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maaxverstappen · 17 hours

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feel like girl!lando would have been such a menace dragging oscar onto the party boat for king's day

oh anon i feel exactly the same. so exactly the same in fact that i spent today writing 4k of them being drunk horny about it 🤪

lang leve de konig | 4k | E | read on ao3 or under the cut i guess!!!

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Oscar’s had the weekend off in his calendar app since January. Three full days of nothing before they fly to Miami and sell their souls, before the European swing kicks off and they’ll barely sleep in their own bed apart from the week of Monaco itself.

“Martin’s having a party,” Lando tells him excitedly, when he asks her what she fancies doing for it. “On a boat.”

Oscar blinks, scraping a sweet potato fry through the juice from his Kim-approved slaw recipe, watching as the orange darkens.

“Right, and you want to go?” He looks up, and Lando is grinning, the kind of insane spark in her eyes she only gets when she’s been cooped up and caged for too long, desperate to let her hair down. It’s been a weird start to the season, with the timezones and the travel.

It’s not exactly what Oscar had imagined for the weekend, but for her...

“Are we going to take the PJ then, or what?”

Martin puts them up, because his place stretches three floors of some expensive looking conversion that overlooks the canals. Lando tells Oscar in the taxi from the airport that there’s a room that is basically hers, and Oscar tries not to let the sinking feeling he gets around Martin sink in. He knows nothing would ever happen there when it comes to Lando, but he still feels a desperate urge to prove himself cool enough for a superstar DJ every time they spend time with Martin, doing things he wouldn’t normally do - like get a blowjob in public.

At least this time he won’t be wearing a HP Tuners t-shirt.

And he’s used to wearing orange.

“So you just, drink?” Oscar asks Martin over breakfast, a mimosa already clutched in his hand, bubbles tickling his nose. “Outside? And...sell stuff?”

Someone who isn’t a busy DJ party host gives him a bit of a rundown of the history, and he nods through it, wondering if he needs to remember any of this for later. Lando is nowhere to be seen still, upstairs putting the final touches to her outfit with Martin’s girlfriend and a bunch of influencers who’d appeared at the crack of dawn with what looked worryingly like glitter. Last time Lando did glitter makeup, he’d ended up picking it out of his pubes for weeks.

One mimosa turns into two, and then when he’s about ready to say no thanks, too many bubbles someone hands him a can of Heineken and in the five seconds it takes him to think up the excuse of I actually don’t like beer, he’s already involved in some kind of elaborate cheers that might be a Dutch tradition, or might just be something Martin’s friends have developed over time.

It’s a lot, for before 11am.

“Oh my god, Osc. Are you drunk already?”

He doesn’t notice Lando coming back into the room until she slips a hand around his waist, her palm warm where it slips under the Orange Army t-shirt he’d found at the bottom of her wardrobe from some night out to celebrate Max. Oscar smiles dopily as he turns to her, sloshing a bit of beer out of his can, slapping the wooden floor like rain drops.

“Fuck me.” Oscar’s jaw drops open a bit, and Lando laughs, pressing her other hand against his chest, over his racing heart. She’s wearing a tight strappy orange top, Dutch flag facepaint streaking up her tits towards her shoulders, and a flippy little skirt, ribbons in her hair. “You look so fit.”

Next to them, someone laughs, and for a second it stings, until Oscar realises he’s in on the joke. It’s this guy he’d talked to earlier, and he has his arm around a girl wearing nearly the same outfit, and then they’re high-fiving ‘cos they’ve both got hot chicks and it’s like nothing he’s experienced before, being one of the lads. He half wants to call Mark, let him in on the news. Gain a bit of Aussie respect.

“So cool,” Oscar mumbles, and Lando snorts, pressing her hand to his cheek this time, and it doesn’t feel so warm anymore. Might be because of the beer cheer he suddenly wants to reassure Lando he’s not feeling. “I’m not drunk.”

