Chapter Text
Lando is going to kill him.
On his dating profile, the man had looked charming. Thick, swooping dark hair, tan skin and stubble gracing his face. His interests had been labelled as cycling and golf, which Lando had perked up at. He was slightly older, but it wasn’t important — older men were often more refined and secure in themselves, didn’t feel like they had to impress him with hideous flashy clothing and over-the-top smooth talking.
Unfortunately for Lando, though, this man — Carlos — is decidedly not that.
Lando had spent hours getting ready after work for their first date, taming and styling his unruly curls, carefully curating an outfit, even doing a little bit of makeup.
The first ick Lando had gotten was when they met up to eat at a restaurant first, before planning to head to the bar afterwards. It was a somewhat expensive restaurant, scanned by Lando to ensure there were plenty of seafood-free options. Lando had turned up on time, hair groomed to perfection, outfit sleek, beautiful and very him.
Carlos was late. Seven minutes late, leaving Lando stewing at the table. He’d looked up to the sound of footsteps, mouth opening in a friendly greeting, when he’d had to stop short in his tracks.
Carlos was wearing jeans.
Jeans.
To an artsy, expensive restaurant. And they were ripped. They were absolutely hideous.
Lando had almost gotten up and left right there and then, but had decided to be reasonable and not dramatic. He’d plastered a smile on his face, made small talk with Carlos as they waited for their drinks. It had been going so well that Lando thought that maybe he could move past the whole late-hideous-jeans thing.
Until their starters arrived. Carlos ate like an animal, with no decorum or self-awareness. Lando watched in speechless horror as a large glob of buffalo mozzarella flew from the end of Carlos’s fork and onto his button-up shirt, where it remained until halfway through dessert until it fell off. The rest of the meal was much the same. Lando had always considered himself talkative, but he seemed like a mime compared to Carlos’s big mouth.
Then, to top it all off, Carlos made Lando pay, even though Carlos had explicitly stated in their messages that it would be his pleasure. Lando wasn't even going to bring his wallet, and if he hadn't, he'd have been in really deep shit.
And maybe after all of that, any normal person would have fled after the meal and immediately blocked Carlos, but Lando had gotten this far. He wasn’t going to skimp out on the date now, and in all honesty — he really just wanted to get drunk at the bar, see if Carlos would have the decency to buy him a drink, and then go home and cry.
But at the present moment, with the uncomfortable bar seat digging into his ass, he forgets all about crying.
Because he is going to kill Carlos.
Carlos is unashamedly chatting up someone beside him, a girl, whilst Lando is right there. Lando finds he’s actually trembling with rage, his hand tightening around his fruity cocktail. That he’d bought himself, mind you. And Lando has had enough.
“Carlos, want to come and dance?” Lando asks sweetly, running his hand up Carlos’s arm as seductively as he can.
Carlos ignores him.
Carlos ignores him.
And Lando is done. He’s done. He’s tried so hard to get through this date, but to be blatantly ignored like that? Fuck this. He deserves better. He put effort into this date. Tamed his hair because he thought Carlos wouldn’t like it in its natural state, dressed in his most vibrant, dazzling clothes, put eyeliner on his fucking waterline. And this guy appreciates absolutely none of it. Lando could have rocked up in a bin bag and Carlos wouldn’t have noticed. And he would have still looked better than Carlos and his disgusting jeans anyway.
So Lando slides off his seat, cocktail left behind, and vanishes into the dense Monaco crowd. The DJ is a bit shit, making Lando wrinkle his nose, but he weaves his way closer regardless, bodies pressing against him as he goes. He settles into the rhythm quickly, as he always does, body moving effortlessly to the music. He always loves the warm, fuzzy feeling he gets from this — the marbled shades of blue, purple, red, layering over his face as strobes flicker, the music thumping alongside his heartbeat, the feeling of another person’s warm body alongside his. Lando is particularly glad that he had shrugged off his soft, neutral sweatshirt he’d worn for the restaurant, leaving it bundled up on his vacated seat where he assumes Carlos still lingers. Losing the sweatshirt had exposed the glittering sheen of the sheer top he’d picked specifically for the club tonight, wanting to wow Carlos.
Now, he couldn’t give less of a shit about Carlos. And he’s learnt his lesson now, about wasting his Friday nights on useless and pathetic men. As the night wears on, and the dancing starts to turn into grinding as everybody in the club gets progressively drunker, Lando wonders if he should go back to trying to date women, and forget men entirely. Women almost always make the effort, and Lando would feel so much better if his dates would stop letting him down and actually reciprocate his efforts, which no other men seem to be capable of doing. Lando thinks he may be the only decent queer man to set foot in Monaco, with the luck he’s had.
