joanlucy
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“We’ll wash it tomorrow,” George said, already walking away. “Until then, you’re out of bed, mate.”
Lando threw his arms up. “And where am I supposed to sleep? I’m not sharing a single bed with any of you.”
“Neither are we,” Max said flatly. “You kick in your sleep.”
“I was a victim,” Pierre added, raising a hand. Lando glared. “That was one time.”
“He can share the bed with me, I don’t mind.”
A summer at a lake house, what started off as an incident of having to share a bed, turns to something more. Where Lando’s kept finding his way back into Oscar’s arms, and Oscar who doesn’t seem to mind as much.
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Bookmarked by joanlucy
26 Jun 2026
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“Are you okay?”
A fresh wave of tears wells up in Lando’s eyes and overflows, stinging like someone’s sprinkled pepper over his face. Oscar’s face changes with alarm, eyebrows shooting up and hands reaching out and it’s too much and too little.
Lando pivots on his heel and rushes back to his spot on the bathroom floor, knees hitting the tile and vomit splattering all over the sides of the toilet bowl.
Bookmarked by joanlucy
26 Jun 2026
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Lando thinks that if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was his win, his anthem, his lips on the trophy. But he doesn’t. Doesn’t deserve it, hasn’t earned it. He stares at his boots, into the crowd, up at the Silverstone sky, and he wishes for a feeling he’s not sure he’ll ever have back.
Alternatively: Lando Norris vs. the Spain-Austria-Silverstone triple-header of 2024
Series
- Part 1 of soft, fond, obvious
Bookmarked by joanlucy
25 Jun 2026
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A snowstorm cancels flights and strands Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri in London on Christmas Eve.
Awkward silences give way to too much wine and unfiltered words.
Lando starts flirting - Oscar tries to resist.
Glances linger, boundaries fail.
And a Christmas that made no sense becomes impossible to forget.Bookmarked by joanlucy
25 Jun 2026
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"Lando?" He asks, shocked, because standing in the doorway is technically Lando, but not his Lando. This one is much younger, plucked straight from his rookie year or somewhere thereabouts, almost like someone had taken a look through Oscar's old social media footprint and plucked out the very version of Lando that Oscar had obsessed over, hidden under the guise of looking up to his racecraft.
Well, Oscar did admire his racing, but it wasn't exactly Lando's car that had him jerking off under the covers in shitty hotels between F2 races, fist almost stuffed into his own mouth to evade the scrutiny that came with the paper thin walls.
...mostly
This Lando is also shirtless, waistband of his pants twisted slightly as if he'd pulled them on in a hurry, tripping over himself as he hurried to the main room. Clearly Oscar had interrupted something.
"Who are you?"
Bookmarked by joanlucy
24 Jun 2026