls, shelves covered in books, niknaks, trinkets, pictures, hanging plants that were half dead, you name it. 

 

When the pizza finally arrived everyone cheered, Alex practically leaping up from where he was resting his head in George’s lap as they chatted with Charles and Seb.

 

“Finally!” Mark groaned. “I am so hungry.” Oscar clapped his old mentor on the shoulder before heaving himself up to give Alex the code for the delivery guy.

 

Seven pizzas were carried in. Seven large pizzas.

 

Heaven on earth.

 

They had a vast array of toppings, no Hawaiian, obviously, George had threatened to tell little Kimi if any of them dared suggest it.

 

They laid all the open boxes out on the floor so people could reach for whichever they wanted. Oscar dove straight into a margherita.

 

“You don’t change much, do you Oscar?” Mark teased Oscar, reminiscent of their time when Mark would constantly tease him for his unwillingness to mess with his routine.

 

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” He shrugged simply. “Anyway.” He hummed, swallowing his mouthful. “How are you and Fernando doing? I don’t really see him around for long enough to ask the right questions.”

 

Mark beamed, taking a bite and eating with his mouth half full like a heathen. “We’re doing good, yeah. We’ve got two dogs, they’re like our children.” His face was soft with adoration, and Oscar was almost sure it was about the dogs and not his husband.

 

Oscar cooed. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

 

“He loves them more than me.” Fernando grumbled, stealing Mark’s slice of pizza and confirming Oscar’s theory, making him laugh. He opened his mouth to reply, to tease Mark when he was interrupted.

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Lewis suddenly called, getting everyone’s attention. “I found the car again!” He grinned, the entire room erupting in cheers as Lewis clicked away at his laptop, following the car camera by camera.

 

Max, Charles, Oscar, and Carlos jumped over to Lewis, nearly shoving Nico out of the way. The two of them had sat very… close for this whole ordeal. Lewis pointed at the screen, explaining how it was one of the cameras coming out from under the bridge.

 

Three of them shared a look above Lewis. “We went there a couple days ago. It’s part of his territory.” Oscar said, ignoring the sharp look he received from Mark.

 

With the car now found, everyone had a renewed energy about them. They were all re-motivated, all a bit more invested now that their hope was palpable.

 

Every time they got a hit, they’d announce it, excitement building, growing as each scrap of news fed their enthusiasm.

 

“They’ve gone into a carpark.” Max announced, quieter now. These guys had driven all around Monaco for hours without stopping, their group had dwindled to just over half their original number. The only people left awake were him, Max, Charles, Carlos, Jenson, Mark, and Lewis. Alex and George were asleep on each other, Seb dozing in Jenson’s lap. If Oscar was being honest, he knew Charles would be the one to go next, he was leaning heavily on Max. Everyone else had gone home, Kimi went to feed Seb and Jenson’s dog. Mark claimed they were copying him and Fernando. Oscar couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious.

 

“I’ve got the feed.” Oscar informed, following them down the levels. They pulled off about three down, going deep into the middle of the space. There were about twenty-five, maybe thirty cars on this level. They pulled the BMW into a space next to a navy Bentley and a matt black Porsche.

 

It took them another couple minutes before someone got out, opening the boot to get to Lando. He was shoved out, his foot catching on the seatbelt and he nearly faceplanted but he caught himself, the guy followed him out and laughed. The shirt he was wearing had been unbuttoned slightly from the last time they’d seen him, its top few buttons undone so that one side of it slipped down Lando’s arm. Fury burned in Oscar’s chest when Lando flinched at one of the guys reaching out to him.

 

The two men who were out with him skunked around in Lando’s orbit, one holding his bound wrists as the other checked him out clearly. Oscar’s glare was so intense it would’ve travelled through the systems and back in time just to reach the sleaze who was making eyes at Lando if it could.

 

Then Christian walked out, a black bag in hand and Oscar’s jaw clenched. He exhaled heavily through his nose, like an angered bull, as the man held Lando by his jaw, saying something to him. Lando replied, his fiery expression obvious even through the grainy CCTV, earning a slap to the face. Oscar lifted a clenched fist to an even tighter jaw, chewing on his thumb as his leg bounced.

 

He watched as the bag was thrown over Lando’s curls, obscuring them and probably messing them. He thrashed once, getting a solid punch to the stomach that made him double over before giving in.

 

Christian then walked him towards the Porsche, opening the door and guiding Lando in roughly by his head.

 

“They swapped cars. That’s why we couldn’t find them on anything more recent. They’re in a matt black Porsche Panamera.” Oscar reported through gritted teeth, watching as someone slipped in on either side of Lando. He read the number plate out, the few people with laptops typing the new search in immediately.

 

A yawn right next to him made Oscar jump, turning to see Lando’s flatmates. “Go to bed, Charlie.” He heard Max mutter, the beginnings of a slurred complaint resting on Charles’ lips that Max easily kissed away.

 

“Yeah, we won’t find him tonight.” Oscar nodded, lowering the lid of his laptop on the paused clip of the Porsche leaving the garage. “We’ll probably just find out where he is. We can scope it out properly over the next few days.” 

