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Chapter Text

The city stretched below like a spilled jewelry box, glittering under a bruised twilight sky. Inside the penthouse office, the only sounds were the low hum of the building and the decisive click of Oscar Piastri’s Montblanc pen capping. He didn’t look up immediately, his focus absolute on the final clause of the acquisition contract glowing on his monitor. The cool blue light reflected in his sharp, assessing eyes.

Lando Norris leaned against the vast glass wall, swirling the dregs of cold coffee in a heavy ceramic mug. His tie was loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone, revealing a hint of collarbone. He watched Oscar, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Still convinced Henderson’s playing us on the intellectual property transfer?"

Oscar finally glanced up. His gaze wasn't warm, but it was intensely focused, pinning Lando to the spot as effectively as a physical touch. "He's hedging. Standard play. We counter with sunset clauses tied to user retention metrics. Painful enough to make him fold." His voice was low, smooth granite. He pushed back from the minimalist steel desk, the leather chair sighing softly. "Did you review the security audit?"

"Front-to-back," Lando replied, setting the mug down on a side table with deliberate care. He stretched, the movement emphasizing the stocky strength beneath his well-tailored suit. "Minor vulnerabilities patched. Firewalls reinforced. Sleepy junior analyst got a verbal spanking. We’re watertight." He took a step towards the desk, his usual playful energy simmering just beneath the surface. "For now."

Oscar stood. He moved with a predator’s economy, every step precise. The city lights painted shifting patterns on his immaculate navy suit, highlighting the lean power of his frame. He stopped directly in front of Lando, close enough for Lando to catch the clean, expensive scent of his cologne layered over something uniquely, intensely Oscar. The air crackled, the professional distance evaporating.

"Good," Oscar murmured, his eyes tracing the line of Lando’s jaw, then dipping lower, lingering briefly on the open collar. The warmth of his breath ghosted over Lando's skin.

A shiver, entirely involuntary, traced its way down Lando’s spine. His playful smile faded, replaced by a stillness, a deep attentiveness. His breath hitched, just once, a small, telling sound in the vast quiet of the room.

Oscar didn’t touch him. Not yet. He simply held Lando’s gaze, his own dark, unreadable. The panoramic view behind them framed the moment – the endless cityscape, the two figures locked in a silent, charged negotiation far removed from corporate strategy.

Seconds stretched. The hum of the building seemed to amplify. Lando’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Then, Oscar spoke. Three words, delivered with absolute calm, absolute certainty. A command that resonated in the stillness, cutting through the hum of technology and distant traffic.

"On your knees, Lando."

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. It was simply… inevitable. The final clause in an unspoken contract they both understood down to their bones.

Lando’s eyes widened fractionally, a flicker of something complex – surprise, anticipation, a flare of heat – crossing his face. He didn’t hesitate. Not truly. There was a beat, a single heartbeat where the fierce intelligence and ambition that matched Oscar’s own flared in his gaze. A quiet rebellion acknowledged, then surrendered.

His knees met the cool, polished concrete floor without a sound. He settled back on his heels, head bowed slightly, the city lights catching the tousled dark blond of his hair. The posture was surrender, yes, but not defeat. It was an offering. Deliberate. Potent. The boyish charm was replaced by an intensity that was entirely adult, entirely focused upwards at Oscar.

Oscar looked down at him. The control he wielded in the boardroom, the demanding precision he applied to his body and his business, condensed into this moment. His expression remained impassive, but a gleam ignited deep within his eyes – satisfaction, possession, a raw, unfiltered hunger he reserved solely for the man kneeling before him. He reached out, not to touch Lando’s face, but to gently brush a stray strand of hair back from his forehead with the pad of his thumb. The touch was fleeting, electric.

"Look at me," Oscar instructed, his voice dropping another fraction, becoming velvet-wrapped steel.

Lando lifted his chin. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were wide, dark pools reflecting the city and Oscar's imposing figure. There was trust there, absolute. And a challenge, too. A silent ‘What now?’ simmering beneath the submission.

The air thickened, heavy with the scent of coffee, cologne, and the undeniable tension of power held and yielded. Oscar’s hand hovered near Lando’s cheek. The distance between command and connection was a charged wire, humming with potential.

Oscar traced the strong line of Lando’s cheekbone, the touch feather-light yet searing. His thumb brushed the corner of Lando’s mouth, feeling the slight tremor beneath the soft skin. Lando’s lips parted on a silent inhale, his gaze never leaving Oscar’s.

"You test my patience," Oscar murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated in the space between them. He didn’t mean the contract. "Pushing back just to see how hard I'll push forward."

A spark, defiant and hot, flashed in Lando’s eyes. "Someone has to keep you sharp," he breathed, the words barely audible, a whisper against the pad of Oscar’s thumb still resting near his lip.

Oscar’s answering smile was slow, dangerous, and utterly captivating. It transformed his austere features, revealing the deep, sensual current that ran beneath the controlled exterior. "Is that what you’re doing?" He curled his fingers under Lando’s chin, tilting his face up just a fraction more. The city lights haloed Lando’s head, glinting in his eyes. "Or do you just crave the weight of it?"

Lando didn’t flinch. He held the gaze, the defiance melting into something hotter, more yielding. "Maybe both." His voice was a husky rasp. He leaned infinitesimally into the touch at his chin, a silent plea and admission.

The last thread of Oscar’s restraint snapped. With a growl that was more vibration than sound, he closed the distance. His other hand tangled in Lando’s hair, not roughly, but with absolute possession, angling his head perfectly. He captured Lando’s mouth in a kiss that was nothing like the controlled CEO. It was deep, claiming, a searing exploration that spoke of pent-up intensity and raw need. It was a collision of power and surrender, a silent conversation of dominance met with eager acceptance.

Lando yielded instantly, a soft sound escaping him as his hands, which had been resting on his thighs, flew up to grasp Oscar’s forearms. Not to push away, but to anchor himself. To hold on as Oscar plundered, tasting, demanding, igniting fires that had been smoldering since Lando first walked into the office hours ago. His submission was total, yet vibrantly alive, meeting Oscar’s force with a fierce, answering hunger.

The glass walls reflected the tableau: the towering figure engulfing the kneeling one, silhouetted against the endless city night, a portrait of control offered and accepted, of passion held barely in check. The only sounds were the mingling of their breaths, the soft rustle of fabric, and the distant, indifferent pulse of the metropolis far below.

Oscar finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against Lando’s, their breaths coming in ragged sync. His gaze, dark and possessive, swept over Lando’s flushed face, his kiss-swollen lips. The controlled CEO was gone, replaced by a man utterly consumed. He trailed his thumb over Lando’s lower lip again, his voice a wrecked whisper against Lando’s skin.

"Stay."

Lando’s breath hitched again, sharp and shallow. Oscar’s command – stay – wasn’t just an instruction for the evening; it was a demand for permanence, echoing in the charged space between Oscar’s forehead pressed to his and the cool concrete beneath his knees. The city’s indifferent glow painted Oscar’s face in stark relief – the sharp cut of his jaw, the intensity in his darkened eyes, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple. The scent of him, crisp bergamot and something deeper, warmer, uniquely Oscar, filled Lando’s senses, overwhelming the lingering aroma of coffee and polished stone.

His hands, still gripping Oscar’s forearms where the expensive fabric strained over hard muscle, tightened almost convulsively. He felt the tremble in his own fingers, the rapid thud of his pulse against Oscar’s skin. The defiance, the playful pushback that usually sparked between them like static electricity, flickered. The challenge in his eyes softened, replaced by a profound vulnerability that only Oscar ever saw, that only Oscar was ever permitted to touch.

The weight of Oscar’s gaze, the possessive hold in his hair, the demanding heat of the kiss still burning on his lips… it coalesced into a wave, warm and undeniable, washing through him. The fierce intelligence that navigated billion-dollar deals, the quiet determination that built his own empire, the carefully maintained facade of lightheartedness – they didn't vanish. They folded. They bent beneath the singular force of Oscar’s will, a will he chose to yield to. It wasn't defeat; it was a deliberate, breathtaking relinquishment. A granting of access to the core he shielded from the world.

His grip on Oscar’s arms loosened, fingers sliding down, not pushing away but settling limply against Oscar’s sides. The slight tension in his shoulders, the barely-there resistance he’d been holding onto even while kneeling, dissolved. His spine curved, just a fraction, a surrender of posture that spoke volumes. He tilted his head further back, baring the line of his throat in a gesture that was ancient and instinctive, offering himself fully to Oscar’s scrutiny, his control, his desire. The sharp intake of breath Oscar took was audible, a crack in his own formidable composure.

Lando’s eyes, still locked with Oscar’s, lost their last vestige of challenge. They became deep, dark pools reflecting only Oscar, filled with an open, aching trust and a raw, unspoken plea. The word wasn't necessary. The yielding was absolute, communicated in the sudden softness of his mouth, the complete stillness that replaced the subtle thrum of contained energy, the way his weight settled fully onto his heels as if anchoring himself in this moment, in this submission. Every line of his body, every flicker of expression, screamed it into the silent, watching room.

He surrendered.

The silence stretched, thick and electric, broken only by the frantic hammering of Lando’s pulse in his ears. Oscar’s forehead pressed against his felt like a brand, the heat radiating between them. That single word – stay – vibrated in the air, a command that sank past skin and bone, settling heavy in his core. Lando’s hands slid limply down Oscar’s sides, his body softening further, a complete yielding etched into every line. He offered his throat, the vulnerable column bare, feeling Oscar’s ragged breath wash over the exposed skin. The trust was absolute, terrifying, exhilarating.

Then, Oscar moved. Not towards him, but away.

The sudden absence of his warmth, the lack of pressure against his forehead, was a physical shock. Lando’s eyes flew open, momentarily disoriented. Oscar wasn’t looming anymore. He was walking, a few deliberate, unhurried strides across the polished concrete floor towards the monolithic steel and glass desk. The city lights outlined his silhouette – the powerful shoulders, the controlled grace, the absolute certainty in his movement. He didn’t look back.

Lando remained on his knees, the coolness of the floor seeping through his suit trousers, registering fully now. He watched, a faint tremor returning to his hands resting on his thighs, as Oscar reached the sleek, high-backed leather chair. Oscar paused, his hand resting on the chair’s edge. The pause stretched, charged with anticipation, the hum of the city outside suddenly deafening in the quiet room.

Slowly, deliberately, Oscar turned. He didn’t sit immediately. He stood beside the chair, his gaze sweeping back towards Lando, pinning him in place from across the expanse of the office. His expression was unreadable, a mask of pure control, but his eyes… they burned. Dark, possessive, intensely focused. The raw hunger from moments before was banked, controlled, but far from extinguished. It simmered beneath the surface, a dangerous heat contained by sheer willpower.

He held Lando’s gaze for a long, suspended second. Lando felt stripped bare, every flicker of his own uncertainty, the heat still pulsing low in his belly, laid open under that piercing scrutiny. Oscar’s lips parted slightly, not in a smile, but in preparation. The air grew impossibly thicker, saturated with unspoken expectation.

Then, Oscar moved again. He lowered himself into the chair with a fluid, powerful grace. The leather sighed softly beneath his weight. He leaned back, the picture of absolute, relaxed authority. One arm rested casually on the chair’s armrest, the fingers loosely curled. The other hand lay palm-down on the polished steel surface of the desk. His posture was open, dominant, claiming the space entirely. He was the king surveying his domain, utterly at ease.

His eyes never left Lando. They held him, unwavering, from across the room. The distance felt vast, charged with challenge. The city’s glow illuminated half his face, casting the other half in shadow, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and the intensity in his fixed gaze.

The silence deepened, becoming almost painful. Lando could hear the soft rush of his own breath, the faint thud of his heart against his ribs. He stayed perfectly still, kneeling, waiting, the surrendered posture now feeling like a starting point for something else entirely. The anticipation coiled tight in his gut, a delicious, agonizing tension.

Then Oscar spoke. His voice was a low, resonant command, cutting through the silence like a blade. Calm. Unhurried. Utterly inescapable. Two words, delivered with the absolute certainty of ownership.

“Crawl to me.”

The command hung in the air, a physical thing, dense and demanding. It vibrated in Lando’s bones, settling low in his belly with a hot, heavy pulse. The cool concrete beneath his knees suddenly felt less like a yielding surface and more like a starting line. A test.

Across the expanse of polished floor, Oscar sat. King of his glass castle. The city lights bled through the vast windows, framing him in streaks of gold and indigo, casting his face in stark planes of light and shadow. He hadn’t moved an inch since settling into the chair. His hand remained palm-down on the steel desk, fingers relaxed yet utterly present. His other arm rested on the chair's arm, exuding an unnerving stillness. Only his eyes moved, tracking Lando with the unwavering focus of a raptor. No impatience, no flicker of doubt. Just absolute expectation.

Lando’s breath hitched, catching like a burr in his throat. The air tasted faintly of ozone from the electronics and Oscar’s expensive bergamot cologne. His own heartbeat thumped a frantic rhythm against his ribs, loud in the profound silence of the penthouse. He lowered his gaze for a split second, staring at the ghostly reflection of the ceiling lights on the dark concrete between his hands. His knuckles, where they pressed against the floor, whitened.

Do it. The thought wasn’t defiance. It was the internal click of a lock sliding home. Acceptance. Surrender wasn’t passive; it was a choice, and this was his.

He shifted his weight forward. The movement was infinitesimal at first, a slight transfer from knees to palms. The fine wool of his suit trousers scraped softly against the floor. His palms flattened, absorbing the cool, unyielding solidity. Then came the first real movement. He slid one hand forward, maybe six inches. The drag of his palm against the polished concrete was jarringly loud. His right knee followed, a reluctant, grinding shuffle that sent a jolt through his thigh muscle. His tie swung loose, brushing the floor. He kept his gaze fixed on the point where Oscar’s polished oxford rested beside the chair leg.

Another breath, deeper this time, dragging in the scent of leather, ozone, and him. He moved the left hand. Another scrape. Left knee. Hesitation. The space between them yawned, suddenly immense. Every fiber in his executive’s body screamed against the indignity, the vulnerability of moving like this. On all fours. Crawling. Yet beneath the thrum of embarrassment, a hotter, darker current surged: the illicit thrill of yielding, of being seen yielding, by the one person whose opinion carved into his soul.

He forced another movement. Right hand. Right knee. The rhythm was halting, awkward. His shoulders tightened, the fabric of his jacket pulling across his back. He could feel Oscar’s gaze like a physical weight, a beam of pure attention pinning him to the floor. It wasn’t cruel. It was… assessing. Absorbing every falter, every controlled extension of limb, every minuscule sign of strain. The scrutiny was almost worse than the command itself.

Slowly, deliberately, he found a fraction more fluidity. Hand, knee. Hand, knee. The soft shush, shush of fabric and skin on concrete became a metronome in the silence. His focus narrowed to the triangle of floor directly in front of him, the texture of the concrete suddenly hyper-real – tiny flecks of aggregate, the ghostly sheen of polish. The city’s glow painted shifting patterns on the path ahead, illuminating dust motes dancing in his wake.

Halfway. The desk loomed larger. Oscar’s presence became an almost physical pressure, a magnetic field pulling him forward. Lando risked a glance upward, just for a heartbeat. Oscar hadn’t moved. His expression remained an enigma carved from marble, but his eyes… God, his eyes. They burned with that contained intensity, a dark fire banked behind an impenetrable wall of control. They held not just command, but a profound, possessive appreciation. He was drinking Lando in, savoring this deliberate offering of submission.

The look seared Lando, sent a fresh wave of heat cascading through him, pooling low in his core. His next movement lost some of its stiffness, becoming a smoother, more deliberate glide forward. Hand. Knee. Hand. Knee. Closer. The air crackled, thick with unsaid things, with the echo of the kiss, with the raw potential humming just beneath Oscar’s skin. Lando could see the faint rise and fall of Oscar’s chest now, the way the light caught the edge of his jaw where the shadow deepened.

He was almost there. The toes of Oscar’s shoes were within touching distance. The scent of him, that familiar, intoxicating blend, was overwhelming. Lando stopped. He settled back onto his heels, kneeling again, but this time directly before Oscar, his head bowed just slightly, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort of the slow, controlled crawl. He kept his gaze fixed on the sharp crease of Oscar’s trouser leg near his ankle. His hands rested palms-down on his own thighs. Waiting. Breath held. Every nerve ending alight.

The silence stretched, taut as a wire. The city breathed below, indifferent. The hum of the building was a distant thrum. Oscar let the moment hang, let the tension coil tighter in the charged air between them. Lando could feel the weight of his regard, the unbearable anticipation of what came next. A touch? A word? Another command?

Then, movement. Oscar shifted forward in the chair, the leather sighing softly. He didn't reach out immediately. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his right hand from the desk. Lando tracked the movement in his peripheral vision, the controlled grace sending another shiver down his spine. The hand hovered for an agonizing second, suspended in the air between them. Then, with infinite slowness, Oscar extended two fingers.

They brushed against Lando’s jawline, just below his ear. A whisper of contact, cool skin against flushed heat. Lando flinched minutely, a reflex instantly suppressed. The touch trailed down, tracing the strong line of his jaw with unbearable lightness, coming to rest beneath his chin. The pressure was feather-soft but utterly inescapable. A silent command: Look at me.

Lando obeyed. He lifted his head, tilting his chin up into the cradle of Oscar’s fingers. His eyes met Oscar’s. Up close, the contained fire was blinding. Satisfaction, primal possessiveness, and a hunger so deep it stole Lando’s breath warred in Oscar’s dark gaze. The corner of Oscar’s mouth lifted, not quite a smile. A predator acknowledging its catch.

"Good," Oscar murmured, the single word a low vibration that resonated in Lando’s chest. His thumb swept slowly across Lando’s lower lip, the pad slightly rough. "So very good."

Lando’s lips parted on a shaky exhale. The praise, simple as it was, landed like a physical blow, unlocking something tight within him. A tremor ran through him, visible this time. He leaned infinitesimally into the touch at his chin, his eyes wide, dark, reflecting only Oscar and the city lights beyond. The surrender was complete, shimmering in the air between them, raw and breathtaking.

Oscar’s gaze intensified, dropping to Lando’s mouth. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly under Lando’s chin, angling his face with deliberate precision. He leaned down from his throne, the distance closing with agonizing slowness. The scent of him enveloped Lando, the warmth of his breath a tangible promise against Lando’s skin. The world shrank to the intensity in Oscar’s eyes, the pressure of his fingers, the imminent collision. 

Chapter Text

The city lights blurred into a molten river below, painting streaks of gold and indigo across the polished concrete floor. Oscar’s fingers were the only points of absolute clarity, the silk tie knotted at Lando’s neck. Not choking, not yet, but holding him suspended in that breath away from collision. Oscar’s lips were close enough for Lando to feel the warmth of his exhale in the air between them: Beg for it.

Lando’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow. The word vibrated in his bones, heavier than the weight of the crawl across the cold concrete. His knees ached dully from the concrete floor, ached, a grounding counterpoint against the dizzying spin of humiliation and heat that curled low in his spine wasn’t just embarrassment. It was deeper, hotter, a liquid pull towards the man whose whose eyes held him captive.

He could see the reflection of his eyes eyes eyes’ dark pupils, wide, vulnerable, wanting. The boyish charm was stripped bare, leaving only this raw nerve exposed. He swallowed, his throat clicking drilyly against the silk. “Oscar…”

It was a whisper, barely audible. A tremor ran through him, visible in the shake of his hands where they rested on the cool thighs. Not enough. Oscar’s the difference between a whisper and a beg. His thumb stroked down the tie slowly, the pad rough against the fine material, increasing the pressure just fractionally beneath Lando’s jaw. A silent reminder of control, of the space between how easy it would be to close. The silent question hung heavier than words: Do you want it enough to kneel and now plead?

Lando squeezed his eyes shut. Pride, ambition, the steely core that built an empire from scratch – it all warred with the deeper, more primal urge. The one that craved Oscar’s approval, his touch, his possession. To feel that fire behind that control ignite for him. He leaned into the grip, a silent surrender. surrender of posture. When he opened his eyes, the defiance was gone, replaced by a different intensity: need. His voice emerged, hoarse, stripped "Please."

Oscar’s gaze sharpened, a predator scenting blood. "Please what?" The question was soft, dangerous, laced with velvet menace. He tilted his his head, the city lightss catching the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Be specific, Lando. Use your words."

The demand cut through the haze. It demanded vulnerability, articulation of desire that felt more exposing than the crawl. Lando’s cheeks burned. He felt the the wool of his trousers, grounding himself in the bite nails the fabric. He could still taste Oscar’s gaze sweeping over him, reading every flush, every flicker. "Please kiss me." The words stumbled over the word, then found it, voice dropping "Kiss me." It was raw, stripped bare.

Oscar nodded, once, slow. A flicker of triumph in his dark eyes. Good.

But he didn't move. He held Lando suspended in that torturous breath apart, savoring the surrender. "Louder."

A sound caught in Lando’s throat, something between a whimper, swallowed quickly. He tipped his head back further, baring his throat further, the offered pulse jumping beneath the skin. "Please, Oscar," he breathed, the words gaining strength, laced with desperate heat, "Oscar, please."

It was the distance. His lips captured Lando’s mouth in a devouring kiss that was nothing like the controlled CEO. It was raw, possessive, a claiming that seared through Lando’s nerves. Oscar’s tongue swept in, demanding, exploring, silencing any coherent thought but the rightness of this surrender. Lando’s hands flew up, gripping fist the sharp lines of Oscar’s suit lapels, hanging on as he was consumed. He kissed back greedily, meeting the onslaught with a fierce, yielding hunger that matched the rhythm, a brutal, beautiful power struggle fought with tongues and shared breath fingers scrabbling on Oscar’s back, pulling him closer, needing to melt into that heat, the strength, the absolute certainty. His own groan was swallowed swallowed Oscar’s deeper growl vibrating through both their chests.

Oscar’s gaze was molten, fixed fixed on kiss-swollen lips. His thumb brushed loosened from the tie completely, fingers slipping beneath the collar of Lando’s shirt, finding the heated skin there "Again," Oscar commanded, his voice wrecked rough command remained "Say it."

Lando' eyes fluttered open, dazed, drunk on the taste of Oscar and the lingering command "Please," he murmured, the words slurred.

The words landed. Oscar’s restraint snapped. He surged forward again, kiss this time was different. Softer, deeper, a claiming laced with a possessiveness that bordered reverence reverence His hand cradled cradled Lando’s jaw, angling his head,, while the other slid down, down strong back, pulling puling him flush against his powerful frame the city watched, indifferent, as the CEO who commanded markets on his grip on the the man who commanded him, pulled him closer, closer, the space between them erased.

When he pulled back this time, it was only to speak. He shifted, his powerful his arms sliding under thighs, lifting Lando off the cold floor cold effortless ease. Lando gasped, arms looping automatically neck for balance as Oscar turned, carrying carrying the few steps to the monolithic steel desk.

He set Lando down gently, gently polished edge. The surface was cool firm beneath his thighs, a shock after the heat of Oscar’s body Oscar stepped stepped between legs, bracketing Lando, hands came to rest on desk on either side of L hips, caging cage him. The height difference was less now, their eyes nearly level now. Oscar still standing, Lando perched on the desk edge. The city lights sprawled behind them, a vast indifferent backdrop to this new position position wasn’t vulnerability vulnerability It was different. different kind of surrender. Oscar’s gaze, dark, satisfied, sweeping swept over the sight: Lando perched on his, suit rumpled,, lips kiss-bruised, eyes wide pupils blown pupils reflecting only Oscar. His thumb traced the line of Lando’s jaw, down to the column of his throat, over the rapid pulse. "Mine," stated, low, the word not a question, but a fact a testament testament the crawl, the the concrete, the the spoken the surrender offered accepted.

He leaned inched his knees, opening instinctively wider within Oscar’s stance. His answer was a sigh, leaning forward forward press his forehead against Oscar’s chest. "Yours," he breathed into the fine fabric. "Always."

"Always," Oscar echoed, the single word a low rumble vibrating through his chest into Lando’s skin. His hand slid from Lando’s jaw down the column of his throat, fingers tracing the frantic pulse point. That touch, possessive and assured, sent another tremor through Lando’s frame. Oscar’s other hand moved, not to the tie, but to the top button of Lando’s dress shirt.

