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Oscar’s always been quiet. It’s not that he’s got nothing to say, really. If people were privy to the constant commentary that runs through his mind, they’d be asking him to please shut the fuck up, thank you. It’s just that most of the time, he finds no need to say anything, simple as that. And most people don’t really mind as much as they think they do, and after the initial realization that ‘oh this guy’s not much of a talker’ they seem to have no problem filling out any empty spaces left by his silence. It works for him.
When he’d told his family he’d decided to pursue a teaching degree after graduating with an MA in English, his sister Hattie had done a double take from the other side of the dining table, and after confirming she’d heard him right, she’d narrowed her eyes with poorly contained mirth and said, “You do realize teachers do a lot of talking, right? It’s kind of part of the job.”
And Oscar had rolled his eyes, and his family had laughed, and that had been that.
So, he thinks he surprises himself and his sister Hattie and every single person he’s ever interacted with when he says, “I’ll marry you” to Lando Norris one Thursday afternoon in late May.
(He can blame it on George’s and Alex’s pestering, that.)
Lando seems surprised, too, but he recovers quickly.
They’ve known each other for a few years, now. It’s Lando’s second year teaching at the same boarding school Oscar has been teaching English at for the past two years. They teach the same groups, and they’re close in age, Oscar being 27 and Lando only a year older, and they live right next to each other, so it’s only natural that they’ve become friendly. Oscar had found Lando perplexing at first; loud and needy and confusing while also caring and thoughtful and attentive. He’d grown fond of him rather quickly, after late nights spent together marking up exams or planning lessons, and afternoons spent quietly as he read and Lando painted. It’s that Thursday morning, as they bike together into campus, Lando carrying two coffee thermos and some sandwiches in the basket attached to the front of his bike, as agreed by the breakfast schedule posted on Oscar’s fridge, that Lando says the words that will change Oscar’s life forever.
(“Bit dramatic,” Lando will say with an eye roll years later. “Wasn’t it when I told you that –”)
Anyway.
They’re rounding up the corner that leads into the small parking space where they usually leave their bikes when Lando comments on his visa situation, as casually as one mentioning the weather forecast.
(Usually because on Mondays and Fridays they ride their bikes to the lake for a brief picnic breakfast, both of them not having lessons until much later, and they drop their bikes near the front building to make it on time.)
Oscar brakes slowly, turns his head to the side so he can look at Lando. He looks slightly worried at the prospect of deportation, but more so at the idea of leaving his students behind mid-year.
“—don’t even get me started on Marcy, she’ll kill me if I’m not here for her exhibition, and James, god, I promised I’d help him nail his oil technique before the submission date,” he rambles, fingers moving deftly as they unlatch his helmet.
“And there’s really nothing to be done?” Oscar asks, even though he’s asked before, and he knows the answer by now. They’re moving towards the entrance now, feet scrunching lightly over the gravel. Lando crouches down to pick up a red bottle cap that’s lying beneath it. He pockets it, and Oscar doesn’t ask, because he knows it’s for Lucia’s eco-fashion project, the one that Lando’s been talking about for the past two weeks and scouring Oscar’s recycling garbage to find caps for her. Oscar saves his own and picks up any that he sees when he remembers, handing them off to Lucia at the beginning of class. He ignores the way she smirks every time, the way she turns to her friends and whispers something about Mr. Norris and Mr. Piastri.
“No, Osc, I’ve told you –” and he recites the options he’s got, the same they’d both heard over the phone a week ago, that Lando had read over Oscar’s shoulders three nights ago. He either leaves the country willingly in the next month or so and stays out for six months before applying for a new work visa, gets married to an Australian, finds Australian roots in his family tree that allow him to apply for citizenship, or gets deported. “So, I’m fucked. But we’ve established that already. Upstairs or outside?”
Oscar holds the door open for him and says, “Upstairs. Need to finish Laura’s essay before class.”
Lando grimaces. “Still giving you a hard time?”
Oscar nods, makes a face. “I can’t understand where she’s going with it. Her thesis statement is – ”
And so the topic of Lando’s future in Australia gets relegated to the back of their minds as they sit in the teachers’ lounge, Lando unpacking sandwiches and handing Oscar his thermos as they discuss the merits of Laura’s poorly worded thesis statement about Holden Caulfield being an unreliable narrator.