 

Charles looked torn. “I am not leaving the room if you are staying,”  he said stubbornly.

 

Oscar watched as Max’s face melted even more, if that was possible. “Of course, Charlie.” He murmured, pulling him close as a yawn split the Monegasque’s face and he shuffled around before settling down with his head pillowed on Max’s thigh.

 

Oscar lifted his laptop once more, pressing play and following the new car out of the car park.

 

Max and nearly everyone else fell asleep, too, at around four in the morning. This just left Carlos and Oscar awake. The silence between them was thick, Oscar’s focus trained on the task like a missile. He jumped when Carlos shattered his concentration.

 

“I didn’t mean to steal your gig, by the way.” He mumbled, unprompted, as he clicked his mouse pad every now and then to go through the cameras. “You know, the one a couple of weeks ago?”

 

Oscar was momentarily stunned. “Oh. Uhm. It’s fine, I guess?” He cringed at how it came out as more of a question. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Think Stella was just being a bit petty.” He grumbled, returning to his screen. 

 

“Still. I was very cocky with you.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as Carlos lifted his head, Oscar copied him, making eye contact briefly before looking back down. 

 

“You were.” Oscar grinned teasingly. 

 

“Shut up.”  The corner of Carlos’ mouth pulled up in a charming smile. 

 

“It was because of Lando.” He admitted. “Because we’d…” pausing, Oscar tried to think of the right thing to say. He eventually settled on, “taken an interest in each other.” He just cringed at himself, nose crinkling as he felt heat climb up his neck.

 

Carlos hummed, as if he understood. “I get you, cabrón. Lando and I had… well it was not really a thing…”

 

Oscar’s brow jumped in intrigue, his own embarrassment forgotten. “Oh? Pray tell?” He pestered.

 

Carlos’ jaw worked, fighting a smile. “We were drunk, we kissed once at a party, then again… among other things.” He shrugged simply, Oscar had to bite his tongue but couldn’t help the cheeky grin that spread across his face.

 

“Well?” He prompted, laughing quietly at Carlos’ confused expression. 

 

“Well, what?”

 

“Was he good?”

 

Carlos groaned quietly. “Best head I've ever had, mate. Just you wait.”

 

Oscar couldn't help but laugh again, then he felt guilty. They were talking about the person they were supposed to be searching for, talking about him while he was probably being treated worse than vermin. Then again, he couldn’t stop the sudden traitorous curiosity, Oscar tilted his head, taking his eyes off his laptop completely. “Why’d you not go for him?” He queried.

 

Carlos shot him a look. “Do you know how old I am?” He scoffed. “He wasn’t even twenty. I could not.” His brow was furrowed, a deep frown etched into his face that Oscar thought aged him way past his actual thirty years. “It was about… almost five years ago, though.”

 

Oscar smiled cheekily. “Twenty five and nineteen.” He whistled. “Someone tell the police.” 

 

“Shut up!” Carlos laughed.

 

They fell into a comfortable quiet. It felt lighter than it had earlier, as though Carlos had been itching to say something and Oscar had been waiting for confirmation that maybe he hadn’t accidentally been given five-k for nothing which would have given him more debt, that Stella had spent five thousand euros just to be petty, an annoyance, a waste of time.

 

“I am worried for him.” The Spaniard broke the silence again, Oscar’s attention snapping back to him once more. “I feel so guilty I noticed nothing.”

 

He hesitated, voice faltering. “Me too.” It came out as nothing more than a whisper, incredibly vulnerable, nervous, too. They shared a grimace before returning to their search in silence. “Hey, I can’t find them anymore.” Oscar muttered, brows furrowing. 

 

“I have them.” Carlos breathed. He beckoned Oscar over, pointing at a frozen image of the Panamera going underground as Lando and Christian walked down the street. Oscar never knew he could feel such rage at a laptop screen.

 

They walked towards another building around the corner, another club. The fact Christian did this out in the open, although it was dark, suggested one of two things to Oscar. One; he was incredibly cocky and believed they wouldn’t find him. Or two; this was a trap that they were about to willingly throw themselves into. 

 

Unfortunately, Christian and Lando didn’t go into the club. The two of them went around the back and into an alley that didn’t have CCTV. They'd lost Lando. Again. Carlos growled in annoyance, furiously tapping through the cameras in the vicinity in the vain hope of seeing something.

 

When nothing came of it, he slammed his laptop shut. Oscar sympathised greatly. If they didn’t find Lando soon, Oscar’d likely be bald because of how much he was tugging at his hair.

 

Carlos groaned again, sinking dramatically down in his seat. “What are we going to do?” He asked rhetorically, voicing Oscar’s very thoughts. “Half of us can’t even stalk the area because his men know us.”

 

Dread filled Oscar’s stomach. Of course. Christian knew most, if not all, of them because he’d stalked them ages ago. Oscar hadn’t really been around then, he’d been on an international mission and when he’d come back Daniel had been missing for two months. But, it was in no doubt that Christian knew of him anyway.

 

Oscar swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath and batting away the panic threatening to cloud his judgement. “What about some of the rookies?” He suggested.