“Sure, yeah, of course you’re not,” Lando says affectionately, capturing his chin and kissing him like there’s nobody else in the room, soft and playful. “Can’t believe I’m going to have to catch up now.”

By the time they make it to the jetty, Lando’s clutching her third Aperol, and Oscar thinks she’s pretty much there. They snort and giggle through the safety demonstration, tooting on imaginary whistles and elbowing each other. Next to them Martin is grinning like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen, snapping photos of them on his phone and hopefully reassuring the captain in quick fire dutch that they’re fine to sail.

“We’ve had sex on a boat.” He tells Martin, overly loud, and as soon as he says it he feels like a complete idiot, until Lando shriek laughs in his ear.

“Babe, we’ve had sex everywhere.”

It’s not not true. Oscar sits on a bench on the side of the boat, watching as people file on, the music already pumping from the speakers. They’ve done it in multiple paddocks, countless hotels, at the top of a mountain, in the back of his car, down in a barely used meeting room underneath the atrium in the MTC...

It’s wild he’s even got pubes to get glitter in, surely most men would’ve had theirs chafed off by now.

There’s another beer in his hand before they leave the dock. Lando has disappeared off with some girl she was talking to earlier, to fix their makeup or gossip or dance or something. Oscar lets it all wash over him, getting into a half conversation about the upcoming Euros with a guy who might actually be on the Dutch national team for all Oscar knows about football. Talking athlete to athlete.

He forgets, sometimes, that he’s famous. That there are people on this boat intimidated by the idea of talking to him, Oscar Piastri, F1 Driver and Sprint Race Winner. Lando Norris’ boyfriend. Australia’s half-sweetheart.

“Do you think you could get us tickets to the race?”

Of course, Oscar says, takes the guy’s number into his phone with shaky hands. Ten minutes later he’s promised half the boat a garage tour, wonders if he should text Zak and let him know they’re full for Zandvoort now, or leave it until their next meeting.

The crowd parts, like an orange sea, and Oscar catches a glimpse of Lando in front of Martin’s decks, her skirt pulled up her thighs as she half grinds on one of the girls she’d been taking selfies with back at Martin’s place. Oscar leans forward on his knees, tilting his head to one side as he takes her in, the strong muscles of her thighs, the smooth tan of her legs, the way her boobs jiggle as she dances, like they do when she’s riding him in the dead of night, no music to drown out their heavy breathing or the way she moans when he presses a thumb to her clit.

It must be the last beer that had set him over the edge, because he’s ambling across the deck before he knows it, shoulder barging someone who looks like they might punch him before he does his best Fijne Koningsdag, butchering the pronunciation but landing himself nothing more than a smile and a clip to the shoulder, before he’s offered a shot of something he takes without question.

“Lands,” Oscar drawls when he finally makes it to her, pawing at her waist until she turns her attention to him. Her eyes are wild, and he wants to drown in them. “Baby. Hi.”

“Hi,” she giggles back, slipping her hands around his neck and swaying. Her tits look like they might pop out of her top at any minute. “Are you having fun?”

“I can see your...” he nods down at her cleavage, and he swears he sees them start to goose pimple. “Your areolas.”

“My what?” Lando shouts and Oscar sighs, because surely she knows that word?

“Your areolas,” he half shouts, and to his left he hears Martin howl with laughter before he shouts something into a microphone someone has brought for him. Lando still looks blank. He snorts, whacking his forehead into hers and she says a half-hearted ow. “The bits round your nipple.”

Lando laughs, looking down at her own tits and taking her hands back so she can pull her top up. Oscar is a bit annoyed he said anything now, because he was enjoying looking at them. Lando dances a bit in front of him, his hands on her hips, until she gets bored and starts snogging him instead, wet and sloppy and uncaring how many eyes there are on them. It still makes Oscar a bit giddy they can do this, and all that would happen is a flurry of social media posts calling them cute, or saying how in love they are. Maybe the odd negative, the old faithful about how distracting Oscar must be for Lando, how she must just want to roll over and give him kids, really, but nothing that really affects them. Lando knows he doesn’t see her that way, and nor does the team.

