Chapter Text
When the news of the double disqualification post-Vegas broke, Lando was still on his phone. The blue light lit up his face in the dark hotel room. He hadn’t bothered with headphones, banking on the hotel walls being thick enough to block the noise of his Instagram for you page.
Maybe he’d be asleep if his feed had the mind-numbing brainrotted garbage that passed for entertainment these days. Only just maybe. It would be unlikely, given the insomnia that had plagued him the past few weeks, but that shit could probably make the most hyper caffeine-filled ADHD toddler pass out. On nights like this, Lando used to slip into Oscar’s hotel room, share a drink, gossip about the other drivers, and find peaceful rest in front of some old comedy film. But he couldn’t find that comfort with Oscar anymore, and that was exactly what was keeping him up.
As his thumb flicked ever upward on the endless loop of reels, all he saw was hatred. Hatred for him. Captions blaming him for Oscar’s poor performance, claiming that favoritism was the root of all of the Papaya wins. It was hard to celebrate the joint podium when all anyone could say was “It should’ve been Oscar”.
Maybe he should’ve seen through these snapshots of social media. Realized the algorithm was shoving this down his throat because of repeated engagement, and tapped a search bar to find the thousands of thirsty fans begging for a second of his time. That’s what Osc would’ve told him to do– well. Maybe Oscar wouldn’t mention the filthy edits of Lando, which the Australian had certainly seen but didn’t mention. Either way, his teammate wasn’t talking to him.
They used to be partners in crime. Lando could remember so many moments of joy with the two of them, could see their synchronized motions and hysterical laughter so vividly. He could feel the lingering fingers and heavy stares. He could wish for a future where they were friends, or, maybe, more than friends. Not that Oscar would ever want that. Maybe if Lando were someone else, Oscar would want that. Maybe.
And, of course, that’s when the notification popped up. Call him a Ferrari fan for how the depression was piling on tonight.
Their double podium meant nothing. Some minor detail had been overlooked, and Osc and he had been screwed over because of it. He ran his tanned hands through his curly hair, an annoyed sigh slipping through his clenched teeth. His first thought should have been himself, his own championship standing. He should have been angry, but the wave of rage that first passed through him was replaced with thoughts of Oscar.
Oscar needed those points more than he did. Was the other man up? Was he ok?
Lando turned to look at the wall behind him as though it held the answers. He knew he and Oscar had suites side-by-side, and he was happy to have any closeness with his distant-seeming teammate. Even if he had to wonder whether the walls were even aligned.
He sat in silence for a moment, thoughts racing through his head. Fuck. Should he message Osc?
Probably not.
He decided to anyway. No one ever said Lando Norris made good decisions.
— — — — —
Oscar Piastri was not in the mood for a text from Lando. Nope. Not-at-fucking-all.
He’d had the same TikTok clip, some thirst trap of Lando that wasn’t remotely well edited, on repeat for around an hour, pretending that the looping audio didn’t bother him as he made a cup of chamomile tea and tried to lure in sleep. He HAD been in a good mood after his win, but that had changed. Now he was properly pissed.
He got back to the garage and didn’t hear a single congratulation. Well, he had a few pats on the back, “GOOD JOB, LANDO! And… Oscar”-style comments abounded, and Lando had made a halfhearted attempt at a hug, probably for the cameras. He ended up soaked in champagne from the hug, but fittingly, his post-race interview focused more on Lando's win than on his loss. A pity he was so well media-trained– he had some choice words for his teammate.
To top it all off, he got back to the hotel sticky with sweat and liquor, showered too late at night to have the energy for a proper clean, and finally lay down to the sound of his partner blasting clips on top volume. It had been an hour, and the man was still watching them. Probably having a wank to all the reporters talking about him. Stuck-up prick. If only he weren’t so handsome– the idea of Lando having a wank was too much of a turn-on for Oscar to even pretend to be disgusted by it.
After trying to sleep through the noise, Oscar had tried to match it, playing his own phone as loud as it went, but it wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped. The videos he had ended up on made him feel worse. Clips of “Classic McLaren Favoritism”, all reinforcing the idea that “Lando was the one who deserved this”, all proving that Oscar was nothing, nothing, nothing, and even his team thought so. And interspersed between all that was his gorgeous teammate, winking and laughing and showing off his god-gifted attributes from the accounts of fangirls (and boys) worldwide. Even slamming the phone down and walking off the hotel room’s kettle hadn’t helped, the clips looping over and over, and Oscar was too stubborn to walk back and properly shut off the app. Instead, he let the audio loop in his head, a constant stream of bile building up in his ears. Easy to see why Oscar had such a stick up his ass when the notification popped up from his fellow papaya.
Lando: good morning 🌞
Lando: sorry that seems too happy
Lando: u see the news? u good?
The message beep has seemed important enough for Oscar to shut the godforsaken TikTok app and check his texts. Seemed. Nothing Lando sent him could be worth his time, unless it was a suicide note or two weeks' notice. (Or a nude, his dick added helpfully.)
Oscar: What news?
Lando: straight to the point. i like it
Flirty fucker. What the hell did that even mean?
Lando: double dsq
Oscar: What? Who?
Oscar: It’s almost 2am why do you think I need to know this?
Lando: us, osc. we’re dsq’d for porpoising or something
Lando: haven’t looked into it yet thought of you first
Holy shit.
Lando: wanted to make sure you were ok, i didn’t think you’d be awake tho. idk
Holy shit.
Lando: thought yd rather hear it from me
Lando: just doing what friends do
Holy shit.
Oscar: Friends?
Oscar: Congrats, Lando. My championship chances are pretty much over. Have fun keeping Max in your mirrors.
Oscar: I’m glad you can be so lighthearted about it.