 

Carlos looked at him through his fingers and Oscar could see the way his brow was raised clearly saying ‘really?’. He had half a mind to snap at him, tell him he’d get wrinkles if he did that. But they’d just made up, he couldn’t mess with it.

 

“I’m serious.” He emphasised, letting an exasperated hand land on his thigh as he tilted his head with a sigh.

 

“Okay, fine.” Carlos raised his hands, wide eyes. “I guess I will hear your plan out.”

 

Annoyance bubbled up inside Oscar. He wanted to be petty. He was going to be petty. “No, it’s fine. I won’t tell you. I’ll just hear your plan, then.” He shrugged, leaning back with faux relaxedness as he crossed his arms, hands resting on his biceps.

 

“No, Oscar…” Carlos drawled, dragging out the vowels of his name. “I listen. I promise.” He amended, Oscar chuckled once at the look on the Spaniard's face.

 

“Okay, uhm, so. If we send some of the rookies to scope it out, then, you know, they aren’t as known.” He shrugged. “They could search the area, play lost tourists if they get caught, but we’d be in their ears, so it’s okay.”

 

Carlos mulled it over and Oscar watched as he worked his jaw side to side. “I think it could work.” He eventually nodded.

And finally. Two days after that, they had the beginnings of a plan, some hope of finding the entrance to the base and infiltrating and bringing Lando home. They were eleven days into their twenty-one. Lando was running out of time, Horner would likely be running out of patience for him if what Max said was true.

 

They’d pitched Oscar’s idea to the group that had stayed over, majority agreeing and offering to try and help in any way they could as well. Jenson was sceptical but ultimately agreed.

 

They understood that the rookies could also get recognised because Horner and his team had clearly scoped out their movements and their shifts before they made a move. Despite this, Oscar believed their best bet would be to send some of the rookies because they had training, unlike the dancers and Alex, and they’d spent their time behind the bar, not yet as a bodyguard so they were a lot less likely to be recognised because they weren’t being directly watched.

 

Max and Fernando had retrieved the earpieces for the boys, talking them through and briefing stuff while Oscar, Yuki, Carlos, and Charles sat in a coffee shop just inside the border to their territory, as close to Horner’s as possible while remaining safe-ish.

 

To begin with, Oscar was actually quite confused as to why Charles was there, sure he cared about Lando but then they all would have to watch their mouths about what was being said because Charles wasn’t supposed to know things. Then again, Lando wasn’t supposed to know anything, either, and nothing seemed to stay secret around him for very long.

 

Max ended up reassuring the three other assassins that Charles had wrenched pretty much the whole story from both Max and Lando a couple years ago so he knew everything.

 

“Radio check?” Came Liam’s crackly voice, making the four of them jump.

 

“Loud and clear, mate.” Oscar hummed, sipping his hot chocolate and frowning at the whipped cream that painted his top lip afterwards.

 

He heard Carlos and Yuki mumbling similar things to Jack and Isack respectively.

 

“Are we go?” Yuki asked, Oscar nodded. “Everybody in their positions?” He asked the general channel. This one had Fernando, Max, Jenson, Lewis, Mark, and big Kimi on it as well as everyone else. These guys had been positioned on the outskirts of Christian’s grounds, all within five minutes of the rookies should something go horribly wrong.

 

They had trackers in the earpieces so they watched as the three boys wandered closer to Horner’s club. Oscar’s stomach was in absolute knots. He really didn’t want this to go wrong. If something happened to Liam, Jack, or Isack? Then that was on him. This was his plan.

 

He hated the way his hands shook slightly. He was never this… uncomposed. Even before his first solo job for Andrea and Zak he was less nervous. And that was when he was actively going to kill someone. But these were people he cared about, they were stuck there. They’d just gotten to know the wrong people. It wasn’t their fault. 

 

That was what made the difference, Oscar realised. In his eyes, these guys were innocent. The people he killed were the scum of the earth. Rapists, traffickers, drug dealers who used teens and kids, cheaters, abusers, you name it. Maybe Oscar was a vigilante. Some sort of weird, messed up spiderman without the cool powers but with a sniper.

 

“They’re approaching.” Carlos said, snapping Oscar out of his dazed spiral. He glanced over, seeing Charles watching the screen with an intent frown pulling his lips into a pout. Carlos’ lips were parted as his eyes were fixated on the screen. Yuki was slurping his tea, keeping one eye trained on the trackers.

 

Oscar squared his shoulders, cracking his neck. They weren’t attacking. Only finding out where the entrance was. If they stayed low-key, they’d be alright. Play the stupid tourist if they got caught. Oscar had reiterated that to them, and to himself, so many times.

 

It hadn’t taken them long to get to the club, maybe five minutes. It was possibly the most tense five minutes of Oscar’s life.

 

They watched and listened as the boys nattered away with each other, talking about nothing in particular. Girlfriends, in Liam’s case, dates they wanted to go on. Isack’s friend Gabriel who needed a job, how Isack was worried Gabi would find out what he did for a living because he kept asking him to put in a good word with his bosses.

 

Oscar sympathised, it had been similar with Logan for him but Oscar had managed to successfully keep his best friend out of his world.