Right as he’s brooding on this, he turns his head towards the DJ, and lays eyes on the most gorgeous man he has ever seen in his life.
Aside from his… questionable, very boring club attire, he’s perfect. Soft-looking brown hair swoops in an elegant wave, dark eyes framed by straight eyebrows. His skin is pale, cheeks a soft pink, presumably from the heat of the club. His face is dotted with moles, and he has a cute, awkward smile on his face as his friends talk around him.
Lando suddenly can’t remember why he was so desperate to forget men. The man’s face looks strikingly familiar, but with the flashing lights and lapses of darkness, Lando can’t really place it. The drunkenness probably doesn’t help either.
In a moment of vivid clarity, Carlos’s face exploding into Lando’s mind, he can’t understand how he ever found Carlos attractive, not when this man is standing not twenty metres from him. As he keeps staring in a daze, body moving on autopilot, the man looks up, and locks eyes with Lando for the briefest moment. The action sends sparks to the pit of Lando’s stomach, and his only thought is I have to talk to this guy. If Carlos can chat up other people during a date, he can have a taste of his own medicine.
He attempts to make a beeline over, only to be intercepted by Carlos on his way. Annoyed, Lando scowls at him. How did Carlos even find him in this throng? Carlos seizes his wrist, dragging him over to a little alcove by the nearest bathrooms, the music a little quieter over here.
“Lando?” Carlos frowns. “You ran away, I couldn’t find you.
Lando rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d notice, considering you were busy with that girl.”
“What? I’m on a date with you, not her.” Carlos protests, eyes widening.
“Really? Because you’ve been a dick all night.” Lando scoffs, attempting to wriggle out of Carlos’s bruising grip, but he holds fast. For the first time, Lando feels a pang of fear.
“Me? I’ve been a dick?” Carlos asks disbelievingly, looking Lando up and down. “You’re the one dressed like– like–”
“Like what?” Lando interrupts.
“Like a whore!” Carlos spits out, grip bruising now. “It’s clear you just couldn’t wait to get here so you could seduce other men.”
Lando scoffs in pure disbelief. “Mate, this is our first date. I don’t belong to you. And maybe if you actually had paid an inch of attention to me tonight, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now!”
“I’m not the problem, you are!” comes the response.
God, this guy is a right wanker, Lando thinks. This may just be enough to put him off dating apps for the rest of his life.
“You listen to me,” he begins. “You were late to dinner, you wore jeans, you didn’t talk about anything other than yourself the whole time, you eat with your mouth open and spill food down your clothes, you don’t pay the fucking bill, and then you chat to another girl when we get here. And you call me the whore.” Lando scoffs.
Before Lando can react, Carlos slaps him clean around the face.
Lando’s first thought is How fucking dare he, and his second is It hurts, a lot. Lando has to ball his fist, nails digging tight into his palm, in the effort not to punch Carlos as hard as he can in the nose. Carlos looks at his hand like he’s regretting it.
“You shouldn't wear stuff like that,” Carlos says eventually, gesturing to Lando’s sheer top, eyes flicking disdainfully between his eyeliner and gloss-slicked lips.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t wear.” Lando snaps back, attempting again to get his wrist out of Carlos’s grip. “Let me go.”
Carlos’s face hardens. “We’re still on a date.”
Helplessly, Lando glances around. Nobody is looking at them, and if they are, they don’t care.
“You don’t even like me. I thought you made that pretty clear.” Lando attempts weakly. “Carlos, just let me go.”
“Shut up—” Carlos snarls, eyes cold. Lando flinches away, only to fully whip around when he hears a voice behind him.
“He told you to let him go.” the newcomer says mildly, but when Lando gets a proper look, he can see the tension on his face.
Lando’s breath hitches when he realises it’s the man he saw earlier — the one with the perfect hair and frankly, the best bone structure Lando has ever seen.
Carlos glares at the interruption. “I don’t need you to interrupt, thanks. I’ve got my boyfriend under control-”
Lando snaps out of his reverie. “I’m not your boyfriend.” he hisses, tugging his arm again.
