Archive of Our Own

So, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. About Lando. About fucking him. 

It's not that Oscar didn't know he'd be into it– he wouldn't have let Lando buy the rohypnol if he wasn't going to use it. But fuck, he wasn't really sure what he'd think about the whole thing until the drugs had vanished down Lando's working throat and Oscar had him limp on the bed like a doll.

He loves having sex with Lando. Passionate, rough, interactive sex, mouthing off at each other and wrestling just to get to the same position they always do. Lando's a princess and a brat, and Oscar loves the work it takes to break him in.

But... the drugs. That had been something different.

Oscar hasn't been able to get Lando's glassy eyes out of his head. 

It hasn't helped, of course, that Lando hasn't shut up about it either. He begged Oscar to tell him everything, and then blamed him when he got horny and Oscar wouldn't do anything about it. God, it was so hard to say no. Lando is Oscars' own personal hell of temptation. In the past two weeks of Oscars' suffering, Lando has been warm and pliant, never saying it in words but asking in sweet whines and open-mouth kisses.

"Oscar," he'd say, "Oscar, please." Only a fucking moron wouldn't get what Lando was asking for.

Oscar hasn't had any peace. No time to tell himself no, or to reason against it like a normal, well adjusted member of society.

When they had talked about it, the very first time Oscar dared bring it up, Lando had thought he was joking. He had wrinkled his nose with a grin and said in that showy way of his, "why Oscar, that doesn't sound very gentleman-like of you."

Oscar had blushed and assured Lando that of course, he would never, only if Lando wanted it too, only if he said yes and yes and yes all the way through. He had almost apologised until Lando pressed a hand to Oscars lips and said with wide, glistening eyes, "holy fuck you're serious."

Oscar had nodded, and they had talked. A lot of it was Lando assuring him that he wasn't some secretly fucked up criminal for fantasising about assaulting his boyfriend, and that; of course I'll try it out, you never ask for anything Osc, and you know I love to get high.

So. Yeah. Oscar wants to do it again. Fuck does he want to do it again. And obviously Lando does too, so when the second week ticks over to the start of the third, Oscar lets himself start planning. Planning for the next time that Lando keeps begging him for. The one that Oscar desperately needs.

/-\

The first thing he decided on was he wasn't going to do it in public. Not so soon after.

The element of surprise had been lost for now, evident by the fact that since then, any drink Oscar's given Lando while they they've been out has been accompanied by an excited, questioning gleam. Each time, Oscar had assured him that it was perfectly safe, smiling in disbelief when Lando pouted in disappointment.

Lando downed them all, of course, and though they were never spiked, the hot pulse of Lando's willingness made Oscar want to ruin him.

So. Yeah. Not in public. 

Lando would expect it far less at home, Oscar reasons, but the more he really thought about it, the less he wanted it to be a secret. Slowly, a plan starts taking hold in his mind. Time, place, content. He felt a little insane checking their calendars to compare dates for drugging his boyfriend, but he really did have to be so safe about this. He loves Lando more than anything in this fucking world, and they have a trust that doesn't just fall into peoples laps. There's no way Lando would have said yes to anything Oscar had proposed these past two years if he thought Oscar would be careless.

Oscar would never ever be careless.

The final piece of it all slides into place four days into the third week while Oscar's on his back, home alone, fucking into his fist at the memory of it all. 

"Y' should film it. Next time." 

Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, that's it.

His plan settles into a solid, stable shape.

/_\

He buys a video camera.

The kind that can be hand-held or put on a mount, and with enough memory that Oscar could record for hours and hours without fear of losing anything. He tests it out, recording a few things around the house, considering video and audio quality. He has to keep himself from spoiling everything when Lando comes home asks what the camera's for, suspicious and nosey like he is.

Kissing him is always a brilliant distraction.

/-\

He picks a time. A night when they're both warm and soft, fed and satisfied, cuddled on the couch watching some truly trash reality TV.

He has Lando in his arms, pressed up against his chest radiating warmth within the cocoon of the throw-blanket. Oscar's been smoothing his hand up and down Lando's stomach under his shirt absentmindedly for most of the episode— not with any real intention, just to touch him. In truth, even if they had been watching a thriller or something, Oscar knows he wouldn't been focused anyways. His head is buzzing with anticipation.

"God, she's such a fucking cow." Lando mutters, wriggling tighter into Oscar's arms. "Reckon she's from Bristol?"

Oscar blinks. "Hm?"

"The brown-haired chick. She's such a chav."

Oscar hums in affirmation, not even bothering to glance at the screen. The world was fuzzy to him. It was only Lando, just Lando.

Lando turns his head back a little, curious. Their eyes meet in a soft brush of noses.

"You okay there Osc?"

Lando's eyes are vivid, a beautiful golden-green cut with lashes too long to be on someone so devilish. Oscar can't help himself. He presses down hard on Lando's stomach, and when he gasps, Oscar licks into his open mouth. Lando tries to turn fully but Oscar holds him tight, appreciating the strain of Landos' muscles against his arms.

Lando tastes like the electrolyte drinks he's become obsessed with, slick and warm.

Lando is always so warm.

When Oscar lets him go Lando gasps heavily and breathes out a heated "fuck." Oscar loosens his hold so Lando can move. He surges up and over Oscar, boxing him in with his legs and hands, grinning down like he's won something. Oscar grins back, knowing.

There's a lot of misinformation out in the world, but one thing Oscar will say people have right is that athletes really do fuck like rabbits, or maybe dogs. Well, at least they do. Oscar couldn't say for anyone else, because why the fuck would he care about anyone else? 

He puts his hands on Lando's hips as they kiss again, the throw-blanket sliding off of Lando's shoulders and slithering away onto the floor. The kiss is deep and slow and in all honesty Oscar has half a mind to stay where he is and follow Lando's train of thought, whatever that might be.

But, no. He has a plan for tonight. He intends to keep it. 

He has to pry Lando off of his lips even as he whines in protest, just far enough to whisper, "lets go to bed, love."

"Don't wanna," Lando mumbles, his eyes stuck on Oscars mouth. "I'm good right here. Right– here." 