 

“Where the fuck is it?” Liam grumbled.

 

“It should be around there, to the right of the club entrance.” Oscar told them, answering Liam’s rhetorical question.

 

“Yes, we just went down there with the excuse of a cig.” Isack huffed. “There is nothing at all.”

 

Oscar, Carlos, Yuki, and Charles all shared a perplexed look.

 

“They disappeared down that very alley, I am sure.” Carlos double checked, squinting at the map and comparing it to the screenshot of the street name he’d taken a couple nights before.

 

“What, can they not find the entrance?” Max’s voice crackled through their comms.

 

“We think there’s a trap door, or something, but we’re not sure.” Jack reported. “About four meters into the alley, it’s well hidden by a massive bin.”

 

“That is it. I remember it.” Yuki agreed. “Sort-of hidden, sort-of easy to get in and out.”

 

Humming, Oscar tapped the side of his laptop. “If you could hang around until Isack’s finished his cigarette, then we might be able to get some sort of proof. Stand in the entrance to the alley opposite.” He instructed, zooming in on the street view. “If you see Horner, don’t move until Isack’s done. If you don’t see him, do the same. No less, no more.”

 

“‘Kay.” Liam hummed, leading the way across the road. Carlos had pulled up the security camera footage on his laptop so they could watch them. They saw as Isack flicked and stepped on his previous cigarette, pulling another from behind his ear as he lit it and crossed the road.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Jack chastised him, earning himself a sharp jab to the ribs. They heard him yelp, Isack and Liam laughing at him.

 

“Didn’t know you were that ticklish, mate.” Liam teased, poking Jack.

 

They settled in the mouth of the opposite alleyway, Liam angled towards the one. To his credit, they didn’t falter in their boisterous laughter and jokes at Jack’s expense when they saw Horner himself walking out onto the street.

 

The only indication it had caught them off guard was the fact Isack started coughing, obviously having inhaled wrong due to the surprise. He passed it off as him dying of laughter, again to Jack’s detriment.

 

It only took another minute before Isack was done, snubbing it out against the wall and chucking it into the nearest bin.

 

They made sure to walk in the opposite direction to Horner, having to take the slightly longer route out of the hostile territory.

 

After that, it didn’t take too long for everyone to re-gather at Max’s flat. The fruit bowl was removed from the island once more, a sheet of A3 paper replaced it in the centre so they could brainstorm as if they were in a secondary school drama class, except for the fact they were making a plan to save someone’s life.

 

⪻────𖤓────⪼

 

It was going to work.

 

Oscar believed wholeheartedly.

 

Everyone who’d been a part of it so far, was on their side, was going to work with them, and, best of all, was going to be part of the ambush.

 

Because that’s what it was. An ambush. They’d spent the next week watching how Christian’s operation moved. Their quietest night was a Monday because it was shut, just like their club, just like Max and Mark had remembered. Oh, yeah. Mark had been part of Christian’s operation way back when, he’d left not long after Sebastian had started and then got stuck in with Zak and Andrea not too long later. 

 

Oscar believed that Mark was more surprised he hadn’t told his fellow Australian that little fact about himself than Oscar was. And if Oscar was just a little bit salty and conveniently forgot to order Mark a garlic and herb dip to go with his pizza, then Mark didn’t get to know that fact.

 

Anyway, their plan went something a bit like this:

 

Oscar, Lewis, and Fernando were in one of the first wave groups, Carlos, Max, and big Kimi making up the second. They were attacking from the two main points of entry, the front door, and the door in the alleyway.

 

They were going to get in and reconvene at the first known point. This just happened to be the stairs to the basement. Kimi had managed to find blueprints for the building, somehow - Oscar decided not to question his greatness, only appreciate it.

 

The other two groups (Jenson, Jack, and Mark, then Yuki, Liam, and Isack) would tail Oscar’s and Max’s groups respectively as backup. These were the only known entrances and exits, besides a fire escape out the back, in the whole building. This was both terrifying, and reassuring.

 

Terrifying, because if their exit was blocked, it was highly likely they’d have to fight it out. Reassuring, because it meant they could be a little more certain about how nobody could burst in through an unknown door. Although, Oscar didn’t rule it out. Just in case. Contingencies, right?

 

They were kitted out completely, vests, handguns, knives, tasers, smoke bombs, you name it, they had it. Maybe. 

 

Oscar, Lewis, and Fernando were all going through the front door with Jenson, Jack, and Mark tailing them. The eleven PM darkness covered them beautifully, allowing them to approach the front door without raising suspicion.

 

They all shared a look, nodding before Fernando brought his lock picking kit to the keyholes. There were two, he made quick work of both, getting them inside without sounding the alarms.

 

Once they were in, Oscar’s heart was in his throat as he quickly looked around. There were a couple people staring at them, frozen. Oscar didn’t give them any time, and neither did Lewis, both of them raising their guns and sending silenced shots their way. All hit in non-lethal places. They’d agreed nobody but Horner would die if they could help it.