The cool gleam of Oscar's cufflink brushed Lando's collarbone as the first button slipped free. Then the second. The crisp cotton parted, revealing the flushed skin beneath. Oscar’s gaze was intense, focused, absorbing every reaction. Lando shivered, the cool air of the office hitting his heated skin. "Oscar..." The name was a question, a plea, a surrender all at once.

"Shhh," Oscar murmured, the sound barely audible over the distant city hum. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, pushing the shirt open further, baring Lando’s chest. Calloused thumbs brushed over sensitive nipples, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Lando. He closed his eyes, leaning back slightly on his hands braced against the cold steel desk, bracing himself, offering himself. Oscar’s gaze swept over him, a visual caress as potent as touch. "Look at me."

Lando forced his eyes open, meeting the dark intensity head-on. The reflection of the city sprawled behind Oscar, millions of tiny lights blurring like stars, but Lando saw only the man before him. Oscar’s expression was unreadable, a mask of pure focus, yet Lando felt the heat radiating from him. Oscar dipped his head, pressing a kiss just below Lando’s collarbone, a warm, possessive brand. Lando’s fingers curled against the desk edge, knuckles white. Oscar’s lips trailed lower, following the line of his sternum, slow and deliberate. Each kiss felt like a claim staked deep into his skin. The cool air mixed with the warmth of Oscar’s breath, a maddening contrast. Lando’s breathing hitched, ragged now, anticipation coiling tight in his belly.

He felt Oscar’s hands on his hips, firm, guiding him to slide back slightly further onto the desk. Then, strong hands hooked under his thighs, pulling him forward to the very edge. Oscar sank gracefully to his knees on the polished concrete floor. The sight alone punched the air from Lando’s lungs. Seeing Oscar Piastri, the man who commanded boardrooms and markets, kneeling before him was profoundly disorienting, powerfully intimate. Power shifted, flowed, transformed in that moment. Lando’s hands instinctively reached, tangling loosely in Oscar’s perfectly styled hair. "Fuck," he whispered, the word escaping him.

Oscar didn't hesitate. His hands slid around Lando’s hips, fingers digging slightly into the muscle of his ass, pulling him forward, closer. Lando gasped, instinctively widening his stance further over Oscar’s shoulders, supported only by the desk edge and Oscar’s grip. The city lights painted shifting patterns on the floor around them. Oscar lifted his head, his gaze locking onto Lando’s for one suspended heartbeat. His eyes were dark pools reflecting the fractured cityscape, but his intent was utterly clear, utterly focused on Lando. Then Oscar leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue, hot and deliberate, against the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Lando’s trousers, was electric. Lando jolted, a choked sound escaping him. His fingers tightened reflexively in Oscar’s hair. Oscar didn’t pause, his mouth moving lower, nuzzling, kissing through the fine wool fabric covering Lando’s straining erection. The friction was maddening, not enough, too much. "Oscar, please..." Lando breathed, the words trembling.

Oscar’s fingers worked deftly at Lando’s belt buckle, the metallic click loud in the near-silence. The zipper hissed down. Cool air rushed against overheated skin as Oscar tugged trousers and briefs down Lando’s thighs just far enough, baring him completely. Lando felt utterly exposed, pinned between the cool steel desk and Oscar’s scorching gaze. Oscar didn’t look away. He held Lando’s gaze, a silent challenge, a promise, as he leaned in again. His breath ghosted over Lando’s aching cock, hot and damp.

Then his mouth descended. Not tentative, not gentle, but purposeful. Oscar engulfed him, taking him deep with a single, smooth motion that drew a ragged cry from Lando. The heat, the wetness, the overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed shattered Lando’s composure. His head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as waves of intense pleasure radiated from the point of contact, flooding his limbs, making his toes curl against the floor. "Oh god! Yes!" The words were ripped from him.

Oscar moved with a rhythm that was both demanding and utterly controlled, a deep, steady suction that pulled at Lando’s very core. His tongue worked expertly, swirling, pressing, exploring every sensitive ridge. One hand remained anchored on Lando’s hip, fingers digging in possessively, while the other slid lower, cupping him firmly, thumb pressing with exquisite pressure just behind. The dual sensation was devastating. Lando’s hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more, deeper, but Oscar’s grip held him steady, controlled the pace. A low, desperate moan vibrated in Lando’s throat, echoing in the vast space. He was drowning in sensation, reduced to gasps and whimpers, the world outside the circle of Oscar’s attention ceasing to exist.

The rhythm intensified slightly, Oscar’s head bobbing with increasing speed, the wet sounds loud and obscene in the stillness. Lando could feel the tension coiling impossibly tight, a spring wound to breaking. His knuckles were white where he gripped the desk, his other hand fisted in Oscar’s hair, not guiding, just holding on. Pleasure surged, unstoppable, cresting towards an inevitable fall. "Oscar... I'm... fuck... I'm gonna..." The warning was a broken gasp, barely coherent.

Oscar didn’t pull away. He hummed, a low, approving vibration that traveled straight through Lando’s spine. He sucked harder, deeper, his tongue pressing relentlessly against the most sensitive spot. That vibration, that final, claiming pressure, was the trigger. Lando cried out, back arching off the desk, fingers spasming in Oscar’s hair as release tore through him with shocking force. Pleasure, white-hot and consuming, flooded his senses, leaving him trembling, gasping, utterly spent. Oscar held him through it, swallowing everything Lando gave him, his movements slowing gradually as the tremors subsided.

Slowly, gently, Oscar pulled off, leaving Lando slick and sensitive. He pressed a final, lingering kiss to the inside of Lando’s trembling thigh before looking up. His lips were slick, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction, a possessive gleam undimmed. He rested his forehead against Lando’s thigh for a moment, his breathing slightly ragged. Lando slumped back, boneless, his own breathing coming in shallow gasps, staring blindly at the ceiling where the city lights painted shifting patterns. The air hung thick with the scent of sex and sweat and Oscar's cologne.

Oscar rose smoothly to his feet, the movement fluid despite his position moments before. He looked down at Lando, sprawled half-undressed on his desk, utterly wrecked. A ghost of a smirk touched Oscar’s lips. He reached out, his thumb tracing the damp line of Lando’s jaw with a possessiveness that felt like a brand. His voice, when it came, was low, rough, and utterly commanding. "Now," he said, the word slicing through the lingering haze of pleasure. "Get on your knees."

Lando’s breath hitched, a ragged echo in the sudden quiet after his own release. His limbs felt like lead, muscles trembling, the cool steel of the desk the only thing keeping him semi-upright. Oscar’s command hung in the air – ‘Get on your knees’ – cutting through the lingering haze of pleasure like a knife, instantly sharpening the world back into painful, demanding focus.

Every fiber screamed protest. His body was liquid, boneless, utterly spent. The cold concrete floor he’d crawled across earlier felt like a distant, unpleasant memory etched into his kneecaps. But Oscar’s gaze pinned him, dark and expectant, the possessive satisfaction now laced with pure, unyielding command. Resistance wasn’t an option; it never truly was, not when Oscar looked at him like that, like he owned the very air Lando breathed.

He moved. It wasn’t graceful. Pushing himself off the desk edge, legs shaky and uncooperative, Lando slid down. His knees hit the polished concrete with a dull thud that reverberated up his spine. He barely caught himself with one hand splayed on the cold floor, the other instinctively bracing against Oscar’s thigh, needing the contact, the anchor. He scrambled to get his legs under him, the fine wool of his trousers bunching awkwardly around his thighs, the city’s indifferent glow painting his flushed, vulnerable posture in stark relief. He knelt, breathing hard, looking up the lean, powerful lines of Oscar’s body still impeccably clad in the tailored suit, save for the undone buttons at his throat.

The contrast was brutal: Oscar, standing in controlled authority, suit sharp, eyes blazing; Lando, kneeling at his feet, disheveled, shirt hanging open, trousers pooled around his knees, exposed and utterly conquered. Oscar’s thumb brushed Lando’s lower lip, tracing the swollen curve with possessive deliberation. "Good," he murmured, the single word a low vibration that settled deep in Lando’s gut. Then Oscar’s hands moved to his own belt.

Lando watched, mesmerized, as long, precise fingers made quick work of the buckle. The metallic clink was absurdly loud. The zipper’s harsh hiss sliced through the thick air. Oscar didn’t rush. He pushed his suit trousers and boxer briefs down just enough, freeing himself. The sight, thick and heavy, straining against the constraint of fabric, sent a fresh jolt of heat through Lando’s exhausted body, a confusing mix of residual satisfaction and reawakening need. Oscar’s cock stood proud, demanding attention, a visceral manifestation of the control he wielded.

Oscar’s gaze never left Lando’s face, reading the flicker of apprehension, the dazed arousal, the absolute surrender. His voice was a dark, velvet command that brooked no hesitation. "Open."

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting long, sharp shadows across the cool marble floor. Oscar’s grip in Lando’s hair wasn’t just firm; it was an anchor, a brutal point of control that held him utterly still. Lando’s throat burned, a raw, scraping agony that swallowed every frantic gasp. Tears, hot and uncontrolled, tracked paths through the flush on his cheeks, dripping onto the polished stone beneath his knees. The cold bite of the marble was a distant echo against the overwhelming sensations tearing through him.

Oscar thrust again, deep and relentless, burying himself to the hilt. The wet, guttural sounds – the choke, the gag, the obscene slide – seemed impossibly loud in the vast, sleek space. Lando’s fingers dug into the solid muscle of Oscar’s thighs, knuckles white, nails biting through the fine wool of his suit trousers. He wasn’t pushing away; he was clinging on, anchoring himself against the brutal rhythm threatening to shatter him from the inside. His body convulsed, a desperate attempt to breathe around the thick intrusion, chest heaving uselessly against the pressure locking his airway. Spit slicked his chin, mingling with the tears. The city sprawled far below, indifferent to the raw intimacy playing out high above its streets.

"Take it," Oscar commanded, his voice a rough scrape above the sounds. Calm. Controlled. Utterly focused. His hips snapped forward again, the movement efficient, powerful. "All of it." He held deep for a punishing moment, letting Lando feel the stretch, the impossible fullness, the burn. Lando’s vision blurred, grey creeping in at the edges. His stomach clenched violently. He felt Oscar’s cock pulse against the spasming walls of his throat.

A whine, high and desperate, escaped his clamped lips, vibrating against Oscar’s flesh. His hands scrambled higher on Oscar’s thighs, seeking purchase, pleading silently. His eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing freely now.

Oscar eased back, just enough for a thin, ragged gasp to tear through Lando’s ruined throat. Air, sweet and sharp, flooded his lungs for a single, blessed second. He sucked it in, a drowning man breaking surface. But the reprieve was brutally short-lived.

"Look at me." Oscar’s command brooked no refusal. His fingers tightened further in Lando’s hair, forcing his head up, forcing his tear-blurred gaze to meet Oscar’s.

The intensity there was staggering. Not anger. Not cruelty. Pure, focused possession. The look of a man surveying conquered territory, demanding absolute acknowledgment. Lando met it, his own eyes wide, wrecked, pupils blown, reflecting back the late afternoon light and Oscar’s unwavering dominance. He saw the slight flush high on Oscar’s cheekbones, the controlled tension in his jaw, the sheen of exertion on his own brow. It was a terrifying, exhilarating mirror.

Oscar began moving again, a slower, more deliberate rhythm this time. In, deep, hold. Out, allowing that fractured gasp. In again. Each thrust was measured, controlling Lando’s breath, controlling the pain, controlling the fragmented points of dizzying pleasure that sparked through the haze of suffocation whenever Oscar hit a certain spot. It wasn’t just taking; it was a demonstration. A reminder of who dictated the terms of Lando’s pleasure, his pain, his very breath.

"Fuck," Oscar hissed, the first crack in his composure. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering. His grip on Lando’s hair became almost painful, holding him immobile as he pushed deep one final time. Lando felt the hot, sudden pulse deep inside his throat, the low, guttural groan that vibrated down Oscar’s body and into his own. Oscar held him there, buried to the root, as he pulsed, his release flooding the constricted passage.

Lando choked, his body instinctively trying to reject the intrusion, but Oscar’s grip was iron. He swallowed convulsively, tears streaming anew as he was forced to take it, the bitter-salt taste flooding his senses, mingling with the metallic tang of blood from his raw throat. It was the ultimate surrender. The final claim.

Oscar shuddered, a full-body tremor that momentarily broke his rigid posture. He slowly, carefully, pulled out. The release of pressure was almost as shocking as the penetration. Lando slumped forward, forehead pressed against Oscar’s hipbone, coughing violently, great wracking spasms that tore through his chest. Spit and come dribbled from his lips onto Oscar’s expensive trousers and the pristine marble floor. He gasped, sucking in huge, shuddering breaths, his whole body trembling uncontrollably. The cool air felt like knives in his abused throat.

Oscar’s hand, still tangled in Lando’s hair, gentled. The grip shifted to a hold, then to slow, almost absent-minded strokes. His other hand found Lando’s jaw, tilting his face up again. Lando blinked, vision watery and unfocused, throat working silently. Oscar studied him, his gaze intense, sweeping over the tear-streaked face, the swollen, spit-slicked lips, the raw vulnerability etched into every line.

His thumb brushed a tear away, the gesture incongruously tender against the brutality of moments before. "Good," he murmured, his voice thick, rough with spent desire. "You took it so well." He traced the line of Lando’s jaw, down to the pulse hammering wildly in his throat. "Look at the state of you. Perfect."

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Lando’s sweat-dampened temple. A possessive seal. Then he straightened, his movements regaining their usual fluid control. He adjusted his trousers with swift efficiency, the picture of composure settling back over him like a tailored suit, the only evidence the slight disarray of his hair and the damp patch on his trousers.

Lando remained kneeling, trembling, trying to catch his breath, trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of himself. The cool marble leached warmth from his knees. His throat felt flayed open. His body felt hollowed out and hypersensitive all at once. Oscar’s large hand cupped his cheek again, demanding his attention.

"Let me see," Oscar instructed softly, his thumb brushing Lando’s lower lip. "Look at me, darling." The endearment, delivered in that dark velvet tone, cut deeper than any command. Lando lifted his heavy gaze, meeting Oscar’s eyes. Exhaustion warred with a profound, unsettling awe in their depths. He saw his own wrecked reflection in Oscar’s dark pupils. Utterly claimed. Undeniably his. Oscar’s thumb pressed gently on Lando’s lower lip, tracing the swollen curve. "Mine."

The word hung in the air, thick as the scent of sex and exertion. "Mine." It wasn’t a question, not even a declaration anymore. It was bedrock truth, etched into the tremors running through Lando’s body and the raw ache in his throat. He knelt, a mess of shaky limbs and damp skin, forehead still pressed against Oscar’s hip, drawing ragged breaths that scraped like sandpaper. Oscar’s hand remained on his jaw, a warm, heavy brand.

"Up," Oscar commanded, his voice regaining its effortless authority, the rough edge smoothed away. His grip on Lando's jaw tightened just enough to emphasize the order. "Now." He didn't offer help, just the implicit expectation of obedience. The command cut through Lando's dazed exhaustion. He pushed himself up on trembling legs, knees protesting the hard marble. His vision swam briefly, the panoramic city view beyond the windows tilting. Oscar watched him find his balance, a faint, satisfied curve touching his lips.

He didn't wait for Lando to fully steady himself. With a firm grip on Lando's upper arm, Oscar steered him towards the vast expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass. The late afternoon sun had dipped lower, painting the cityscape in molten gold and long, deep blue shadows. The sheer scale of the view was dizzying. Oscar stopped just short of the glass, turning Lando to face the dizzying drop. "Hands on the glass," he instructed, his tone flat, practical. "Wide."

Lando obeyed, pressing his palms flat against the cool, smooth surface. The chill was a shock against his overheated skin. He could feel the faint vibration of the city humming hundreds of feet below. Oscar stepped close behind him, his body radiating heat, pinning Lando gently but immovably against the window. His lean frame dwarfed Lando's stockier build. One hand rested possessively on Lando's hip, fingers digging in slightly. The other hand brushed down the curve of Lando's spine, over the fabric of his trousers, stopping at the waistband. Lando shivered, anticipation coiling tight in his gut, mixing with the lingering soreness. His breath fogged the glass slightly in front of his face.

"Still so tense," Oscar murmured close to his ear, his breath warm. He traced the waistband with a single finger. "After everything." The finger dipped lower, pressing firmly against the cleft of Lando’s ass through the fabric. Lando gasped, his forehead bumping the glass. Oscar’s chuckle was a low rumble against his back. "Good." With deft, efficient movements, Oscar undid the button and zip of Lando’s trousers, pushing them down just enough to expose the curve of his ass. The cool air kissed Lando's heated skin. Oscar’s palm smoothed over one cheek, possessive, appreciative. "Open your legs." The command was soft, almost conversational, yet utterly inescapable.

Lando shifted his feet apart, leaning his weight more fully against the glass. The cold seeped deeper. He felt exposed, vulnerable, the entire city a potential witness, yet hidden within the reflective surface. Oscar’s hand left his hip. He heard the slick sound of spit. Then, without preamble, Oscar’s fingers were there. Not gentle. Purposeful. One thick finger pressed insistently against Lando’s entrance, still slick and sensitive from their earlier, brutal coupling. Lando hissed, his knuckles whitening against the glass. "Oscar..."

"Shhh," Oscar soothed, the sound vibrating against Lando’s shoulder blade. "Just take it." He applied steady pressure, working the tight ring of muscle. It burned, a sharp counterpoint to the deep ache in Lando’s throat. Oscar’s finger pushed slowly inward, stretching him deliberately. Lando moaned, a broken sound muffled against the window. Oscar’s other hand slid around Lando’s waist, fingers splaying possessively across his stomach, holding him firmly in place. "That’s it. Feel it." He curled his finger inside, finding that spot that made Lando’s knees buckle. A choked cry escaped Lando's lips, his body arching back against Oscar’s solid frame. Tears pricked his eyes again, a confusing mix of overwhelming sensation and sheer relief at the changed focus.

Oscar added a second finger. The stretch was more intense, stealing Lando’s breath. Oscar worked him open with ruthless efficiency, fingers scissoring, stretching, probing deep. The city lights began to flicker on below, tiny stars against the deepening blue. Oscar’s breath came faster against Lando’s neck. He watched Lando’s reflection in the glass – the flushed face, the parted lips, the eyes squeezed shut then flying open in shock and pleasure. "Look," Oscar commanded, his voice thick. "Look at yourself. Look at us." He thrust his fingers deeper, harder. Lando’s gaze snapped to their reflection: Oscar’s intense focus fixed on him, his own expression a portrait of utter surrender, pinned between the man and the merciless glass. Oscar’s fingers moved with relentless precision, dragging ragged gasps and whimpers from Lando.

Oscar leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a dark velvet whisper that cut through the wet, rhythmic sounds below. "Tell me you feel it." His fingers twisted, pressing deep into that electric spot again. Lando’s hips jerked involuntarily, a sharp cry tearing from his raw throat. "Feel what you do to me." Oscar’s fingers plunged, relentless. "Say it."

Lando choked out the words against the cool glass, his breath fogging a small circle. "I feel it." His voice was shredded, scraped raw. "Fuck, Oscar, I feel everything." The admission shuddered through him, ripped from a place beyond resistance. Oscar’s fingers crooked inside him again, ruthless and perfect, and Lando’s knees actually buckled. Only Oscar’s solid body pinning him against the window kept him upright.

"Everything?" Oscar purred, the velvet darkness back in his tone, layered over the roughness of exertion. His free hand slid down from Lando’s stomach, palming the hard length trapped in his rumpled trousers. Even through the fabric, the touch was electric. Lando cried out again, a desperate, broken sound. "Show me."

He didn’t wait. Oscar freed him, the cool air a shock against heated skin. His hand closed firmly, pumping him with the same relentless rhythm as his fingers worked inside. The dual assault was overwhelming. Pleasure detonated along Lando’s nerves, white-hot and obliterating, warring with the deep, possessive stretch and the lingering burn in his throat. His reflection in the glass was a study in surrender: flushed skin, tear-streaked, mouth slack, eyes wide with stunned ecstasy. Oscar watched him, his own reflection intense, predatory, utterly focused on Lando’s unraveling. "Look at you," Oscar breathed, his voice thick with dark satisfaction. "Look at what you are."

The pressure coiled impossibly tight, a supernova building in his core. It obliterated thought, erased the city below, the cool glass against his palms, everything except Oscar’s demanding touch and the relentless rhythm conquering him. There was no holding back, no finesse. It hit him like a physical blow, a seismic wave tearing through his control. His back arched violently off the glass, held only by Oscar’s iron grip and the hand working him. A ragged, guttural shout tore from his ruined throat, echoing faintly in the vast space. He pulsed hard, helplessly, release surging from him in thick, hot spurts.

It hit the window with a startling splat. One stripe, then another, painting stark white trails against the glittering panorama of the waking city lights far below. More followed, spattering across the smooth, cold surface, running in thin rivulets downward. Lando gasped, shuddering uncontrollably, every muscle locked rigid then going slack as the last pulses were wrung from him. He slumped back fully against Oscar, trembling violently. His forehead pressed against the glass beside his own mess, breath fogging the pristine surface further. The scent of sex, sweat, and salt filled the air, thick and immediate.

Oscar’s movements slowed but didn’t stop immediately. He milked the last drops, fingers still buried deep, drawing out soft, broken whimpers from Lando. He watched the evidence of Lando’s surrender mar the expensive view, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, carefully, he withdrew his fingers. His other hand released Lando, coming up to trace the line of his jaw, turning his head slightly.

Oscar surveyed the wreckage: the flushed, tear-stained face, the swollen lips, the glazed eyes staring dazedly at the streaks splashed across the window. His thumb brushed gently, almost absently, over Lando’s damp temple, then lower, tracing the pulse point hammering wildly in his throat – the same pulse he’d felt control just moments ago. A low hum vibrated in Oscar’s chest, pure possession. "Good boy," he murmured, the praise rough but genuine. He pressed a kiss, surprisingly soft, to the hinge of Lando’s jaw. "Made a proper mess."

Chapter Text

The cool leather of the couch sighed under Lando’s weight as Oscar lowered him. Outside the vast windows, the city lights were fully awake now, a dazzling tapestry woven against the deep indigo of twilight. The earlier scent of exertion and salt still hung faintly in the air, overlaid now by Oscar’s expensive cologne and the rich, clean smell of the leather. Lando’s body felt heavy, boneless, yet humming with a residual energy that bordered on painful. His throat was a raw scrape, a constant reminder of the window, the choking, the claim. He shivered, the cool air whispering over his exposed skin where Oscar had roughly pushed down his trousers earlier.

Oscar stood over him, a silhouette against the glittering backdrop. He’d shed his suit jacket. The white shirt, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbows, clung to the defined planes of his chest and shoulders. His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over Lando sprawled on the couch. "Legs," Oscar commanded, his voice low and devoid of its earlier rasp, pure focused intent. "Spread them."

Lando obeyed, shifting his hips, letting his knees fall open. The movement tugged uncomfortably at tender muscles deep inside, a fresh echo of Oscar’s fingers working him open against the glass. Vulnerability washed over him, sharper here on the plush leather than against the hard window. He was entirely displayed, pinned under that unwavering gaze.

Oscar knelt on the floor beside the couch, his movements fluid and economical. He didn’t speak. His focus narrowed to Lando’s body. His hands, large and capable, slid up the insides of Lando’s calves, thumbs pressing into the dense muscle. The touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t punishing either. It was… proprietary. Mapping territory he owned. Lando sucked in a breath as those hands pushed higher, past his knees, skimming the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Oscar’s thumbs hooked under the rumpled waistband of Lando’s trousers and underwear, dragging them down further in one smooth motion, stripping him completely bare from the waist down. The cool air hit Lando everywhere, making his skin prickle.

Then Oscar’s head dipped. No warning. His tongue, hot and wet and shockingly deliberate, traced a long, slow line from the base of Lando’s cock, right up the straining shaft. Lando gasped, his hips lifting off the leather involuntarily. Oscar’s hand clamped down hard on his hip, forcing him back down. "Stay still." The words vibrated against Lando’s skin.

Oscar didn’t take him into his mouth. Not yet. He explored. His tongue became an instrument of excruciating precision. He laved the flushed head, swirling around the ridge, tasting the bead of moisture gathering there. He traced the thick veins running down the shaft, his breath hot puffs against the sensitive skin. He dipped lower, tongue probing the tight, drawn-up sac, making Lando whimper and squirm, only to be pinned again by that iron grip on his hip.

"Oscar, please…" The plea was ragged, scraped from his sore throat.

