Chapter Text
“Do you think oil would be good as lube?”
Oscar jumps and bangs his head on the open bonnet.
“Jesus fuck, some warning, Lando?” Oscar hisses, rubbing the back of his sore head. He thinks that's going to swell. Great.
“Sorry,” Lando apologises, not looking very apologetic.
He does come forward to thread his fingers through the hair at the back of Oscar's head though, and Oscar sighs, deciding Lando is forgiven.
“So, do you? Think oil would be good as lube?” Lando presses on, a shark-like grin on his face.
Oscar feels his eyebrows bunch in the centre of his forehead as he sends him a disbelieving look. “Lando, I am not touching you with oil on my hands.”
Lando drops his hand as he pouts up at him, his greenish-blueish eyes that shift in the light - always beautiful no matter the shade - growing almost big and pleading. Oscar is definitely not not immune to that look. Fuck.
“Why not?”
“Unless you're a car, I'm not putting my hands anywhere near you, mate.”
Lando waggles his eyebrows at him, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, but Oscar is also ridiculously whipped for this man so it comes off as horribly endearing. Although, that doesn't mean that Oscar is above acknowledging that half of the things that come out of Lando's mouth is concerningly disturbing and potentially nonsensical at times. Like now.
“There are some similarities there. Me and a car, I mean,” Lando says.
“Really,” Oscar intones drily. “Is it those loose screws in your head?”
“Fuck off,” Lando scowls, before his features smoothen into something cheeky. “No, I meant, like, you can ride me, just like a car.”
Oscar's thoughts fly unbidden to that time Lando had gotten Oscar to ride him while seated in his car once, and Oscar had regretfully half-wondered if he's turning into a voyeur because he hadn't protested the idea as much as he should have. But then, he had also been faced with a race winner Lando Norris, eyes bright and wild, a healthy sheen of sweat dripping down his neck, and it's hard to say no to that. Well, for Oscar, at least.
It had been cramped and horribly humid in there - tinted windows fogging up and Oscar had smacked his head one too many times on the roof of the car, it wasn't even funny anymore. The clean up was torturous too, and they had both agreed car sex probably isn't really worth it for all the hassle it had brought them. So, definitely not the best sex they've had, but still something Oscar thinks back on quite fondly. Plus the memory gets him off every time whenever he's alone so. Not the best, but even the worst of it is still insanely good when it's with Lando. Or maybe Oscar's just biased.
“Yeah, loose screws.” Instead, Oscar nods, agreeing with - not Lando - but his own earlier statement.
Lando swats at his shoulder, pauses to pinch at it, then proceeds to rub a large palm over, probably marvelling the muscles there, if Oscar were to guess based on experience. Oscar huffs a laugh, cutting him off by leaning over slightly to press his lips to Lando's, who immediately melts into the kiss and eagerly parts his lips to deepen it. Oscar feels the faint prodding of his tongue, before he reluctantly pulls back.
“I'm working,” he says mournfully, because there's really not much else he'd like to do more than kissing Lando.
Lando clicks his tongue in response, but lets him put some distance between their bodies, although they're still close enough for their arms to brush.
“Ever wonder what oil tastes like?”
“No?” Oscar replies, eyebrows shooting high up his forehead. “Where's this coming from?” He thinks he knows anyway, but he asks just to hint at Lando that he's being ridiculous.
“You won't finger me with it,” Lando lets out a put-open sigh, as if Oscar's refusal is of great inconvenience to him. Oscar wills away the flush at his blunt way of putting it. “Will you let me suck your fingers at least?”
At that, Oscar makes a face, because his boyfriend apparently has a newfound hyperfixation on trying to land himself in the ER for hydrocarbon poisoning. He says as much aloud: “Something you wanna tell me about? Something along the lines of, why are you trying to get yourself poisoned by ingesting motor oil?”
“It's not the oil exactly,” Lando scrunches his nose, tilting his head slightly in thought. “It's more because your hands look so good and pretty, and it's fucking hot seeing you get all dirty with the oil and shit.”
And, huh. This is the closest they've gotten to actually talking about Lando's very obvious and unabashed hand kink. Or rather, as he'd clarified already, an Oscar hand kink. Oscar doesn't mind it, he's flattered even. He likes whatever Lando likes, and if Lando likes his hands, he's more than happy to use that on him. But someone has to be the responsible one here, and it falls on him to take on the role.