 

Jenson, Jack, and Mark swiftly ran past them and further into the room. Jenson and Mark had their guns pointed up at the second floor as Jack pulled out the rope and zip ties to tie the people up so they wouldn’t alert the rest of the base, if they didn’t already know.

 

The layout was pretty boring, no wonder their club was always busy. The bar was on the back wall, furthest from the door. There was a clear dancefloor that had eight raised pedestals for dancers scattered throughout the large space. Oscar glanced up at the balcony, finding nobody hanging around that the other two hadn’t spotted. 

 

He went over to the bar, checking behind it that nobody was there. Nobody was, but he did admire a few of the brands that Christian stocked, an Australian one he recognised from his childhood.

 

Lewis whistled once, the sound was crisp and sharp, Oscar’s head snapped towards him. He signaled the way to the basement. Similar to theirs, it appeared to be just another storage cupboard. But they knew better, behind it hid a world stained in blood. Lewis and Oscar let Fernando slip between them to unlock the doors. Lewis had his gun pointed the way they were going, Oscar had his pointed the way they came, just in case.

 

Stupidly, Horner didn’t have any biometric locks which was incredibly lucky for them as they didn’t have to break any doors down. They got down to the other door at the bottom of the stairway to see it open. The three of them shared a nervous look, preparing for anything to happen.

 

They raised their guns, walking silently towards the ajar door.

 

“It’s us.” Max’s whisper floated through and they all relaxed. “We’ve cleared the corridor.”

 

Oscar nodded to the other two in his group, turning back to see Jenson, Mark, and Jack making their way down the stairs.

 

“They’re secure. They won’t be getting out for a while.” Mark confirmed, a look of such thrill on his face that briefly suggested he missed this life a little bit.

 

Oscar breathed in deeply. “Okay, let’s move.” He directed, leading the way into the next corridor where the other two groups were. They fanned out across the corridor, taking up the whole thing with their guns pointed ahead.

 

They’d open doors, two or three of them shooting into the rooms like snakes, neutralising anyone in there before continuing to make progress, gunshots like thunder and lightning.

 

At the end of the corridor, they reached another set of stairs, Max and Carlos opened them while Oscar and Kimi remained poised to take anyone out. They slithered down the stairs, this time the staircase was narrower and shorter, staying silent but deadly. Before rounding a corner, Oscar would peer over the hand rail each time, making sure nobody was there before they continued to the floor below. This happened a total of three times before they reached the next set of doors.

 

God, Oscar hoped it didn’t go on for much longer, he didn’t think his nervous system would be able to cope.

 

Mercifully, this corridor seemed shorter, only five doors instead of eight.

 

Someone walked out of the one nearest to their group. The old man froze at the sight of them before his face twisted in anger, venom leeching into his wrinkles.

 

“Marko.” Oscar heard both Max and Mark growl while Yuki’s breath just hitched and Carlos stiffened next to him.

 

Before Oscar could question anything further, Max shot out, landing a hit square in the old man’s stomach. He doubled over and Max used the momentum to knee him in the face. “Where is he? Where is Lando?” He hissed.

 

“Why should I tell you?” Marko sneered, his sentence punctuated with a raspy laugh as he held his now bleeding nose.

 

That’s when Carlos and Mark joined Max, almost blocking the other guy from view as they all squared up. “Because your greasy little life doesn’t mean much, now does it, Helmut? Horrible to see you again, I’d hoped you’d have died already.”

 

“Ahh, hello Webber.” He smirked. “Long time no see. How’s Sebastian doing?”

 

“None of your business.” Carlos snapped. “Now, tell us where our dancer is.”

 

Helmut just laughed again, the sound rough and scratchy from old smokers lungs. Oscar sort-of hoped the sound would put Isack off smoking. “Which one?” It was like a bomb had gone off. What did he mean? He didn’t just have Lando? The words reverberated around Oscar’s brain like a pinball machine before they hit home. 

 

Daniel. 

 

Daniel was here, too.

 

This made everyone falter, making the leader grin, revealing bad teeth that made Oscar grimace.

 

“They are here, but they are well guarded. You won’t get to them, not without me or Christian.” Helmut chuckled horribly, clearly finding himself hilarious. “And I would die before I helped any of you traitors.” He spat the final words, actually spitting at Carlos’ feet.

 

Carlos opened his mouth to clap back at him, only to stop short as they heard a silenced shot. Helmut Marko staggered, crimson blood dripping down his face from a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead. The group was stunned into further silence, Oscar looking behind him to see Yuki stood there with a smoking gun, his expression completely blank.

 

“And he says I was a bad shot.” He chuckled humourlessly, his eyes fixed on the corridor ahead. “It is the door at the end of the corridor. We do not need him anymore because we have trapped Christian.”

 

If Oscar turned any faster he’s sure his neck would’ve snapped. Yuki was right, at the end of the corridor stood Christian Horner. He was frozen, caught in the middle of wiping blood from his knuckles and that sight alone made Oscar see red.

 

Another shot immediately rang out and it took Oscar a second to realise it was coming from his own gun. Christian cried out, immediately reaching for his knee and stumbling back through the doorway.

 

Oscar led the charge, or he guessed he did because nobody was in front of him as he thundered towards Horner.