“Let him go.” the man says again, and he shifts forward. Lando’s grateful — but he hates the feeling that he’s powerless enough against Carlos that he needs someone else’s help. If he was half of a capable person, he would have punched Carlos’s lights out and would have vanished five minutes ago. But his body has just shut down in sheer terror in the face of threat, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. It doesn’t help that Carlos is far stronger than him, and his own body is loose with alcohol.
Carlos scoffs. “Fucking whore. Lando, I told you you would attract other men. I bet you want this guy to just fuck you senseless—”
So what if he does?
There’s a flash of movement from beside him, and suddenly Carlos is slumped against the wall with a bloody nose and the man is massaging his knuckle with a vague look of disgust. Lando realises his wrist is free, and he shoves it immediately into his pocket.
That was hot.
Carlos looks murderous, and the man finally looks at Lando. He holds his hand out in offering. “Can I-?”
Lando takes one look at Carlos, and immediately slots his hand into the man’s. They melt into the crowd together, pushing their way through until they get outside. The cold air hits Lando like a train, and he leans against the wall, panting. The man drops his hand immediately.
“Thank you.” Lando tells him, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what he would've — if you weren’t there.”
The man flushes a light shade of pink. “It’s nothing. He shouldn't have been doing that to you.”
Lando follows his eyes down to where he’s still got his hand in his pocket, and watches his throat as he swallows.
“Is your wrist okay?” he asks, and Lando removes his hand from his pocket and gasps before he can stop it.
Carlos’s fingers are imprinted in shades of blue and purple, crescent-shaped grooves from his nails dug deep into Lando’s skin.
“Jesus.” he breathes, taking shaky breath after shaky breath. The man’s jaw is tight, mouth set in a grim line.
“I’m Lando.” he offers, just to break the tension.
The man blinks, glancing up at his face before darting his gaze away again. “Oscar. Do you mind if I look at your hand?”
Lando nods, holding his hand out. Oscar takes it carefully, thumb smoothing gently over the bruises.
“He really did a number on you.” Oscar comments, brow furrowing. “Did you know him?”
“First date. And last.” Lando adds, wincing slightly as Oscar’s thumb goes over the worst of the bruises. “He chewed with his mouth open, Oscar.”
Oscar snorts. “That was his main flaw?”
“That, and he apparently thinks that me dressing like this was so I could just get the attention of other people. You heard what he called me, anyway.” Lando says, lip curling.
“For what it’s worth, I think you look really nice.”
Lando snorts. “So maybe I am attracting other guys, just like he said.”
Oscar turns a rather vivid shade of red, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, I-”
“I think you’re pretty, too.” Lando admits, an odd sense of fond endearment bubbling up in his chest. “Is there anything I can do to pay you back for rescuing me back there? Like a date?”
Oscar shakes his head so vehemently Lando wonders whether he should feel offended. “No, I- I don’t need to be paid back. I don’t want to take advantage of you like that.”
“Is it taking advantage if I want it?”
Oscar eyes him cautiously. “Really?”
Lando sighs. “I saw you before you helped me from him. I caught a glance of you when you were standing by the DJ, and you honestly made me question how I was ever attracted to Carlos in the first place. I was actually on my way over to you when he grabbed me.”
“I saw you too.” Oscar says quietly, and Lando remembers their flash of eye contact, the sparks in his stomach.
“I mean it about the date.” Lando tells him seriously. He might as well get something out of this failure of an evening.
Oscar considers him carefully. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Lando says instantly. “Look, at least I’ll get something good out of tonight.”
Oscar softens. “I guess that’s true.”
Lando digs his phone out of his pocket, navigating to his contacts. “What’s your number?”
Oscar tells him, and Lando texts him a smiley face before sliding his phone back into his pocket.
Oscar coughs awkwardly, peering around. “How far away do you live? I could call you a taxi.”
Lando shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t live far. It’s Monaco.”
“Let me call you one anyway,” Oscar insists, eyes sliding down Lando’s goosebumped arms.
“Okay,” Lando finally accepts, a little endeared by Oscar’s persistence.
He stands silently, shivering while Oscar pulls out his phone and sorts out a ride home for Lando. Lando’s really wishing he hadn’t left his soft jumper behind inside. Oscar’s shrewd eyes catch on immediately — he begins to untie the hoodie around his own waist.
Lando shakes his head immediately. “No. Oscar, come on. I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?” Oscar asks, genuinely not seeming to understand the issue.
Lando splutters. “Why would you? We’ve known each other barely an hour. You’ve already done too much for me.”