Oscar’s halfway through the essay and his sandwich when the bell rings and Lando stands up, grabbing the paint-stained bag that carries all his brushes from his backpack. He’s teaching most periods today, which is exhausting, so Oscar absentmindedly reaches his hand and squeezes Lando’s elbow, eyes never leaving the paper in front of him. Lando says, “Cheers, mate. See you at lunch.” And then he’s gone.
Oscar’s re-reading a particularly wordy sentence when he hears someone clear their throat. Then a shuffling of feet. Some whispers. And then Alex and George sit in front of him.
Oscar raises an eyebrow, lets his red pen drop over the essay. “Hullo.”
Alex and George don’t really belong to his department, they teach Physics and Math, respectively, but they’re nice to talk to and grab a few pints with after work. Lately, they’ve been invested in the idea that Lando and him should date, which is probably why they’re here. Again.
“Nice little touch there, Oscar,” Alex teases, and it takes a second for Oscar to register what he’s referring to. “Very domestic.”
“Ha,” Oscar deadpans, and turns his attention back to the essay in front of him. “Anything I can help you with today?”
“Nah,” George laughs. “Unless you’ve suddenly decided to take an interest in numbers instead of letters.” At this, Oscar scowls slightly. George laughs again. “We just wanted to make our presence known. Alex and I figure if we keep being annoying it’ll get us invited to the wedding.”
Oscar’s about to dispute the logic of that when he thinks, oh.
Oh.
He’s such an idiot.
He checks the clock behind Alex’s head. If he runs, he can catch Lando outside his classroom, where he usually leans against the wall and greets his students. He shoves the essay into his binder and stands up. Alex and George are looking at him like he’s grown a third head, so he says, “Cheers, lads, I’ll make sure to never mention that to Lando,” before he dashes out of the lounge.
He’s out of breath by the time he reaches the Arts and Music wing, a minute before the second bell rings indicating that all students should head inside the classroom. He slows down, takes a deep breath, and heads towards room 481, where Lando’s ushering the last of his students inside the class.
“Mr. Norris,” Oscar calls out. Lando looks up, confused, but his face contorts into a smile when he realizes it’s him. Oscar’s heart tugs a little against his ribcage. The bells rings, and Lando looks at him questioningly. Oscar shakes his head, mouths “later” and goes back the way he came.
He’s done a lot of embarrassing things in front of students, but he’s not going to be proposing a marriage of convenience to his friend in front of the Year 11 students.
***
His day is mostly free except for a double lesson with Year 10 before lunch, so it gives Oscar enough time to google all the necessary information before he tells Lando. It also gives him enough time to overthink what he’s about to do.
The thing is, it makes sense. It makes all the sense in the world. Oscar’s single, and Lando is his friend, maybe his best friend, and marrying him so he can stay in Australia is what a friend would do.
But then.
Oscar knows he’s attracted to Lando. They’ve never done anything or said anything, though, and Oscar’s happy just having a close friend whom he also thinks is ridiculously hot. That shouldn’t be a problem, really. He’s been hanging out with Lando almost daily for the past two years and it’s never really been an issue. He doesn’t see why suddenly being married to him would affect their existing dynamic.
He's thinking of the kids, obviously. Or so he tells himself for the tenth time that he reads over the same paragraph about the consequences of faking a marriage in order to maintain a migratory status. It could be worse, he reasons. They could be total strangers.
Lando slumps into the couch next to Oscar, his left forearm covering his face as he leans back into the seat and breathes deeply. There’s paint over his knuckles, a splatter of red over his shirt.
Oscar doesn’t say anything, just quietly closes his laptop and stands to grab the cafeteria tray that Lorena, the janitor, had dropped there a few minutes earlier. A salmon poke for him and a chicken wrap for Lando.
He places Lando’s food on his lap, and wordlessly Lando drops his forearm to unwrap it. He takes a bite and moans quietly before he turns to Oscar. “Lorena?”
Oscar hums a yes.
“God, I love that woman so much. Remind me to get her the chocolates she likes, the red ones with the thingy.”
And Oscar knows which those are, so he nods again as he swallows a mouthful of rice.
“Bad?”
“No, just –exhausting,” Lando says, and then there’s a quirk to his mouth. “Did you know Sean and Christy are dating?”
Oscar laughs. “Yeah, but I promised not to tell. They wanted to tell you.”