 

“Where is he? What have you done to him?” Oscar shouted, his voice thick with anger.

 

He slammed the door back open, catching it as it was slowly falling shut.

 

What he saw when he crossed the threshold made him stutter to a stop. Lando was laying across another man’s lap, shuddering as he ran his fingers through Lando’s curls and whispered to him.

 

It was Daniel.

 

Lewis appeared next to him, swiftly followed by Fernando and Jenson as they took out the guards in the room. Mark had to pull Oscar out of the crossfire because his brain had apparently switched off completely, not able to comprehend the scene in front of him.

 

Oscar shook him off at the same time as Max entered and Oscar heard the shock in his stuttered breathing. It was very hard to make Max Verstappen speechless, but this was enough.

 

Daniel’s eyes were frantically looking around, cradling Lando closer. Oscar’s heart hurt when he heard Lando cry out in pain, his hand shot up to clutch at Daniel’s bicep with a gasp.. 

 

“Oh, my god.” Max whispered, foregoing the fight and launching himself towards his friends, Oscar was hot on his heels, leaving the sounds of the fights in the background for a moment.

 

“Maxie?” Daniel breathed, getting Lando’s attention. The Brit looked up, eyes wide and face pale with pain. His chest heaved with stuttering breaths. Max collapsed next to them both and Oscar watched his hands shake as he reached up for Daniel’s face, hovering just out of reach as if he was scared to touch the Australian.

 

“Oh, my god…” Max repeated. Oscar saw as his shoulders started to shake. “Danny, I-”

 

“Not right now, Max.” Daniel shook his head, firm but gentle. “We can talk once we get out. Lando needs medical.”

 

The fire immediately returned to Oscar, controlled but blazing, and he crouched near Lando’s head. “Hey, pretty.” He murmured, Lando’s multicoloured eyes snapping up to look at him.

 

“Osc…” He breathed.

 

“Yeah, I’m here. Where are you hurt?” He asked gently, brushing some curls from a cut on his forehead.

 

“My ribs, my head, just… fuck, it all hurts.” He gasped, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. Oscar shared a worried look with the other two over Lando’s head.

 

“He’s been stabbed,” Daniel;s voice was shaking, scared as his hands ghosted over Lando. "I think he might have a concussion, something’s up with his ribs, too, I think?” Oscar clenched his jaw and his fists, moving back slightly.

 

They heard a hissed ‘ah, fuck’ from behind them and Oscar glanced over his shoulder to see Christian try and hobble his way out. Without even thinking, anger making his blood run hot and his common sense take a sabbatical, he launched himself at the man, tackling him to the floor.

 

Christian went down with a yelp, yelling when Oscar jarred his wounded knee.

 

There were scuffles all around the room which was surprisingly large. Daniel and Lando must’ve been kept in another place because the room was completely devoid of… well anything, really. Except for two chairs and a table full of things Oscar didn’t want to look too closely at, all of it was clearly stuff to try and coax Lando and Daniel into talking.

 

Christian was trying to wriggle free and Oscar dragged him back, landing a solid punch to his jaw.

 

Oscar said nothing. He just kept pummelling the man beneath him.

 

It was like he was watching someone else’s hands from their point of view, he was completely detached as he watched Christian’s head snap in the direction of each punch. 

 

He didn’t feel the jolt up his arm as he hit, and hit, and hit. He wasn’t sure what came over him, it was like he’d put his work head on and he was just unshakeable. Christian’s face was spattered with blood as Oscar broke his nose.

 

It felt good.

 

Oscar was breathing hard as he lifted Christian by the collar of his now bloodstained shirt, slamming him back down into the floor. Again. Again. Slam! Slam! Slam! 

 

Oscar’s vision had tunneled completely. He didn’t feel Christian scratching at his forearms, didn’t feel him feebly trying to push at his face. Only when Oscar felt like Horner was getting too tired to carry on fighting back did he stop. It took the fun and the satisfaction out of it.

 

He came back to himself as he staggered upright to a silent room. He looked around, strands of his hair falling into his face. Most of the people had left. Jack, Isack, Liam, Yuki, Fernando, Lewis, and Kimi. They'd taken Christian’s men, too, Oscar noticed belatedly.

 

Max, Carlos, and Jenson were with Daniel and Lando on the floor with Jenson tending to both dancers, mostly the latter. He caught Mark’s eye, he was watching him with a dark pride glinting in the depths of his irises. Oscar turned away and saw Daniel staring at Christian on his back, stepped off the man, and walked over to his fellow Australian.

 

Daniel’s eyes remained on a writhing Christian Horner until Oscar pulled out his gun, flipping it in his hand and offering the grip to Daniel. The man startled at the offer, his eyes flicking between the gun and Oscar a couple times.

 

Oscar remained steady, reassuring. “I’ll do it if you want. I just wanted to give you the option.” He murmured, his soft eyes juxtaposed by the blood splattering his face, welling slowly from the scratches on his forearms that were starting to sting as his adrenaline faded.