Someone gives them both a drink, clear, and Oscar can tell it’s a gin before he even sips it, strong botanicals hitting his nose and usually he’d steer away, but there’s something intoxicating about the vibe. He doesn’t think he’s been this drunk since school, the parties he and Lily used to go to at their friends’ huge houses on the weekends, Oscar having to sneak back into the boarding house at 3am after they’d spent three hours doing bits in the woods. It feels weird to think of her in this moment, with Lando wrapped around him, makes him shiver in a way that doesn’t feel good, the memories feeling tinged by what’s come after. Like it makes him unfaithful to even remember that he had a girlfriend before Lando, when really, if anything, it was meeting her that made him that.

A cheat, in everything but his dick, and only then if you don’t count the way he touched himself trying desperately not to think of the lilt of her voice and the feeling of her breath against his neck.

“Fancy you so much,” he shouts over the music, like he needs to prove something. “Think you’re the fittest ever. So fucking hot, Lands. I like, love you.”

“You like, love me?” Lando parrots, and her top has slipped down again. Oscar dips his face towards them, quick kiss to the curve of her breast before he pulls the material up, and something in his brain registers that they might not weather photos of that quite so easily. “Yeah, thanks babe, thought you might?”

“Yeah, but like,” Oscar holds her tight around the waist, and he can tell she likes it, the way she presses her hips forward even as she dances. “Most, ever. More than anyone.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and Oscar remembers with a jolt that it might sometimes feel like they share a brain, but Lando can’t actually tell what he’s thinking, doesn’t know he’s caught up in his memories.

Before she can cotton on, the music changes, and the first bars of a song Oscar knows to his bones blast out across the boat. Lando grins at him, pressing herself desperately close.

“For you!” Martin shouts, pointing at them, and Oscar doesn’t know why, but he sort of thought Martin didn’t know about backstage at Tomorrowland. Stupid really, to think that, since he apparently has heard about them fucking on a boat. “Crazy kids!”

And about Zak’s reactions to them being a couple, too.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe he’s playing this,” Lando says, close to his lips. Her breath smells fruity, like the cocktails the barman on the stern has been knocking out. Strawberry, or raspberry, or something like that. Sweet, tasty, Oscar wants to lick the taste off her tongue. “D’you remember? Oh my god.”

“I can’t really forget,” Oscar reasons, slipping a thigh between hers so she can dance on him. “You were so hot.”

Lando slips a bit on a drink someone has spilled on the floor, lands further up his thigh where her skirt has pushed up around her bum, and Oscar can feel the warmth from her cunt. Remembers how close he’d been to agreeing to fucking her right there against a speaker, how close he was to sliding inside and pressing her down, how good she’d looked when he was fucking her throat a bit, instead. Oscar presses their lips together, working his tongue into her mouth so deep she coughs a bit, and he has to rub her back whilst she takes in a breath.

Unsurprisingly, he’s achingly hard in his jeans.

“Can we...” Oscar says, at the same time as Lando tugs at his hand and tells him there’s a toilet with a lock, downstairs.

And it is - a toilet with a lock. As they get there, someone Oscar doesn’t recognise is coming out wiping their face and Oscar doesn’t want to think about whether that’s about vomit, or coke. The bass from the speakers upstairs has the water in the toilet pulsing, and Oscar thinks he can feel it in his chest, like it’s altering his heartbeat.

Lando wraps herself around him, letting him support her as he hoists her up to rest on the side of the sink. She grabs the porcelain, white next to the tanned skin on her hands, and Oscar wastes no time pressing fingers up her skirt, searching for the lace of her underwear.