He grinds his ass against Oscars crotch and grins when Oscar groans. "Why move, Oscar? You don't want to move, right?"

Oscar can feel himself panting. With his grip on Lando's waist, Oscar sits up, forcing Lando to sit further down on Oscar's thighs and hold his shoulders for balance.

"Acting like you know what's best," Oscar breathes into Lando's mouth.

"That's 'cause I do."

"Mm, you sure?"

He wraps his arms tight around Lando, who has about two seconds to realise what's about to happen before Oscar stands up, taking Lando with him. Lando laughs in surprise. He had told Oscar that being carried was always a rush, and it's not secret that being handled turns Lando on. Oscar's always happy to put his strength to good use.

He doesn't bother to turn the TV off, lets it fade away into white noise as he walks through their open bedroom door and deposits Lando on the bed none too gently.

Lando bounces and sprawls, his tan limbs liquid shadows against the grey sheets, looking impossibly soft under the yellow light. 

"Oscaaaar," Lando whines when Oscar closes the door and doesn't immediately join him. Spoiled, Oscar thinks fondly. It's his fault, really. He loves to spoil Lando.

From his bedside table drawer Oscar pulls out the camera. He flips open the small screen and presses record, turning it to the bed.

Lando's face looks strange and dreamlike through the lens, and when he smiles, his lips curl like a painted cat.

"I knew that's why you bought it," Lando muses. "Can't get enough of me, can you Piastri? Gotta have it on film for those cold and lonely nights."

Through the lens, Oscar watches as Lando stretches obscenely. His shirt rides up and he slides one hand to push the hem of his shorts down just enough to show off the deep v etched into his hips and stomach. He flutters his eyelashes, not at the camera, but just a bit higher at Oscar, and says sweetly, "do I look pretty like this?"

Oscar swallows hard against his dry mouth. Jesus fuck. 

"Yeah," he says, a little rough, "you always look pretty."

Lando smiles and makes grabby hands at Oscar. Instead of offering himself, Oscar slips his hand from the cameras' elastic grip and hands it to Lando, turning the screen so Lando can see himself.

Lando huffs but takes it. Oscar hears Lando flip the screen back around as he rummages through the drawer for the camera stand. When he finds the small bag that held the parts, he pours it out on the bed.

Lando, who's filming it all, starts to narrate; "Here we have my beloved Oscar, a man of many mysteries, setting up some strange contraption. Gonna tell us all what it's for?"

Without looking up from his assembling Oscar asks, "Us all? No one else is gonna see this, love."

Lando exhales through his nose. "Well, yeah, but it's just what you say Oscar. Which one of us is a streamer? Hm? I know how to work the people and the camera, it's one of my many skills."

 Oscar smiles despite himself.

The stand is simple enough to put together, and once he has, he stretches out his hand for Lando to give the camera back. 

"Oh boo," Lando says, angling the camera up to Oscar's face, "but I'm having so much fun!"

Oscar raises his eyebrow. "Oh really. Well in that case, I can just leave you two alone..."

Lando pushes the camera into Oscar's hand. "Oh no no no okay, here. Don't run away now."

"Thank you," Oscar says, fixing it onto the stand and angling it to capture the bed, Lando in its focus.

Lando poses again and Oscar laughs. 

"You look much better on a camera that isn't broadcast to half the world," he says honestly.

"I always look good on camera Piastri. I was made for it."

"Yeah," Oscar agrees, "you are. Gonna sit pretty for me?"

Lando raises an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

"Well," Oscar says slowly as he rounds the camera mount and stands at the foot of the bed, "rewards are for boys who listen. Are you listening, Lando?"

Oscar sees the shift in his posture almost immediately. There's a few different kinds of Landos that Oscar gets to see when they fuck. All of them beautiful, all of them his boyfriend, but all at varying levels of brattiness. Most of the foreplay they've ever done is this push and pull of seeing how much energy they need to expend, what roles they're going to step into. Oscar never really knows what he's dealing with until he has Lando under him, restrained and broken down. It's his second favourite sport.

Ordinarily, the mischievous coil of Lando's muscles would mean a fulfilling fall from grace, making Oscar shove him face first into the bed by his shoulder blades, like butterflying a chicken. Oscar bites his tongue and grins. Oh, if only Lando knew.

Still, he pulls off his shirt with easy fluidity, preening as Lando openly stares.

"Join me?" Lando asks, his arms outstretched. How could Oscar deny him?

Oscar crawls on top of him as Lando sits up, holding Oscar's face with both hands, kissing him deeply. Oscar lets him. He's going to let Lando do whatever he wants for as long as he wants to. He promises, really.

Lando moves down to mouth at Oscar's neck, nipping and biting without any real pressure. Oscar tilts his head back and closes his eyes. His hands cradle Lando's neck, smoothing his thumbs up from the start of his ears and down past the bump of his working jaw.

"This is nice," Lando says into Oscar's collarbone, "what's got you so pliant tonight Osc?"

Oscar grins, his eyes still closed. "Thought I'd let you perform for the camera," he says a little breathless, "since this is your area of expertise."

Lando presses the flat of his tongue against Oscar's nipple, making him groan.

"Really?" Lando asks. Oscar can hear the curiosity in his voice. "Why?"

"Wanna see how well trained you are." From his place in Lando's lap Oscar can look down at his boyfriend through lidded eyes. "Show me your tricks, Lan."

Lando's nose and lips twitch in the cutest display of defiance. " 'm not trained," he insists, "you're the one who fucks me. I'd say that makes you the trained one."

Oscar scoffs and rolls his eyes, but Lando digs his teeth into the meat of Oscar's chest and the sharp pain makes him gasp.

"God, you're a fucking dog." Oscar hisses out, his fingers tight in the hair at Landos' nape.

Lando lifts his head, and past the thick row of lashes, Oscar can see reckless mischief swirling deep in his eyes.

Lando grins.

"Need me to teach you how to be good in front of a camera?" He purrs, pressing their bodies impossibly close. "It's not an interview Osc, no need to be so stiff."

Lando digs the heel of his palm into Oscar half-hard dick and Oscar exhales sharply, leaning forward to press their foreheads together in a desperate act of grounding.