 

Daniel shifted Lando off his lap and into Jenson’s as gently as he could, the dancer still whimpered, a small, choked noise of pain slipping from his lips that Jenson quickly soothed with a hand brushing over his hair. The intimate, fatherly moment pulled at Oscar’s heartstrings.

 

Daniel stood up shakily, taking the gun from Oscar and stalking slowly over to where Horner was coughing and spitting blood onto the floor.

 

He raised the gun. “I wish I could make you regret everything you did to me. But you don’t know how to feel remorse.” He snarled, teeth bared as his entire body shook. “So you don’t deserve the peace of an easy death.” He shot once, into his shoulder. The only sound in the room was Christian’s pained gurgling, and both dancers’ laboured breathing - both in immense pain, two different wounds, the same culprit.

 

Oscar watched, fascinated, as Daniel pulled the trigger again around thirty seconds later, the bullet lodging into the leader’s side. Over the next five or so minutes, Daniel let bullet, after bullet, after bullet pierce Horner’s body as if he were a target for shooting practice, reloading the gun twice.

 

Then, with the finality of an executioner, he shot Christian once in the thigh, severing the artery with terrifying accuracy, and once in the groin for good measure. 

 

“Bleed out.” He spat before turning back to his friends. Oscar watched as his lips wobbled, then he collected himself again. “Let’s go home. Please.” He whispered, voice exhausted, and broken, and pained, and worried.

 

Oscar gently took his gun from Daniel’s hand, giving his wrist a soft squeeze for support.

 

“Let’s get you both out of here.” Lewis murmured, reappearing and coming up and gently touching Daniel’s back.

 

Oscar turned back to the other dancer on the floor to see the bottom of Max’s shirt ripped off, exposing his midriff. He’d wrapped it around Lando’s middle and that was when Oscar noticed the shirt he’d been wearing was drenched in blood. The navy fabric had hidden it from first glance but it was undeniable now that the shirt had ridden up. Max tied the fabric around Lando’s middle as a makeshift tourniquet.

 

“Agh! Fuck, Max.” Lando whimpered when Max tightened it as much as possible, hand flying to his friend’s forearm. “A warning next time, you knob?”

 

“A warning makes you anticipate, makes pain worse.” Max gritted out, tying it again so it wouldn’t come loose, his gaze clearly apologetic as he sorted the dancer out best he could.

 

“I’m already in pain.” Lando snarked, hissing through his teeth.

 

“Well, on the bright side, I don’t think your ribs are broken. Just fractured.” Jenson began with a shrug, smiling slightly.

 

“Wow, thanks, Jense.” Lando groaned and gasped as they began to slowly manoeuvre him to standing. “Some great doctoring- oh fuck, please don’t let me go, this already hurts so much, I-I don’t think I can walk, fuck, it burns…” Lando was crying, big fat tears leaving glossy tracks down his face, heaving deep, pained breaths. He sobbed, clutching at the wound in his side as the movement strained his ripped muscles.

 

“Okay, okay…” Max soothed instantly. “I’m gonna…” his hands hovered around him before he made his decision. “I’m gonna pick you up. I’ll carry you.”

 

“Max, that’s four flights of stairs.” Oscar reminded him immediately, a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to give him to someone else, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, no. Don't worry.” He waved Oscar off. “Just help me get him up without hurting him too much?”

 

Nodding, Oscar and Jenson stood behind and to the left of Lando respectively while Max stood to the right. He put one arm beneath Lando’s knees, the other bracing across his shoulder blades. As a three, they lifted Lando awkwardly into Max’s arms.

 

“You’re lighter than you were.” Max immediately worried, his brows were pinched and his lips were pursed as he stared at Lando.

 

“Didn’t eat much.” Lando gritted out through clenched teeth. His breathing was measured, slightly raspy. “Gave it to Danny.”

 

Oscar and Max shared a look, they knew they would scold Lando for that once he’d had some medication and some rest.

 

Fernando popped his head back into the room. “Let’s go, Kimi’s called in evac.” He said, urging them all to get a move on.

 

“Coming.” Oscar replied as they all turned and began the long walk back to the surface.

 

With each step Max took Lando would wince, being jolted hurt him, Oscar could see it clear as anything on his face. He could also see how Lando was putting on a brave face, though it was getting worryingly paler.

 

He reached out a hand, squeezing his knee. Oscar watched as Lando’s eyes fluttered open, revealing how truly exhausted he was.

 

The entire walk back up, Max carried him. Oscar wasn’t sure how he did it. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was pure determination, maybe he was just that strong.

 

Oscar made sure he kept Lando speaking, asking him about meaningless things, catching him up on the F1 news, about a new team principal joining Red Bull.

 

It felt like they’d climbed the eiffel tower by the time they got back to the main part of the club, seeing all of Horner’s men sitting in a corner, tied up, gagged, and blindfolded.

 

They walked straight past them and out into the cold January air. Oscar didn’t know how late it was now, probably past midnight. They’d brought a van, thankfully, which had a gurney that they strapped Lando to in the back. Their own little assassin ambulance. Max, Oscar, and Jenson got in with him and the medic who took one look at Daniel and ushered him inside as well. Jenson had to get out, something he was greatly unhappy with.