“Aw,” Lando coos, pokes Oscar’s side with a finger. “You big sap.”
Oscar smiles at him, and then he remembers the very important message he needs to deliver. So he clears his throat, puts the poke bowl on the table in front, and says, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous, that,” Lando smirks, and then he takes a sideways glance at the poke bowl. “What, you finally came to your senses and will stop eating fish?”
Oscar rolls his eyes. “No, I’m a normal person who eats normal food,” he says pointedly, and Lando takes a big mouthful of chicken wrap and smiles wide, food threatening to spill out of the sides of his mouth. “Dunno what you’re on about, mate,” he says before he swallows, and Oscar makes a noise of disgust, but he’s laughing underneath it. Lando looks proud of himself as he grabs a napkin off Oscar’s thigh and dabs at the sides of his mouth delicately.
“So?”
“I, this morning,” Oscar starts, and all of a sudden he’s nervous. He needs to remember he’s not actually proposing before he carries on. “I was thinking,” at this, Lando widens his eyes as if to say, yeah, you’ve mentioned, and he looks like he’s about to open his mouth to make fun of him, so Oscar blurts out, “I’ll marry you.”
Lando’s mouth does open, but nothing comes out. He closes it, opens it again. Finally, he says, “beg your pardon?”
“For your visa,” Oscar explains. “If you marry me, you don’t have to go.”
Slowly, understanding dawns on Lando’s face. He puts his chicken wrap down, carefully folds the wrapping around it so he can presumably finish it later. He turns his body towards Oscar’s, leg hiking up the couch.
“Are you serious?”
“Yup,” Oscar pops the ‘p’. “Did some research. I reckon we can pull it off, as we’re friends and all.”
Lando nods slowly, and Oscar can tell he’s thinking hard. “And you’d be okay, with uh, that?”
“Marrying you? Yeah mate,” Oscar smiles, and it’s genuine. “Can’t be too different from what we already do.”
He realizes what he’s said as Lando begins to smirk. “I meant –with the amount of time we spend together doing stuff. Not, doing stuff.”
Lando snickers. “Oscar Piastri, are you blushing?”
He is, profusely. He shakes his head at Lando, picks his poke bowl from the table. “It was just an idea—”
“It’s a great idea,” Lando concedes, and he seems to have made up his mind about it. “Yeah. It makes sense.”
“So, yes?”
“Yes, Osc, I’ll marry you,” Lando says, fluttering his eyelashes at him. Oscar rolls his eyes, but he laughs.
“How romantic,” he deadpans, and Lando reaches over to squeeze his fingers as he giggles.
“Thank you, Osc,” he says, and his voice is serious, and so Oscar squeezes back.
“It’s –you’d do the same for me, no?” Oscar says, and he hates how hopeful his voice sounds.
“I’d kill for you, mate,” Lando declares. “No questions asked. I’d bury the body, too.”
And so Oscar says, again, “how romantic” in his most deadpan voice, and they both snort.
***
They file their notice of intended marriage a week after.
It takes them a few days to figure it out, and finally, on the day before they file it, they come up with this: People close to them have thought they were dating already or that they should be, so they can take advantage of it and pretend that they’ve kept their relationship a secret so that it didn’t interfere with their work, afraid of how a breakup could affect their performance and their students’, and now that they’ve decided to get married there’s no reason to hide it anymore.
They clear it with their principal, Mr. Alonso, who looks surprised but otherwise doesn’t comment on the news. He nods and explains that the school doesn’t have any rules against faculty getting married to each other. Then he asks if they’ll be moving into one of their cottages, and they hadn’t even thought about that, but Lando quickly says, “yes, Oscar’s,” and so they spend the next weekend moving Lando’s things from his cottage and into Oscar’s.
They choose to do it at a time when most other faculty walks around campus, either on their way out for a night at the town or to head towards the students’ dorms to supervise. Mostly people pass by without even noticing, and then the lower grades’ biology teacher, Susie, stops by and says hi, and offers to bring them a few plants next morning, and she says goodbye and congratulations on your engagement, and Oscar feels all funny inside.
It’s inevitable, intentionally so, that Alex and George walk by on their way out, with Max, Charles, Yuki, and Carlos trailing behind. Oscar sees them approach, shares a look with Lando, and continues carrying Lando’s stool through the foyer. He thinks idly that only Nico, Zhou, and Valteri are missing to complete the Modern Languages department.