"Lando," Oscar warns, but Lando just grins.

"What? What're you gonna do Osc? Thought this was for me."

"It— it is," Oscar manages out, squeezing his thighs against Lando's. "Should've known you'd be a brat about it."

Lando scoffs and rolls his eyes. With strength Oscar tends to forget Lando has, he rolls Oscar over, pushing him down onto his back and straddling him proudly. "We're gonna do what I want to do. And I want to suck your dick, Piastri."

Oscar laughs. "Oh wow, how shocking. You've never done that before."

Lando pinches one of Oscars nipples hard. "Shut up Oscar. You're gonna be the one jacking to this later. Wanna make a good video for you— I know this gets you off."

Oscar could get off to Lando talking about his hair-wash routine. He doesn't say that, though. Obviously. Fuck.

"Here look, you're overdressed Oscar." Lando slips his deft fingers into the waist of Oscar's pants and pulls them off.

"Good at that," Oscar grunts. "Do this often?"

Lando shrugs, tossing aside Oscars sweats and tracing a teasing finger over the outline of Oscars cock. "There's no shortage of people I could practice with," he says slyly, "I'm a good fuck, I'll have you know."

Stupid possessiveness burns hot in Oscar's chest. "Lando—" he hisses.

"Ooh, scary." Lando slides a finger inside the waistband of Oscar's boxers. "Gonna fight the world for me, Osc?"

"Yes," Oscar says immediately, embarrassment burning his cheeks. "You're mine."

He watches Lando blush from his ears to his throat, the red tint disappearing down into the shirt that he's still wearing. This isn't how they usually play, but Oscar doesn't mind the switch up. He does love to spoil Lando.

"Oh," Lando says breathily, staring. "Oh, Oscar. Yeah 'm yours. 'course I'm yours, fucking idiot."

He leans down and kisses Oscar with so much emotion Oscar has to thread his fingers through Lando's hair for something to hold on to. Lando tastes sweet.

"Wait," Oscar mumbles, "Lan."

Lando pulls back with a hm?

Oscar reaches a hand up behind him, rummaging underneath his pillow. His fingers snag on the blister pack of rohypnol, and he slides it out. When Lando's eyes catch it, they go wide.

"Oscar—"

"Know what these are?" he asks with a tilted head. Oscar shakes it like a packet of pet treats, his smile condescending. Lando nods. "Good." He flicks his eyes down to Lando's lips. "You want one, love?"

Almost immediately Lando nods again, his air of superiority dissolving like fairy floss in water. Oscar tries not to smile too wide. He pops one out and tosses the sheet off the bed.

Then he puts it in his mouth. Lando's eyes go wide.

"Oscar, what the fuck are you—"

Oscar grips the back of Lando's neck and brings him back into a bruising kiss. He shoves his tongue and the pill into Lando's mouth, slick and righteous. Lando gasps and swallows, sucking on Oscars tongue as the pill disappears down his throat. Lando tries to pull back but Oscar doesn't want to let him go just yet.

He doesn't need to breathe. He just needs a second longer. Lando tastes like desperation.

With strong arms Lando pushes himself up and sucks in a deep breath. "Oscar," he says shakily, like he can't quite believe what's happening. Oscar follows him, sitting up with Lando in his lap, thighs bracketing each other.

"Yeah?" Oscar says softly. "Forget what you're doing?"

Lando scowls at him. "I didn't."

"Still gonna suck my dick?"

If Lando really wanted to take back control of the situation, he would say no. He'd pick something different. But Oscar knows his boyfriend.

Lando huffs, like he's trying to be resistant to the idea.

"Yeah, well. You're not allowed to complain if it's not my best work. Not working with all my faculties now, am I?"

"You don't have to Lan. I'm all yours. This is for you, remember?"

Lando scoffs. " 'course I want to. Then you're gonna fuck me afterwards and make me come better than you ever have, yeah?"

"Anything you want, love." Oscar agrees easily. "Go on then."

Lando tries to shuffle down backwards, but Oscar holds him fast. He doesn't tighten his grip or anything, just keeps his arms strong.

Lando frowns, a cute wrinkle forming between his eyebrows.

"Osc, gotta let me go if you want your dick sucked."

Oscar frowns in return, his face the picture of innocence. "Oh come on, you can get out of this Lan. I'm not holding you very tight."

Lando tries again, writhing like a very small dog who wants to be put back on the ground.

"Fucking— let me go Oscar you tosser."

Oscar hums, his eyes on Lando's mouth. "Better move quicker there love. I know you're a bit of a cock-slut but you wont get your treat before the drugs kick in at this rate."

"I trying!" Lando cries, suddenly sounding very desperate.

"Not trying very hard then, are you?"

Lando's breathing through his nose. Panic appears to be making him a bit stupid— well, that and the drugs, but they haven't really kicked in yet. Lando tries again and again, the heels of his palms pressing hard into the meat of of Oscar's shoulders just beneath his collarbones. Oscar tries not to laugh, really he does. But he just can't help himself. Lando is just so— so—

Oscar can't help himself. He coos, crowding Lando closer and nuzzling his throat with his nose, licking up the sweat beading at the nape of Lando's neck.

"Oscar," Lando pants. "Oscar please, you promised."

"Yeah, I promised. But you gotta show me what you want, Lan."

"I'm telling you what. You know what I want!"

"Visual learner love, remember?"

Lando whines. Oscar pulls back to look at him. Just another minute, he thinks, counting the seconds in his head to keep himself together. In fairness, Lando does try his best, but all he can manage is a few more shoves at Oscars' shoulders before he's panting, his thighs twitching from exertion. Oscar takes pity on his poor pup.

He loosens his arms and Lando slumps before catching himself. His breathing evens out, and now his hands settle on Oscar's shoulders for support. Lando is scowling at him, but Oscar can taste something sweet on the backs of his teeth as he kisses Lando's frowning lips. Despite his protest, Lando follows him easily.

"Alright," Oscar mumbles against Lando's lips, "since you're having a bit of an off day I won't tease you anymore. I've got to take care of you, don't I Lan?"