Oscar shrugs. “You’re cold, I have a hoodie.” He hesitates slightly. “Unless I’m… overstepping at all. Then I apologise.”
“No, it’s not that.” Lando says. “I just don’t understand.”
Oscar remains unfazed. “You can give it back to me on our date.”
At the reminder of the date, Lando softens. “Okay, fine.” he says, accepting the hoodie as Oscar hands it to him, pulling it over his head. It’s slightly oversized due to Oscar’s height difference, and it’s clearly old and well-loved. Lando tugs the sleeves over his hands.
Thankfully, the car doesn’t take too long to arrive. Before Lando can even move, Oscar is at the window already paying for the journey. Lando’s mouth drops in surprise and outrage. Will this man stop being such a goddamn martyr? There’s no way anyone is just this decent of a person, especially not to someone they’ve just met. Oscar’s probably just trying to get into his pants sooner, although not that Lando minds. He really is exceptionally pretty.
“I’ll message you, about the date.” Lando says as he climbs into the car. Oscar nods, a small smile on his face.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
The car drives away, and Lando slumps into his seat, exhausted, confused, and so fucking happy.
“Lando, what the fuck?”
Lando winces. “Don’t yell, please. I’ve got an awful hangover.”
Max scowls. “Don’t ask me not to yell when you are going on a date with someone you’ve known for an hour.”
“You got with your last girlfriend after you had a half-hour hookup!” Lando argues, lips curved down in a pout. “Why is this any different?”
“Because he’s essentially taking advantage of you!” Max exclaims. “What, he rescued you from a bad date and thinks that makes him entitled to take you on one? You’re not obligated, Lando!”
Lando sighs. “It’s not like that, Max. He was already worried about that. It wasn’t even his idea, it was mine. I insisted.”
Max narrows his eyes. “You… insisted.”
“I did.” Lando nods confidently. “He’s really nice. And he’s also very attractive. I might as well have gotten something out of yesterday night.”
“Well, if he didn’t coerce you into it,” Max says dubiously. “I want to know everything. What’s his name? What did he look like? Did you get a picture?”
Lando laughs. “Slow down. He’s called Oscar. I didn’t get a picture, but he’s got this beautiful brown hair that’s in, like, this gravity-defying wave, and he has these little moles, and his eyes! Oh, he’s also got the cutest Australian accent—”
“Wait,” Max holds up a hand to stop him, and Lando looks up, affronted.
“Mate, what the hell? You wanted to know!” Lando says indignantly.
Max pulls out his phone and types rapidly, before shoving it in Lando’s face. “Is this him?”
Lando blinks his eyes a few times to focus, a spark of recognition floating in the back of his brain.
“Yeah, that’s him! How did you find him?”
Max gives him a deadpan look. “Mate, he’s an F1 driver.”
Lando furrows his eyebrows. “Actually?”
“Actually.” Max nods. “We were in Renault Academy together. He races for McLaren, Lando, you must have heard of them. You literally have a McLaren shirt in your wardrobe.”
“Hollister had a sale on,” Lando shrugs. “C’mon, you know F1 is your thing. I know Lewis Hamilton and that’s about it.”
“Well, he’s leading the championship right now.” Max tells him. “How the fuck did you score a date with him? I mean, I didn’t even know he was gay.”
“Um, I scored a date with him because I am incredibly attractive, I’ll have you know.” Lando says, pursing his lips and fluttering his eyelashes.
Max shoots him an unimpressed look, already scrolling through his phone again, seemingly searching for something.
“Aha!” he announces smugly. “They’re already talking about you on Twitter.”
“What? What are they saying about me?” Lando asks, leaning over. Max tilts the screen towards him.
grace is in monaco!! 🇲🇨 @icei…
WHOO is this gorgeous man with oscar??
[image]
23:58 • 23/06/2025 • 545k views
💬16 🔃54 ❤️3.4k 🔖281 ↪️
Relevant v
katy⁷⁷ @bottaswdc
i was the one who took this photo!! it was outside las rascasse, they were talking but i couldn’t hear what about
Nicolas #baldonorris @landoswebcam
WHAT A CROSSOVER ONG
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grace is in monaco!! 🇲🇨 @icei…
wait is he not just a random guy?
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Nicolas #baldonorris @landoswebcam
I mean he probably is for most people lol. He’s a Monaco-based streamer called Lando Norris, he does a lot of gaming stuff. His best friend is Max Fewtrell if you’ve heard of him?