“What’s this, lads?” George asks, hands on his hips. “Finally decided that going back and forth was bad for the economy?”
Alex snickers, takes in the boxes and clothes strewn across Lando’s doorway. “Seems pretty serious. What’s going on?”
Lando puts his PlayStation down, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
He nods at the rest, who acknowledge him as well. “Well, if you must know, Oscar and I have decided to get married.”
George screeches. Alex stares at them, mouth agape.
The rest, who are not aware of the context, step closer to offer their congratulations. Yuki claps him on the back and says, “ Way to go, Oscar” and Charles says something in French that he doesn’t catch and Max ruffles his hair. Oscar finds that the smile he’s wearing as he thanks them is genuine.
Lando’s dealing with George and Alex, who are now laughing.
“Oscar, you cheeky rascal,” Alex says as he approaches, and then he’s getting pulled into a hug. “All these months playing coy, and now engaged!”
George side-hugs him next, and says, “Can’t say I’m surprised, really. Saw it coming from a mile away, did I not, Alex?” Alex nods sagely before letting Oscar go. “When’s the wedding?”
Oscar exchanges a look with Lando. They haven’t discussed this, whether they’ll let people know the date. Whether they’ll invite friends. They know they need witnesses, but Oscar was planning on talking that over with Lando later on.
“Not sure yet, mate,” Lando replies, and it’s true. They don’t have an exact day yet. “Probably sometime next month? But we’re keeping it casual, small. Probably just Oscar’s family,” he eyes Oscar, who nods encouragingly. His family doesn’t know yet. “And maybe mine, if they can make it.” Lando’s family doesn’t know yet, either. Before George can protest, he adds, “We’ll let you know.”
Max steps in again to remind them they’re meeting the Phys-Ed department for beers in a bit. George holds a finger up in the air in Oscar’s and Lando’s directions and says, as sternly as he can, “We’ll reconvene. But I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both. Seriously. Watching you two making heart eyes at each other has been sickening. Sweet, but –” he shudders. “The eye-fucking was getting uncomfortable, am I right,” he laughs, and Alex joins, but Oscar and Lando only manage a chuckle, both their faces reddening. What the fuck, thinks Oscar, we do not. And then, do we?
They leave after that, and Oscar sneaks a glance at Lando, who’s chewing on his lower lip seemingly deep in thought.
“You alright?” he asks and picks up Lando’s throw blanket. He distracts himself by draping it over his couch as Lando follows, closes the door behind him.
“Do you think what they said is true?”
“Hm?”
“About us.”
“Oh,” Oscar shrugs. “I mean. We’re friends.”
“Yeah,” Lando says slowly.
“I guess— to an outsider, we might seem a little,” Oscar stops, thinks. “Unconventional?”
Lando nods. “Right. Because we’re close. And we. We touch a lot, don’t we?”
It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “That’s right. But that’s just how we are.” He doesn’t say, it’s how you are, and I like it. “Doesn’t mean we’re. Using our eyes in whichever way George implied.” And god, why is he blushing. He can say eye-fucking.
Lando nods enthusiastically, like he’s trying to convince himself of something. “Right, yeah, exactly. I mean, I think you’re fit, mate,” he says, casual. Oscar’s stomach flips. “Obviously. But uh, we’re friends.”
“Friends,” Oscar repeats dumbly. “Friends who are getting married.”
Lando ignores this, instead choosing to throw a pillow at Oscar’s face. “You’re supposed to say you think I’m fit too, arsehole.”
Oscar throws the pillow back, and Lando ducks, chuckling. “Lando, I think you’re fit. That’s 50% of the reason why I’m marrying you.”
“So I’m a trophy wife now, huh?” Lando retorts, but he twirls a curl and snaps a hip. “What’s the other 50%, then?”
“Oh, your money,” Oscar deadpans. Lando steps closer, smacks a loud kiss against Oscar’s cheek. Oscar tries not to blush. “Oh Osc, you say the sweetest things. I do think this marriage is going to work out just fine.”
***
His mum takes it relatively well.
She lets Oscar finish speaking, and then she’s quiet for a second. Oscar panics, meanwhile.
But then she says, “Sweetheart, are you sure it’s a good idea?”