Oscar ignored it. He moved lower still, his tongue finding the crease where thigh met hip, licking a broad, wet stripe. He nuzzled the sensitive skin of Lando’s inner thigh, nipping lightly, then soothing the spot with his tongue. He mapped every inch of Lando’s lower body with deliberate, unhurried licks and nips, avoiding the one place Lando desperately craved contact. The leather beneath Lando’s back was smooth and cool, a stark contrast to the heat flooding his skin. He could feel every groove, every subtle texture amplified by his hypersensitivity. His cock throbbed, aching, untouched in its centre while Oscar worshipped the periphery.

Then, finally, Oscar’s mouth closed over the head. Not sucking, just holding it, warm and wet. Lando moaned, long and low, his head falling back against the armrest. Oscar’s tongue flicked against the slit, once, twice, sending jolts of pure sensation straight to Lando’s core. He started to move, his mouth sinking down slowly, taking him deeper with agonizing patience. The heat, the wet suction, the scrape of teeth just controlled enough… it was overwhelming. Lando’s hands fisted in the cool leather, knuckles white. Oscar swallowed him down, inch by inch, until Lando felt the back of his throat. A choked gasp escaped him. Oscar held him there, deep, his nose pressed against Lando’s skin, and hummed.

The vibration tore a ragged cry from Lando. He felt the orgasm building, a terrifyingly fast wave cresting after the slow, torturous build-up. His body tensed, arching, every muscle coiling. "Oscar! I’m gonna—"

Oscar pulled off instantly.

He sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes locked on Lando’s face. Calm. Assessing. Lando gasped, his body suspended on the precipice, shuddering violently. The denial was a physical blow, leaving him shaking, hollowed out. His cock jerked, painfully hard, untouched now. He stared at Oscar, eyes wide with disbelief and desperate frustration. "No! Why? Why did you stop?!"

Oscar’s gaze was unreadable. He reached out, not touching Lando’s cock, but tracing a fingertip along the flushed skin of his hipbone. "Because I decided to." His voice was soft, matter-of-fact. "That edge… it’s beautiful on you. That razor’s edge." He leaned forward again, his breath ghosting over Lando’s straining erection. Lando flinched, expecting another devastating touch. Oscar just watched him, a predator admiring the tremors of its catch. "Tomorrow," he murmured, his finger trailing lower, circling Lando’s entrance, still loose and sensitive from earlier. He pressed just the tip in, watching Lando’s stomach muscles jump. "That presentation for SkyTech. The merger. It’s make or break for your little AI division, isn’t it?"

Lando nodded jerkily, confused by the sudden shift. His mind struggled to focus past the agonizing need pulsing through him. "Y-yes. Big. Huge."

Oscar pushed his finger deeper, slowly, stretching him again. It wasn’t meant for pleasure this time; it was a reminder. An intrusion. "You need to be sharp tomorrow, Lando. Laser-focused. Unshakeable." He twisted his finger, a sharp, deliberate movement that made Lando gasp and writhe. "Do you feel focused right now?"

Lando shook his head, helplessly. His body was screaming. "No," he whispered.

The denial hung thick between them, a physical ache radiating from Lando’s core. His cock throbbed violently against his stomach, untouched, a traitorous pulse screaming for release Oscar had just snatched away. He squeezed his eyes shut, the cool leather a stark contrast to the furnace inside him. "No," he whispered, the word barely audible over his own ragged breathing and the distant city hum.

Oscar watched him dispassionately, the pad of his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles around Lando’s sensitive entrance. "Focus," he murmured, a deceptive softness in his tone that made Lando shiver. "It’s all about control, darling. Yours. Mine." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear, his breath hot. "Can you hold it? Just a little longer?" Before Lando could even form a reply, Oscar’s head dipped again, his mouth closing over Lando’s cock with devastating expertise.

The heat was instant, an electric jolt. Oscar sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, his tongue a relentless pressure against the underside of the shaft. Lando cried out, a raw sound ripped from his abused throat, his hips jerking off the couch despite himself. Oscar’s hand clamped onto his hip bone, fingers digging in, anchoring him, while his mouth worked magic and torture. It was too much, too fast after the denial – the sensation amplified a thousandfold. Pleasure detonated low in Lando’s belly, coiling tight and terrifyingly fast. Stars burst behind his closed lids. "Oscar! I can’t—!"

Oscar pulled off with a slick pop, leaving Lando exposed and trembling on the precipice once more. A choked sob escaped Lando. Tears, hot and furious, welled in his eyes. "You bastard," he gasped, voice thick. Oscar simply wiped his mouth again, his expression unreadable in the dimming light. He ran a fingertip slowly up the underside of Lando’s straining cock, from root to tip, the light touch agonizing. "Language, sweetheart," he chided gently. "That’s two."

Lando panted, sweat beading on his forehead, the muscles in his thighs twitching uncontrollably. The world narrowed to the aching need between his legs and the cool, assessing gaze of the man kneeling between them. Oscar’s eyes held a dark, possessive fire. He leaned forward, not to touch Lando’s cock, but to press a surprisingly tender kiss to the inside of his thigh, right over a fading bruise from earlier. "So responsive," he murmured against Lando’s skin. "So desperate for me." His hand slid back, fingers ghosting over Lando’s balls, making him flinch. Then, without warning, Oscar’s mouth was back, engulfing him with brutal efficiency, sucking deep and hard as if starved.

Lando arched, a strangled cry tearing free. The pressure built impossibly fast, a tsunami wave cresting after the briefest lull. He felt the tension lock through his entire body, toes curling, back bowing. His mind screamed release. It was happening, inevitable. "Oh god, Oscar, yes, I’m—!" His fingers scrabbled against the leather.

Oscar ripped his mouth away for the third time.

The denial was a physical blow. Lando slammed back onto the couch, gasping like a fish out of water, his body convulsing with the aborted orgasm. A sharp, guttural sound of pure frustration erupted from him. "Fuck! Why? Tears spilled over, tracking down his temples. Oscar’s knuckles brushed against Lando’s inner thigh, the touch light, almost mocking.

"Control, Lando," he said, his voice low and utterly calm. He shifted slightly, his own arousal evident in the taut line of his trousers, pressing against Lando’s calf. "You need to remember who’s driving." He traced a damp line upward with his thumb, circling the weeping head of Lando’s cock without any real pressure. "Think of tomorrow. The SkyTech board. That… what was it? That neural network integration spreadsheet you agonized over last week?" He pushed his thumb down, just hard enough to make Lando whimper. "All those little numbers. You need your head clear for that, don’t you?"

Lando turned his head away, biting his own lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to anchor himself against the unbearable ache. Oscar’s hand slid up, fingers wrapping firmly but not painfully around the base of his cock, holding him captive.

"Look at me." The command was soft, implacable. Lando dragged his gaze back, meeting Oscar’s. The hunger there was palpable, mixed with that familiar, terrifying control. Oscar leaned closer, his free hand tangling roughly in Lando’s sweat-damp hair. "One more," he breathed, his lips grazing Lando’s. "Let me see you break for it. Then maybe… just maybe… I’ll let you come." His grip tightened fractionally at the base. "But you’ve got to earn it. Show me how much you need it."

Lando felt the sob building in his chest again, a mix of defiance and utter surrender. He pressed his forehead roughly against Oscar’s shoulder, the fine cotton of his shirt scratchy against his skin. "Please," he choked out, the word dissolving into a shuddering breath. "Just…" Oscar’s thumb stroked the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. "Hush," he murmured. "Take what I give you." He lowered his head.

His mouth descended again, a scorching brand. Sucking deep. Hollowing his cheeks with ruthless precision. Lando’s breath hitched, a ragged gasp tearing from his raw throat. Every nerve ending screamed. His hips stuttered upwards, seeking more, deeper, anything, instantly met by the immovable pressure of Oscar’s forearm pinning his pelvis to the cool leather. The world dissolved into pure sensation: the wet heat, the rhythmic pull, the scrape of teeth held just shy of pain. It was agony. It was ecstasy. It was unbearable.

"Fuck, Oscar, fuck...!" Lando choked out, fingers clawing uselessly at the smooth couch. He felt it coiling again, that terrifying, unstoppable surge building low in his gut. A tsunami wave cresting after far too long. His spine arched, muscles locking. Stars exploded behind his clenched eyelids. "I'm— now, I'm coming now, please—!"

Oscar ripped his mouth away.

The denial wasn't just physical this time; it was a violent severing. Lando slammed back onto the leather, a strangled, animal sound ripping from his chest. His body convulsed, back bowing off the couch, hips jerking helplessly against the empty air where that exquisite pressure had been. Tears flooded his vision, blurring the city lights outside the vast windows. His cock throbbed violently, painfully hard and untouched. "No! No! You dick!" he sobbed, the words thick with tears and fury and shattered need. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. He felt flayed open, raw.

Oscar simply watched. Calm. Utterly composed despite the flush high on his own cheekbones, the rapid pulse visible at his throat. He wiped his mouth slowly with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Lando’s trembling form. That familiar, dark fire burned in his gaze – possessive, hungry, utterly unapologetic. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the couch beside Lando’s hips, invading his space. His breath ghosted hot over Lando’s wet, straining cock.

"Three," he murmured, the word a soft, devastating counterpoint to Lando’s ragged gasps. He traced the weeping head with a single, impossibly light fingertip, making Lando flinch and whimper. "You sound so pretty," Oscar breathed, a low rumble against Lando’s thigh. "Broken open just for me." His other hand tangled roughly in Lando’s hair, forcing his head back, exposing the raw vulnerability of his throat. "SkyTech tomorrow, Lando. Those sharks in suits." He pressed a hard kiss just below Lando’s ear. "You need this edge. You need to feel it. Sharp." His finger pressed down, just slightly, on the sensitized tip of Lando’s cock. "Keeps you hungry."

Lando shook his head wildly against Oscar’s grip, a fresh sob tearing loose. His whole body was shuddering now, tremors running through him like aftershocks. "Can't... please, Oscar, I can't breathe..." He felt dizzy, unmoored, the world tilting violently. Every cell screamed for release. The earlier denials paled compared to this raw, trembling void.

"Shhh," Oscar soothed, the sound dangerously soft. He released Lando’s hair, his hand sliding down the tense column of his neck, over his heaving chest. His touch was a brand. "You can." His eyes locked onto Lando’s, holding him captive. "Because I want you to." He dipped his head again, lower this time, bypassing Lando’s aching cock entirely. His mouth found the tense muscle of Lando’s inner thigh. He bit down. Not gently. A sharp, possessive claim. Lando cried out, arching. Oscar sucked at the mark, then laved it with his tongue. Then he moved to the other thigh. Another bite. Another possessive suck. Lando writhed, trapped between pain and the torturous proximity.

Tears streamed freely now, hot tracks down his temples. Oscar’s free hand slid under Lando’s lower back, lifting his hips slightly off the leather, exposing him further. His mouth trailed lower, tongue tracing the crease where thigh met groin, unbearably close to where Lando burned. He nuzzled the sensitive skin near his balls. Lando whimpered, high and desperate. Oscar’s breath was hot puffs against his stretched, sensitive entrance. "Please," Lando begged, the word a broken whisper, lost in the quiet hum of the city below. "Anything..."

Oscar hummed, the vibration resonating through Lando’s core. He pulled back just enough to look up the length of Lando’s quivering body. His gaze was predatory. Decisive. "One. More." He shifted his weight, his own need pressing hot and hard against Lando’s calf through the expensive fabric of his trousers. His hand slid firmly back to the base of Lando’s cock, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. "Then I decide." 

Chapter Text

Oscar’s mouth closed over him. Not tentative, not teasing. A sudden, engulfing heat that pulled a ragged gasp from Lando’s shredded throat. This time, Oscar didn’t hold back. He sucked deep, hollowing his cheeks with ruthless efficiency, tongue pressing hard against the sensitive underside. His hand tightened at the base, a firm, anchoring counterpoint to the devastating suction.

Lando’s vision whited out. A choked, guttural sound tore from him, ripped from somewhere primal. His body arched violently off the leather, every muscle locking tight as a bowstring. Oscar’s forearm slammed across his hips, pinning him down with brutal strength. The city lights blurred into streaks of colour outside the vast windows. The soft jazz melody faded beneath the roaring pulse in Lando’s ears.

"Now," Oscar growled, the vibration travelling straight up Lando’s spine. It wasn't a question. It was a command. A trigger pulled.

The coiled tension deep in Lando’s gut snapped. It wasn't a wave; it was a detonation. Pure, blinding sensation ripped through him, obliterating thought, obliterating the aching denial, obliterating everything except the scorching heat of Oscar’s mouth and the relentless pull. He cried out, a raw, broken sound that echoed faintly in the high-ceilinged room, his body convulsing under Oscar’s hold. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the cool leather, finding no purchase. Tears streamed freely down his temples, mingling with sweat.

Oscar didn't flinch. He held him deep, swallowing relentlessly, his free hand sliding up to cradle Lando’s lower back, lifting him slightly, forcing him deeper. The intensity was overwhelming, almost painful in its completeness after the agonizing denial. Lando gasped, shuddering violently as the aftershocks racked him, each pulse drawn out by Oscar’s unwavering mouth. The world narrowed to the point of contact, the heat, the pressure, the sheer, overwhelming release Oscar had finally, finally granted. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tremors subsided. Oscar’s suction gentled, becoming a slow, lingering pull, drawing out the last vestiges of sensation until Lando whimpered, oversensitive and spent. Only then did Oscar release him with a soft, wet sound. He sat back on his heels, breathing slightly heavier than usual, a faint flush high on his cheekbones. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Lando’s face.

Lando lay utterly boneless, sprawled on the couch like a discarded puppet. His chest heaved. His limbs felt like lead. The cool air felt shockingly cold on his damp skin. He blinked, trying to bring the glittering cityscape outside back into focus, but his vision swam. A profound exhaustion settled over him, deeper than any physical fatigue. The frantic edge was gone, replaced by a hollowed-out stillness. He felt scraped raw, inside and out.

Oscar watched him for a long moment, that familiar, assessing gaze cataloging every tremor, every ragged breath. He reached out, not roughly, but with deliberate possession. His thumb brushed away a tear track on Lando’s cheekbone. The touch was surprisingly gentle. "There," he murmured, his voice low, thick with something akin to satisfaction. "All mine."

Lando couldn't speak. He managed a shaky nod, his throat too raw, his mind too fragmented. He felt Oscar’s fingers trace the fading bruises on his inner thighs, the possessive bites he’d left earlier. The touch sparked a faint echo of sensation, but his body had nothing left to give.

Oscar stood, his movements fluid despite the obvious strain in his own trousers. He looked down at Lando, a faint, almost imperceptible curve touching his lips. "SkyTech tomorrow," he said, the words slicing through the heavy silence. "Remember that edge." He leaned down, bracing one hand on the couch beside Lando’s head. His breath ghosted over Lando’s ear. "You’ll be perfect." It wasn't praise. It was an expectation. An order.

He straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves with precise movements. The commanding CEO was fully back in place, the raw intensity of moments before locked away beneath the tailored shirt. "Shower," he stated, nodding towards the en-suite bathroom visible through an open door. "Then bed. You need rest."

Lando just blinked slowly. The thought of moving felt impossible. His limbs were liquid. The plush leather felt like the only solid thing in the universe.

Oscar didn't wait for agreement. He bent, sliding one arm under Lando’s knees and the other behind his shoulders. With surprising ease, he lifted him off the couch. Lando’s head lolled against Oscar’s shoulder, the fine cotton scratchy against his cheek. He smelled of salt, sweat, expensive cologne, and himself. Oscar carried him across the expansive office, past the sleek desk littered with merger documents, towards the bedroom door.

The cool air of the bedroom washed over Lando as Oscar laid him carefully on the vast, cool expanse of linen sheets. The city lights cast long, geometric shadows across the floor. Oscar stood beside the bed, looking down at him for another silent moment. The jazz playlist from the office was a faint, distant thrum here. Oscar’s silhouette blocked the city lights, a dark shape against the window’s glow. Lando lay utterly still, the deep tremors finally subsiding into a leaden exhaustion. Every muscle felt liquefied, his mind blissfully blank. He barely registered the retreating footsteps.

Moments later, the sharp scent of Oscar’s cologne returned, closer now. Cool, damp cloth pressed gently against his inner thigh, wiping away the evidence of their earlier intensity. Lando flinched at the sudden contact on oversensitive skin. “Easy,” Oscar murmured, his voice low but lacking its usual edge. The cloth moved with surprising care over the bruises he’d left just an hour ago on the couch. The possessive marks felt strangely grounding now.

“C’mon.” Oscar’s hand slid beneath his shoulders again, lifting him with that same effortless strength. Lando’s head lolled. “Shower. Then sleep.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Oscar guided Lando’s unsteady steps across the cool bedroom floor towards the en-suite. The chrome handle felt icy under Lando’s fingers. Steam billowed out as Oscar opened the door, the humid air thick with the clean scent of eucalyptus and ozone.

Oscar efficiently adjusted the water temperature, the spray hissing against marble. He didn’t ask, simply guided Lando under the near-scalding stream. The heat was a shock, then a relief, sinking into his battered muscles, washing away sweat and salt and the lingering tension. Lando leaned his forehead against the cool tile, eyes closed, letting the water sluice over him. He heard the rustle of fabric as Oscar shed his own clothes.

Strong hands, much gentler than before, began to work shampoo into his hair. Oscar’s fingers massaged his scalp with firm, methodical circles. It felt astonishingly good. Luxurious. Lando sighed, the sound almost lost in the drumming water. He felt Oscar’s thumb trace the hinge of his jaw, then down the column of his throat. There were no commands now, just efficient, thorough cleansing. Oscar soaped his back, his touch lingering on the muscles, kneading away the last knots.

The silence stretched, filled only by the water’s rush and their breathing. Oscar turned Lando carefully under the spray to rinse him. Water streamed down Lando’s face, plastering his hair flat. He blinked it away, meeting Oscar’s gaze through the steam. Oscar’s expression was unreadable, intense but softened around the edges. He cradled Lando’s face in one wet hand, his thumb brushing a stray droplet from Lando’s cheekbone. Lando saw the slight hesitation in the set of Oscar’s jaw, a rare flicker of something raw beneath the control.

"I love you," Oscar whispers.

Lando gasped. The words hung suspended in the humid air, thick as the steam swirling around them. Oscar’s thumb still brushed his cheekbone, rough skin catching on wet lashes. Lando hadn’t imagined it.

"You... what?" The question rasped out, stupidly, water dripping into his open mouth. He tasted chlorine and disbelief. Oscar never said it first. Never.

The hand on his face stilled. Oscar’s eyes, usually so unreadable behind the CEO mask, held a rawness Lando recognized only in the deepest shadows of their bedroom. Or the penthouse couch earlier. "Heard me," Oscar murmured, voice rough against the shower’s hiss. Not a challenge, just fact.

The relentless spray beat down on Lando’s shoulders. The shock dissolved like sugar in hot tea, replaced by a warm, insistent pressure behind his ribs. It pushed past the exhaustion, the lingering tremors from the office, the sheer overwhelming muchness of Oscar finally letting go. "Yeah," Lando breathed, the sound barely audible. He swallowed. "Yeah, I heard you."

Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. The intensity was familiar, but the vulnerability beneath it was new territory, vast and terrifying. Lando felt his own carefully constructed defenses, the playful CEO facade, the quiet submission, crumble entirely. Raw honesty was the only currency that mattered here. He met Oscar’s stare, water stinging his eyes.

"I love you too," Lando whispered. The words felt enormous, simple, and utterly true, escaping on a shaky exhale. "Always. God, Oscar, always."

He saw Oscar’s throat move. A barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. Then, the hand on Lando’s cheek slid back, fingers tangling firmly in his wet hair. Oscar pulled him forward, not roughly, but with absolute certainty. Lando went willingly, his knees finally giving out completely.

He melted. Utterly. Every ounce of bone-deep fatigue, every lingering tension from the exquisite torment on the leather couch, every scrap of resistance evaporated. His body slumped forward, crashing against Oscar’s solid chest. His face buried itself in the damp hollow of Oscar’s neck, breathing in salt, sweat, eucalyptus, ozone, and him. The relentless spray hit his back, but Oscar’s body shielded his face.

Oscar’s arms locked around him instantly, crushing him close. One hand remained fisted in his hair, the other splayed possessively across the small of his back, fingers pressing hard into the muscles Oscar had soothed moments before. No space existed between them. Lando felt the frantic drumbeat of his own pulse gradually synchronize with the strong, steady thump of Oscar’s heart against his cheekbone. He was held. Anchored. Utterly claimed.

Lando closed his eyes. A shuddering sigh escaped him, warm breath puffing against Oscar’s wet skin. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. The world narrowed to the heat, the pressure, the rhythmic drumming of water, and the impossible, grounding solidity of the man holding him up. Oscar rested his chin heavily on the top of Lando’s head. His own exhale ruffled the wet strands. They stood locked together under the scalding stream, the city’s distant glitter obscured by steam and sheer proximity. Oscar’s thumb began a slow, deliberate sweep across Lando’s spine.

The steam thickened, wrapping them in a suffocating cocoon. Oscar’s thumb never stopped its slow arc across the dip of Lando’s spine, a grounding counterpoint to the relentless drumming of water on their backs. Lando’s cheek pressed harder into the damp skin of Oscar’s neck, breathing in the mingled scents of soap, sweat, and the faint, expensive cologne that stubbornly clung. His legs felt like waterlogged driftwood, useless. Only Oscar’s arms, locked like steel bands around him, kept him upright.

The sheer solidity of Oscar’s chest against his own, the rhythmic rise and fall, became the entire world. The frantic pulse pounding in Lando’s ears minutes ago had dissolved into a sluggish, heavy thud, syncing reluctantly with Oscar’s own steady heartbeat. He felt hollowed out, scraped clean by the rollercoaster of the couch and the sheer, unexpected weight of Oscar’s words.

I love you.

The phrase echoed in the hollow space exhaustion had carved inside him, warmer than the shower spray. Oscar shifted almost imperceptibly, adjusting his stance to bear Lando’s full, boneless weight more comfortably. His chin rested more heavily on the crown of Lando’s head. No words. Just the water, the steam, the pressure of his body, and that relentless, possessive thumb tracing vertebrae. Lando’s eyelids felt weighted with lead.

Consciousness flickered, the bright glare of the city lights beyond the fogged glass seeming miles away, irrelevant. Time stretched, elastic and meaningless. The heat seeped deeper into his muscles, turning the last residual tremors into a distant memory. The only sound besides the water’s hiss was their combined breathing, gradually slowing into a shared rhythm. Oscar’s grip loosened fractionally, not releasing, just settling. His hand slid from Lando’s hair down to cradle the base of his skull, a gentler anchor. The water began to cool, a subtle shift cutting through the steam. Oscar stirred first. His deep inhale vibrated against Lando’s temple.

"Alright," he murmured, the word rough, barely audible over the spray. It wasn't a question. Lando didn't respond, couldn't. He just made a small, incoherent noise against Oscar’s neck, a protest against movement, against the end of this suspended moment. Oscar’s arms tightened decisively. He reached behind him with one hand, fumbling briefly before the water shut off with a final drip. The sudden silence was jarring, echoing in the tiled space. Cold air rushed in, raising goosebumps on Lando’s exposed skin. He shivered violently.

"Easy," Oscar breathed, pulling him closer still for a second, sharing his warmth. Then, with practiced strength, he lifted Lando, one arm hooked under his knees, the other supporting his back, just as he had carried him from the couch. Lando’s head lolled onto Oscar’s shoulder. He was dimly aware of the slick tiles under Oscar’s feet, the rustle of a thick towel, then the blissful scratch of terrycloth as Oscar briskly rubbed him down. The movements were efficient, thorough, impersonal yet intimate. Oscar wrapped the towel around Lando’s shoulders like a cape. He dried himself with quick, economical swipes before grabbing another towel for his hair.

Lando swayed, eyes half-closed, watching Oscar’s blurred form through waterlogged lashes. Oscar finished with himself and turned back. He didn't bother with words this time. He simply scooped Lando up again, towel and all, cradling him easily against his chest. Lando’s wet hair dripped onto Oscar’s shoulder. He nuzzled instinctively into the familiar curve of Oscar’s neck, inhaling the clean, damp skin scent beneath the fading eucalyptus. Oscar carried him out of the steam-filled bathroom, back into the cooler, shadowed bedroom. The city’s glow painted faint stripes across the floor.