Lando exhales sharply through his nose, like Oscar had said something funny. " 's your fault 'm like this though, isn't i—"

Oscar squeezes Lando's throat, cutting his words into a squeak. "Don't I?"

Lando nods as much as he can with Oscar's hand at his throat. His eyes are bug-like and bulging with strain.

Oscar lets Lando go, petting his curls. "Thought so. You're so good for me, of course I'm going to take care of you. Just like this."

He slides his hands up the back of Lando's shirt. "Wanna take this off?"

Lando huffs through his nose. He looks like he's trying to dredge up what's left of his defiance, but Oscar plays all the cards he knows; kissing Lando's jaw, pulling gently at his curls, flicking his fingers over his nipples. Eventually Lando gasps and nods and Oscar slips it over his head, watching the silver chain Lando only takes off for racing settle back between his tits.

Lando seems intent on just kissing forever, but Oscar can feel how hard he is in his shorts. He lifts Lando's hips and moves him down and then falls back onto his back, giving permission.

It seems to take him a few seconds to get his wits about him, but Lando shakes off whatever daze had set in and sets upon his task with an inspiring single-mindedness. He shuffles further down the bed and noses against Oscar's boxers, flattening his tongue to soak through to his dick. Oscar groans, letting himself sink into the mattress and the warm feeling of Lando's mouth. He's fully hard. He has been since Lando swallowed the pill. Exchanging it between mouths like teenagers with gum hadn't been Oscars original plan, but something about Lando makes him so fucking stupid he just stops thinking with reason or logic. He does what feels good, and Lando feels good.

He knows how he must look, the shape of his cock so obvious through the silken fabric of his boxers that Lando can trace the tip of his tongue over the whole silhouette. Lando had insisted on buying him a whole set of these fucking boxers. They had cost a fortune, but Oscar does have to admit they feel soft and luxurious. As Lando pulls them off of him, smooth against the meat of his thighs, Oscar even considers them sexy.

"All the way up already?" Lando mocks. "The idea of fucking me all drugged up really get you like this?"

Yes.

" 's not just that," Oscar groans. "I know you're gonna feel so good—fuck—your mouth is always so good Lan."

Lando presses a humming kiss to the inside of Oscar's thigh, the curl of his lip so obvious Oscar can feel it against his flushed skin. "I know."

He gives the head of Oscar's cock kitten licks, his hands splayed so wide on Oscar's hips that his thumbs meet on Oscar's stomach. It's almost a shame Lando's such a bottom. He's got the body to top anyone he wanted and the dick to back it up, but Oscar knows he feels so much better being of service to others. Oscar is happy to use him.

When Lando finally takes Oscar into his mouth Oscar moans without care, feeling the warm slick of Lando's tongue curl around his cock.

"Mm, fuck," Oscar stretches his arms up above his head to grasp the pillows and lifts his chin to bare his throat.

Without any kind of warning Lando takes Oscar down to the fucking hilt.

"Fucking— slut." The word punches out of Oscar before he can even think about it. his jaw and eyes open in shock.

Lando hums around his dick, maybe in agreement, maybe in offence, but the effect is the same. Already overwhelmed, Oscar bucks his hips and Lando pulls off, saliva on his lips.

"No Osc," he scolds, "you gotta keep your hips still for me. I wanna suck you off, not have you fuck my throat. Okay?"

Oscar clenches his jaw, but nods. "Yeah, okay," he agrees, strained, "whatever you want."

"Whatever I want." Lando muses.

Sucking dick isn't Lando's favourite thing to do during sex, but honestly, Oscar would never be able to guess if he didn't already know. He's just so fucking good at it, wet and slick. He's got a pretty average gag-reflex but he manages it so well that every constriction of his throat just adds to the tight feeling of him. Oscar never lasts long. It's why Lando's always so keen to do it. He loves showing off his skills, loves to be praised, and loves to be fucked for it afterwards.

Oscar hasn't had to restrain himself during sex like this for a while. He grits his teeth and breathes through his moans, trying to keep his hips in place. His stomach is so tense he knows he's going to feel it tomorrow like a fucking workout, but Lando asked him to, so he will. The sounds of Lando sucking him off are obscene enough.

Oscar doesn't have the the strength to lift his head and look because he knows it'll make him come. He wants to last just a little bit longer than that. Wet movements he can feel and muffled, choking moans fill the gentle quiet between Oscars half desperate breaths.

It's not until Oscar can level out his breathing that he realises Lando's slowing down.

Not in any strategic way that Oscar can figure, no technique. He just… becomes less coordinated, more desperate, and sloppier in a way Oscar can feel on his balls. Eventually Lando slips off of his cock entirely, panting, and Oscar braves lifting his head to look. Lando is debauched, hazy eyes blinking up at Oscar, saliva smeared around his maw. He doesn't look all there. Oscar feels strange looking down at his boyfriend, fizzing foam of crashing waves in sink into the lining of his stomach, tensing the muscles in his stomach.

Lando looks winded and confused, so Oscar takes pitty on his puppy.

"Lando," he coos, "alright?"

Lando tilts his head and moves towards Oscar, but that's not how this is going to go.

"No no no love," Oscar chides, lifting a knee to stop him. "Stay right there. Stay on my cock."

Lando furrows his brow like he doesn't understand, still breathing heavily. So Oscar sits up, his tense core aching a little, and gently guides Lando back with a hand on his head. Lando still hasn't closed his glistening mouth, so it slips in easily. Oscar exhales long and slow until he's seated as far as he can go. Lando just— takes it. His lips are soft, pillowy like a marshmallow, and his body relaxes into the mattress, his head on Oscar's thigh.

Usually, cock-warming is a punishment for Lando, practising self-restraint and obedience. Sometimes it's to ground him, force him to focus on one simple but all-consuming task. This is different, Oscar thinks as he gazes down. He feels so much it's all blending into one swelling tide. He needs to manage this. Needs a break.

He slips his fingers from Lando's hair and falls back onto the mattress. Lando doesn't move. Oscar takes a slow moment to stare at their ceiling, and as he does he notices the camera.