 

The drive over to an abandoned warehouse just outside Monaco seemed to drag on forever. Oscar was holding Lando’s hand, brushing over his knuckles. He looked up and saw Max practically glued to Daniel’s side, though he had one hand on Lando’s shin. 

 

The building was their property, a hideout with enough medical supplies for a small hospital. Everyone had been trained in basic first aid, but a couple people had more in depth training. When they were needed, they were called out to this place. There were about five of these people milling about, fretting over the people who’d already arrived.

 

Everyone else wasn’t too bad, a couple had been grazed by stray bullets, nicked by knives, had black eyes and split lips. But everyone was okay, that meant so much to Oscar.

 

As soon as Lando was being tended to, Oscar watched as Max pulled out his phone to call Charles. He heard the Monegasque’s relieved sob echo down the line once Max had murmured, “he’s okay. And we found Daniel, too.”

 

Oscar didn’t even jump when Mark put a hand on his shoulder, wrenching Oscar’s attention over to himself.

 

“Let’s clean you up, mate.” He mumbled soothingly. Mark led Oscar over to the side where he’d got a warm wet towel and began washing the blood from his face as if he were a kid who couldn’t eat spaghetti without getting the tomato sauce all over his face. Oscar finally unclenched his fists when Mark brought an antiseptic wipe to his forearms and his split knuckles. Oscar hissed at the sting and Mark mumbled a small ‘sorry’. “You did good, kid.” His former mentor whispered once he was satisfied Oscar wouldn’t get any infection.

 

Oscar couldn’t respond, simply too exhausted. Mark just rested a hand on the back of Oscar’s head and pulled him into a hug. 

 

Suddenly, Oscar was eighteen again, having just been on his first mission as Mark’s shadow. He’d been so overwhelmed that day, not necessarily scared, it had just been a lot to watch one of the people he knew well take someone else’s life.

 

Oscar wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Oscar’s fists clenched in Mark’s shirt. He’d taken both his and Oscar’s vests off at some point, he wasn’t sure when. He wasn’t sure of much at the moment other than the fact he was still scared for Lando, the fact his knuckles ached, his forearms stung, but all he felt was relief.

 

They had him back, Lando was safe.

 

The next time Oscar felt present was when Mark tapped his back, mumbling about how Lando was awake. Suddenly, so was Oscar. He was alert, as if he’d had a quadruple shot of coffee, or straight adrenaline.

 

He watched as Lando was being wheeled over to a corner and followed like a puppy. 

 

“Hey, how is he?” He asked the medic who’d been looking after him once he’d caught up.

 

The woman turned in surprise. “He’ll be okay. I’ve stitched him up, I think his rib is fractured so he’ll need to just take it easy for a bit.” She told him, Oscar nodding along, hanging off her every word so he could repeat them to Max.

 

“Daniel also said he might have a concussion,” Oscar informed her.

 

“Ah. Okay, we’ll keep a look out for that later, after he’s rested for a bit.” She nodded, Oscar smiled gratefully at her.

 

“Thank you…” He trailed off, looking for her name.

 

“Charlotte.” She said, smiling gently at him.

 

“Thank you so much, Charlotte.” Oscar emphasised, hoping she truly grasped his gratitude. She nodded to him again, patting his shoulder before walking off to tend to someone else. 

 

“Oscar? ‘S tha’ you?” Lando mumbled, the morphine and just pure weariness making him slur his words.

 

“Yeah, Lando, it’s me.” He matched the pitch so it felt private, intimate almost.

 

“‘M so tired.” He sighed, his eyes fluttering.

 

“Then go to sleep.” He brushed some of Lando’s greasy curls off his forehead.

 

“I feel… so grim.” He complained. “So dirty. They didn’ le’ me shower… Frickin’ minging.”

 

Oscar shook his head even though Lando’s eyes were shut. “S’okay.” He whispered.

 

“I think… ‘m gonna sleep now…” The brunet mumbled, his movements and speech slowing even more.

 

“Okay,” he whispered in response. “I’ll leave you to rest.” He turned away, eyes already scanning for one of his friends. He’d not even taken a single step when he felt a weak grip on his wrist.

 

He turned back to see Lando gazing up at him through glossy, half-lidded eyes.

 

“Stay?” He pleaded.

 

Oscar’s heart melted. Even high out of his mind Lando wanted him, needed him, maybe. It made Oscar feel all warm, and fuzzy, and inexplicably, stupidly happy. He intertwined their hands and pressed a lingering kiss to Lando’s knuckles before pulling up a nearby chair and sitting down heavily, hand in hand with the dancer.

 

“Of course. I'll be here for the night.”

Notes:

i spent SO long on that rescue scene and idek if i like it. don't be surprised if it ever changes.

i do have an idea for an epilogue but i have nothing written for it because i've been so fricken busy. i'm not gonna mark it as complete but don't get your hopes up for a new chapter for at least a month unfortunately. unless there's something else i reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaalllllllyyyyyy want to procrastinate.

thank you SO much for reading, i hope you enjoyed! see you in the next one (whenever that may be)

lots of love xxxxxxxxxx