Oscar lowered him onto the crisp, cool linen sheets. Lando sank into them with a sigh, the exhaustion finally winning. He felt Oscar pulling the towel away, then the soft, heavy weight of a duvet settling over him. A hand brushed damp hair off his forehead. Silence. Then, the dip of the mattress beside him. Oscar slid in, his body radiating heat as he turned towards Lando. An arm draped heavily over Lando’s waist, pulling him back flush against Oscar’s chest. Skin to skin, dampness still clinging. Oscar’s breath warmed the back of Lando’s neck.

"Sleep," Oscar commanded, his voice a low rumble against Lando’s spine. It was the last thing Lando heard before the deep, dark pull of oblivion finally dragged him under, Oscar’s solid presence the anchor in the quiet night.

Chapter Text

The first sensation was warmth. Not the scalding heat of the shower, but a deep, pervasive comfort radiating against Lando’s back. Then, softness. Silk sheets cool beneath his cheek, the duvet a heavy, luxurious weight. Consciousness seeped in slowly, blurry and disjointed. The frantic pulse, the aching release, the crushing embrace under the water – fragments drifted like silt settling. He remembered Oscar’s arms. Oscar’s voice, raw and low: I love you. His own choked reply.

A feather-light pressure brushed his temple. Then another, just below his eye socket. Soft, impossibly gentle. Lips. Oscar’s lips. Moving with deliberate slowness across Lando’s brow, tracing the arch, dipping to the sensitive skin beside his closed eye. Lando stayed perfectly still, breathing shallowly, savoring the unexpected tenderness. Oscar’s breath warmed his skin, smelling faintly of mint toothpaste beneath the lingering scent of sleep.

Another kiss landed on the bridge of his nose. Then the tip. Lando felt a smile tugging at his own lips, unbidden. Oscar’s mouth moved down, pressing softly against the corner of his mouth, then along his jawline towards his ear. The scratch of stubble, a familiar counterpoint to the softness of the kisses. Lando sighed, a soft, contented sound escaping him.

"Morning," Oscar murmured, his voice thick with sleep, vibrating against Lando’s jaw. His lips found Lando’s earlobe, grazing it lightly.

Lando finally opened his eyes. The room was bathed in the diffuse, grey-gold light of early morning filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Oscar’s face was inches from his, propped up on one elbow. His usually sharp gaze was softened, drowsy, fixed intently on Lando’s face. The harsh lines of command were blurred by sleep and something else… an openness Lando rarely saw outside the deepest shadows of their intimacy. The memory of last night’s confession hung unspoken but palpable in the air between them.

"Hey," Lando whispered back, his own voice raspy. He shifted slightly, turning fully onto his back to face Oscar. The movement pulled the silk sheet lower, exposing his collarbones and the faint, fading bruises Oscar had left on his neck yesterday afternoon. Oscar’s gaze tracked the movement, lingering on the marks with a possessiveness that sent a familiar, pleasant shiver down Lando’s spine.

Oscar didn’t speak. He just leaned down again, capturing Lando’s lips in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, and deep. It tasted of sleep and mint and Oscar. Lando melted into it, lifting a hand to cup Oscar’s stubbled cheek, his thumb brushing the high bone. The kiss deepened slowly, languidly. Tongues touched, exploring without urgency. It was a world away from the desperate heat of the office couch or the crushing intensity of the shower. This was slow reclamation. Gentle rediscovery.

They broke apart, breathing softly. Oscar’s thumb traced Lando’s lower lip, swollen from the kiss. His gaze held Lando’s, searching. "Sleep okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," Lando breathed. "Out cold." He remembered the utter bonelessness, the profound exhaustion. "You?"

Oscar gave a small, noncommittal grunt. His hand slid from Lando’s face down his neck, over his shoulder, coming to rest possessively on his bare hip beneath the duvet. His fingers traced idle patterns on Lando’s skin. "Better." His gaze drifted back to the bruises on Lando’s neck. "Sore?"

Lando shook his head slightly. "Just… marked." He offered a small, sleepy smile. "Yours."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Oscar’s features. He leaned in again, this time pressing a series of soft, closed-mouth kisses along the column of Lando’s throat, deliberately avoiding the darker marks, focusing on the unblemished skin. Each kiss was a brand of a different kind. Softer. Deeper. Lando tilted his head back, granting access, a soft sigh escaping him. He tangled his fingers in Oscar’s sleep-mussed hair.

They drifted like that for timeless minutes, exchanging slow, deep kisses interspersed with periods of quiet stillness. Oscar’s hand roamed lazily over Lando’s torso, mapping familiar territory with a new reverence – the dip of his waist, the plane of his stomach, the subtle ridges of his ribs. Lando traced the strong line of Oscar’s shoulder, the curve of his bicep beneath the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. The city outside was a muted hum, distant traffic like white noise beneath the soft sounds of their breathing and the rustle of sheets.

Oscar shifted, rolling Lando gently onto his side facing away, spooning tightly against his back. His arm wrapped firmly around Lando’s waist, pulling him flush. He buried his face in the crook of Lando’s neck, inhaling deeply. His lips brushed the sensitive skin behind Lando’s ear. "Mine," he murmured, the word vibrating against Lando’s spine, echoing his declaration from the couch, but stripped of its earlier harsh command. It was a statement of fact, softened by the morning light and the lingering vulnerability.

Lando reached back, his hand finding Oscar’s thigh, squeezing gently. "Yours," he confirmed, his voice thick with sleep and emotion. He felt Oscar’s lips curve into a smile against his neck.

They lay tangled, limbs intertwined, the silk sheets cool against their legs, the duvet warm over their torsos. Oscar’s breathing evened out against Lando’s skin, deep and slow. Lando closed his eyes, focusing on the solid warmth pressed against his back, the possessive weight of Oscar’s arm, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The frantic energy of yesterday, the raw confession in the steam, the bone-deep exhaustion – it all dissolved into this profound, quiet peace. The SkyTech meeting loomed somewhere in the future, a distant storm cloud. But here, now, wrapped in silk and Oscar’s arms, smelling of sleep and faint mint, Lando felt anchored. Safe.

Oscar’s hand slid lower, fingers splaying possessively across Lando’s lower abdomen, just above the waistband of his briefs. His thumb stroked a slow, hypnotic circle. Lando pressed back slightly, seeking more contact, a soft hum of contentment vibrating in his throat. Oscar responded by tightening his hold, his lips pressing another soft kiss to the nape of Lando’s neck. The silence stretched, comfortable and complete, punctuated only by their shared breath and the faint, persistent heartbeat of the waking city far below. For now, the world outside the penthouse walls didn't exist. There was only the bed, the silk, the warmth, and the quiet, undeniable truth humming between them in the soft morning light. Oscar’s thumb kept circling, a silent promise, a grounding rhythm against Lando’s skin.

Oscar’s thumb kept circling, a silent promise, a grounding rhythm against Lando’s skin. Gradually, the city’s hum grew louder, the grey-gold light brightening into stark morning. A low chime resonated from Oscar’s smartwatch on the nightstand, shattering the fragile peace like dropped glass.

"SkyTech," Oscar murmured, his voice rough sandpaper against Lando’s neck. His thumb stilled. "Nine-thirty."

Lando tensed, the meeting’s shadow falling across the silk sheets. "Shit." The word tasted sour. He felt Oscar’s arm tighten fractionally, an anchor against the sudden pull of reality. The shower’s steam, Oscar’s raw I love you, his own desperate I know – it all felt impossibly distant now.

"Fuck 'em for an hour," Oscar stated, his tone leaving no room for SkyTech’s intrusion just yet. He pressed a final, firm kiss below Lando’s ear, a brand sealing the moment. "Come on." With surprising gentleness, Oscar shifted, the mattress dipping as he swung his legs out from under the duvet. Cool air rushed across Lando’s back where Oscar’s warmth had been.

Lando rolled over, blinking against the light. Oscar stood beside the bed, stretching, the thin cotton of his sleep shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach, the defined lines of his hips above grey sweatpants. Sleep-mussed hair, stubble darkening his jaw, eyes still heavy-lidded – he looked younger, less like the razor-sharp CEO who’d pinned Lando to the couch yesterday and more like the man who’d murmured love in the steam. Lando pushed himself up, the silk sheet pooling at his waist, the fading bruises on his neck exposed in the morning light.

Oscar’s gaze lingered on them, that familiar possessive heat flaring briefly before softening. He offered his hand. Not a command, this time. An invitation.

Lando reached out, their fingers sliding together, calloused palm against his. Oscar pulled him up, steadying him as the world tilted slightly. Lando swayed into him, their bodies colliding with a soft thud of chests. Oscar’s free arm immediately snaked around Lando’s waist, holding him close. The height difference felt more pronounced standing; Lando had to tilt his head back slightly. Oscar looked down, a silent question in his eyes. Okay?

Lando nodded, leaning his forehead against Oscar’s collarbone for a second, breathing in the lingering scent of sleep and expensive cologne and him. "Yeah." His voice was thick. They stood like that, tangled in the middle of the luxurious bedroom, the king-sized bed a rumpled island behind them, the sprawling city a glittering diorama beyond the glass. Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s waist down to the small of his back, a warm pressure guiding him forward.

They moved towards the en-suite bathroom with slow, shuffling steps, still pressed together from shoulder to hip, Oscar’s arm a solid bar around Lando’s back. Like conjoined driftwood washed up on the same shore. The deep pile carpet gave way to cool marble tile underfoot, making Lando shiver and press closer. Oscar’s grip tightened in response.

The bathroom was vast, all gleaming white surfaces, chrome, and a huge mirror reflecting their entwined figures – Oscar’s broad shoulders dwarfing Lando’s slighter frame, both rumpled and sleep-soft. Oscar reached the double sinks without letting go, grabbing two toothbrushes one-handed, squeezing toothpaste onto both with an efficiency that made Lando huff a quiet laugh. Oscar handed one brush to Lando, their fingers brushing.

"Open," Oscar murmured, his voice a low vibration against Lando's temple. He guided his own brush towards his mouth, but his eyes stayed locked on Lando’s reflection. Lando obeyed, meeting Oscar’s gaze in the mirror as he raised his own brush. Standing side-by-side, Oscar’s arm still firmly around him, they began brushing their teeth, the rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape absurdly intimate. Mint exploded in Lando’s mouth, sharp and clean. Foam gathered at the corners of his lips. Oscar watched him, his own brushing steady and thorough, that familiar intensity focused entirely on Lando’s reflection, on the simple, mundane act shared while refusing to let go. The city shimmered, silent and distant, beyond the glass. Here, anchored by Oscar’s arm and the shared ritual, the minty freshness, Lando felt the last tendrils of sleep and SkyTech anxiety dissolve into something quiet, solid, and theirs.

Chapter Text

The sleek elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a capsule of polished steel and hushed whirring. The abrupt transition from the penthouse’s warm intimacy to the elevator’s sterile chill made Lando shiver. Oscar’s hand, resting possessively on the small of Lando’s back, pressed firmer, radiating heat through the fine wool of Lando’s suit jacket. The faint scent of Oscar’s cologne – vetiver and something darker, smokier – mingled with the elevator’s generic lemon cleaner.

"SkyTech," Oscar murmured, his voice low but cutting through the silence. His gaze remained fixed ahead, reflecting the elevator’s metallic sheen, sharpening back into the CEO’s mask. Only the slight pressure of his hand betrayed the man who’d kissed toothpaste foam from Lando’s lips barely an hour ago.

Lando straightened his own tie, the silk cool against his fingertips. The memory of Oscar’s thumb circling his hipbone beneath the duvet felt like a dream. "Right. The vultures." He tried for lightness, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. SkyTech’s predatory interest in his smaller, innovative logistics firm was an open secret. Today was the formal circling.

Oscar’s lips twitched, almost a smile. "Play it smart, Norris. Don’t let them smell blood." His thumb rubbed a small, hidden circle against Lando’s spine. A silent command. An anchor. "Remember who holds the leverage."

The elevator pinged, announcing their floor. The doors opened onto a vista of glass, steel, and hushed efficiency. The low thrum of computers, the muted clicks of keyboards, the scent of expensive coffee and ambition. Heads turned subtly as they stepped out, Oscar’s presence commanding immediate, silent attention. Lando walked beside him, acutely aware of the possessive hand guiding him, the lingering ache in his neck muscles where Oscar’s teeth had pressed yesterday afternoon. A visible claim beneath his collar.

They navigated the open-plan space towards Lando’s corner office, nestled within Oscar’s larger suite. Oscar’s assistant, Maya, looked up, her expression professionally neutral. "Mr. Norris, your SkyTech delegation arrived five minutes early. They’re waiting in your office. Coffee’s brewing."

"Early. How… eager," Oscar commented dryly, his hand finally dropping from Lando’s back as they reached Lando’s door. He turned, blocking the entrance momentarily, his gaze sweeping over Lando – the perfectly fitted suit, the carefully arranged hair, the faint shadows under his eyes that only Oscar could truly see. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on the high collar of Lando’s shirt, hiding the marks. "Deep breath," he instructed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper meant only for Lando. "You built this. They want it. Don’t forget that." He reached out, adjusted Lando’s tie knot with a swift, precise tug. The gesture was proprietary, intimate in its public display. "Go dazzle them."

Then Oscar stepped aside, his own expression shifting seamlessly into detached, watchful authority. He didn’t follow Lando in. He leaned against the doorframe, a silent sentinel, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His presence was a wall at Lando’s back.

Lando pushed open the door to his office. Three figures rose from the sleek visitor chairs facing his minimalist desk. The leader, Martin Vance of SkyTech, was all practiced charm and sharp tailoring, his smile not quite reaching his shrewd eyes. Two junior associates flanked him, tablets poised.

"Lando! Excellent to see you," Vance boomed, extending a hand. His grip was firm, overly enthusiastic. "Always buzzing in here. Piastri runs a tight ship, doesn’t he?" His gaze flickered past Lando towards Oscar’s imposing silhouette in the doorway.

"He does," Lando agreed smoothly, shaking Vance’s hand, forcing his own smile to reach his eyes. He gestured towards the chairs. "Please, sit. Coffee?" He moved behind his desk, the familiar chrome and glass surface grounding him. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling window, a dizzying panorama he usually found energizing. Today, it felt like exposure.

"Coffee would be perfect, thank you," Vance said, settling back. His associates murmured assent. As Maya slipped in silently with a tray, Vance’s gaze swept the office – the awards on the shelf, the abstract art, the absence of personal clutter. "Impressive space. Reflects the efficiency of your operation, I imagine."

"We try to keep things streamlined," Lando replied, pouring coffee. His hand was steady. He could feel Oscar’s watchful presence like a physical weight against his spine. Don’t let them smell blood.

The pleasantries evaporated quickly. Vance leaned forward, elbows on knees, his expression turning earnest. "Lando, let’s cut to the chase. SkyTech sees immense potential in your predictive routing algorithms. Frankly, it’s technology that could revolutionize our entire continental distribution network." He paused, letting the flattery hang. "But scaling it… integrating it into a system as vast as ours… that requires resources. Expertise. A certain… robustness."

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. The bitterness was bracing. "Our systems are robust, Martin. They handle our current client load flawlessly. Scaling is a matter of infrastructure, not fundamental capability."

"Of course, of course," Vance conceded smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "But infrastructure costs money. Significant money. And integration… well, that’s where the real challenge lies. Merging philosophies, tech stacks…" He sighed theatrically. "SkyTech is prepared to make a very substantial offer to acquire Norris Logistics outright. It would provide immediate capital, global reach for your tech, and relieve you of the… burdens… of independent operation." His smile was predatory now. "Free you up to focus purely on innovation, under the SkyTech umbrella."

The air thickened. Lando felt the phantom press of Oscar’s thumb on his hipbone, the possessive murmur against his neck: Mine. This wasn't just an offer for his company; it felt like an offer to erase him. To absorb him. He placed his cup down with deliberate calm. "Acquisition is a significant step, Martin. Norris Logistics isn't just technology; it's a team, a culture, a vision I've built from the ground up." He kept his voice level, meeting Vance’s gaze directly. "My focus is innovation, and I believe we can achieve our scaling goals independently. We’re already in advanced talks with strategic partners for funding."

Vance’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes hardened slightly. One associate scribbled furiously on their tablet. "Independence is admirable, Lando. Truly. But the market waits for no one. Competitors are circling similar solutions. SkyTech offers not just capital, but instant market penetration, established channels…" He leaned further forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though Oscar could undoubtedly hear every word. "Think of the pressure lifted. The sleepless nights over payroll, infrastructure meltdowns, investor demands… gone. Poof." He snapped his fingers. "You could breathe."

Lando felt a flicker of cold anger. The implication was clear: he wasn't strong enough, big enough, tough enough to handle it alone. He remembered Oscar’s voice in the shower, raw and stripped bare: I love you. The contrast was jarring. One man saw vulnerability and called it weakness to exploit. The other saw it and claimed it fiercely. He drew a slow breath, the scent of Oscar’s cologne faintly detectable even here. "Pressure," Lando said, his voice gaining a quiet steel, "is a catalyst. It’s how diamonds are made, Martin. Not how they’re dissolved." He saw Vance’s eyebrows lift fractionally. "My team thrives on challenge. We built this under pressure. We’ll scale it under pressure. Selling now, before we’ve fully realized our potential… that feels like dissolving the diamond."

Silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. Vance leaned back, steepling his fingers. His gaze flickered past Lando again, towards Oscar’s silent figure. Oscar hadn’t moved. His expression remained impassive, but Lando could feel the intensity radiating from him, a silent reinforcement. Vance cleared his throat. "A… poetic perspective, Lando. And fiercely independent. Admirable qualities." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "SkyTech’s offer stands. It’s exceptionally generous. Reflects the high value we place on your work. But," he added, his tone shifting to something colder, "opportunities like this have a limited window. Market dynamics shift. Investor confidence… fluctuates." It was a veiled threat. Leverage slipping.

Lando held his gaze. The phantom touch on his back solidified into certainty. "Understood, Martin. We’ll review your formal offer with the seriousness it deserves. But Norris Logistics’ path forward, for now, remains independent growth." He stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Thank you for coming."

Vance stood, his smile brittle. His associates scrambled up. "Of course. We’ll be in touch." The handshake this time was perfunctory. Vance’s eyes held a calculating glint as they swept over Lando once more, then darted towards Oscar. "Always a pleasure, Piastri," he called out, his voice regaining its false bonhomie.

Oscar merely inclined his head, a silent, dismissive acknowledgment. He didn’t move from the doorway as Vance and his team filed out, their footsteps echoing slightly in the suddenly quiet corridor. Maya appeared instantly to usher them towards the elevators.

The door to Lando’s office clicked shut. The silence was immediate, profound. Lando sank back into his chair, the adrenaline draining abruptly, leaving him feeling hollowed out. He stared at the cityscape, the meeting replaying in his mind – Vance’s slick pressure, the veiled threats, the sheer audacity of trying to dismantle what he’d built.

He felt Oscar move before he heard him. The door didn’t open; Oscar simply stepped fully into the room, closing it softly behind him. He walked around the desk, not towards the chairs, but directly to Lando. He didn’t speak. He stopped beside Lando’s chair, looking down at him. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out. His fingers brushed the high collar of Lando’s shirt, tracing the hidden line where silk met skin, where the bruises lay beneath. His touch was a brand, a reminder.

Lando looked up, meeting Oscar’s eyes. The CEO mask was gone. What remained was fierce, possessive pride, and a simmering anger that mirrored Lando’s own. Oscar’s thumb pressed gently against the pulse point in Lando’s neck, feeling the rapid flutter slowing beneath his touch.

"Diamonds," Oscar stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. His gaze held Lando’s, unwavering. "Sharp. Unbreakable." His thumb stroked once, possessively, over the hidden mark. "And mine." He leaned down, his lips brushing Lando’s ear, his breath warm. 

Oscar’s breath tickled Lando’s ear, warm and deliberate. “That ‘diamond’ line?” he murmured, voice rough velvet. “Fucking eviscerated him.” His thumb still pressed against Lando’s pulse, a grounding counterpoint to the adrenaline still humming under Lando’s skin. The scent of Oscar’s vetiver cologne cut through the sterile office air, mixing with the bitter ghost of coffee and Vance’s cheap, aggressive aftershave.

Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d trapped. “He looked like you’d shoved a lemon in his mouth when I said it.” He leaned back into Oscar’s touch, the leather chair groaning softly. The city lights below blurred as exhaustion hit him – the sleepless night, the tactical smiles, the sheer weight of Vance’s greedy stare.

Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s neck to grip his shoulder, fingers digging in just shy of painful. “Told you not to let them smell blood.” Pride sharpened his words. “They smelled defeat instead.” His gaze dropped to the collar hiding the marks from last night, then snapped back to Lando’s face. “Independent growth,” he repeated Lando’s words from the meeting, a challenge lacing the phrase. “You mean it? Or just stalling?”

“Mean it.” Lando met Oscar’s stare, feeling the familiar spark of defiance ignite. “Selling to SkyTech? That’s not growth. That’s extinction. They’d gut my team, repackage the tech, and shove me in some innovation graveyard.” He gestured vaguely at the sleek, minimalist office – his space within Oscar’s empire. “I didn’t build this to become someone’s lab rat.”

A slow, dangerous smile touched Oscar’s lips. “Good.” His grip tightened. “Because if you’d folded? After that pathetic ‘breathe’ line he tried?” He shook his head once, sharply. “Would’ve been disappointed.” The word hung heavy between them, loaded with their history – the pushes, the tests, the unspoken rules of their game.

Lando swallowed. The low thrum of Oscar’s tech empire vibrated through the floor, a constant reminder of his partner’s own ruthless climb. “Disappointed enough to… what? Revoke my coffee privileges?” He forced a weak joke, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the armrests. The memory of Oscar’s demanding control – in bed, in the boardroom – tangled with the lingering buzz of his own victory.

Oscar didn’t laugh. He leaned closer, eclipsing the view of the skyline. His other hand came down on the chair’s other armrest, caging Lando in. The scent of him, pure intensity now, was overwhelming. “Disappointed enough,” he said, each word deliberate, “to remind you who you belong to. Properly.” His gaze dropped to Lando’s mouth. The air crackled, thick with the unsaid – the morning’s soft kisses felt like a century ago.

Lando’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He saw the shift in Oscar’s eyes – the CEO’s cool calculation dissolving into pure, possessive heat. The raw need that only Lando ever saw. It was a drug, that look, and Lando felt himself leaning into it, the defiance momentarily swallowed by a deeper craving.

Oscar’s hands shot out, one fisting in Lando’s shirtfront, the other clamping onto his forearm. He hauled him upright from the chair with a single, powerful jerk. The world tilted. Lando gasped, stumbling forward against Oscar's solid chest as the leather seat sighed behind him.

The expensive silk of Lando’s shirt bunched painfully tight in Oscar’s fist. His forearm burned where Oscar’s fingers clamped, a counterpoint to the sudden, dizzying lack of ground beneath his feet. The world narrowed to the heat radiating from Oscar’s chest against his own, the sharp intake of breath catching in his throat, and the predatory focus in Oscar’s eyes, inches from his own.

“Oscar—” Lando managed, the name half protest, half breathless anticipation. His hands instinctively came up, not to push away, but to grasp the hard planes of Oscar’s shoulders, anchoring himself against the whirlwind intensity. The plush carpet felt unstable beneath his polished Oxfords.

Oscar didn’t speak. His free hand released Lando’s arm only to slide up, fingers tangling roughly in the hair at Lando’s nape. He tilted Lando’s head back with deliberate force, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat where the high collar had slipped slightly, revealing the faint, purpling edge of a bruise. Oscar’s gaze fixed on it for a heartbeat, a low growl vibrating in his chest. Possession. Promise. A reminder etched on skin.

“Mine,” Oscar breathed, the word raw, stripped of CEO polish, resonating with the same primal certainty as when Lando had defied Vance. The scent of vetiver, leather, and pure, unadulterated Oscar filled Lando’s senses, obliterating the sterile office air and the lingering ghost of Vance’s cheap aftershave. The immense glass windows reflected their locked forms, a stark tableau against the sprawling, indifferent cityscape.

Then Oscar closed the final, negligible distance.

His mouth crashed down onto Lando’s.

It wasn't tentative, wasn't the soft morning kisses tangled in silk sheets. This was a claiming. Hot, demanding, relentless. Oscar’s lips moved with bruising pressure, sealing Lando’s gasp. The hand in Lando’s hair held him immobile, while the other still fisted in his shirt, pulling their bodies flush. Heat exploded through Lando, a wildfire erasing the cold dread from the meeting, replacing the hollow exhaustion with pure, molten sensation. He surrendered to it instantly, a moan trapped between their joined mouths.