And Oscar’s about to repeat the speech he practiced and memorized at home, the one Lando has already heard, before he registers the worry and…pity in his mom’s eyes. Oh.
“Mum, I know what I’m doing,” Oscar says, and it comes out more defensive than he intended it to.
“I’m sure,” his mum replies quietly, and she keeps scanning his face for something. Whatever she’s looking for, she seems not to find. Her lips thin, but her eyes twinkle as she looks at him. “I’m sure you do,” she repeats, louder this time. “Just— I wouldn’t like either of you getting hurt.”
His mum is quite fond of Lando. She’s taken on the role of adoptive mother, inviting him to family events and outings. Lando loves her, speaks to her on the phone more regularly than Oscar does. His sisters are obsessed with him, and even Oscar’s dad asks about him regularly.
“Mum,” he strains, but it’s softer now. “No one is getting hurt. I’m just trying to keep Lando here, with –” me, he doesn’t say, but instead, “his students.”
“Right,” she agrees. “I think you’re doing a terribly noble thing. I’m very proud of you, you know?”
Oscar smiles. He does know. “Yeah. I don’t want you to worry, okay? It’s going to be fine. We’ll get married, and then we’ll –” he takes a sip of his coffee. “We’ll figure it out.”
Oscar’s mum nods, squeezes his hand. “I know you will. And we’ll, you know, be ready for any questions that come our way.” Oscar thanks her profusely, and then, when they’re saying goodbye outside of the coffee shop, she says, “Are you getting rings?”
Oscar nods. “Yeah, Lando’s in charge of that.”
“Good,” she says, and then smiles into the hug Oscar offers. “He’s got good taste, I’m sure he’ll pick out something nice.”
***
Lando does pick out something nice. Two weeks after filing their notice, Lando sends him a picture of a package sitting outside their doorstep with three exclamation marks under it. Oscar replies with three thumbs up.
When they get home, Lando beelines for the package and is halfway through ripping the box apart before Oscar has finished unlocking the door.
He hands it to him wordlessly, and Oscar rummages inside the kitchen counter until he finds a pair of scissors. He rips the seal, and Lando’s already making grabby hands for the contents inside.
They sit next to each other on the couch. Lando reveals two tiny boxes, the name of a jewelry shop embedded on top.
“This is kind of exciting,” Lando comments as he sets one of the tiny boxes aside so he can open one first.
It’s a simple silver band, but seeing it makes something inside Oscar pang.
The other box reveals a matching ring, and they both stare at them for a few seconds before Oscar says, voice slightly raspy, “Are we wearing them now or waiting?”
Lando tilts his head to the side, considering. “I think we should wear them now. Better if the kids find out like this, I think.”
Oscar nods, and then he reaches for the remaining box, and he takes Lando’s hand, and he’s sliding the ring over his finger easily. Lando stretches his hand out experimentally, and then he smiles.
“I quite like that, actually,” and then he’s moving so he can place Oscar’s ring on his finger, too.
“Not bad, Norris,” Oscar says, and then Lando’s pulling him into a hug and thanking him, for the millionth time, for doing this.
Oscar smiles against the crown of his head, places a kiss there.
“Are we keeping our last names?”
That catches Oscar off guard, but he can’t pretend he hasn’t thought about it. In class, when students call him, he’s started to think about what it’d be like to be called Mr. Norris instead. Pictured Lando being called Mr. Piastri, too.
“Dunno,” Oscar shrugs, and that rustles Lando a bit. He leans back, looks at Oscar.
“I think I should take yours,” Lando says, and there’s something bashful in his expression. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m becoming an Aussie, might as well change my last name, too.”
Oscar smiles at his logic. “If that’s what you want, Lan.”
Lando nods. “It’s decided. I’ll be Mr. Piastri, then.”
Oscar tries to hide his smile in Lando’s hair when he pulls him back into a hug.
***
They receive an e-mail from the immigration office during the first week of June. Lando reads it over Oscar’s shoulder, his hand gently curled around Oscar’s neck for balance. The metal of his ring tingles against Oscar’s skin.
“So, they want to interview us,” Oscar summarizes, turns to look at Lando. “To make sure it’s real.”
Oscar knows the Australian government takes these things extremely seriously. They must’ve noticed Lando’s impending visa expiration and flagged down their marriage notice.
Lando nods, but he’s chewing on his lip. “Yeah. Easy peasy, yeah? We know each other better than most real couples.”