The camera.

He turns his head to the side so he can look down the lens. For a second he doesn't know what to say. His mind keeps flipping between interview and intercourse like a fucked up coin-toss. Eventually, he licks his lips.

"I… don't know how much of this you can see," he says, voice loud as it travels across the bed sheets. "I hope you're still in frame, because you look just… beautiful."

Oscar pushes his arms above his head and stretches, arching his back just a little bit, just to feel Lando try to compensate for his shifting. Oscar flashes a lazy grin at the camera.

"This is new Lan. Stuffing your mouth is good at keeping you quiet, but there's something so final about this. You're so warm around me, wet and open. All that talk about your mouth and you haven't even been able to finish the job, love. What am I supposed to do now?"

He turns to look down at Lando. "Any ideas?" he prompts. It feels a bit silly. It feels a bit cruel. Oscar's still so fucking hard.

Of course, Lando doesn't respond. He doesn't even twitch at being addressed. Curious, Oscar slides his hand back into Lando's hair and grips it tight, lifting him off his cock. Lando's eyes are open, and he looks like he's trying ever so hard to focus on Oscar, but his gaze keeps slipping to the background.

"Feeling okay there, love?" Oscar asks gently. "You look a bit tired. Need me to take over?" Lando doesn't respond. His lips are glossy and parted, but his tongue sits useless behind his teeth, Oscar can see it. He grins so wide something in his jaw cracks.

"Oh," Oscar breathes out. He looks at the camera. "You see that? He's so out of it. You're so out of it, Lan."

Oscar drops Lando's head onto the mattress as he draws himself up and off of the bed.

"Here, let me help you love."

Getting Lando onto his back was a little difficult with so much dead weight, but Oscar's big and strong and so fucking horny he would have put Lando on the floor is that was his only option to fuck him. It doesn't come to that, thankfully. The blankets poof at the impact, fluffing up around him and adding to the soft, dazed look in Lando's glossy green eyes. His curls sit pretty on his forehead and Oscar sits on top of him, admiring how he just… doesn't move.

He gets Lando nice and comfortable, his head by the pillows, and the jostling movements seem to have pushed some adrenaline into Lando's system. He watches Lando's chest rise and fall, his nipples peaked and dark, and when Lando manages to turn his head to look up at Oscar, there's a foggy, animal kind of desperation in his eyes. He's blinking and tilting his head, looking at Oscar like he doesn't know what's happening.

Oscar decides immediately that it's the hottest thing he's ever fucking seen.

"Fuck, look at you."

He needs to savour this. He has to have it on film.

Oscar slides off the bed and tussles with the camera stand until it comes away. He steadies it in one hand, the elastic support fitting snug around his knuckles.

Camera in hand he climbs back onto the bed, settling on Lando's stomach to loom over him and settle his twitching hips.

He points the lens down at his pretty boyfriend, who just groans, his eyes drifting and hazy, floating across the ceiling. Well now, Oscar can't be having that.

"Look here, Lando," he says gently, tapping the side of the camera. Lando whines and turns his head into the pillows instead, hiding. Oscar tuts. Maybe he does spoil Lando too much. He should be better trained than this.

Sharp as a snake bite, Oscar snatches Lando's face in one hand, his fingers digging into the meat and bone of his cheeks, his palm covering his mouth, and forces his face back to the camera.

"Like this, puppy," Oscar says in puffs of breath that hiss through his teeth. "Good dog. Say hi, Lando." He moves the camera higher. "This is what you're good at, right? This is your thing. So go on. Speak."

Tears begin to glisten in the corners of Lando's bleary, glassy eyes. He looks terrified.

Oscar coos. "Oh no no no, don't cry, puppy. You're okay, yeah? Asked for this, didn't you?"

Lando whines.

He moves his hand down to turn Lando's limp head this way and that by the hinge of his jaw. His mouth doesn't close, like he's forgotten how.

"Pretty like this," he says. "Pretty and quiet. Easy." 

Oscar doesn't know how he sounds so put together. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's gone so thoroughly insane that he can't pick it out from his own words. Shifting his thighs around Lando's body brings attention to his achingly hard cock and makes his thoughts slide sideways. Oscar stares at Lando's open, pretty mouth.

He wants to fuck Lando's throat and make him choke on it, wants to force his head back and see the shape of his cock bulge against Lando's adams apple.

He might.

He could do anything to him, anything, and it wouldn't even matter when he forgets this time, because Oscar has it all on film. Maybe when he wakes up, Oscar will make him watch it all, still groggy and confused and useless.

Oscar shuffles down Lando's body and uses his free hand to reach into Lando's shorts and boxers to pull out his dick, now all soft as the drugs finally fully take over.

"Look at you," he murmurs, "it's like you don't even want it. But I know you so well, love. I know you want to."

He tilts the camera to Lando's dick. "If I didn't know you so well though, I might be offended. But you'd never be rude to me, would you Lan?"

He squeezes the soft cock just once before realising he wants both of his hands free for the rest of this. He smooths his palm across one of Lando's hipbones. "Just hold on a tick."

Clambering off the bed and securing the camera again makes his skin prickle. He wants to be back with Lando, not here fidgeting with fucking tech, but it's important. It's something Lando wants.

"It's a shame," Oscar says conversationally to the lens as he finishes adjusting it, "that like this, I can't tease you. Dogs like you don't want for things, right?" I could fuck into you over and over and never let you come and you'd be none the fucking wiser. Couldn't mouth off at me. Just lay there, just take it. God, fuck."

He drops his hands from the camera and steps back, taking just a second longer to make sure everything is secure and working.

Okay. He breathes deeply. Okay.

Oscar turns back to the bed where Lando hasn't moved.

He sort of looks like a oil painting, trapped and haunted, forced to be stared at and never moved from this downy-decor. With a predatory single-mindedness, Oscar crawls over Lando. He looks into his puppy's beautiful, olive-green eyes with pupils blown so wide Oscar wonders if he can see anything at all, and feels his tongue loosen.

"You still listening, Lan?" he murmurs. "Does anything make sense in your fucked up head right now?"

