Chapter Text
Logan:
[Sent a post]
@georgerussell63
making him do shoots so i can practice =)
Oscar:
Good morning to you too
Who is taht
Logan:
Don’t try act nonchalant about it if you’re gonna misspell ‘that’
Oscar:
Shut up
My other hand was busy
Logan:
WHAT
DOING WHAT
Oscar:
????
Brushing my teeth
That part was completely a lie. Oscar had one hand playing with the waistband of his sleep-shorts, ruining any attempt he could’ve made at trying to ignore his morning wood.
Texting Logan while having a boner is hell.
Logan:
Oscar you should be grateful
I have acquired a twink for you
For your harem
Oscar:
My fucking what
Logan:
Your harem
It says it right there
You can read it
:D
Oscar:
Again I ask who is that man
Logan:
Oh so you admit you want him in your harem
Oscar:
I do not have a harem.
Logan:
Yet.
Oscar:
Please do not copy my punctuation
Logan:
Please bounce on it crazy style
Oscar:
Man you need a girlfriend
Logan:
Haha
Yes
A girlfriend
Oscar:
?
Logan:
Nothing
Anyway
It’s this guy called Lando Norris
Oscar:
You could just say ‘his name is Lando Norris’
Why the fuck would you say ‘it’s this guy’
Logan:
It’s my first day on earth <3
Be kind world <3
Watch out here he comes <3
Oscar decides to leave that message on Seen before scrolling up to the original photo.
And then he saves it in his camera roll.
And then goes to @georgerussell63 and stalks his page for a few minutes.
There are quite a few photos of Lando (? Who the fuck names their kid Lando?) on his page, and all of them do nothing to help Oscar’s boner situation.
He quietly screenshots all the pics from George’s Insta that include Lando, and crops everyone else out of them. It’s the beginning of what the modern man might call a goon collection, but Oscar’s too sophisticated for that term.
(He should not, at all, be above calling himself a gooner, given what comes up in his recently searched when you type in Japan.)
The second photo he found—the one in which Lando looks like he’s oiled up, where Oscar can pretend he’s completely naked and prepped—is what Oscar lingers on as he slides his palm down the front of his shorts.
He’s got a pretty chest, Oscar thinks as he wraps his hand around his cock, already leaking precum into his boxers.
He imagines his pecs would look good littered with purple marks from Oscar’s mouth. He wonders what—uh—Lando’s skin would taste like under his tongue, whether he wears perfumes that smell as sweet as he looks.
Whether his nipples are sensitive, and if Oscar could get him hard just by wrapping his mouth around them and teasing him.
Oscar starts sliding his hand over his cock, working into what will inevitably be a too-fast rhythm. He likes it better that way, feeling the slightly painful sensation of overstimulation that makes his thighs flex and his toes curl.
Oscar already knows Lando must be a bottom (that much is obvious from the everything), but Oscar wonders how he’d take his cock.
If he’s been fucked already. If he knows how to ride. How he looks when he cums.
Oscar feels heat everywhere, boring his eyes into the tan expanse of Lando’s torso while he imagines rutting his cock against it, and maybe moving his hips tighter, fucking between those pretty, tight pecs and shooting cum on them.
He hisses quietly, shit fuck, his abs go taut, and he spills into his fist with a drawn-out groan.
Jesus Christ, Oscar thinks after it’s over. I need to meet this guy.