“I'd try just about anything else you're up for, but oil is toxic, Lando. We can't do that either,” Oscar says.
Lando doesn't hide his disappointment at that, but he brightens up again when he opens his mouth to ask, “Can I suck you off then?”
Oscar is only a man, and his very shameless and sexy street racer boyfriend is offering to suck him off. His brain thinks no, but his cock twitches in his joggers, and his mouth says, “Uh.”
“You have any work to do that can't wait?” Lando slides closer again, close enough that Oscar can smell the soft cosy smell of his detergent and the heady scent of his cologne.
Oscar gestures helplessly at the car with its bonnet still open and engine still exposed.
“Yeah, alright.”
Then Lando proceeds to crowd Oscar back against the car, and promptly drops down to his knees.
Oscar groans at the sight. His brain goes suspiciously silent right then, which is just great, because he doesn't even think to fight it when Lando moves to slide his pants and underwear down to his thighs. Lando is quick about it, doesn't tease him like he usually tends to do because he's evidently been pent up ever since he'd popped into the garage with that ludicrous question of his, and swallows Oscar down in a quick movement, throat constricting deliciously.
Oscar groans, low and loud in the silence of the garage, at the sudden intense pleasure curling up his spine, body struggling to adjust to the abrupt pace Lando is setting. He has to strain to hold his arms to his side, fingers clawing at the metal of the car door behind his back, fighting the urge to drag his oil-stained fingers through the shock of curls currently tempting him like a siren's call.
Lando seems to notice the hesitation, letting out a dissatisfied hum that Oscar barely registers because the intense vibrations nearly send him keeling over from the rush of sensations shooting up from his dick.
He does notice it though, when Lando blindly reaches for his hand and brings it down to graze along his cheek, jaw, then throat. Lando seems pleased by this, throat relaxing impossibly even more where he's swallowing Oscar down. And fuck, Oscar almost loses it when he can feel it, feel the way his cock hits the back of Lando's throat from the faint bulging under his fingertips where it rests on Lando's throat every time Lando bobs his head down.
Lando pulls off, the sound so very vulgar and so very wet, but he brings a hand up to jack Oscar off, as he says, voice rough and ruined, “Fuck yeah, keep your hand on my throat, baby.”
Oscar can't help the incredulous laughter that bubbles out of his chest at the absolute filth coming out of the other man's spit-slick, very wet, very red, lips.
But he gets it, he gets it, when Lando resumes sucking him off, and Oscar marvels in an awestruck and fevered kind of way, at the way his fingers and palm leaves streaks of oil smears around Lando's throat and jaw and cheek, then at the side of his lips where it's stretched thin around Oscar's cock. And Lando looks absolutely ruined, from the tears gathering on his eyelashes, to the spit dribbling down his chin, to the oil staining his beautiful golden skin. A sinful, ruined mess, all just for Oscar's eyes alone, who adds on to the mess when he cums on Lando's face a few moments later - streaks of white sliding along the black layers of grease. Some of it slides down his face, dropping to the floor.
He can't help it, doesn't even realise he's doing it, when he uses two fingers to scoop up some of the cum. Lando makes a noise as if wounded at that, and Oscar watches, trance-like and unresisting, when Lando pulls his fingers closer with those huge hands of his greedily wrapping around Oscar's wrist, sucking those digits into the wet warmth of his swollen plush lips. Oscar makes an embarrassing noise that he refuses to acknowledge.
Oscar can feel the way that lithe warm tongue of Lando's flicks along the pads of Oscar's fingertips, sliding between his fingers, and the light graze of teeth on his knuckles. His mind is a pile of mush right now, body brainless and following his dick that's already stirring again despite having just had his brains sucked right out, and he wonders if Lando could cum like this, untouched, just from sucking the disgusting mixture of oil and cum off Oscar's fingers and the taste of Oscar's cock still on the back of tongue.
Oscar doesn't even recognise his voice when he chokes out, “Come on, baby, cum for me. Just like this. Just from sucking my fingers. You're doing so good, sweetheart.”
And Lando fucking moans in response, a hitched desperate sound as he squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up, body shooting upright and going rigid, tremors in his body that almost looks like he's shivering, and then he's cumming, ropes of white shooting out onto the garage floor and adding onto the mess between Oscar's legs. He relaxes immediately after, tension cut like a cord, slowly releasing Oscar's fingers with a trail of spit stretching thin, thin, thin between them, then snapping. He plops down onto his arse, and Oscar can still see the aftershocks of the orgasm as the knees that he folds up to his chest tremble, but he's grinning lazily up at Oscar looking very pleased and sated.