Oscar noses across Lando's cheekbones where the red prints of his fingers are still staining the hinge of his jaw and smattered up to the corner of one of his eyes.

"I don't think you are. I don't think you can really feel anything. No squeamishness or princess treatment for you, hm?

He gropes Lando's tits. "I could lick every inch of skin to see if your fingers taste different to your thighs."

He slides Landos' arms up over his head, his rough palms face up, making his collarbones pop sinfully. Lando's chain necklace puddled between his tits is gleaming in the low-light of the room, warm to the touch as Oscar takes it between his teeth. He folds it into his mouth with his tongue and tugs, ever so slightly, just to see it dig into Lando's neck.

When he spits it out, his saliva makes Lando's chest shine slick.

He makes his way up Lando's neck then down his shoulder, licking and sucking marks into his arm as he went. When he gets to the crook of Lando's inner elbow and sucks hard Lando gasps and twitches. Oscar moves up to Lando's wrist, his pulse-point, and laves his tongue over it like cleaning a dinner plate. Dragging his tongue over Lando's palms reveals every callous and groove of skin, scratchy.

He does it again on the other side.

Lando usually hates it when Oscar gets saliva on him. He laments about it being tacky and cold, making his skin itch. But dogs are messy creatures, and Oscar can't hear him complaining now.

Oscar moves down to Lando's chest, a heaving, glistening plane of fine-haired skin. His nipples are hard as Oscar coaxes them out with his mouth and fingers, pinching them just to hear Lando hiccup and sob. If he could, he'd probably buck, and make Oscar pin him down with his hips. But this puppy just whines at him, goosebumps breaking out over his pecs. Oscar leaves more marks, to make up for not thinking to do it last time.

He bites down hard on the jut of Lando's hips and digs his nails into Lando's waist. He worships Lando's thighs from the curve of his ass to the bend of his knee and grips his calves like Lando could kick him. Dead weight was somehow more satisfying to move. It stayed put when you dropped it. With his hands on Lando calves he pulls Lando down, letting his legs hang off of the edge of the bed so he can dip his body between them, folding his arms along Lando's thigh and resting his cheek on them, gazing up at the camera.

"Watching?" he says, a little husky. "You know, when I was testing this out," he gestures to the camera, "I remembered how surprised I was that we'd never thought to buy one. A camera." He glances sideways at Lando's half-hard cock and grasps it, pumping it lazily, looking back at the camera. "I think I figured it out though. Lando," he purrs at the camera," baby. Always so eager to fuck and so hard to break in. When would we have the time to film it?"

The Lando on the bed twitches and gasps, and Oscar thinks he might be trying to talk. He drops Lando's cock in favour of kneading his stomach with one hand. "You had the ego to ask, though I don't think you'd have the narcissism to go through with it." He smiles. "But I do."

He pushes himself up to grasp the camera. He points it at Lando's dick and uses his other hand to stroke it. His hand seems a little pale against the dark hair and skin of Lando's cock. "Lan, if you're watching this, look close. You're not even here right now, far away in your head. But I have my hands on your body. See that?"

He presses his thumb into the head of Lando's cock and watches it leak precome. His dog whines quietly. "Oh, can you hear him? I think he likes it. Reckon you'd like it too, Lando. If you were here."

He lets Lando go and puts the camera back on its stand.

He leans over Lando and looks into his foggy eyes.

"Gonna turn you over now puppy," he informs Lando. "Be good."

It takes a small bit of manoeuvring, but Oscar gets Lando on his stomach, organising his arms and neck so Oscar can still hear him whine. He grips Lando's hips to hoist him up and kick one of the massive, ridiculous pillows they were gifted under Lando's knees. The arrangement makes Lando's back cave, showing of the slender dip of his spine and the defined shape of his shoulders, and means that Oscar won't have to hold him up entirely when he fucks him.

He smooths his hands up and down Lando's back, looking at it with hungry eyes and talking for the camera to hear. "Last time I fucked this dog, we did it face-to-face. I was so excited, so hard, and he was so pretty to look at. D'you think he's pretty, Lando?"

He slides a hand into Lando's hair and pulls his head up, baring the side of his throat and spit-slick mouth to the camera. "Not this time though. Puppies should be fucked like the good dogs they are, yeah? And this one is so good for me." He lets Lando's head drop, stroking down to his shoulder blades. "He's so obedient, less of a person and more of a hole, really. And his hole is loose."

From the foot of the bed Oscar grabs the lube. He drizzles it directly onto Lando's tailbone, clear and unscented. Oscar drags a hand down Lando's spine, gathering the lube, and presses a finger into the ring of his ass, groaning at how easily it goes. Oscar's been so hard for so long now, he's half worried he'll come the second he gets his dick inside. That would be fine though. It's not like Lando's surfacing any time soon. He has time to go again, if he has to.

Almost immediately he slides in another finger and pumps them, stretches them out. Every exhale Lando makes is tinged with whining or moaning or something might be words. The slick sound of Lando's hole is fucking hot. Oscar pushes in a third finger, just to test the give, and then decides that fucking Lando sore is kind of the point of all this. He slips his fingers out and slides his dick in with practised ease.

It's not exactly easy, though. Lando is hot, hotter than he usually is. Oscar chalks it up to the drugs. Heat pulses through Oscars' cock and makes his jaw drop as he moans. He can't push all the way in or he'll fucking come, so he grips Lando's hips with a strength that'll bruise the print of his hands over the hickeys already forming.

He has to take deep breaths through his teeth, groaning with every shift deeper into Lando's wet heat. "Fuck," he groans, "Lando fuck. You're so good, taking it so good—fuck."

When he's fully seated he bends over Lando and licks up his spine, tasting sweat, focusing his mind on calming down. It's hard. He's hard. He wants to fuck Lando hard into the mattress and make sure he can't walk tomorrow.

"Gonna keep you here," he pants into the valley of Lando's spine between his wing-bones. He's sweating, liquid salt dripping down the path of his nose and lips. "You'll wake up so fucking ruined, and you'll want to go and show it off, because you're a little fucking attention whore with an ego bigger than your cock. But you're gonna stay, right where you are now, and if I want to fuck this hole again I will. Whether you're here or not doesn't really— uhn, fuck— i-it isn't something I really care about." He presses a shaky kiss to the soft skin behind Lando's ears and breathes, "because this isn't for you."