His fingers tightened on Oscar’s shoulders, digging into the fine wool. He kissed back with equal ferocity, a release of the defiant energy he’d summoned against SkyTech, channeled now into this collision. Teeth scraped, tongues met in a fierce, exploratory clash – coffee, adrenaline, Oscar. The taste was intoxicating, dangerous. Lando’s head spun. The world dissolved into sensation: the hard press of Oscar’s body, the scrape of stubble, the possessive grip anchoring him, the dizzying sweep of Oscar’s tongue mapping his mouth. The silent office, the vast city beyond the glass, the lingering tension of corporate warfare – all ceased to exist. There was only this. Only Oscar’s relentless mouth, his consuming heat, the silent, searing declaration: You are mine. This victory is mine. Lando arched into it, a willing captive, the defiant diamond yielding only to this forge.

Chapter Text

The polished chrome elevator felt suffocating after the raw intensity of Oscar’s office. Lando leaned heavily against the cool wall, eyes closed, the phantom pressure of Oscar’s mouth still burning his lips. The scent of him – vetiver, leather, and something uniquely, aggressively Oscar – clung stubbornly to Lando’s skin and clothes, mingling unpleasantly with the sterile elevator air freshener. His pulse hammered unevenly, a frantic counterpoint to the elevator’s smooth descent.

Oscar stood beside him, unnervingly composed. He’d straightened his own suit jacket, smoothed his tie, the CEO mask firmly back in place. Only the faint flush high on his cheekbones and the lingering predatory stillness in his eyes betrayed the man who’d pinned Lando against his own desk moments ago. His hand rested lightly on Lando’s lower back, a silent claim even now.

"Breathe, Norris," Oscar murmured, his voice low but devoid of the earlier roughness. It was an order, crisp and efficient. "You look like you’ve run a marathon backwards."

Lando forced his eyes open, meeting Oscar’s reflected gaze in the elevator doors. "Feels like it," he rasped, his throat tight. The adrenaline crash was brutal, leaving him shaky and hollowed out. "SkyTech… then… that." He gestured vaguely between them.

Oscar’s thumb rubbed a small, hidden circle against Lando’s spine. "Consider it recalibration." A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "You needed it. After Vance’s bullshit ‘breathe’ line." The contempt in his voice was palpable. "And you handled them perfectly. Sharp. Unbreakable." He echoed his own earlier words, pride warming the statement slightly.

The elevator pinged softly, opening onto the bustling lobby. Sunlight streamed through the towering glass walls, a stark contrast to the dim intensity upstairs. The sudden noise, the movement of people, felt jarring. Oscar’s hand slid firmly to the small of Lando’s back, guiding him through the sleek marble expanse with effortless authority. Heads turned, whispers followed – the dual CEOs, the palpable energy crackling between them even now.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk. The city’s roar hit them – honking cabs, chatter, the rumble of distant construction. Oscar steered Lando left, away from the gleaming corporate towers, towards a narrower side street lined with older brick buildings. The air shifted, warmer, carrying the enticing aroma of roasting coffee beans and baking bread.

"Where are we—?" Lando started, still feeling slightly unmoored.

"Food," Oscar stated, his tone brooking no argument. "You’re running on fumes and adrenaline. Not sustainable." He pushed open an unassuming wooden door, its glass pane fogged with condensation. A bell jingled overhead.

The cafe was a pocket of warmth and quiet chaos. Low ceilings, exposed brick walls lined with bookshelves crammed haphazardly, mismatched wooden tables scattered across a worn hardwood floor. The air was thick with the rich scent of dark roast coffee, cinnamon, and something sweet baking. Soft jazz played under the comfortable murmur of conversation. It felt miles away from the glass-and-steel sterility of their world.

Oscar navigated them towards the back, to a secluded booth draped in deep burgundy velvet. It was tucked into a shadowed corner, shielded by a tall bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks. He slid in first, his long legs stretching beneath the small table, then gestured for Lando to join him on the same side. Not opposite. Beside.

Lando sank into the plush velvet, the softness a shock after the hard lines of his office chair. The booth enveloped him, muffling the cafe sounds into a comforting hum. Oscar shifted, his thigh pressing firmly against Lando’s along the length of the seat. It wasn’t overtly possessive, just… present. Solid. Anchoring.

A waitress appeared, young and cheerful, her apron dusted with flour. "Usual, Mr. Piastri? Double espresso, black? And for you, Mr. Norris? The turkey-avocado on rye, no mayo?"

Oscar nodded curtly. Lando blinked, surprised Oscar remembered his go-to order here. "Yeah. Thanks, Chloe. And… a large latte, please. Extra shot." He needed the caffeine fortress.

Chloe smiled, scribbled, and vanished into the fragrant steam near the counter.

Silence settled between them, thick but comfortable. Lando leaned his head back against the velvet, closing his eyes. The exhaustion was a physical weight. He felt Oscar’s gaze on him, assessing.

"Headache?" Oscar asked quietly.

"Starting," Lando admitted, not opening his eyes. "The SkyTech hangover."

Oscar made a low sound of understanding. His hand, resting on his own thigh, shifted. His fingers brushed lightly against Lando’s knuckles where his hand lay limp on the seat between them. Just a touch. Brief. Reassuring. "They’re scavengers. Vance saw something shiny and wanted to swallow it whole. Your pushback was necessary. Clean."

Lando opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Oscar. The harsh overhead lights of the office were gone. Here, in the cafe’s warm gloom, Oscar looked different. The sharp edges softened slightly. The relentless intensity banked, replaced by a watchful calm. He wasn’t the CEO or the demanding Dom right now. He was just… Oscar. His Oscar.

"It felt good," Lando confessed, his voice low. "Saying no. Telling him his ‘opportunity’ smelled like a coffin for everything I built." He remembered the flicker of surprise in Vance’s eyes, the way Oscar’s silent presence at the door had felt like a fortress wall. "Using your ‘diamond’ line helped."

A genuine, almost imperceptible smile touched Oscar’s lips. "It was apt." He reached out, not for dominance, but to gently push a stray lock of hair off Lando’s forehead. His fingertips lingered for a second on Lando’s temple, cool against the burgeoning throb. "You shone today, Lando. Properly."

The simple praise, devoid of any underlying test or command, warmed Lando more than the latte Chloe deposited moments later. The large ceramic mug steamed invitingly. Oscar’s tiny espresso cup looked severe beside it.

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Lando devoured his sandwich, the simple, good food grounding him further. Oscar sipped his espresso, watching the cafe patrons with detached interest, his leg still a warm line of contact against Lando’s.

Lando found himself leaning incrementally closer, his shoulder pressing against Oscar’s arm. Seeking the solidity. The safety. Oscar didn’t pull away. He shifted his arm slightly, allowing Lando to settle more comfortably against him. His hand returned to rest loosely on Lando’s thigh, over the fine wool of his trousers. Not gripping. Just resting. A warm, heavy weight.

"Remember that dive bar near campus?" Lando murmured, picking at the crust of his sandwich. "The one with the sticky floors and the jukebox that only played sad country songs?"

Oscar snorted softly. "Vividly. You tried to teach me pool. Disastrously."

"You were terrible!" Lando protested, a real smile breaking through his fatigue. "Kept putting spin on the cue ball like it owed you money. Scratched every other shot."

"And you," Oscar countered, a rare lightness in his tone, "spilled cheap lager down your shirt trying to show off a trick shot. Looked like you’d been attacked by a honey badger."

Lando laughed, the sound feeling rusty but good. "God, that beer was awful. Tasted like fermented regret." He nudged Oscar’s leg with his knee under the table. "Still beat you three games straight."

"Beginner's luck fueled by terrible alcohol," Oscar retorted, but there was no bite. He lifted his espresso cup in a mock toast. "To simpler times. And marginally better beer."

They lapsed back into silence, but it was different now. Lighter. The tension from the morning, the raw intensity of their collision in the office, slowly dissolved in the cafe’s warm embrace. Lando finished his latte, the rich coffee and steamed milk soothing. He felt Oscar’s thumb trace a slow, absent circle on his thigh through the fabric. It wasn’t a demand. It was just… contact. Affirmation.

Lando let his head rest fully against Oscar’s shoulder. The fine wool of Oscar’s suit jacket was soft against his cheek. He breathed in the familiar scent – vetiver, coffee, the faint, clean smell of Oscar’s skin beneath it all. The city’s roar was a distant rumble beyond the cafe walls. Here, in their velvet cocoon, with Oscar’s solid presence beside him and the simple comfort of shared food and quiet reminiscing, Lando felt the last knots of tension unravel. The fierce CEO, the defiant diamond facing down SkyTech, the submissive yielding to his Dom… they all faded into the background.

Here, now, he was just Lando. And Oscar was just Oscar. Tangled together in a booth, existing. The relentless push-pull of their dynamic was momentarily suspended, replaced by a profound, uncomplicated sense of belonging. Lando closed his eyes, listening to Oscar’s steady breathing beside him, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The world outside could wait. This pocket of warmth, this shared silence, this simple press of thigh against thigh, was everything he needed. For now.

The last dregs of Lando’s latte were cold and bitter, but he barely tasted them. Sunlight, weak but persistent, slanted through the cafe window, catching dust motes dancing above the empty plates. Oscar’s thumb still traced that slow circle on Lando’s thigh, an anchor point in the quiet hum. The fierce tension of the morning felt like a dream fading, replaced by this deep, bone-weary contentment.

Lando tilted his head, resting his temple more firmly against the solid muscle of Oscar’s shoulder. The fine wool of the suit jacket was smooth and warm. Outside, the city pulsed – engines, shouts, the relentless beat of commerce. It pressed against the cafe’s fragile bubble. He felt a sudden, sharp longing for something else entirely. Something quiet. Simple. Light.

"Oscar?" Lando’s voice was soft, tentative, breaking their shared silence.

A low hum vibrated in Oscar’s chest against Lando’s ear. Acknowledgement. His thumb didn’t stop its motion.

"Instead of going back…" Lando swallowed, the request feeling absurdly large. "Can we… can we just go sit by the lake? Just for a bit? In the sun?" He braced himself for the refusal, the inevitable reminder of the stack of contracts waiting, the emails piling up. Oscar’s schedule ran with military precision; deviations were rare and usually required negotiation.

Oscar went completely still. The rhythmic circle on Lando’s thigh halted. The air between them thickened. Lando could practically hear the calculations clicking behind Oscar’s focused gaze, assessing time, priorities, the unspoken fragility of Lando’s plea. He held his breath.

"Alright."

The single word, spoken low and without preamble, hit Lando like a physical jolt. He lifted his head, pulling back slightly to stare at Oscar’s profile. Oscar wasn’t looking at him; his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the cafe window, towards the distant grid of towers. His jaw was set, but not in its usual stern line – it looked… considering. Almost relaxed.

"Alright?" Lando echoed, stunned. No argument. No raised eyebrow. Just… alright.

Oscar finally turned his head. His eyes, usually sharp enough to cut glass, held an unfamiliar softness. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. "The sun’s out. Briefly." He glanced back towards the city skyline. "Might be the only chance we get today. Or this week." He shifted, the movement dislodging Lando slightly. He signaled the waitress for the check with a precise flick of his fingers. "Five minutes. Then we go." It wasn’t a suggestion.

Lando blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face, pure and unfiltered relief washing over him. He hadn’t had to push. He hadn’t had to fight. Oscar had simply… agreed. The unexpectedness of it felt like a gift. "Yeah," he breathed. "Five minutes. Deal." He leaned back against Oscar’s shoulder, the solidity even more comforting now.

Oscar paid swiftly, his movements efficient as always. He slid out of the booth, towering suddenly in the cramped space. He extended a hand. Not an order. An offer. Lando took it, letting Oscar pull him smoothly to his feet. Oscar’s hand didn’t linger on Lando’s, but his touch felt deliberate. Grounding. He guided Lando towards the door, his usual commanding presence softened by the surprising detour.

The city air hit them, cooler now and smelling of exhaust and damp pavement. Oscar turned left, away from the gleaming monoliths of their offices, towards the older part of the financial district. "This way’s quicker," he stated, already setting a brisk pace. The crowds parted instinctively for him. Lando matched his stride, the simple act of walking beside Oscar, not towards work, feeling illicit and thrilling. Sunlight, weak but genuine, warmed his face.

They navigated narrow streets, past old stone buildings housing bespoke tailors and antique bookshops. The roar of the main avenues faded, replaced by the rhythmic click of their shoes on the pavement and the distant cries of gulls. The scent of the city slowly shifted, the exhaust fumes gradually overpowered by a damp, green smell. Water.

A final turn revealed it. The lake stretched before them, a wide expanse of choppy grey water under the pale afternoon sun. A paved walkway bordered the shore, dotted with benches. Oscar led them towards a relatively secluded one overlooking the water, away from the handful of other people braving the breezy afternoon. The wind tugged at their jackets.

He sat first, the polished wood of the bench cool beneath them. He didn't sprawl, posture still impeccable, but there was a loosening in his shoulders as he looked out over the water. Lando sank down beside him, leaving a few inches of space at first. He stretched his legs out, the simple physical release after hours of tension feeling immense. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold, clean lake air. It tasted different. Free.

Oscar remained silent, gazing at the churning surface, the distant sailboats tilting against the wind. His profile was sharp against the grey water, his expression unreadable. Lando watched him for a moment, the familiar lines of his face rendered strangely unfamiliar in this unexpected context. The calculating CEO, the demanding lover, sitting on a public bench, watching the lake. The silence stretched, comfortable and strange.

Lando shifted closer, closing the small gap between them. His shoulder pressed against Oscar’s arm again. He felt Oscar tense minutely, then deliberately relax. A concession. Oscar didn’t turn his head, but his hand came to rest lightly on Lando’s knee. Not possessive. Present. Anchoring them both to this quiet moment stolen from the machine.

Lando let his head rest back against the cool wood of the bench slats, closing his eyes for a second. The sun warmed his eyelids. The wind ruffled his hair. He heard the rhythmic lap of water against the concrete shore, the cry of a gull overhead. Oscar’s solid warmth beside him, his hand a steady weight. It was simple. It was everything he’d asked for. He opened his eyes, looking out at the endless grey water, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace settle deep within him, fragile and precious. Oscar’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his stillness profound, his presence immense beside him on the bench. The city, their empires, the intricate push and pull of their lives, felt very far away.

The city, their empires, the intricate push and pull of their lives, felt very far away. Only the rhythmic slap of water against concrete, the cry of a distant gull, and Oscar’s solid warmth beside him existed. Lando breathed deep, the damp lake air sharp and clean in his lungs, washing away the lingering phantom scent of leather and tension from Oscar’s office. He felt untethered, light.

Oscar shifted slightly, his tailored shoulder pressing more firmly against Lando’s. His gaze remained fixed on the choppy grey expanse, but his hand slid higher on Lando’s thigh, fingers curling possessively yet gently into the muscle beneath the fine wool. The silence wasn’t empty; it thrummed with the unspoken weight of the morning’s defiance and the unexpected gift of this stolen afternoon. Lando leaned his head against Oscar’s shoulder, the crisp wool soft against his temple.

The wind picked up, whipping strands of hair across Lando’s forehead. Oscar turned his head, finally breaking his contemplation of the water. His eyes, usually sharp enough to dissect a balance sheet, held a softer focus now, studying Lando’s face – the faint shadows beneath his eyes from the SkyTech hangover, the relaxed line of his mouth. He reached up, brushing the stray hair back with surprising tenderness. His thumb lingered on Lando’s cheekbone, cool against the wind-chilled skin.

Lando tilted his face into the touch, a silent plea. Oscar’s gaze darkened, the familiar intensity flickering back, but tempered. He leaned in slowly, deliberately closing the small space between them. The kiss wasn’t like the bruising collision in the office; it was soft, exploratory. A gentle press of lips, unhurried, tasting of lingering espresso and the cool lake air. Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s cheek to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tangling gently in his hair.

Lando sighed into the kiss, melting against Oscar’s side. His own hands found purchase, one fisting loosely in the lapel of Oscar’s impeccable suit jacket, the other sliding beneath the open front of his own coat to rest low on Oscar’s stomach, feeling the hard muscle beneath the crisp shirt. Oscar’s free hand mirrored the movement, slipping beneath Lando’s coat to settle warmly against the small of his back, pulling him fractionally closer. Their breaths mingled, warm puffs in the cool air.

The world narrowed to the feel of Oscar’s lips moving softly against his own, the scratch of his stubble, the secure weight of his hand anchoring Lando’s neck. The lake, the city, the looming responsibilities dissolved into insignificance. There was only this quiet connection, this profound sense of belonging found in the simple press of their bodies on a public bench. Lando’s thumb traced a small circle against Oscar’s stomach through the fine cotton.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, resting his forehead against Oscar’s. His eyes stayed closed, savoring the closeness, the shared warmth. The words bubbled up, unstoppable, a quiet truth escaping on a breath barely louder than the wind rustling nearby reeds. "I love you," Lando whispered, the confession raw and simple against Oscar’s lips.

Oscar didn’t pull away. A slow, genuine smile softened his usually stern features, a rare sight reserved solely for moments like this. He pressed another soft kiss to Lando’s forehead, then murmured against his skin, the words warm and certain. "I love you too." His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Lando’s back, sealing the promise. The wind whipped around them, but within their shared space, a profound stillness held.

Chapter Text

The penthouse windows framed the city like a live circuit board, countless lights blinking against the deepening twilight. Inside, the grand fireplace cast long, dancing shadows across the silk-draped bed and the polished hardwood floor. Oscar stood by the window, a tumbler of neat whiskey catching the firelight, his profile sharp against the glittering sprawl. He’d noticed it for days, a subtle dimming of Lando’s usual energy, a tension tightening the lines around his eyes that not even his playful defiance could fully mask. The easy comfort of the lake felt like a distant memory, buried under the relentless grind.

Lando pushed through the bedroom door, shedding his suit jacket with a weary sigh. He tossed it carelessly over the back of a velvet armchair, a small rebellion against Oscar’s meticulous order. His tie hung loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the faint sheen of sweat at his throat. He moved towards the ensuite bathroom, avoiding Oscar’s gaze reflected in the dark glass.

"You barely touched dinner," Oscar stated, his voice low but cutting through the quiet crackle of the fire.He didn’t turn. "Again."

Lando paused, hand on the bathroom doorframe."Wasn't hungry." His voice was flat, devoid of its usual light rasp. He pushed the door open."Lando." Oscar’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it brooked no dismissal. He finally turned, the firelight catching the planes of his face, his eyes searching Lando’s back."This project. The Sentinel integration. It’s eating you.Talk to me."

Lando stopped inside the bathroom doorway, his shoulders rigid. He leaned his forehead against the cool marble doorframe. "It’s fine, Oscar. Just… a lot of moving parts.Tight deadlines." He sounded like he was reciting a press release."It’s not fine." Oscar set his glass down on the windowsill with a precise click. He crossed the room, his footsteps silent on the thick rug. "You haven’t slept properly in a week. You jump at emails.You’re grinding your teeth." He stopped behind Lando, close but not touching."Look at me."

Lando took a shaky breath, then slowly turned. The bathroom light spilled out, illuminating his face. The strain was etched deep now – dark smudges beneath his eyes, pallor beneath his summer tan. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle jumping near his temple. He wouldn’t meet Oscar’s eyes, focusing instead on the intricate pattern of Oscar’s silk waistcoat.

"Tell me," Oscar commanded, softer now, but no less insistent. He reached out, his thumb brushing the tense line of Lando’s jaw."What’s broken?"

The touch, gentle but probing, was the final pressure point. Lando flinched, a tremor running through him. His eyes snapped up to Oscar’s, wide and suddenly shimmering. His breath hitched, a ragged, wet sound. He opened his mouth, perhaps to deflect, to summon a quip, but nothing came out. Instead, a single, harsh sob ripped from his chest. Then another.And another.

Tears welled, spilling over instantly, tracing hot paths down his cheeks. His shoulders hunched, his whole body seeming to collapse inwards under a weight too heavy to bear. He pressed a fist to his mouth, trying futilely to stifle the raw, wrenching sounds tearing from his throat. The fierce CEO who’d faced down SkyTech, the defiant diamond, was gone, dissolved into this storm of exhausted, helpless tears.Oscar didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance. His strong arms wrapped around Lando, pulling him flush against his chest, enveloping him. One hand cradled the back of Lando’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his face into the solid warmth of Oscar’s shoulder. The other arm locked securely around his back, holding him tight, anchoring him against the tremors shaking his frame.

"Shhh," Oscar murmured into Lando’s hair, the sound a low vibration against his temple. His usual control was present, but channeled entirely into containment, into offering an unyielding shelter."I’ve got you. Just let go.It’s alright."

Lando didn’t fight it. He buried his face deeper into Oscar’s shoulder, his fists clenching the expensive silk of Oscar’s shirt. The sobs came harder, wracking his smaller, stockier frame, muffled against Oscar’s chest. It wasn’t pretty crying; it was ugly, gasping, the dam breaking after weeks of relentless pressure. Tears soaked into the fine fabric. Oscar simply held him, his embrace firm and unshakeable. He began to rock them gently, a slow, rhythmic sway from side to side, a physical lullaby against the storm.

The fire crackled. The city glowed silently beyond the glass. In the opulent bedroom, the only sounds were Lando’s ragged breaths, the wet hitches of his sobs, and the soft whisper of silk as Oscar rocked him.

Minutes stretched, measured by the slowing tremors in Lando’s body. The violent sobs gradually subsided into shuddering breaths, then into quieter, hitching sighs muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar never stopped the slow rocking, his hand a steady pressure on the back of Lando’s head, his other arm a secure band around him. He rested his cheek against the top of Lando’s head, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair mixed with salt and exhaustion.

Finally, Lando’s breathing evened out, though it still hitched occasionally. He remained pressed against Oscar, his face hidden, his grip on Oscar’s shirt loosening but not letting go. The silence that followed was thick, saturated with spent emotion and the profound intimacy of witnessed vulnerability."Better?" Oscar asked softly, his voice a low rumble against Lando’s ear.

A small, shaky nod against his shoulder. Lando pulled back slightly, just enough to wipe his face with the heel of his hand, avoiding Oscar’s gaze. His eyes were swollen, his cheeks blotchy. He looked utterly wrung out, younger than his years.

Oscar didn’t force him to look up. He kept one arm around Lando’s back, his thumb rubbing slow circles over his spine. With his free hand, he gently tilted Lando’s chin up. His touch was firm but infinitely tender. Lando met his eyes, finally. The fierce intelligence was still there, but clouded with exhaustion and a residue of raw hurt.

"Now," Oscar said, his voice quiet but steel-strong."Tell me about Sentinel. Every broken cog. Every impossible demand." He brushed a stray tear track from Lando’s cheek with his thumb."Start from the beginning. I'm listening." It wasn't just a command; it was a promise. An unspoken declaration that Lando’s burden was now theirs to dismantle, piece by jagged piece.The storm had passed. Now came the reckoning, and Oscar Piastri was all in.

The city’s electric glow bled through the windows, painting patterns on the silk sheets. Oscar’s arms remained a secure fortress around Lando, a silent demand for truth wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. The fire crackled, a low counterpoint to the ragged edge still clinging to Lando’s breath.

Lando swallowed hard, the sound loud in the hushed room. He kept his forehead pressed against Oscar’s shoulder, finding solace in the solid muscle beneath the damp silk. "It’s the Legacy Code," he mumbled, the words thick with exhaustion. "Sentinel’s entire backend... it’s a dinosaur held together with digital duct tape." A tremor ran through him again, frustration bubbling beneath the spent tears. "My team’s brilliant, but patching it… it’s like trying to perform open-heart surgery while the patient’s running a marathon."

Oscar listened, utterly still but for the slow, soothing circles his thumb traced on Lando’s spine. He pressed a feather-light kiss to Lando’s temple. "Deep breaths, love. One disaster at a time. What’s the critical pressure point? The thing that’s making you grind your teeth to dust?" His voice was calm, analytical, the sharp CEO cutting through the emotional static to the core problem.

"Syncing," Lando burst out, pulling back just enough to meet Oscar’s gaze. His eyes, still red-rimmed, flashed with the fierce intelligence Oscar adored. "The old API framework clashes violently with our new security protocols. Every data handshake is a potential failure." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "We’re losing hours every day just diagnosing communication errors. The deadline’s breathing down our necks like a rabid dog, and the board…" He trailed off, biting his lip.