Oscar nods. “Shouldn’t really be a problem. We just need to –act more coupley, and I think we’re good to go.”
“More coupley?”
“Uh, hold hands. Kiss. That kind of thing.”
Lando’s expression softens, and he frees his lip from its toothy torture. “Should be easy enough.”
And there’s something in Lando’s eyes, something in the way he’s looking down at him, that makes Oscar want to curl his toes inside his sneakers, and lean in, and maybe –
But Lando’s moving away already, and saying, over his shoulder, “We’re going to be late.” And so, Oscar swallows down whatever it is that he is feeling, grabs his satchel, and heads for the door.
***
Lando’s been sleeping on the couch for a week before Oscar decides it’s all very ridiculous and invites him to sleep with him. Lando goes willingly, tired of waking up randomly in the middle of the night because the springs of the couch are digging into his skin.
He takes the left side of the bed.
It isn’t weird, really. They’re so used to being in each other’s personal space by now that Lando cuddling his arm or reaching a lazy arm over his waist does not faze him at all.
What does faze him is waking up with a mouthful of Lando’s curls in his mouth, Lando’s body curved into his, and his cock nestled between Lando’s arsecheeks.
He stares for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Lando seems blissfully asleep, so Oscar tries to disentangle himself from him, only for Lando to groan and scoot closer, like a cat seeking warmth.
Oscar makes a punched-out sound.
He’s so hard it’s turning painful, and Lando’s so soft, and warm, and –
Their alarm rings.
Lando wakes up with a start, headbutting Oscar as he goes.
Oscar yelps, and Lando’s confused, and he’s turning, and he looks at Oscar, and he leans down and says, “shit sorry, did I hurt you?” and then his eyes trail downwards, looking for more damage, and then they stop at Oscar’s crotch.
“Oh,” Lando says.
“It’s the morning,” Oscar grits out, because his best friend is looking down at his erection, and also because his forehead really fucking hurts.
“I can see that,” Lando says, and he must still be sleepy because he sounds dazed. “Osc—”
Oscar turns the other way, waddles his way into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
***
Later, as they’re biking towards campus, Lando says, “I’m sorry about earlier.”
And Oscar says, “don’t worry about it.” because he really doesn’t want to talk about it, and so if he speeds up his pedaling, he hopes that Lando thinks it’s only because they’re running slightly late. Because Oscar had had to take care of his predicament.
But Lando, because he’s Lando, keeps going. “No mate, seriously, like. I’m completely invading your space with this. I’m so sorry –” and Oscar mutters don’t apologize because he keeps apologizing like Oscar hadn’t been the one who suggested it in the first place, “No, but, I’ll try to keep my distance, yeah? So you—you know.”
Oscar nods, parks his bike next to Lando’s and heads for the door.
He doesn’t want Lando to keep his distance. That’s the problem. He’s starting to understand what his mum was trying to say.
***
Their interview goes well.
The lady asking the questions is nice, and Oscar holds Lando’s hand in between their chairs, and she smiles a little, and asks them how long they’ve know each other, how long they’ve been together, do they know each other’s parents, and so the afternoon goes.
The immigration officer says, “congratulations, I wish you a long and happy marriage” and Lando throws his arms around Oscar so enthusiastically that Oscar almost topples over, but he manages to grab onto Lando’s waist on time. The woman smiles.
They step out of the building an hour later, their marriage license in hand.
“Wanna celebrate?” Lando asks, and Oscar realizes they’re still holding hands.
“Sure. Ice cream?”
“You read my mind,” Lando says, and then they walk into their favorite gelateria in town, hand in hand.
It’s not until Lando reaches for his wallet that he seems to realize he’d been holding Oscar’s hand this whole time. He laughs, pays the cashier, and as they sit and wait for their names to be called, he grabs Oscar’s hand again.
Oscar hides a smile into his other hand as he pretends to scratch his nose, and is happy to let Lando play with his fingers as they wait.
Ice cream cones secured, Lando peers at him. Then he takes a scoop of his ice cream. Then he looks at Oscar again. By the fifth time, Oscar sighs, puts his gelato down, and asks, “Is there something you want to say?”
Lando looks up nervously before he nods. “I’ve been thinking –” and then narrows his eyes before Oscar can retort with a joke, “shh, let me finish. I’ve been thinking, and I think we should kiss.”