Oscar pulls out, and fucks back in. He lets his mouth stay open, lets his moaning and panting and his fuck, fuck, Lando's spill freely, because it's not like there's any people around to hear him. It's just Lando, and he's not listening to anything right now. The slapping is wet and loud and Oscar feels so fucking good he could pass out.

It doesn't take much and it doesn't take long.

He forces himself to stutter to a stop and as a courtesy tells his puppy, " 'm not gonna touch you, puppy. If you want to get off you're gonna have to rut against the mattress yourself before I'm done with you. Okay?"

He makes show of waiting for a response before licking the front of his teeth and huffing out a laugh. It sounds funny to his own ears. "Yeah, that's a good boy."

He picks up again, focused solely on himself and chasing the snap of tension that's been with him for nearly an hour. It doesn't take long at all. When he comes he swears loud and rough into Lando's shoulder, the sound of it ringing like a bark in his brain. He pushes his cock in deep, letting his come try and soothe the friction-heat of Lando's insides. Oscar pants and groans and shakes, only half holding himself up so he doesn't suffocate Lando under his weight.

When he unclenches his fists from the sheets, he levels his breathing and pulls out. Lando groans weakly under him and Oscar has to take a moment to centre himself. His body is still fuzzy with his orgasm and his mind is swimming in endorphins. His hands don't really feel real as he slides down to the carpet breathing heavily. He puts a hand to his throat, feeling the rabbit-run of his pulse, and gives himself time to calm down, to come back to himself.

Oscar does, eventually, slide shakily back into his body. The first thing he does is look at the camera. It's looking back at him, the warm, red light standing at attention. He smiles, tired. "Hi love," he says, voice rough, "hope you like what you see."

He pushes himself up to standing and picks up the camera. "Look at you," he murmurs. "So beautiful, Lan. You really are." He takes the time to run a gentle hand through Lando's sweaty, curly hair and stroke a knuckle behind his ear, under the curve of his jaw.

"Right, so." He turns the camera to face him and flips the display screen as well. He grabs his phone from the bedside table and shows the time to the camera, "this is for, like, transparency? I'm gonna turn the camera off and have a quick shower, then I'm gonna turn it back on while I clean you up. Just in case you… want to make sure I did it properly. The uh time is so you'll know how much time passes. Again, just so you can be sure. Uh, okay, see you in a sec."

He stops the recording and sets it back on its stand, watching it process the video it's just taken. He checks that Lando is breathing easy and none of his limbs are strained or in awkward, painful positions, before having the fastest, most functional shower of his life— which, given his profession is really saying something. It can't take more than two minutes and he doesn't bother drying too thoroughly.

He clicks the record button back on and pulls up his phone. "Uh, hi Lan. Here you are, fastest shower ever mate I swear." He tosses his phone onto his side of the bed. "Alright, well, enjoy watching yourself get pampered, princess."

First, Oscar takes a soft, damp hand-towel and wipes down Lando's neck, back and legs, mindful of which of his bites had drawn blood. Putting the towel aside, he gently rubs some anti-swelling cream and disinfectant on the bites and bruises he could see, apologising in his head for any he might be missing. He puts square, OP81 plasters on some of the bigger bites (Lando had gotten them especially printed just to give Oscar an excuse to hurt him. Not that Oscar really needs one). Then, he very gently rolls Lando over and picks him up bridal, just enough to place him on the bed properly, his head nestled between pillows. Oscar makes sure his neck isn't angled wrong, and again that he's breathing easily.

Lando's eyes are still open, if not hooded and glassy. Oscar goes into their bathroom and runs another hand-towel under the warm tap, wringing it out a few times. He uses it to wipe Lando's face, throat, chest and arms. He cleans the fronts of his legs and around his half-hard cock. Lando hadn't come. Oscar winces with sympathy, flashing a guilty smile at the camera.

"I'll do something about it tomorrow," he promises, "if you want me to. I'll do anything you want me to Lan. Just gotta ask."

He loves spoiling Lando.

He cleans Landos ass, and although his next intention was to dress him, he thinks better of it. Oscar doesn't have the energy or coordination to dress someone who can't contribute, and it'll probably be better for Lando's sensitive body when he wakes up. So he takes the damp towel, going over his body, thorough and gentle, then tucks Lando in.

Oscar fetches them both sealed water bottles, showing them to the camera at the last minute like an awkward show-and-tell, then cracks his open and drinks half of it in one go. He puts it on his bedside table, sitting in front of the camera.

"Alright, well, goodnight love. I'll see you in the morning. I love you."

He stops the recording, lets it process, and turns off the camera.

It's like the off switch hits something in Oscar too. As soon as the camera powers down he feels himself relax fully, his shoulders dropping low. He wonders if he's developed some kind of weird psychological thing about talking to cameras given his very public childhood and career, but he doesn't really have the energy to think about it.

He doesn't have the energy to disassemble the stand either, so he just moves it into their office space and puts the camera in there too, holding footage that Oscar really hopes Lando appreciates. He knows he did.

He wanders back into their room and slides under the sheets. He can't cuddle Lando like he normally would, worried about suffocating him, so he settles for pressing their thighs together and running a hand through his hair. Lando's eyes are closed, and Oscar wonders if he's actually asleep, or just drifting somewhere with the drugs.

"I love you," he mumbles fondly. "You're so crazy. Can't believe you let me do this to you."

When Oscar falls asleep, his hand is still in Lando's hair.

/-\

The morning sun doesn't stream into their room, because Oscar was sensible and closed the blinds before he and Lando had dinner last night. No one else needed the chance to see what the fuck they get up to in their own home. Still, Oscars body clock has yet to be fully defeated, and exhaustion is so low on the ladder of worries that when he checks his phone he groans. It's too fucking early. Unfortunately, once he's awake he's awake.

Oscar rolls over, his eyes falling on Lando.