Oscar gently tilted Lando’s chin up. "The board sees delays, not duct tape." He leaned in, brushing the briefest, softest kiss against Lando’s lips. "Forget them for now. Focus. Have you tried isolating the sync module? Decoupling it from the mainframe load? Mock environments are useless if they’re not truly isolated." His advice was technical, precise, offering a lifeline of strategy. A tiny, unexpected giggle escaped Lando, startled by the kiss amidst the tech talk. Oscar’s lips quirked in satisfaction.

"Yeah, yeah, tried the sandbox," Lando sighed, a ghost of his usual wryness returning. He leaned into Oscar’s touch, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. "The isolation flag gets ignored half the time. It’s like the core architecture wants to bleed into everything." He gestured vaguely, energy returning with his frustration. "We get one module stable, then the authentication layer throws a tantrum because it misses its archaic dependencies. It’s infuriating!"

"Architectural tantrums," Oscar murmured, another quick kiss landing on Lando’s lips, stealing the curse he saw forming. "Classic. So the dependencies are non-negotiable? Can’t virtualize them? Containerize the entire legacy beast?" He watched the gears turn behind Lando’s eyes, the problem-solving engine kicking back into gear now that the panic was receding. Lando nodded slowly, a spark of hope dawning. "We… we started exploring containerization, but resources…"

"Resources I can provide," Oscar stated, no room for doubt. "Tomorrow. Names, specs, I’ll clear the path." He smoothed a thumb over the lingering dampness on Lando’s cheekbone. "And the SkyTech team? Still playing hardball?" He recalled Lando’s tension after their lunch meeting, the unspoken friction.

Lando huffed. "Hardball? More like passive-aggressive obstruction. Every request for clarification takes days. Their lead architect acts like explaining his spaghetti code is beneath him." He paused, gathering his thoughts, the words flowing more easily now, purged by tears and Oscar’s steady presence. Oscar listened intently, interjecting only with sharp, practical suggestions – "Escalate to their CTO," "Demand paired debugging sessions," – punctuated by those brief, grounding kisses that consistently made Lando’s lips twitch upwards.

The litany of frustrations poured out: impossible deadlines, uncooperative partners, technical quagmires. Oscar absorbed it all, his gaze never leaving Lando’s face, his occasional questions razor-focused, his advice cutting to the heart of each challenge. With every shared breath, every murmured solution, and every unexpected kiss that dissolved a frown into a reluctant smile, the crushing weight visibly lifted from Lando’s stocky frame. The firelight softened the harsh lines of exhaustion on his face, replaced by a weary but focused determination Oscar recognized – the quiet strength beneath the playful exterior. Lando finally wound down, resting his head back against Oscar’s shoulder, the frantic energy replaced by a profound, bone-deep tiredness. "So… containerize the chaos, strong-arm SkyTech, pray to the tech gods?" he murmured, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips.

Oscar tightened his hold, pressing a longer, firmer kiss to the top of Lando’s head. "Exactly. And remember," he added, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble against Lando’s ear, "you’re not alone in the trenches this time. I’m your very aggressive backup plan." He felt Lando’s slow exhale, the last tremors of stress finally easing. The city lights blinked below, the fire sighed, and Oscar held the reclaimed light of his world close. No more tears. Just the quiet hum of shared resolve, and the warmth where their bodies met.

Silence stretched, thick with the aftershocks of tears and the comforting warmth of Oscar’s embrace. The fire had settled into embers, casting deep, shifting shadows across the room. Outside, the city lights blurred into a distant, indifferent galaxy. Lando’s head remained a comforting weight on Oscar’s shoulder, his breathing finally deep and even, the frantic tension replaced by a profound, weary stillness.

Oscar kept his arms locked around him, the silk of Lando’s shirt soft under his palms. He traced idle patterns on Lando’s back, feeling the solid warmth of him, the life contained within the smaller, sturdy frame. The sharp urgency of Sentinel’s technical chaos, the corporate skirmishes with SkyTech, felt momentarily distant, muffled by the quiet intimacy of the room and the sheer relief of seeing Lando emerge from the crushing weight.

"You know," Lando murmured, his voice rough and sleep-slurred against Oscar’s collarbone, "I genuinely thought I was holding it together." A faint, self-deprecating huff escaped him. "Like, Oscar-level composure. Fooled myself good." He tilted his head back slightly, just enough for Oscar to see the ghost of a wry smile touching his chapped lips. His eyes, though still puffy, held a clarity that had been missing for days.

Oscar met his gaze, a faint answering curve at the corner of his own mouth. "Your Oscar-level composure needs work," he stated dryly, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from Lando’s forehead. The gesture was possessive, tender. "Leaks like a sieve." He felt the vibration of Lando’s soft chuckle against his chest.

"Shut up," Lando retorted, the familiar playful defiance sparking, weak but present. He snuggled closer, tucking his head back into the curve of Oscar’s neck. "Just… thanks. For… this." He gestured vaguely with one hand, encompassing the dark room, the quiet, the unshakeable hold Oscar had on him. "For seeing through the bullshit act. For making me drop it." He paused, his next words muffled but clear enough. "For being you."

Oscar tightened his arms fractionally, a silent acknowledgment. He pressed his lips to Lando’s temple, breathing in the scent of salt, exhaustion, and the familiar, clean undertone that was purely him. "Always," he murmured, the single word heavy with unspoken vows.

Lando was quiet for another long moment, the only sound the low sigh of the embers and the faint rush of city noise far below. Then, he shifted again, pulling back just enough to look Oscar full in the face. The firelight caught in his eyes, turning them liquid and deep. All traces of wryness, of playful deflection, vanished, replaced by a raw, startling intensity.

His hands came up, framing Oscar’s face. The touch was deliberate, grounding. "Oscar," he said, his voice low and thick, stripped bare. "I love you. So fucking much. You know that, right?"

Oscar met his gaze, held it. "I know," he replied, his voice steady, a bedrock.

But Lando shook his head, a tiny, fierce movement. "No," he insisted, his thumbs brushing Oscar’s cheekbones. "I don’t think you really know. Not the weight of it." He swallowed. "This project, this pressure… it felt like it was crushing me. But the only thing… the only thing that cut through the noise, the only thing that actually, genuinely terrified me…" His voice cracked, the intensity burning brighter. "…was the thought of failing you. Of letting you down. Of somehow dimming that… that fucking impossible light you see in me."

He drew a ragged breath, his eyes searching Oscar’s, demanding he understand the magnitude. "Oscar, you are…" He paused, struggling for words grand enough, simple enough. "…you are the single most important thing in my whole goddamn life. More than the company, more than the code, more than any of it. You’re my centre. My gravity. Everything else just… orbits."

The words landed in the quiet room like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples through the air. They weren't extravagant metaphors, but stark, fundamental declarations carved from Lando’s core. The raw honesty of it, the sheer vulnerability offered without reservation after his own breakdown, was staggering. Oscar stared at him, the sharp CEO, the unflappable strategist, momentarily stripped of all calculation.

He felt it hit him somewhere deep in his chest, a physical ache expanding beneath his ribs. Not pain, but something vast and overwhelming, a pressure building behind his eyes. His throat tightened unexpectedly, a sharp, unfamiliar constriction. He tried to breathe through it, but the image of Lando, broken and sobbing against him just minutes ago, declaring this – the utter centrality of his existence in Lando’s universe – was too much.

Lando’s gaze, still locked on his, widened slightly. He saw it. The subtle tremor in Oscar’s jaw. The faint, alarming sheen suddenly glazing those usually impenetrable dark eyes.

"Oscar?" Lando whispered, his own voice hushed with awe and sudden worry, his thumbs stilling on Oscar’s cheeks.

A single, traitorous tear escaped the corner of Oscar’s left eye. It tracked a slow, hot path down his cheekbone, catching the low light before Lando’s thumb could catch it. Oscar didn’t move. He just held Lando’s gaze, his own expression a tumult of shock and overwhelming emotion he hadn’t felt – hadn’t allowed himself to feel – since he was eight years old.

Christ.

The single tear felt alien, scalding against Oscar’s cheek. Lando’s thumb brushed it away, but the sensation lingered, a crack in his meticulously maintained armour. He stared at Lando, speechless, the raw declaration – You are the single most important thing – echoing in the sudden, fragile silence, louder than any boardroom confrontation.

"Oh, Oscar..." Lando sighed softly, his voice thick with awe and tenderness. He leaned in, kissing the damp trail the tear had left, his lips warm and impossibly gentle against Oscar’s cheekbone. The simple act shattered something inside Oscar, releasing a tension he hadn’t acknowledged until it snapped. He closed his eyes, a shudder running through him, leaning into the kiss like a man starved for an anchor.

Lando didn’t pull back. His hands slid from Oscar’s face, down the strong column of his neck, coming to rest firmly on his shoulders. He pressed another kiss, firmer this time, just below Oscar’s jaw. "Hey," he murmured, the word a vibration against Oscar’s skin. "Look at me."

Oscar forced his eyes open. The city lights reflected in the lingering wetness in his own eyes, making them shimmer. Seeing Oscar like this – stripped bare, undone by devotion – seemed to ignite something fierce and protective in Lando. His gaze wasn’t pitying; it was blazing, possessive. "That light in me?" Lando whispered, his fingers tightening slightly on Oscar’s shoulders. "You put it there. You are it. Don’t you ever forget that." He punctuated the words with another kiss, this time on the corner of Oscar’s mouth, tasting salt and something uniquely vulnerable.

The analytical part of Oscar’s mind tried to retreat, to catalog this unprecedented emotional rupture, but Lando’s proximity, his touch, his unwavering certainty, drowned it out. A low, ragged sound escaped Oscar’s throat, not a sob, but a deep, visceral exhalation of surrender. He surged forward, capturing Lando’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was claiming, desperate, a silent roar of affirmation and need. His hands gripped Lando’s waist, pulling him flush, erasing the scant inches between them.

Lando met the intensity head-on, a soft moan escaping him as Oscar’s tongue swept into his mouth. He yielded instantly, melting against Oscar’s lean frame, hands sliding up to tangle in his dark hair. The kiss deepened, a frantic, searching connection. All the stress, the tears, the declarations – they fused into this single, consuming point of contact. The cool silk of Oscar’s shirt bunched under Lando’s fingers, the heat of his body radiating through the fabric.

Oscar broke the kiss only to trail his lips down Lando’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below his ear. "Mine," he growled against Lando’s pulse point, the word vibrating with primal certainty. It wasn’t a demand; it was a reaffirmation of the truth Lando had just laid bare. His hand slid under the hem of Lando’s shirt, finding the warm, solid plane of his back. The skin was smooth, familiar, yet electric under his touch. He needed more contact, more of this grounding heat.

Lando arched into the touch, breath hitching. "Yours," he gasped, the word a ragged agreement, a surrender that felt like victory. His own hands fumbled with the buttons of Oscar’s waistcoat, needing the barrier gone. "Always, Oscar. God, always." He pushed the waistcoat open, fingers scrambling over the damp shirt beneath, seeking skin. The fire crackled, casting long, leaping shadows that danced across the taut lines of Oscar’s back as Lando worked.

Oscar helped, shrugging out of the waistcoat, letting it pool on the floor without a glance. His focus was entirely on Lando – the feel of his stocky body pressed close, the rapid thud of his heart against Oscar’s chest, the scent of salt and exhaustion now overlaid with the sharp tang of shared arousal. His hand slid around to Lando’s front, fingers splaying possessively over his stomach, feeling the muscles tense and release beneath his palm.

He guided them backwards, step by slow step, towards the expanse of the silk-draped bed. The city sprawled below, indifferent, as Oscar lowered Lando onto the cool sheets. He followed him down, covering Lando’s body with his own, a solid weight offering unspoken security. Their eyes locked in the dimness, the shared vulnerability of moments ago transformed into something potent, intimate.

Lando reached up, tracing the line of Oscar’s jaw, his touch reverent. "Show me," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "Show me I'm yours." It was an offering, an invitation Oscar couldn’t refuse. He captured Lando’s lips again, the kiss deepening into something slower, more deliberate. His hands began a meticulous exploration, rediscovering every curve, every plane, every sensitive spot that made Lando gasp and arch beneath him.

The frantic edge softened, replaced by a profound, building connection. The tears, the stress of Sentinel, the looming deadlines – they faded into the periphery. Here, in the hushed sanctuary of the fire-lit bedroom, there was only the shared warmth, the slide of skin on skin, the low murmurs and breathless sighs weaving a new reality. Oscar poured everything into his touch – the fierce protectiveness, the overwhelming gratitude, the deep, consuming desire. It was a language older than words, a silent promise echoed in every caress, every possessive grip: You are my centre. My gravity. Mine. Lando surrendered to it completely, finding solace not in release from control, but in the absolute certainty of belonging. The fire sighed, the city hummed, and the world outside ceased to exist. 

Chapter Text

The city below was a muted smear of dawn light, pale gold bleeding into the grey remnants of night. Inside the penthouse, the air hung still, thick with the lingering scent of expensive cologne, sex, and deep, exhausted sleep. Oscar lay on his back, one arm pinned beneath Lando, who was sprawled half across his chest, a warm, solid weight. Lando’s breathing was deep and even, his face relaxed in a way Oscar hadn’t seen for weeks, the shadows beneath his eyes softened. Oscar traced idle patterns on the smooth, warm skin of Lando’s bare shoulder, the silk sheet pooling low around their hips. The profound vulnerability of the night before – Lando’s raw sobs, his own shocking tear, the naked declarations – felt both monumental and strangely settled, a storm that had cleared the air, leaving a deep, resonant calm. The fire had burnt down to cold ash.

Lando stirred, a soft grunt escaping him as he burrowed closer, his nose pressing against Oscar’s collarbone. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. For a long moment, he just breathed, absorbing the solid reality of Oscar beneath him, the quiet rhythm of his heart.

"Morning," Oscar murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He tightened his arm around Lando’s back.

"Mm." Lando tilted his head back, meeting Oscar’s gaze. A faint, lazy smile touched his lips, but beneath the sleepy contentment, Oscar saw the sharp edge of calculation returning, the fierce intelligence resurfacing. It was the look Lando got when he was about to push, to test a boundary, to ask for something specific. "Sleep okay?" Lando asked, his voice husky. His fingers began tracing the defined line of Oscar’s pectoral muscle.

"Like the dead," Oscar admitted. "You?"

"Better." Lando’s fingertip circled a small, faded bruise high on Oscar’s chest. "Much better." He fell quiet, the rhythmic tracing continuing. The silence stretched, comfortable but charged. Oscar waited. He knew that look.

"Oscar?" Lando finally said, his voice dropping lower, losing its sleep-soft edges.

"Lando."

"After last night..." Lando paused, searching Oscar’s face. "...the crying, the... everything. I feel... raw. Cleansed, maybe? But also... untethered."

Oscar nodded slowly, understanding threading through him. The intense emotional release needed a counterpoint. A way to reclaim control by surrendering it completely. "Go on."

Lando took a breath, his gaze unwavering. "I need..." He swallowed. "I need you to break me apart. Properly. And then put me back together again." The words weren't a whisper; they were a clear, deliberate request, stripped of any playful deflection. His eyes held Oscar’s, wide and serious, the blue depths intense. "I need to feel you. Only you. Nothing else. Can you… will you?"

Oscar’s chest tightened. He saw the need there, stark and undeniable. It wasn't about punishment or distraction; it was about the deep, visceral connection, the profound trust, the absolute certainty found only at the limits of control. He remembered Lando’s exhaustion, the strain, but he also saw the steel beneath, the quiet determination asking for this specific catharsis. His thumb brushed Lando’s cheekbone. "You’re sure? After yesterday?"

Lando nodded firmly. "Especially after yesterday. Need the noise gone. Need to be… yours. Completely. Just for a while." His hand slid down Oscar’s torso, a deliberate, possessive touch. "Make me forget everything but you."

A slow heat ignited in Oscar’s veins, a familiar, powerful current. He saw the flicker of challenge, of trust, in Lando’s eyes. The submissive plea wrapped in quiet strength. It called to the core of him – the strategist, the controller, the fiercely protective lover. He rolled, pinning Lando beneath him in one fluid motion, his body covering Lando’s smaller, stockier frame. He braced himself on his forearms, caging Lando in. The air crackled between them.

"Green?" Oscar asked, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative register that brooked no evasion.

Lando’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating. "Green," he breathed, his voice already losing some of its steadiness. "Always green for you."

Oscar held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, reading the absolute surrender, the fierce trust. Then he moved. Fast. Efficient. He captured both of Lando’s wrists in one strong hand, pinning them above his head against the cool silk of the pillow. The sudden restraint made Lando gasp, a sharp intake of air. Oscar didn't pause. His other hand tangled roughly in Lando’s hair, tilting his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.

"You're mine," Oscar stated, the words a low rumble against Lando’s skin as he leaned down, teeth grazing the pulse point fluttering wildly beneath his lips. He didn't ask; he declared. "Nothing else exists. Not Sentinel. Not SkyTech. Not the fucking city. Only this. Only me." He punctuated each word with a sharp nip, not enough to break skin, but enough to sting, to claim.

Lando arched beneath him, a choked whimper escaping his throat. His body thrummed with tension, but he didn't struggle against the grip on his wrists. Instead, he pressed up, seeking the bite of Oscar’s teeth, the press of his body. "Yours," he gasped. "Only yours, Oscar. Please..."

Oscar released his hair, his hand sliding down the front of Lando’s body – over the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the taut plane of his stomach. He mapped the familiar territory with deliberate pressure, possessive and grounding. His touch wasn't gentle; it was demanding, forcing Lando’s awareness solely onto the points of contact. He reached the waistband of the silk pajama bottoms Lando still wore. With a sharp tug, he yanked them down and off, discarding them carelessly over the side of the bed. The cool morning air hit Lando’s skin, making him shiver, his erection already straining.

"Look at me," Oscar commanded, shifting his weight to maintain the pin on Lando’s wrists. Lando’s eyes snapped open, wide and dark, fixed on Oscar’s face. Oscar held that gaze as his free hand wrapped firmly around Lando’s cock. Not stroking, just holding. Possessing. The heat, the velvety hardness under his palm, sent a jolt of pure want through Oscar. He squeezed, deliberately, watching the desperate flicker in Lando’s eyes, the way his hips twitched involuntarily.

"Feel that?" Oscar murmured, his thumb rubbing a rough circle over the head, slicking with pre-come. "That’s mine. This body? Mine. This breath? Mine. This mind?" He tightened his grip slightly, making Lando suck in another sharp breath. "Empty it. Give it to me."

He released Lando’s wrists abruptly. "On your knees. Head down, ass up. Now." The command left no room for hesitation.

Lando scrambled to obey, the movement fluid despite the tremor running through him. He knelt facing the headboard, folding forward until his forehead pressed against the cool silk, his back arched, presenting himself. Oscar watched the familiar, beautiful lines of him – the strong shoulders, the dip of his spine, the curve of his ass. Vulnerable. Offered. His.

Oscar stood beside the bed for a moment, letting the silence stretch, thick with anticipation. He opened the discreet drawer in the nightstand. The soft rasp of leather, the quiet clink of metal sounded unnaturally loud. He selected a short, thick flogger, the falls smooth and heavy, and a length of soft, braided rope. Lando’s breath quickened, his fingers clenching in the sheets, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His submission was a palpable force in the room.

Oscar moved back to the bed. He ran a hand down Lando’s spine, from the nape of his neck to the base, a slow, assessing caress. He felt the minute tremors under his touch. "Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. Then his hand flattened, pressed firmly between Lando’s shoulder blades, pushing his chest lower into the bed, arching his back further. "Stay."

The first impact wasn't a strike with the flogger. It was the flat of Oscar’s hand, landing sharp and stinging across the fullest part of Lando’s ass. A sudden, shocking crack in the quiet. Lando jerked, a gasp ripped from him. Before he could process it, another landed beside it, then another. Sharp, precise, painting heat across his skin. Oscar watched the flesh flush pink, the marks of his palm blooming. He kept the rhythm steady, methodical, covering the expanse. Each slap echoed, a punctuation mark in the tense silence. Lando’s breathing grew ragged, punctuated by small, bitten-off sounds. He pushed back into each strike, his body pleading for more even as it flinched.

"Count," Oscar commanded, his voice calm, detached. The controller setting parameters.

"One," Lando gasped after the next slap. "T-two." His voice was thick. "Three." He buried his face harder into the pillow. "Four." Oscar increased the force slightly. "Five!" Lando cried out, his back bowing, the muscle standing out in sharp relief.

Oscar paused, letting the heat build, the sting deepen. He trailed the tips of the flogger falls lightly over the heated skin, a teasing counterpoint. Lando whimpered, pushing back against the faint touch. Oscar raised the flogger, bringing it down with a practiced flick of his wrist. The heavy falls landed with a distinct thud, spreading impact deep into the muscle, a different sensation entirely from the sharp sting of his hand. Lando gasped, his whole body tensing. Oscar settled into a rhythm – slow, deliberate impacts with the flogger, focusing on the meat of the ass, the upper thighs. The heavy thuds resonated through the room, a primal counterpoint to Lando’s increasingly ragged breaths and choked-off moans. Sweat beaded on his back, catching the pale dawn light.

"Ten," Lando managed after another deep thud, his voice trembling. "Eleven." He was trembling all over now, not just from the impact, but from the effort of holding position, of surrendering, of focusing only on Oscar’s will and the sensations he delivered.

Oscar stopped. He dropped the flogger on the bed beside them. He ran his hands over the heated, sensitized skin, feeling the heat radiating, the slight swelling. "Good," he murmured. "So good for me." He picked up the rope. "Hold still." He began to bind Lando’s wrists efficiently behind his back, the braided cord snug but not cutting. The restraint was symbolic as much as physical, another layer of surrender. Lando submitted silently, his breathing shallow and fast.

Oscar positioned himself behind Lando. He gripped his hips firmly, pulling him back onto his knees. His own erection pressed hard against Lando’s heated, marked skin. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against Lando’s bound back, his mouth finding the shell of Lando’s ear. "Mine," he breathed again, the word hot and possessive. "All this heat. All this need. Mine to use." He reached around, his hand finding Lando’s cock again, hard and leaking. He stroked slowly, deliberately, contrasting the rough handling of moments before. The dual sensation – the deep ache in his ass, the firm, possessive grip on his cock – made Lando cry out, a raw, unfiltered sound. He pushed back against Oscar, thrusting shallowly into his hand.

Oscar let him for a moment, then tightened his grip, stilling his hips. "I decide the pace," he growled. His other hand slid down, fingers pressing firmly against Lando’s entrance, slick with the lube he’d discreetly applied. He pressed one finger in, slow and inexorable, feeling the tight heat clench around him. Lando moaned, long and low, his head dropping forward. Oscar worked him open with methodical precision, one finger, then two, stretching, scissoring, ignoring Lando’s desperate whimpers and the way he tried to push back for more, faster. Oscar maintained control, the pace agonizingly slow, building the pressure until Lando was trembling violently, sweat dripping down his temples, little punched-out sounds escaping him with each movement of Oscar’s fingers.

"Oscar... please..." Lando begged, the word ragged, torn from his throat. "Please, I need... I need..."

"What do you need?" Oscar demanded, his voice rough, his own control fraying at the edges, mesmerized by the wrecked beauty beneath him.

"You," Lando gasped. "Need you inside. Fucking need it. Please!"

Oscar withdrew his fingers. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock pressing against Lando’s entrance. He met Lando’s eyes over his shoulder, seeing the desperate, glazed hunger there, the absolute surrender. "Mine," he stated, the final declaration. And he pushed in.

Slow. Relentless. Filling him completely. Lando’s cry was a guttural sound of relief and overwhelming sensation. He clenched around Oscar, his body welcoming the deep invasion. Oscar bottomed out, holding himself deep, burying his face in the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Lando’s neck, breathing him in, overwhelmed by the tight, possessive heat. He gave Lando a moment to adjust, to feel the sheer, stretching fullness, the profound connection.

Then he moved. Hard. Deep thrusts that drove Lando forward with each snap of his hips. No finesse. Pure claiming. The sound of skin slapping against heated skin filled the room, underscored by Lando’s choked cries, Oscar’s own ragged breaths, and the rhythmic creak of the bed. Oscar gripped Lando’s bound wrists, using them for leverage, pulling him back onto each thrust, forcing him to take it all. He watched the play of muscles in Lando’s back, the sheen of sweat, the red marks blooming across his ass and thighs. He felt Lando’s body clench and spasm around him, heard the desperate, broken sounds ripped from his throat, and it fueled him, a dark, powerful current.