Lando: osc im sorry i thought yd want to know
Oscar: Don’t call me Osc.
— — — — —
Whewww.
This was the longest conversation and maybe the first unscripted and not PR focused chat that the two had had for a long while. Maybe the confirmation that Oscar hated him should have hurt, but instead it helped unclench his whole body, which had been curled and clutched up so tightly all night. Any communication with Oscar always made him feel good, even if this chat made him feel like crying.
Lando: what should i call u then babe
He clicked send before he could think. At least this would get a reaction out of Oscar. Any contact from the man was better than silence.
Typing…
Now was the time for second thoughts, when Lando had skipped through the first thoughts completely. Long run, nothing good would come of this. Even when the pair were on good terms, these kinds of jokes changed the mood. Made things awkward. Hit a little too hard.
Oscar: Thought the audios coming from your room were tiktoks but seeing how horny you are
Oscar: You must be watching something else
Was Oscar flirting back? Did Oscar like him back? What a friendly switch-up from his coworker. Gone with the periods, up with the teasing.
Oscar: This is a new low, Lando. Thought you were better than this.
Never mind.
Lando: so many thoughts about me, aww <3
Lando: luv ya osc
I love you, Oscar. Please know that I love you.
Oscar: Bet you’re jacking off right now.
…
Unexpected.
Lando: not yet, why?
Lando: wanna watch? team up? work together?
Lando: papaya rules, one of us strokes our shit the other does too
Oscar: Glad you agree our team’s code is bullshit.
Team politics. No fun. Lando had finally gotten his mind off of them and here Oscar went bringing them up again. The pit in his stomach was coming back.
Lando: boringgg we were finally getting somewhere
Lando: osc i don’t want you to hate me
Oscar: What a rollercoaster of emotions you’re throwing my way
Oscar: Are you drunk?
Hmm. No. But getting drunk might’ve been smarter than doing this.
Lando: are you worried about me? yr so sweet
Oscar: Seriously. What the fuck are you doing?
Lando: i
How the fuck did Lando put this into words? “I was having a slow-burning panic attack about our friendship, and now for some reason I’m trying to do anything to keep your attention”. “I think I like you, but you don’t like me, and I don’t know how to be professional please help me”. Maybe Lando should just fake his own death so Oscar could win the title he deserved.
Oscar: I hate you, Lando. It’s too late for any of this.
The adrenaline of Oscar’s words was wearing off. Now that the shock was gone, he could feel the pain. Insert medical analogy.
Oscar: Come over?
Why would Oscar want him to come over? What.
Lando: okay
— — — — —
Oscar heard the knock at the door almost as soon as the response came in. If only he had had a little more time to overthink what was going on. Like. What was going on? Lando was jumping between sincerity to sex jokes to heartbreak like a squirrel on crack cocaine, and Oscar’s anger levels hadn’t dropped, but his… “affection” for his teammate was certainly rising– and it wasn’t the only thing at half mast. Actually, maybe Oscar shouldn't be surprised at all. This is how Lando used to act, before he became a championship contender. Silly and chaotic, and always on the run to some new idea. Still, this felt different, and Oscar was almost worried. Either way, Oscar had invited Lando over, and his anger and concern and horniness and fondness could suck it.
Lando was a sight to see when he opened the door. The Brit's curly hair was wild, more disordered than after the worst wind or any race. His eyes were red with exhaustion, and they didn’t meet Oscar’s for more than a second before flitting away. To top it all off, he was practically naked, with nothing but boxers covering his toned frame.
“You look like shit.”
Lando’s face flushed.
“Sorry,” he frowned, looking down at himself for the first time. “Oh. Shit.”
Oscar sighed and walked out of the suite’s foyer into the main room. Lando stayed in the entrance, shutting the door behind himself, but unsure of how welcome he was. Oscar took only seconds to find what he was looking for before he returned, brandishing a bathrobe.
“Put this on.”
I won’t be able to stay mad if you stay nude.
“Thanks.”
Wow. Lando’s face was even redder. The man wasn’t known for blushing, but damn.
“Now. What the hell is going on with you?”
Even before Lando opened his mouth to speak, Oscar was expecting crazy levels of word vomit. His predictions proved true.
“You haven’t been talking to me, and I miss you, and everything I see online is about you, and you deserve everything McLaren’s given me. I can’t go through this without you. I need you. I just figured having you talk to me at all was better than you ignoring me, and I wish we could be close again, and I texted you because it was keeping me up. I’m so, so sorry, this is all my fault and…”
And blah, blah-blah, blah, blah.
Maybe the way Lando was gasping for air between each run-on sentence, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he begged for Oscar’s attention, was a little bit of a turn on. But holy shit. Oscar was fed up.
Oscar met Lando’s wild eyes and smiled. Not a reassuring smile, not in the slightest. He took a measured step forward, and the Brit trailed off.
“You think you have it bad?”
Lando seemed frozen in place as Oscar stepped even closer, his pulse flaring as Oscar bent over to brush his lips to his ear.
“I couldn’t care less about what you’ve been ‘going through’.”
Lando’s eyes stayed on his as the slightly taller man ran his hand along Lando’s shoulders and chest, the ghost of touch more contact than they’d had in weeks.
"This is all your fault.”
Oscar was careful as he kissed Lando, but as he tilted Norris’s chin up towards him, Lando jolted. The kiss was short, with Oscar pulling away much too fast for any true enjoyment.
“But we’ve known each other for a long time, and clearly you like me…”
Lando gasped as their lips lost contact, and his hand reached for Oscar before falling back down to his side. Oscar's smirk hadn’t dropped; it had just widened. Jesus, who knew the championship leader was this desperate?
“I have some ideas for your apology.”