He's moved in his sleep, a good sign, now clutching one of their many pillows between his arms and thighs, his face smushed in another. The blankets have slipped down during the night, and Oscar gets a thrilling eyefull of some of the damage he's done. Blues and purples and reds litter just the small expanse of Lando's shoulder and throat, and when he reaches out to ghost his fingers over some of them, he can feel the indent of his own teeth.

Jesus fucking christ.

He considers getting up, fixing breakfast, maybe putting some more cream on Lando's bruises and bites, but his body is heavy and warm. He wasn't there when Lando woke up last time, so he wants to be here now.

He dozes to the sounds of Lando's slow, easy breathing, shifting to stretch sometimes, feeling his joints pop like a wine cork, but it isn't until Lando starts to shuffle about that Oscar lets his brain turn back on.

Oscar blinks open his eyes to watch Lando try to bury his face in the pillow he's clutching, letting out a huff of air that reminded Oscar of fussy big dogs. He hears Lando groan, croaky, and smiles when it's followed by a muffled, "mmmosc'r."

Gently, Oscar brushes his fingers over Landos' arm. "Good morning," he greets quietly. "How're you feeling?"

Lando groans again, moving his head to look at Oscar with one of his squinted eyes. " 's not," he mumbles, " 's not a good morn'g. F'l l'ke shit, Osc."

"Yeah, thought you might."

He doesn't jump into anything just yet. He has to let Lando wake up and feel sorry for himself. It's an important ritual, and Oscar gets to look at him the whole time.

A few miutes tick by. Then Lando says, " o'm' god, we did th' thing, right?"

Oscar makes a questioning hum, carding a hand through Lando's curls.

"W' did the drug sex."

"Yeah Lan, we did the drug sex," Oscar confirms faithfully.

Lando snorts and probably rolls his eyes, but Oscar can't say for sure. "Fuckin' dick. Ugh, what did you do to me. Feel more sore than last time."

Yeah no shit, Oscar thinks, trying very hard not to get swept away in his own flood of memories.

"Gotta take care of you first," he reminds Lando, "then I'll tell you."

"M'kay. Go on then Osc, attend me."

Oscar smiles. He slips out from the sheets and stands up, stretching fully. He hears Lando attempt an appreciative whistle, but Oscar hazards a guess that his mouth is a bit too dry.

"Yeah?" Oscar says with a grin as he pulls on a shirt and boxers. Neither of them will focus if they're both naked.

" 's weird. Not seein' you with any marks after sex. Usually I scratch you up good."

"Usually," Oscar agrees. "There's water on your table. I'll get us some easy breakfast alright?"

"Oh my god I love you Osc," Lando mumbles, rolling over to flail for the water bottle.

Oscar had gotten fruit purees and protein breakfast shakes for exactly this morning. He brings them into the bedroom and lets Lando pick what he wants, sitting on top of the sheets in case he needs to get up again. Lando had already finished the water and devours the fruit like he'd been starving.

"Ugh, thank fuck. Y' never know how terrible you really feel until you feel better."

"Want some pain meds?"

"Fuck, Oscar. I'd blow you for some fucking meds."

Oscar snorts, handing over a sheet of blisters, half of them empty.

Lando downs them with a third of his smoothie, then sets it to the side, his eyes sparkling.

"So," he prompts, "where is it?"

Oscar furrows his brow. "Where's what?"

"The camera Osc! Where's my goddamn movie, I wanna see."

Oscar makes the best use of his media innocence face and sighs, long and suffering.

"Lan, uh…"

Lando's face drops.

"Oscar. Oscar what happened with the camera."

"The camera's fine. I just… the uh, record button. Must've forgot to press it."

The silence between them was so heavy it could have stopped an F1 car. Lando starts crying.

Oscar is immediately next to him and catches Lando as he swoons miserably. He pets Lando's hair and presses apologetic kisses to his brow, trying not to smile.

"Oscar," he whines, his accent heavy, "what the fuck mate. You didn't record it?"

"It was an accident, Lan. I'm really sorry."

Lando sniffles and shrugs, fidgeting with his own fingers.

" 'm just a bit out of it still. Not mad or anything."

Oscar loves him so much. "I know."

Beat passes. Then, "…does that mean we need to do it again?"

Oscar kisses Lando's sly mouth shut.

/-\

Three days of cautious recovery pass and Lando's in a much better headspace about how all of his limp-body effort had gone to waste;

"We'll do it again Osc, and then I'll press record. Next time gadget."

"Next time what?"

He's back to being chipper and doing his stretches naked to admire all of the many, many fucking marks Oscar had left on him. It makes him feel warm and loved and horny, which he knows drives Oscar crazy. He's been all proper and righteous about not fucking Lando again but honestly, Lando couldn't care less. He wants to make another movie. He wants to be used again.

Summer break wont last forever.

But it's totally fine and totally okay and Lando isn't being pushy about it because this is Oscar's thing, and Oscar finds caring about Lando just as important as fucking him. He's nice like that. It's nice.

"Lan, I'm going out for a quick shop, do we need anything?"

"Get me a kinder?"

" 'course love."

Lando hears the door open and close, and it's only when he realises Oscar is gone that Lando's stomach makes itself a fucking problem.

"Ugh, fuck." He hates making his own food after days of Oscar-care. Makes him feel like a real human person again, managing his own needs like some fucking adult. His stomach grumbles again and Lando groans, rolling out of bed. He grumbles to himself as he pads the eternal stretch between their bedroom and the kitchen, bypasses the dining table, and then backtracks a few steps.

On the table is Oscar's laptop, open on a blank screen, a sticky-note on the bottom of the keyboard that says 'press play <3' in Oscar's scratchy handwriting. Lando blinks at it. He sits down slowly, pulled by a trepidation that makes his heart thrush shakily.

Lando presses play.

/-\

When Oscar finally jangles the keys in the lock he doesn't even get a chance to turn the handle before the door is ripped open for him. Lando is barely breathing, supporting himself on the door and panting with his tongue spasming around words he can't manage to form.

He watched the video, then.

Oscar thanks himself for not buying anything fragile or short-life as Lando grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him inside, smashing their mouths together and slamming the door shut.