And now Oscar's gone, ruined for life, because that's probably the hottest thing he's ever experienced in his life.
Lando pokes a tongue at the corner of his lip, a habit that Oscar always hates because he can't quite be normal about it, made worse by the fact that he's barely missing that one little smear of oil that Oscar had left behind earlier, before his relaxed smile morphs into something more salacious. “Thanks for the meal.”
Oscar lets out a huge exhale of air that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, as his knees also decide to give out on him, and he sinks to the floor, back sliding against the car that has probably been defiled from everything it's just witnessed.
“You- Shit. How'd you even do that?” Oscar asks, cum-dumb and brain not fully online yet.
“Do what? Cum from your fingers down my throat?” Oscar chokes at the crudeness of it.
Lando shrugs, an expensive looking thing from the way he's still loose-limbed and floaty in his post-orgasm.
“Dunno. Didn't know I could. Was fucking hot though.” He wrinkles his nose slightly. “But, bleh, oil tastes like shit.”
“Oh, fuck,” Oscar breathes as the panic hits him, and he scrabbles about for his bottle of water once he's able to lurch back to his feet, and thrusts it into Lando's hands.
Lando looks thoroughly amused by it, but he doesn't argue and gulps it down. Probably more to do with the fact that his throat has just been fucked raw, and less to do with the ingesting toxic substances, though. But small victories. As long as he's drinking the water.
“Why would you do that?” Oscar complains. “That could have been dangerous. It probably is dangerous. Please tell me if you feel anything, even if it's just a little thing. Please. Because then we'll have to get you checked out at the hospital.”
Lando huffs an impatient sounding thing, a stray droplet of water dripping down to his chin where it catches on his stubble, wobbles precariously, then drops to the floor. “Yes, mum.”
Oscar raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Seriously? After having my dick in your mouth and you're calling me ‘ mum'? ”
Lando rolls his eyes but his lips twitch into a fond smile. “Fucking fine. Yes, my lovely caring boyfriend. I'll tell you if I notice anything even the slightest bit off. I promise.”
Oscar lets the sarcasm slide off of him, nodding in satisfaction at the easy agreement.
And then post-nut clarity hits him like a fucking train, and he takes in the fact he really needs to clean the cum off the floor before it stains, and they really shouldn't have gotten cum anywhere remotely close to the floor in the first place because he's at work. And speaking of work, they're right there in the garage where someone could have easily walked in on them. Oscar would love to blame Lando for all of it, but he's just as at fault for giving in so easily. They're both horrible, really.
“Alright,” Oscar sighs, distress cracking his voice. “We should really clean this mess up.”
“Wonder if that'll stain,” Lando muses, eyes trained to the floor where their cums lie in a mixed puddle. “Will get you thinking about me whenever you see it.”
I'm always thinking about you, Oscar nearly says, but Lando really doesn't need to get his ego inflated so he keeps his mouth shut.
But then Lando gets that wistful fond look in his eye when he looks at Oscar, the look he gets when he's thinking mushy romantic thoughts but he's also getting in his own head about his insecurities that are entirely unfounded because Oscar is literally crazy about him too, so Oscar says, “I'm always thinking about you.”
Lando looks very pleased yet shy about that, at odds with the way he'd barged in here to get his mouth on Oscar, and Oscar doesn't regret telling him that aloud because he loves that quiet yet sincere smile on Lando's lips.
Of course, he goes and ruins it when he opens his mouth again.
“Next time, I'm getting you to bend me over a car and fuck me right here.”
Oscar groans, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the skin between his forehead in an attempt to will away those damn images that immediately flood his brain. He doesn't need that fantasy popping up in his brain whenever he's here at work now.
“We are not doing this in the garage again, Lando,” Oscar sighs in exasperation.
Then Lando pouts at him, much to Oscar's chagrin, and he knows they probably will.
Turns out, the cum doesn't stain the floor once he wipes up the mess with soap. And it turns out that Lando had also had the rare but brilliant foresight to lock the door behind himself when he'd let himself in, further evidence that he really had planned to do something here all along - knowledge that Oscar would have benefited to know earlier to save himself from a near heart attack.