The song is still playing, and Oscar has to admit he had no idea how long it was, could’ve come in her mouth in less than thirty seconds for all he was able to control himself around her back then. He’s better at it now, knows when to ease back, when to take control and stop her from careening head first towards her goal of his come splattered on her tits, leaking out of her cunt, tangy in the back of her throat.

“Wanted to fuck you so bad then,” Oscar mumbles, and he manages to hook the end of his finger into the wet slide of Lando’s cunt, working it against the bad angle and the jut of the sink until he’s in to his second knuckle, Lando clenched round him. “Fucking so hot when you sucked me. Slutty.”

“‘Scuse me. I was slutty?” Lando questions, but gives up when Oscar curls the tip of his finger, grazing it along her walls and making her shudder.

“Yeah, you.” Oscar confirms, curling a second finger into her. It’s not enough to make her full, but he knows what to do all the same, stroking and guiding her hips until she’s shaking, toes curling into the soles of her feet where they hang. “Can I fuck you now, baby? Like you wanted me to?”

Oscar is so thankful for the break he had in beers between Martin’s place and the boat, small slither of sobriety enough to keep him hard, not so sloppy he can’t even fuck.

“Please,” Lando whines, shuffling up so Oscar can drag her underwear down, balling it up in his fist and looking around for somewhere to stow them, ends up shoving them deep into his pocket instead. They’re orange, like she’s planned for the outfit to be on theme in all eventualities. “Do you have a condom?”

Oscar groans, because he really doesn’t want to bother, but even he’s not too horny to realise that sending her back out into an all day party with his come squelching out of her isn’t fun. He fumbles in his pocket for his wallet with the hand he’s not got pressed up against her cunt, slowly rubbing his fingers against her until she starts shuddering and he knows he’s got her g-spot. He’s got a condom in the side, a bit of a fail-safe in case they’re ever in a situation like, well, now.

Lando holds herself up on the sink, grinding against his fingers when he stills them to try and work out how to get the condom on when he’s half holding her up and half fucking her. Outside, someone bangs the door, but it’s too loud to hear what they’re shouting.

“There’s another down the other end,” Lando shouts, shrill and desperate, punctuated with a groan instead of a full stop. Oscar feels his cheeks warm knowing how fucking obvious it must be what they’re doing in here. He fumbles a bit with the condom, thinking he probably needs his other hand back, until Lando clenches around him to stop him withdrawing. She plucks the condom out of his hand. “I can do that.”

Oscar takes the hint, concentrating on the slide against her walls, the searching thumb he presses to her clit that makes her stutter as she works the wrapper open, reaching down past his hand to grip at his dick. Oscar cages her in, pressing her to the sink so she can’t fall, the shell of her ear against his teeth.

“Alright, you’re good, fuck.” Lando groans, and Oscar can tell she’s close to coming from the way she pulses wetter around him. “Do you want me like this, or like…”

“That.” Oscar answers, even though he’s only assuming she means turned around, pressed to the sink so they can see themselves in the mirror. “Come on.”

Lando scrapes orange-tipped nails down the side of his neck as she kisses him, panting. Oscar helps her down off the sink, only to bend her against the cool porcelain, her top riding up over her stomach. Oscar holds the base of his dick as he presses her down, flipping her skirt up and meeting her eyes in their reflection. She looks dirty, fucked before she even is, usually bright eyes a little glassy. Then he hazards a look at himself and sees more of the same, his hair sweaty and stuck to his head, facepaint streaked over his nose where he’s rubbed it.

“Osc, baby, please.”

Oscar lines himself up, holding her thighs apart as he nudges in, eyes locked with hers. He can see the way Lando takes him in through her expression, the wince as she adapts to how much fatter he is than his fingers, the grimace that softens as he buries himself, not moving until a wave of something like pleasure breaks over her face, lip between her teeth.