He reached around again, finding Lando’s cock slick and hard. He stroked him in time with his punishing thrusts, the rhythm brutal and perfect. Lando shattered. A hoarse, wordless scream tore from him as he came, his body convulsing violently, tightening almost painfully around Oscar in wave after wave. The intensity ripped Oscar over the edge moments later. He drove deep, holding Lando immobile, his own release crashing through him with blinding force, filling the tight heat, a primal, possessive claim. He collapsed forward over Lando’s back, his weight pressing him down into the silk, both of them gasping, trembling, utterly spent.

The only sounds were their harsh, ragged breathing and the distant hum of the waking city. Oscar carefully released Lando’s bound wrists, fumbling slightly with the knots before the rope fell away. He rolled them both onto their sides, pulling Lando back tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Lando was boneless, trembling, his skin fever-hot. Oscar pressed kisses to his shoulder, his neck, tasting salt and sweat.

"Green?" Oscar murmured against his skin, his voice wrecked.

Lando turned his head weakly, seeking Oscar’s lips. The kiss was soft, slow, a world away from the preceding intensity. "So green," Lando whispered, the word a breath against Oscar’s lips, heavy with exhaustion and profound relief. His body remained utterly lax against Oscar’s, trembling subsiding into an occasional deep shiver, the heat of their exertion still radiating from his skin. Oscar tightened his embrace, his own breathing gradually slowing, anchoring them both in the quiet sanctuary of tangled silk and shared warmth. He pressed another soft kiss to Lando’s temple, tasting the salt of dried sweat.

"Stay," Oscar murmured, his voice rough but infinitely gentle now, the commanding edge dissolved. He carefully disentangled himself just enough to slide out from beneath Lando, who made a small, protesting sound in the back of his throat. "Shh, I’m right here. Just getting something." The cool air hit Oscar’s skin as he moved, a stark contrast to the heat they’d generated. He padded barefoot across the plush rug to the en suite bathroom.

The marble tiles felt cool underfoot. He quickly ran warm water over a soft washcloth, the steam rising momentarily before he wrung it out. He grabbed a fluffy towel too. Returning, he found Lando hadn't moved, still sprawled face down, the marks Oscar had left stark and beautiful against his pale skin – blooming reds and pinks across his ass and thighs. Oscar knelt beside the bed. "Gonna clean you up, okay?" His touch was feather-light as he began, starting with the damp cloth gently wiping the sweat from Lando’s neck and shoulders.

"Mmhmm," Lando sighed, a sound of pure contentment. He turned his head slightly, cheek pillowed on his arm, watching Oscar through half-lidded eyes. The fierce tension of before, the driven CEO, was replaced by a soft, pliant vulnerability. Oscar worked methodically, the warm cloth moving with careful reverence over Lando’s heated skin, tracing the contours of his spine, the curve of his flank, avoiding the most sensitized areas for now. Each pass of the cloth was followed by the soft press of Oscar’s lips – a kiss on a shoulder blade, another where neck met shoulder.

He moved lower, his touch becoming even more tender as he reached the flushed skin of Lando’s backside. The cloth barely skimmed the surface, just enough to soothe, not to abrade. Oscar leaned down, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses along the crest of one heated cheek, then the other, feeling the residual warmth beneath his lips. Lando shivered again, but this time it seemed rooted in pleasure, a deep sigh escaping him. "Feels nice," he mumbled, his voice thick and sleepy.

"Good," Oscar murmured against his skin, the word vibrating softly. He carefully turned Lando onto his side, supporting his weight. The movement was slow, mindful of any lingering sensitivity. He continued with the cloth, wiping Lando’s chest, his stomach, his thighs, each cleansing stroke followed by the same tender ritual: the soft press of lips on cleansed skin – on a collarbone, the dip of a hip bone, the inside of a wrist. He dried him gently with the towel, the soft fibres absorbing the dampness. "All right, up you get for a second."

He helped Lando sit up, supporting his back. Lando leaned heavily against him, his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder, eyes closed. Oscar reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, holding it to Lando’s lips. "Drink. Slowly." Lando obeyed, taking small sips, the water cool and grounding. Oscar watched the line of his throat work, placing another kiss on his sweat-damp hairline.

Once the glass was half-empty, Oscar set it aside. He pulled back the rumpled, sweat-damp silk sheets on the clean side of the massive bed. "In you go." He guided Lando down onto the cool, fresh linen, watching him sink into the mattress with a groan of profound relief. Oscar quickly shed his own discarded pajama bottoms and slid in beside him, immediately gathering Lando close. The clean sheets felt crisp against their skin, the scent of expensive detergent mixing with their own fading musk.

He pulled the soft duvet up over them both, tucking it around Lando’s shoulders. Lando instinctively curled into Oscar’s chest, seeking his heat, his solidity. Oscar wrapped both arms around him, one hand splayed possessively across Lando’s back, the other gently cupping the back of his head, fingers threading into the soft, damp strands. He pressed his lips to Lando’s forehead. Then another kiss on his temple. One on the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was unhurried, a soft punctuation mark in the quiet.

"Osc..." Lando breathed, his voice barely audible, muffled against Oscar’s skin. He tilted his face up slightly.

"Yeah?" Oscar’s response was a whisper, his lips brushing Lando’s hairline again.

"Thank you." The words were simple, heavy with unspoken layers – gratitude for the shattering, for the claiming, for the meticulous, tender reassembly happening now. "For putting me back." He nuzzled closer, his breath warm on Oscar’s neck.

Oscar didn’t answer with words. He simply held him tighter, the steady beat of his heart a counterpoint beneath Lando’s ear. He continued his silent ministrations, his lips a gentle, constant reassurance moving over Lando’s skin: soft kisses peppering his forehead, his closed eyelids, the curve of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. The fire was long cold, but the penthouse bedroom held a different kind of warmth now, thick and safe and deeply intimate, built from shared breath, intertwined limbs, and the endless, gentle pressure of Oscar’s lips anchoring Lando firmly in the peace he’d craved. The city skyline lightened with the approaching dawn outside the vast windows, casting the room in soft blues and greys, but inside their cocoon, time felt suspended, defined only by the rhythm of Oscar’s soft kisses and Lando’s deepening, even breaths as he finally drifted towards sleep, held securely within the circle of Oscar’s care.

Chapter Text

The deep, slow rhythm of Lando’s breathing was the only sound beyond the distant, muted hum of the city far below. Oscar lay on his back, propped against a mountain of pillows, one arm a heavy, comforting weight across Lando’s back. Lando was curled into his side, a warm, solid presence molded against him. His head rested on Oscar’s chest, rising and falling with each breath. The silk sheet pooled around their waists, leaving their torsos bare except for the faint, fading marks – pink smudges and the distinct lattice of rope burns circling Lando’s wrists – stark against his skin in the weak morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Oscar’s free hand traced idle, slow patterns on Lando’s shoulder blade. His touch was feather-light, mindful of the sensitivity lingering from the flogger’s deep thuds. Lando hummed, a low vibration against Oscar’s sternum, and burrowed impossibly closer, his leg hooking over Oscar’s thigh. He felt completely boneless, the taut wire of stress and responsibility that usually thrummed beneath his playful exterior utterly dissolved. The profound exhaustion wasn’t just physical; it was the deep, heavy peace of someone who’d been shattered and meticulously rebuilt within the circle of absolute trust.

"Still with me?" Oscar murmured, his voice a low rumble Lando felt as much as heard. His fingers drifted up, combing gently through Lando’s tousled hair.

"Mmmph." Lando’s response was muffled against Oscar’s skin. He turned his head slightly, blinking blearily. "S’bright." His voice was thick with sleep and residual exhaustion.

Oscar reached out without shifting Lando’s weight and tapped a control on the sleek panel beside the bed. The electrochromic glass in the vast windows darkened fractionally, softening the glare. "Better?"

"Perfect." Lando sighed, the sound heavy with contentment. He nuzzled Oscar’s chest, his lips brushing skin. "Don’t move."

"Wasn’t planning on it," Oscar replied, a thread of amusement in his voice. He resumed the gentle stroking of Lando’s hair. The silence stretched, warm and dense. Outside, the city accelerated into the day, a distant, busy hum. Inside, time seemed suspended within the cocoon of dark silk and warm skin. Oscar watched dust mites dance in the dimmed light slanting across the room. He catalogued the familiar lines of the furniture, the abstract art on the far wall, the way the light caught the edge of the discarded flogger lying half-under the bed – a stark reminder of the night's controlled ferocity, now looking incongruously domestic.

Hours dissolved. The light shifted, the grey dawn warming to pale gold, then softening again towards afternoon. Oscar felt the subtle changes in Lando’s breathing, the tiny shifts as he drifted in and out of a doze. Occasionally, Lando would make a small, contented noise, or press a drowsy kiss against Oscar’s skin. Oscar remained still, anchored, his vigilance focused solely on the man resting upon him. He reviewed complex merger details in his mind, analyzed market fluctuations, strategized personnel shifts – all while his thumb traced slow circles on Lando’s back. The duality was effortless, compartmentalized. The CEO’s relentless mind whirred silently; the lover remained utterly present, attuned to every sigh, every shift in warmth against his side.

Lando stirred more fully as the afternoon light began to slant long and golden across the polished concrete floor. He stretched cautiously, a full-body ripple that ended with a wince as muscles protested. "Oof. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of… well, me, I suppose. That was a proper request." He tilted his head back to look up at Oscar, a sleepy grin playing on his lips despite the soreness.

Oscar’s lips quirked. "You asked for breaking. Breaking often involves… structural adjustment." He shifted his arm slightly, easing the stiffness in his own shoulder without dislodging Lando. "Regrets?"

Lando’s gaze held his, clear and soft. "Not a single one." He lifted a hand, tracing the line of Oscar’s jaw with surprising gentleness. "Felt… necessary. And you were…" He searched for the word, his thumb brushing Oscar’s lower lip. "Perfect."

Oscar captured the wandering thumb, pressing a kiss to the tip. "Only for you." He shifted, carefully extricating his other arm. "Water. And paracetamol." It wasn’t a question.

"God, yes," Lando groaned, letting his head fall back onto Oscar’s chest as Oscar reached over to the nightstand, poured water into a glass, and shook out two painkillers. He held the glass steady as Lando awkwardly lifted his head to sip, then swallowed the pills.

"Food?" Oscar asked, setting the glass down. "It’s past three."

Lando considered, nestling back down. "Not hungry yet. Just… this." He draped his arm back across Oscar’s waist. "You?"

"Later." Oscar wrapped his arm back around Lando, pulling the duvet up higher over his shoulders. "This takes precedence." He resumed the gentle stroking of Lando’s spine, feeling the knots slowly release under his touch.

Silence returned, deeper now as afternoon settled. Lando traced idle patterns on Oscar’s abdomen, the touch light and exploratory. "Remember that investor meeting? Pike Capital?" His voice was soft, conversational.

"The one where Harrison tried to renegotiate terms after the handshake? Vividly." Oscar’s tone was dry. "Thought you were going to levitate off your chair."

"I discreetly broke a pen under the table," Lando confessed, chuckling. "Splintered plastic everywhere. Had to pretend nothing happened while subtly kicking shards under my chair."

Oscar’s chest vibrated with a silent laugh. "Explains the sudden coughing fit. Strategic debris management."

"Essential leadership skill," Lando mumbled, his eyes drifting closed again. "Like knowing which takeaway does the best crispy duck at 2 AM after a system crash."

"Your priorities remain impeccable," Oscar deadpanned.

"Survival," Lando retorted sleepily. "Fuel for the CEO machine. Which, right now, requires stillness and…" He yawned hugely. "More stillness."

They lapsed back into the quiet rhythm. Oscar watched the light fade from gold to amber, then deepen into the twilight blues and purples of early evening. The city lights began to sparkle like scattered diamonds below. He felt Lando’s breathing deepen again, settling into the steady cadence of true sleep. Oscar remained awake, a silent guardian in their plush fortress. He reviewed the logistics for tomorrow’s crucial board presentation at Sentinel, Lando’s company. He mentally drafted three possible responses to a tricky email chain. All while his fingers never stopped their slow, soothing journey along the warm skin of Lando’s back, over the fading evidence of their intense connection.

Much later, deep into the evening, Oscar’s own stomach growled, a low, insistent rumble. Lando stirred, blinking up at him in the near-darkness, illuminated only by the city’s ambient glow. "S’that your stomach or a distant earthquake?"

"Definitely my stomach," Oscar admitted. "Time to feed the other CEO machine."

Lando stretched carefully, groaning as stiff muscles protested. "Okay, okay. But I’m not getting dressed. Robes. Maximum. And that crispy duck." He rolled onto his back, wincing slightly, but managing a grin. "And maybe spring rolls. And…"

"Demanding," Oscar remarked, but the warmth in his voice undercut the word. He slid out of bed, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on a dark robe, tying it loosely. "Duck, rice, spring rolls. Anything else, Your Highness?"

"Sweet and sour pork?" Lando requested hopefully, burrowing back under the duvet, pulling it up to his chin.

"Compromise is the foundation of a strong partnership," Oscar stated, picking up his phone. He placed the order with quiet efficiency. Hanging up, he turned back to the bed. Lando watched him, his face half-hidden in shadow, eyes reflecting the city lights. Oscar walked to the side of the bed and sat on the edge. In the dimness, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Lando’s forehead. The tenderness was a silent counterpoint to the efficient takeaway order. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Lando’s lips. "Forty minutes," he murmured against them.

Lando chased the kiss for a second before Oscar straightened. "Bring it back here?" Lando asked, his voice a low murmur in the twilight-filled room.

"Obviously," Oscar said. He didn’t move immediately. He just sat, watching Lando in the near-dark, the shared silence wrapping around them as securely as the duvet, a fragile, precious bubble holding the chaotic world firmly at bay, at least until the food arrived. The city’s endless pulse continued below, a reminder of the lives they led, the pressures they managed. But here, now, smelling of sleep and each other, marked by shared intensity and soothed by quiet care, the only urgency was the rumble of a stomach and the promise of shared noodles in the sanctity of their silk-draped fortress. Lando’s hand found his where it rested on the bed, fingers intertwining, a silent affirmation. Tonight, the empire could wait.

The city’s electric hum deepened, painting the room in twilight blues and the occasional flash of headlights far below. Lando’s fingers stayed loosely tangled with Oscar’s where they rested on the rumpled silk. The quiet stretched, thick with shared exhaustion and the fading warmth of their bodies pressed close for hours. Oscar watched Lando’s silhouette against the cityscape, the sharp line of his jaw softened in shadow, the stubborn cowlick at his crown refusing to settle. A faint ache radiated from Oscar’s shoulder where Lando had been anchored, a pleasant testament to the stillness.

The buzz of the intercom shattered the silence, sharp and insistent. Lando flinched minutely, a tremor running through their linked hands. Oscar squeezed gently before pulling away. "Food," he stated, the single word a grounding anchor. He rose, the dark robe swallowing his lean frame as he padded silently across the thick rug towards the hallway panel. His voice, low and clipped, acknowledged the delivery downstairs.

Lando watched him go, the room suddenly cooler without his presence. He stretched gingerly, hissing as sore muscles protested. The deep ache in his ass and thighs, the faint sting on his wrists – echoes of the flogger and rope – were a grounding counterpoint to the lingering sense of profound peace. He traced a fading red mark high on his hipbone, a souvenir of Oscar’s teeth. He felt hollowed out, yes, but clean. Reassembled. The city's noise felt distant, unimportant.

Oscar reappeared, carrying two large, fragrant paper bags that immediately filled the air with the rich scent of soy sauce, roasted duck, and fried dough. He set them down carefully on the silk duvet near Lando’s knees, the crinkling sound loud in the quiet room. Without a word, he went back to the doorway, returning with two bottles of chilled sparkling water. He placed them beside the bags, then climbed back onto the bed, settling cross-legged facing Lando.

The aroma was intoxicating. Lando’s stomach growled audibly. Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, already unpacking. Styrofoam containers emerged: gleaming, lacquered duck skin nestled beside steamed rice, plump golden spring rolls, glistening sweet and sour pork. He efficiently distributed chopsticks, napkins, and portions, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. The dim city light caught the angles of his face, the intense focus he usually reserved for board presentations now directed at arranging takeaway containers.

"Smells unreal," Lando murmured, his voice still rough with disuse. He accepted the container Oscar handed him – fragrant rice topped with generous slices of duck and a spoonful of vibrant orange sauce. Steam curled upwards, warming his face.

"Eat," Oscar instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument, but his eyes held softness in the gloom. He picked up his own container, chopsticks already deftly separating a piece of crispy pork. The silence returned, but it was different now: companionable, filled with the rustle of paper, the clink of chopsticks, the small sounds of eating. The penthouse bedroom, usually a stage for power plays or intense intimacy, transformed into a simple, shared space defined by the simple act of refueling.

Lando took a bite. The duck skin shattered perfectly, giving way to succulent, flavorful meat. He closed his eyes for a second, a soft groan escaping him. "Okay, yeah. Worth the wait." He scooped up more, the savory richness flooding his senses, grounding him further.

Oscar watched him eat, a faint curve touching his lips. He ate steadily, efficiently, but his gaze kept flicking back to Lando, taking in the way the dim light caught the sheen of sauce on his lower lip, the relaxed set of his shoulders under the thin robe. Seeing Lando like this – vulnerable, sated, utterly present – satisfied something deep and primal within him, a different kind of possession than the night before. He reached over, snagging a spring roll from the container between them.

"These survived the journey," he commented, biting into the crisp wrapper. The sound was satisfyingly loud.

"Gimme," Lando demanded, mouth still half-full, holding out his hand. Oscar handed him one, their fingers brushing. Lando devoured it, the crunch echoing. Grease glistened on his chin. Oscar didn’t mention it, just watched, the corner of his mouth twitching. He liked this unvarnished hunger, the lack of performance.

They ate in the comfortable quiet, the only sounds the scrape of chopsticks and the distant city murmur. The vast bed, the luxurious silk, the skyline view – it all receded, unimportant. The focus narrowed to the shared containers, the simple, delicious food, the quiet presence of the other. Lando chased the last grains of rice around his container. "That hit the spot. Properly."

"Told you," Oscar said, finishing his own rice. He gathered the empty containers and stacked them neatly inside one of the bags, pushing it to the foot of the bed. He uncapped a bottle of sparkling water, the fizz sharp in the stillness, and handed it to Lando before opening his own. They drank, the cold bubbles clearing the rich heaviness.

Lando leaned back against the headboard, the cool glass bottle resting on his stomach. He watched Oscar, who was meticulously folding the top of the takeaway bag closed. The controlled precision of the gesture, so characteristic, made warmth bloom in Lando’s chest. "You know," he started, his voice softer now, "tomorrow… the Sentinel board. That acquisition clause."

Oscar stilled, his eyes lifting to meet Lando’s. The relaxed set of his shoulders didn’t change, but Lando saw the subtle shift, the instant refocus. That sharp, analytical mind engaging. "The non-compete carve-out for their R&D team," Oscar stated. It wasn’t a question. He’d clearly been thinking about it too, even here.

"Exactly. Harrison’s going to push back hard on that. Thinks it guts the value." Lando took another sip of water. "It’s non-negotiable for me. That team is the value."

Oscar held his gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the low light. Then, a slow, deliberate nod. "Then it stands." He took a long pull from his water bottle, his eyes never leaving Lando’s face. "Harrison can bluster. He’ll fold. He needs this merger more than he’s admitting." The certainty in his voice was absolute, the quiet calculation of the CEO reasserting itself, seamlessly integrated with the man who’d just meticulously fed him duck pancakes. "We know his exit strategy hinges on this. Leverage. We use it."

Lando felt a familiar thrill, the spark of shared strategy, the unspoken understanding of power and pressure points. Oscar saw the angles, always. He saw the fight ahead, but also the path through it. The shared meal, the quiet intimacy – it hadn’t diminished that edge; it felt like armor. He nodded slowly, a smile touching his lips. "Leverage. Right."

"Later," Oscar murmured, the word a low rumble that carried finality. He reached out, not for strategy, but to gently brush his thumb across the spot of sauce Lando had missed at the corner of his mouth. The touch was feather-light, possessive, pulling Lando instantly back from the brink of boardroom battles to the quiet reality of the silk sheets and the fading scent of their shared meal. His thumb lingered for a heartbeat before slowly tracing the line of Lando’s lower lip, a silent command echoing in the gesture: Later. Now, here. With me. The city’s lights blinked silently beyond the glass, witnesses to the fragile, fiercely guarded peace within.

The city’s lights blinked silently beyond the glass, witnesses to the fragile, fiercely guarded peace within. Oscar’s thumb lingered on Lando’s lip, the simple touch a grounding wire pulling him back from the precipice of boardroom strategies. "Later," Oscar murmured again, the low rumble vibrating through Lando’s core, dissolving the phantom tension of the Sentinel acquisition. His finger traced down Lando’s chin, grazing his throat, a silent command felt more than heard. Lando sighed, the sound deep and yielding, letting the corporate weight slough off. He tipped his head back onto Oscar’s chest, seeking the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat beneath soft cotton. The empty takeaway containers lay forgotten at the foot of the vast bed, the lingering scent of soy sauce and duck mixing with their own intimate musk.

Oscar shifted, gathering Lando closer. His arm wrapped firmly around Lando’s shoulders, pulling him snug against his side. The silk sheets whispered coolly against Lando’s bare legs as he settled. Oscar reached for the sleek remote on the nightstand, the soft click breaking the quiet. The massive screen embedded opposite the bed flickered to life, bathing the dark room in a shifting, cool glow. He navigated menus swiftly, bypassing news feeds, financial updates, anything resembling work. "Comedy?" he asked, his voice a low hum near Lando’s ear.

"Something dumb," Lando mumbled, nuzzling Oscar’s collarbone. "No thinking allowed." He felt the residual ache in his muscles, a pleasant echo of the morning’s intensity, a reminder of being thoroughly remade. "Cartoons. Talking animals. Whatever."

Oscar found an animated film – bright colours, exaggerated expressions, the promise of harmless chaos. He dropped the remote and wrapped his other arm around Lando, effectively cocooning him. His hand rested possessively on Lando’s hip, fingers splaying over the fading marks there. The opening credits rolled, cheerful music filling the penthouse, utterly incongruous with their usual world of sharp edges and high stakes. Lando relaxed into the warmth, the solidity, the profound sense of being anchored. The animated characters chattered brightly on screen, their voices a distant murmur.

Lando watched the colourful shapes move, the simplistic plot unfolding. A plucky animal protagonist faced a silly obstacle. He felt Oscar’s breath stir his hair. The hand on his hip slid slowly upwards, tracing the curve of his waist beneath the thin robe. Not demanding, simply present. Claiming. Lando tilted his head, seeking Oscar’s gaze in the reflected light from the screen. Oscar wasn’t watching the movie. His dark eyes were fixed on Lando’s profile, intense and unreadable. That look always sent a shiver down Lando’s spine, a mix of thrill and surrender.

"Not watching," Lando whispered, a smile playing on his lips.

"Neither are you," Oscar countered, his voice a soft rumble against Lando’s temple. His thumb brushed the sensitive spot just below Lando’s ear.

"Distracted." Lando turned fully towards him, the movie forgotten. The vibrant animation became mere background light dancing in Oscar’s eyes. He lifted a hand, tracing the defined line of Oscar’s jaw, the slight stubble rough under his fingertips. "By you." The admission was soft, carrying the weight of everything unsaid between them – the trust, the need, the fierce, complex bond forged in boardrooms and bedrooms alike.

Oscar’s gaze held his, unwavering. He dipped his head slowly, closing the small distance. The first kiss was soft, a gentle press of lips, tasting faintly of sparkling water and the lingering sweetness of duck sauce. It was a question, a reconnection. Lando answered by deepening it, parting his lips, his hand sliding into Oscar’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. Oscar responded instantly, a low hum vibrating in his throat as his arms tightened around Lando, pulling him flush against his body. The kiss shifted, deepening from soft exploration into something hotter, more urgent. Tongues met, sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The cheerful cartoon music continued, the bright images flickering across their entwined forms. Lando lost himself in the sensation – the firm pressure of Oscar’s mouth, the possessive grip holding him close, the intoxicating blend of control and tenderness. He kissed back with equal fervor, pushing against Oscar’s solid warmth, seeking the closeness, the anchoring pressure. Oscar’s hand slipped beneath the loose collar of Lando’s robe, palm warm and broad against his bare shoulder blade. His touch roamed, mapping familiar territory with deliberate slowness, igniting sparks along Lando’s nerve endings. The movie’s dialogue became white noise, replaced by the soft, wet sounds of their mouths moving together, the hitch of breath, the rustle of silk.