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grace is in monaco!! 🇲🇨 @icei…
HES MAX FEWTRELL’S BEST FRIEND? HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS I LOVE MAX
Lando glances up, bewildered. “Why are they so interested?”
Max snickers. “You have no idea what F1 Twitter can be like. A lot of them have got total parasocial relationships with the drivers.”
Lando stares at the screen again, intently focusing on something. He lets out an outraged squawk, jabbing at the screen with a finger.
“Max, what the fuck is hashtag Baldo Norris?” Lando demands. “Is that a thing?”
Max giggles. “It’s from when you shaved your head on stream.”
“That was for a good cause,” Lando insists, aghast. “It went towards stopping people dying.”
“They know that, Lando.” Max explains patiently. “You just looked really stupid.”
Lando sits for a few more seconds before getting Max into a headlock, scowl giving way into laughter. “Stupid? I never look stupid.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Lando.”
“You try and rock a buzzcut, then!”
They bicker and wrestle until Lando falls back asleep again, slipping in and out of sleep enough for Max to bring him a hot chocolate and two paracetamols.
At some point in late afternoon, when the light filtering through the windows begins to turn a soft golden, Lando is half-awake to feel Max ruffle his hair fondly and say, “Bye, Bob.” before the front door closes and locks behind him. His phone pings, but Lando’s already drifting back off to sleep.
When he eventually returns to the land of the living, when it’s dark outside and he’s definitely fucked up his sleep schedule, he grabs his almost-dead phone and peers at it blearily. When he reads the waiting messages, though, he’s wide awake. There’s a few from Max and one from his sister, but that’s not what he’s looking at.
Oscar 17:13
Hey!
I hope you haven’t gotten too bad of a hangover
How’s the hand doing?
Lando blinks rapidly before unlocking his phone and replying.
Lando 23:45
might actually be the worst hangover of my life
hand is no different from yesterday tho
thanks for checking in :)
Lando doesn’t really expect Oscar to respond, considering the time, but he replies almost instantly.
Oscar
No worries
Shame your hand isn’t doing better
I actually wanted to tell you something.
It might be easier to tell you in person though
Lando
we could call?
*Incoming call from Oscar*
Lando accepts without hesitation.
“Hi,” he says, unable to stop the smile in his voice as he presses the phone against his ear.
“Hello,” Oscar says back, a little tinny but accent audible all the same.
“You aren’t phoning to cancel our date, are you?” Lando jokes, laughing mostly to hide the nerves in voice.
“No, of course not!” Oscar jumps in immediately. “I just thought before our date, I should probably tell you the truth.”
“You mean about the fact you’re an F1 driver?” Lando interrupts. “I already know.”
“Oh,” Oscar says a little stiffly. “Then—”
“I mean, I didn’t know at first, obviously. But then I was describing you to my best friend, Max— he said you were in some academy together or something? Anyway, and he told me who you were.”
“Max… Fewtrell?” Oscar asks faintly.
“Exactly.”
“How is he doing?” Oscar inquires curiously. “I heard he quit because of, um, his mental health.”
Lando’s smile drops for a second. “Yeah. He’s… better, now. But not going back to racing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Oscar says, and he sounds genuine. “He was fast.”
“Apparently you are, too.” Lando remarks drily. “He told me you’re leading the championship, or whatever.”
“Ah, yeah.” Oscar sounds a little awkward. “I qualified second.”
Lando pauses a moment, impressed. “That’s amazing. It’s good, right?”
Oscar huffs a laugh. “Sort of. For Monaco, as it’s a street circuit with not a lot of overtaking opportunities, you really want to start first. But it’s not bad, no.”
“Who starts first?” Lando asks, already putting his phone on speaker and going to Google.
“Charles Leclerc. The home hero.” Oscar says wryly.
Lando snorts as the images come up. “I do my weekly shop at the same time as him sometimes.”
Oscar laughs. “Do I even want to know what he buys?”
“A lot of ice cream.” Lando tells him. He lets out an earsplitting yawn. “God, I’ve been asleep most of the day yet I’m still tired.”
“Go back to sleep, then.” Oscar suggests.
Lando grins suddenly, a lightbulb going off in his head.
“Are you doing anything right now?”
There’s silence on the other end of the call until Oscar asks, “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
“Maybe.” Lando teases.
“Text me your address, I’ll be there.”
Lando hangs up the call, texts Oscar his address, then falls back onto his bed, grinning like a maniac.