He fucks her to the beat of the music, the shake of the walls the rhythm he chases. Lando clutches at the sink, scratching nails through the water left behind from the last person to use the bathroom. Someone knocks loudly on the door, shaking the handle, but Oscar doesn’t stop, holding Lando’s hip steady so he can rub in the same place over and over.

“Touch yourself,” Oscar pants into her ear, and Lando whines. “I can’t reach, baby, come on. Get yourself off.”

Lando pushes off the sink to work a hand under her skirt, fingers searching. Oscar feels her brush against his balls as she fumbles, hisses because it feels good, would love it if she was able to suck on them at the same time as he fucked her, like a contortionist.

Suddenly, the boat lurches, navigating a bridge or avoiding a boat, and at first Oscar thinks it’s just him, too drunk to stand. The jostling gets him so deep Lando pushes him back, panting.

“Fuck, Oscar, be careful.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers into her skin, kissing the back of her neck, sliding just as deep but slower, until she groans, dropping her head against the tap. “That alright baby?”

Lando nods, clenching around him and he’s amazed she’s kept going with her fingers. She’s so wet he can hear the slap of them against her lips, and she pants as she builds. Oscar manages to reach a hand down to cover hers, pressing it tight against her clit, feeling the wet around them as she comes, shaking against the sink and around his dick, and he can’t do anything but follow her, spilling into the condom warm and heavy.

When the post-come haze lifts, Oscar is suddenly excruciatingly aware they’re in a toilet, clothes pushed to the side. He meets Lando’s eyes in the mirror, and she’s covering her mouth with the hand she’d had between her legs. She starts to laugh, and then he does too, completely hysterical as he turns her around, righting her skirt and pulling her to him so he can kiss her.

“Can you open the door,” someone shouts, “I have to piss.”

Oscar wonders how long they’ve been there, how much they heard.

“Just a minute.”

Lando kisses him once more before she turns to fuss in the sink, washing her hands and slipping a hand between her legs to give herself a bit of a clean. Oscar ties off the condom then looks around, wondering why there’s no bin, having to work out whether he can flush it or if he’s going to have to keep it in his pocket or something.

“Here,” Lando says, holding open her clutch and a wad of toilet paper. “We’ll find one upstairs.”

Oscar can’t get over it, how much he loves her, tells her as she tries to help him back into his trousers. He feels drunker now than he did before, Lando’s make up smeared all over his clothes and his face.

They’re ready to leave, just about, when he remembers.

“Wait, Lands,” Oscar grabs her wrist, shoving a ball of orange into her hand. “You might want those.”

Lando flushes, like she really hadn’t realised she was going to go out commando. Oscar holds her up as she struggles back into them, settling the lace against her skin, wriggling out a wedgie.

The guy who needs a piss gives them a dirty look as they leave the bathroom, but if he recognises them he doesn’t seem to care, which is a relief.

“Happy King’s Day.” Lando smiles at him.

Oscar laughs, boxing her up against the wall to kiss her again. Lando’s fingers find the skin under his t-shirt again, dragging nails against his sides.

“Lando, Oscar!” Martin appears from nowhere, two drinks in his hands. “For you, might need it after…”

He grins, wiggling his eyebrows, and Oscar is too out of it to really feel the shame that everyone seems to know they’ve just fucked.

Lando snorts, hitting Martin in the chest but taking the drink anyway. Something clear, ice clinking against the sides. It might be Sprite, with something in it, Oscar thinks when he sips.

Over the speakers, a new song starts. One Lando plays in the car when they go on long drives. He crowds up behind her, hands on her hips, breathing vodka or gin or whatever it is on her skin.

She shivers, nipples hard in her top. God, he’s obsessed with her. It never goes away, like needing to breathe, like the draw of a race track.

“Fancy a dance, Lands?”

Lando grinds back against him, turning her head to kiss his neck.

“Always.”

#oh this was so good #massively enjoyed this #great great dialogue and vibes and everything as always #fic rec

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