Oscar stares.
He’d been thinking about that, too. And other things.
“Yeah,” he says, and before he can think about it, blurts, “we might as well get it out of the way.”
Smooth.
Lando rolls his eyes. “You truly know how to woo a guy, Piastri.”
“No need to woo my own husband, Piastri,” he replies, and the words sink in. In three weeks, they’ll be married. In three weeks, Lando will become his husband. Mr. Piastri.
Lando seems to be thinking the same, because he blushes. In two whole years of knowing him, Oscar has seen Lando blush a handful of times. He savors it, smiles proudly at him.
“Right, which brings me back again to the topic of kissing,” Lando recovers.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Right now?”
“If that’s what you want.”
And Lando rolls his eyes again, slightly exasperated, before he leans over the table and covers Oscar’s lips with his own.
His lips are cold at first, but then they turn warm when Oscar kisses him back, and then Lando’s hand is coming up to rest against his neck, and Oscar’s caressing his cheek, and chocolate chips and strawberry shouldn’t taste so good together but they do, and then they pull apart, and Lando’s pupils are huge.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” Lando’s flushed, but he looks pleased with himself. “I’ve been trying to get you to do that for a while.”
“Oh?”
“So smart, and yet so dumb,” and then Lando’s leaning forward again, and this time Oscar’s not so surprised, so he catches Lando’s lower lip with his own, tugs, licks the seam of it and then meets Lando’s tongue, and it’s like coming home.
“You should’ve said something,” Oscar says, later, as they’re getting ready for bed.
Lando shrugs. “I thought it was obvious.”
“It wasn’t,” Oscar defends, and then he thinks, oh, well, maybe a little.
“I didn’t want you to think I was –” Lando explains, and his hands move around as he tries to find the right words. “I don’t know, doing this just because you offered to marry me. Does that make sense? Like. I didn’t want it to be faker than it already was. So. It had to come from you.”
Oscar nods. “Except it didn’t.”
“Except it didn’t,” Lando agrees, and he’s smiling fondly at him as they slide under the covers, finding each other in the middle. “Had to give you a bit of a push there.”
Oscar leans in to kiss him, once, twice, another time. “I’m glad you did.”
Lando hums against his lips. Then he smiles, pecks his nose, his cheek, his forehead. “I mean, for a second there I thought, that morning, remember? When you got a boner –”
“Shut up.”
“What? It was cute. I mean,” he amends, laughing as Oscar scowls at him. “Not cute, manly, yes, very manly. You must’ve noticed I was seconds away from sucking you off, mate. It was quite the impressive sight.”
Oscar reddens. “I did not, mate, I was too worried over the fact that I’d woken up with my cock on my friend’s arse,” Lando makes a pleased sound at that. Then he registers Lando’s words. “Impressive, huh?”
And then Lando’s giggling into his mouth, and Oscar’s hands are under his shirt, and they’re late for classes the next morning.
***
They do end up inviting Alex and George to their wedding, after all.
It’s still a simple affair, even after figuring out they’d been in love with each other for a while, they still need to marry soon so that Lando can stay in Australia.
They invite the lady from the immigration office, and Lorena’s there, too, and Oscar’s family, and Lando’s sisters, because his parents couldn’t travel with the flu they had under such short notice, and even if they’re not all there, Oscar feels incredibly happy. Lando’s sad that his parents aren’t there, but then Oscar’s mum says that they can always get married in the UK as soon as Lando’s visa is approved, and Lando lights up like a Christmas tree.
The officiant is a kind man, and he asks them if they’ve prepared any vows. They have, but they’ve shared them before. The officiant nods, and the ceremony begins.
After, when they’re Mr. Piastri and Mr. Piastri, Lando steals him away and snogs him thoroughly against a wall. Oscar’s panting into his mouth by the time Lando leans back, and they rest their foreheads together as they catch their breath.
“For a fake husband, you kiss very convincingly,” Lando announces, and they both laugh.
“Yeah?” Oscar leans forward again, kisses Lando’s eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his left cheek, and finally, his lips. “I’m so glad I offered to commit fraud for you.”
“You have such a way with words,” Lando jokes, but he’s kissing him back, fingers looking for buttons. He leans closer to Oscar’s ear, and whispers conspiringly: “Wanna ditch this fake wedding with me? I know a place.”
Oscar smiles.