Oscar broke the kiss just long enough to trail his lips along Lando’s jaw, down the sensitive column of his throat. His teeth grazed the skin lightly over Lando’s pulse, not enough to mark, just enough to make Lando gasp and arch into him. "Oscar…" The name was a breathless plea, a surrender. Oscar answered by capturing his mouth again, the kiss turning hungrier, more demanding. His hand slid lower, down Lando’s spine, palming the curve of his ass, fingers pressing possessively into the muscle still sensitive from the flogger. Lando moaned into Oscar’s mouth, the sound swallowed instantly.

Time dissolved. The animated world on screen cycled through its plot, irrelevant. They kissed with a lazy, deep intensity, trading slow, drugging kisses punctuated by nips and sighs and the constant, grounding pressure of Oscar’s hands holding him exactly where he wanted him. Lando felt the familiar heat uncoiling in his belly, a sweet ache building, but it felt secondary to the profound intimacy of the moment, the sheer rightness of being held, claimed, kissed senseless in this safe cocoon. Oscar’s control was absolute, yet tempered now with a tenderness that made Lando feel cherished, protected.

Eventually, the kisses slowed, becoming softer, lingering presses rather than deep explorations. Oscar rested his forehead against Lando’s, their breaths mingling, ragged and warm. The bright colours of the movie finale washed over them. Lando felt boneless again, utterly spent and perfectly content, nestled securely within the circle of Oscar’s arms. He nuzzled Oscar’s cheek, inhaling the scent of his skin, clean cotton, and the faint, expensive tang of his cologne. "The penguin probably saved the day," he mumbled drowsily against Oscar’s skin, his voice thick.

"Undoubtedly," Oscar murmured back, his lips brushing Lando’s temple. His hand resumed its slow, soothing stroke along Lando’s spine. "Sleep." It wasn’t a question. The command was gentle, but undeniable. The presentation, Harrison, the acquisition clause – they existed only in the 'later' Oscar had decreed. For now, there was only the warmth, the shared breath, the lingering taste of each other, and the deep, quiet certainty of safety. Lando closed his eyes, letting the tension bleed completely away, sinking into the darkness behind his lids, anchored by Oscar’s steady heartbeat and the fading glow of the screen. The city lights kept their watch, but the peace within the glass walls held, fiercely guarded and complete.

Chapter Text

The scent hit Oscar first as Lando swung open the heavy oak door. Not the sterile luxury of their penthouse, but something deeper, richer: beeswax polish layered over old timber, the faint ghost of a thousand Sunday roasts, and the crisp, clean linen scent of Cisca’s preferred fabric softener. Lando’s childhood home. A sprawling Victorian pile that seemed to exhale warmth and quiet history as they stepped into the familiar, slightly cluttered hallway.

"Ma! Dad! We're here!" Lando called out, already kicking off his trainers with practiced ease, his socked feet padding soundlessly on the worn Persian runner. Oscar followed, slipping off his own sleek leather shoes with more precision, placing them neatly beside Lando’s haphazard pile. The contrast was ingrained.

Adam appeared first, wiping his hands on a tea towel, his broad face breaking into a wide grin that crinkled the corners of eyes the same warm brown as Lando’s. "Oscar! Son! Good to see you." He clapped Oscar firmly on the shoulder, the gesture easy, uncomplicated. Oscar returned the smile, a genuine warmth softening the usual sharp angles of his expression. "Dad. Smells amazing." The title came naturally now, a hard-won familiarity after years of shared Christmases and birthdays.

"Just browning the beef," Adam said, already turning back towards the kitchen archway. "Your mother’s commandeering the potatoes. Go on through."

The kitchen was the true heart of the house, large and slightly chaotic, dominated by an ancient Aga radiating heat. Cisca stood at the scrubbed pine table, vigorously mashing potatoes in a colossal ceramic bowl. She looked up, her sharp, intelligent eyes – Lando had inherited their piercing clarity – scanning them both in an instant. "Oscar, darling," she said, her voice warm but retaining its usual brisk efficiency. She held out a powdered cheek. He leaned down, kissing it lightly. "Mom. Looking radiant as ever."

"Flatterer," she retorted, but her smile deepened. Her gaze then shifted pointedly to Lando. "And you, young man. Still managing to avoid ironing, I see?" She gestured vaguely at the slight rumple in his cashmere jumper.

Lando just grinned, unfazed, already gravitating towards the open biscuit tin on the counter. "Adds character, Mum. Besides," he snagged a shortbread finger, "Oscar irons enough for both of us before important things. Board meetings. Hostile takeovers. Dinner with you." He took a large bite, crumbs dusting his chin.

Oscar’s hand landed lightly on the back of Lando’s neck, a brief, possessive touch that made Lando freeze mid-chew. Oscar’s thumb brushed the sensitive skin just below his hairline, a silent, grounding pressure. "He survives," Oscar said dryly, his eyes meeting Cisca’s. A flicker of understanding passed between them – the shared recognition of Lando’s charming chaos and the essential structures Oscar provided. Cisca nodded, almost imperceptibly, and resumed her mashing. "Set the table, Lando. Properly. Not your usual haphazard pile."

Lando rolled his eyes dramatically but obeyed, grabbing cutlery from a drawer. Oscar moved to the Aga, peering into the heavy cast-iron pot where rich gravy bubbled around chunks of beef. "Need a hand, Dad?"

Adam waved him off with a wooden spoon. "Nearly there. Crack open that red on the sideboard, would you? The decent one you brought last time."

Dinner was a symphony of warmth and comfortable noise. They ate at the sturdy oak table in the slightly formal dining room, surrounded by faded portraits of stern-looking ancestors. Conversation flowed easily – Adam’s latest, slightly disastrous attempt to restore a vintage motorcycle ("The carburetor exploded, Oscar, I swear!"), Cisca’s ongoing battle with the local gardening club's rose competition ("Mrs. Henderson cheats, I’m convinced of it. Uses illegal fertiliser."), Lando’s deliberately vague but amusing anecdotes about work colleagues that made Oscar’s lips twitch. Oscar contributed less, but he listened intently, his keen mind filing away details, his responses measured and dryly witty when he chose to engage. He seamlessly refilled wine glasses, passed serving dishes, his movements economical and precise. He watched Lando, relaxed and animated, laughing freely with his parents, a side of him rarely seen outside these walls. The sturdy Staffordshire china felt solid in Oscar’s hands, grounding after the penthouse’s sleek minimalism.

At one point, Cisca fixed Lando with a look. "You were quiet for a few days last week, love. Everything alright? Not overdoing it?" Her gaze was sharp, probing.

Lando shifted slightly, his foot nudging Oscar’s ankle under the table. A silent signal. Oscar felt the pressure, a fleeting, familiar spark of possessiveness.

"Just buried under the Sentinel paperwork, Mum," Lando said smoothly, taking a sip of water, his eyes meeting Oscar’s for a fraction of a second. "You know how it is pre-merger. Oscar’s been… invaluable." The word held layers only Oscar could decipher – a reference to the intense pressure-release of the weekend, the meticulous care afterwards, the way Oscar had shouldered extra burdens at both companies to give Lando space to recover. The fading rope burns beneath Lando’s shirt cuff felt suddenly vivid under Oscar’s awareness.

Oscar nodded slightly, confirming Lando’s statement without elaboration. "The due diligence is punishing," he added for Cisca’s benefit, his tone neutral, professional. "Lando’s handling the critical path. It’s complex." He deftly steered the conversation towards Adam’s motorcycle woes again, a safer harbour.

Later, sprawled on the slightly-too-small, chintz-covered sofas in the cluttered sitting room, nursing cups of strong tea, the atmosphere mellowed further. Adam dozed lightly in his armchair, the newspaper slipping from his lap. Cisca worked on intricate embroidery, her needle flashing in the lamplight. Lando had tucked himself against Oscar’s side, his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder, idly tracing patterns on the knee of Oscar’s dark trousers with his fingertip. The familiar scent of Lando’s shampoo, mixed with the home’s unique aroma of old books and woodsmoke, was deeply calming. Oscar’s arm was draped around him, his hand resting possessively on Lando’s far hip, fingers occasionally flexing, a silent claim even in this domestic setting.

"Mom’s chocolate torte?" Lando murmured, tilting his head back to look up at Oscar, his eyes hopeful in the soft light. "She made it special."

Oscar looked down at him, the lamplight catching the flecks of gold in Lando’s brown eyes. The playful demand, the unspoken expectation nestled within the affection. He tightened his hold just slightly. "Ask nicely," he murmured back, his voice barely above a whisper, pitched only for Lando.

Lando’s lips curved. "Please, Oscar?" The words were soft, deliberately pitched to convey both genuine desire and the subtle yielding Oscar craved. The push and pull, even here.

Oscar held his gaze for a beat longer, then nodded. "Alright." He gently shifted Lando off his shoulder. "I’ll get it. You stay put."

He walked back to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking familiarly underfoot. He found the torte under a glass dome on the counter, rich and dark. He cut two generous slices onto floral-patterned plates. As he carried them back, he saw Lando watching him, a small, contented smile on his lips. Adam stirred, blinking.

"Oho! Saved me a slice, I hope?" he rumbled.

"Plenty, Dad," Oscar assured him, placing a plate carefully on the small table beside Adam’s chair. He handed the other to Lando, who immediately scooped up a large forkful. Oscar sat back down, reclaiming his space. Lando instinctively leaned into him again, offering Oscar the first bite from his own fork. A silent ritual. Oscar accepted it, the intense chocolate rich and smooth on his tongue. Their eyes met over the shared fork, a spark of understanding passing between them – the complex tapestry of control and surrender, family warmth and private intensity, all held in a single look. The lamplight glowed, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked softly, and for a moment, the relentless pressure of tomorrow’s board presentation felt very far away, held at bay by the thick walls of Lando’s childhood sanctuary and the solid warmth of the man pressed against his side, savouring stolen chocolate.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed ten, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Adam startled awake properly, blinking blearily at his own half-eaten torte. "Right then," he grunted, stretching stiffly. "Early start for me tomorrow. Tractor needs seeing to before the rain comes." He pushed himself up, giving Oscar’s shoulder another firm, affectionate pat. "Good to have you both. Don’t be strangers, eh?"

Cisca set aside her embroidery. "Drive safely back, Oscar. The fog’s supposed to roll in later." She stood, kissing Lando’s forehead, then turned to Oscar, squeezing his arm. "Thank you for coming, darling. Look after him." Her gaze, sharp and knowing, lingered on Oscar for a moment. It wasn’t a request; it was a confirmation of a pact already understood.

"We will, Mom," Oscar said, the plural deliberate, encompassing the shared responsibility he embraced completely.

Lando uncurled himself reluctantly from Oscar’s side, stretching with a small groan. "Thanks for dinner. The torte was lethal, as always." He hugged his mother tightly. "Love you."

The goodbyes at the door were warm but efficient, laden with the unspoken comfort of routine. The cool, damp night air hit them as they stepped onto the gravel driveway, a stark contrast to the house’s snug embrace. Oscar’s sleek, dark car sat waiting, a machine of pure function amidst the rambling Victorian architecture.

Lando slumped into the passenger seat with a sigh, the animation of the evening already fading, replaced by the familiar lines of fatigue. Oscar started the engine, the low purr cutting through the quiet country night. He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he reached across the centre console. His hand didn’t go for Lando’s knee. It slid deliberately up Lando’s inner thigh, a firm, possessive pressure through the fabric of his chinos. Lando’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping to Oscar’s face, illuminated by the dashboard glow.

"Home," Oscar stated, his voice low, the single word stripping away the softness of the evening, reclaiming the space between them. His fingers tightened, a deliberate point of heat and control. "Early start. Sentinel awaits." His thumb rubbed a slow circle, demanding attention, grounding Lando back into the reality Oscar dictated. The warmth of the Norris house faded, replaced by the cool leather seat and the intense focus radiating from the man beside him. The playful son was gone; the CEO, and Oscar’s alone, was back. The car rolled forward smoothly, gravel crunching under the tires, leaving the haven of family and heading towards the battleground of the boardroom, the silent promise of the penthouse, and the intricate, demanding dance that defined them. Oscar’s hand remained exactly where it was, a brand, a claim, and a compass pointing relentlessly forward.

The engine's thrum vibrated through Oscar's palm still pressed high on Lando's thigh, a counterpoint to the silence stretching between them after the warmth of Lando’s childhood home. Fog curled like spectral fingers across the country road, swallowing the beams of the headlights whole. "Quiet," Oscar observed, his tone flat, probing, his thumb digging in slightly – not painful, just insistent, anchoring Lando back to him, back to the reality of the looming Sentinel merger and the unspoken weight pressing down since his mother’s question about last week.

Lando shifted, the leather seat creaking under him, the pressure from Oscar’s hand both a comfort and a constraint. "Just thinking about Dad’s tractor," he deflected, his voice softer than usual, lacking its usual playful edge. He stared out at the swirling grey, the damp chill seeping into the car contrasting sharply with the remembered heat of the Aga and his mother’s torte. He knew Oscar saw through it; the man missed nothing, especially not Lando’s attempts to deflect.

Oscar accelerated smoothly onto the motorway, the fog thinning slightly, replaced by the hypnotic smear of city-bound headlights. "The carburetor?" he prompted, knowing full well Lando wasn't thinking about farm machinery. His fingers flexed again, tracing the seam of Lando’s chinos, the touch proprietary. "Or Mrs. Henderson’s dubious fertiliser?" The mundane topics were a thin veil over the real tension – the exhaustion Lando carried, the faint shadows under his eyes Oscar hadn't missed at dinner, the way he’d leaned heavily against Oscar on the sofa.

"Both sound simpler than Sentinel," Lando admitted quietly, finally turning his head to look at Oscar’s profile, sharp and focused in the dashboard's glow. He placed his own hand over Oscar’s, not pushing it away, but covering it, his fingers interlacing loosely with Oscar's knuckles. "Easier to fix, maybe." The admission hung there, raw and unadorned.

A muscle jumped in Oscar’s jaw. He didn't glance away from the road, but his grip tightened fractionally around Lando’s hand and thigh. "Simple isn't the goal," he stated, the words clipped. "Effective is. You know the path." His thumb swept another deliberate circle, a silent command to center, to focus, to remember who held the map. The city skyline emerged ahead, a jagged silhouette against the lighter fog, promising sanctuary and renewed pressure.

They navigated the silent streets, the penthouse garage swallowing the car in cool concrete stillness. The elevator ascent was wordless, Oscar’s hand shifting to the small of Lando’s back as the doors opened directly into their sleek, dark domain. Gone was the scent of beeswax and roast beef; antiseptic air conditioning and the faint tang of expensive cleaning products greeted them. Lando kicked off his shoes, padding towards the bedroom oasis, the plush carpet absorbing the sound. Oscar followed, shedding his tailored jacket with economical precision, his gaze never leaving Lando's slumped shoulders.

"Shower," Oscar commanded, his voice low but carrying absolute authority. He began unbuttoning his own shirt, the crisp linen parting to reveal the defined muscle beneath. "Now." It wasn't a suggestion; it was the transition ritual, washing away the external world, the expectations, the roles they played for others – CEO, son. Preparing for the roles that existed only between these walls.

Lando paused, then nodded, pulling his soft jumper over his head with less grace. He moved towards the vast, marble-tiled en suite, steam already beginning to cloud the glass enclosure as Oscar turned the taps. The hiss of water filled the space, thick and inviting. Oscar finished undressing, the hard lines of his body stark in the diffused light, and joined Lando under the downpour. Hot water sluiced over them instantly, plastering Lando’s hair to his forehead, running in rivulets down Oscar’s chest.

Oscar reached for the soap, working it into a thick lather between his palms. His hands moved over Lando’s shoulders first, kneading the tension held there since dinner, fingers digging into knots with practised pressure. "Turn," he murmured, the sound almost lost in the water's roar. Lando obeyed, presenting his back, the muscles of his shoulders taut beneath Oscar’s touch. Oscar’s soapy hands slid lower, over the swell of Lando's biceps, down the sturdy curve of his spine, possessive and thorough, washing away the scent of old wood and family. His fingers traced the faint, almost invisible ridges beneath Lando’s skin near his shoulder blades – the lingering ghosts of last week’s intensity, a testament to release sought and granted under Oscar’s exacting control. The water turned the marks pearly pink for a fleeting moment before washing them clean.

He felt Lando shudder slightly under the meticulous care, a release of breath escaping him, his head bowing forward. Oscar’s hands swept around his waist, pulling him flush against the solid warmth of Oscar’s chest, skin slick and hot. He buried his face in the wet crook of Lando’s neck, inhaling the steam and the pure scent of him beneath the soap. "Better?" Oscar breathed against his skin, the word vibrating through both of them.

"Yeah," Lando mumbled, leaning back into the solidity, the relentless pressure of the day dissolving in the heat and Oscar’s encompassing presence. "Just… yeah." His hand reached back blindly, finding Oscar’s hip, anchoring himself.

Oscar held him there for long moments beneath the pounding water, letting the heat seep into bone-deep fatigue. Then, with a final squeeze, he reached for the shampoo. His fingers worked methodically into Lando’s scalp, massaging with firm, circular motions, drawing a low groan from Lando that echoed off the tiles. Oscar rinsed Lando’s hair with the same focused care he applied to a complex contract, ensuring every last trace of suds was gone. He washed himself quickly, efficiently, the contrast in their rhythms stark even here – Lando leaning bonelessly against the cool tile, Oscar moving with economical grace.

He shut off the water abruptly. The sudden silence was heavy, broken only by their breathing and the drip of water from their bodies onto the marble floor. Oscar grabbed thick, white towels, wrapping one around his own waist before enfolding Lando in another, rubbing briskly at his arms and back. Lando stood passively, letting himself be dried, his eyes half-closed, exhaustion and the aftermath of the heat making him pliant. The careful drying moved lower, Oscar kneeling briefly to towel Lando’s sturdy legs, his movements practical yet infused with a quiet intimacy. He stood, capturing Lando’s face gently in his hands, thumbs brushing away stray droplets clinging to his lashes. "Bed," Oscar ordered softly, his voice rough-edged now, stripped of boardroom precision.

They moved through the dimly lit bedroom, the silk sheets shimmering faintly. Oscar tossed his towel aside; Lando let his pool at his feet. Oscar pulled back the covers and Lando slid in first, sighing as the cool fabric met his heated skin. Oscar followed immediately, turning off the bedside lamp with a click that plunged the room into velvety darkness. He didn't hesitate, gathering Lando against him, Lando’s back fitting perfectly against his chest, Oscar’s arm locking possessively around his waist, pulling him impossibly close. Lando nestled in, his hand finding Oscar’s forearm, fingers tightening slightly over the corded muscle.

Oscar pressed his lips to the damp hair at Lando’s temple, a silent benediction. His breathing deepened, slowing, but his arm remained iron-tight. Outside, the city pulsed, distant sirens wailing like warnings. The Sentinel merger paperwork lay stacked on Oscar’s office desk, a monolith waiting for dawn. Here, buried in silk and shared warmth, Lando’s steady breathing against his chest was the only rhythm that mattered. Tomorrow’s battlefield loomed, sharp and demanding, but for these stolen hours, Oscar held his world secure, anchored against the tide. His fingers spread wide over Lando’s stomach, a final, grounding claim before sleep dragged them both under.

Chapter Text

The first pale streaks of dawn were just bleeding into the charcoal sky when Oscar slipped from the silk sheets. Lando lay sprawled, deeply asleep, one arm flung over Oscar’s vacated pillow, his breathing slow and even. Oscar paused, watching him for a long moment. The fading bruises near his shoulder blades, souvenirs from the intense pressure-release before the Norris family dinner, were barely visible now, just faint shadows against his skin. The Sentinel merger paperwork loomed later, a beast demanding attention, but today held a different, sharper focus.

He moved silently through the penthouse, the cool marble floors underfoot. In his minimalist dressing room, he bypassed the usual charcoal suits. Today demanded something less conspicuous, less CEO, more… anonymous shopper. Dark jeans, a soft grey cashmere sweater, trainers. He checked his watch – 6:15 AM. He needed a head start.

The city was waking slowly as Oscar navigated the sleek car through near-empty streets. His destination wasn't the usual financial district. He headed towards the discreet, tree-lined avenues where old-world luxury resided behind unassuming facades. He’d researched meticulously: Balfour & Sons, established 1892, known for bespoke craftsmanship and absolute discretion. Exactly what he required.

The bell above the heavy oak door chimed softly as Oscar entered. The air inside was hushed, smelling faintly of lemon oil and aged paper. Display cases glowed softly, showcasing glittering treasures under precise spotlights. An elderly gentleman with immaculate silver hair and kind eyes looked up from behind a polished mahogany counter. "Good morning, sir. How may Balfour & Sons assist you today?"

Oscar approached, his usual commanding presence softened by purpose. "I'm looking for an engagement ring," he stated, his voice low but clear. "Something unique. Timeless."

Mr. Balfour’s eyes crinkled at the corners. "A most joyous pursuit. Do you have any specific preferences? Metal? Stone? Style?"

Oscar leaned slightly on the counter. "Platinum. The stone…" He pictured Lando’s hands – capable, strong, yet surprisingly elegant. Not a massive solitaire. Something that complemented, didn't overwhelm. "Perhaps an emerald cut. But I’m open. It needs to suit him." He didn't flinch at the pronoun. Mr. Balfour merely nodded, his expression professionally neutral.

"Of course. Let us explore some possibilities." He produced a velvet tray from beneath the counter. Rings gleamed under the light – brilliant rounds, cushion cuts, princess cuts. Oscar dismissed them instantly. Too predictable. Too… common for Lando. Then Mr. Balfour brought out another tray. Nestled amongst the diamonds was a ring that stopped Oscar’s breath.

The central stone was a deep, cool emerald cut diamond, flanked on each side by a slightly smaller, tapered baguette diamond. The platinum setting was sleek, architectural almost, with clean lines that spoke of modern precision yet held an undeniable vintage elegance. It was substantial without being ostentatious, refined yet quietly powerful. It mirrored Lando perfectly – the playful surface charm belied by fierce intelligence and inner strength.

"This," Oscar breathed, pointing. "May I see it?"

Mr. Balfour carefully lifted the ring onto a black velvet pad. Oscar picked it up. The platinum felt cool and heavy. He tilted it, watching the light fracture within the emerald cut stone, throwing sharp, brilliant sparks. The baguettes added a grounding linearity. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"The emerald cut offers exceptional clarity and a distinctive step-cut faceting," Mr. Balfour murmured. "The tapered baguettes enhance its linear beauty. A very sophisticated choice."

"Do you have it in his size?" Oscar asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't deter him. He’d memorized Lando’s ring size months ago, casually noted when Lando had fiddled with a signet ring.

"A seven and a half? We do indeed, sir." Mr. Balfour produced a sizing stick, confirming Oscar’s memory was exact. The ring slid onto the stick smoothly. Seeing it at the correct scale solidified Oscar’s certainty.

"Wrap it discreetly," Oscar instructed, pulling out his wallet. The transaction was swift, efficient. The small, unassuming black box disappeared into a larger, plain carrier bag. Oscar felt a strange mix of exhilaration and profound calm settle over him as he stepped back out into the morning light, the bag held loosely at his side.

Back at the penthouse, Lando was awake, padding around the kitchen in rumpled pajama bottoms, wrestling with the espresso machine. "Morning," he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You vanished. Early crisis?"

"Just some air," Oscar replied smoothly, placing the Balfour & Sons bag casually on a high shelf in the walk-in pantry, obscured behind a canister of imported coffee beans. "Thought you’d sleep longer after last week." He moved behind Lando, gently nudging him aside to take over the espresso ritual. His hands brushed Lando’s waist, a fleeting touch that made Lando lean back slightly into him.

"Brain wouldn't switch off," Lando admitted, watching Oscar’s precise movements. "Kept thinking about Henderson’s fertiliser and whether Dad’s tractor will actually start today." He grinned, but Oscar saw the lingering tightness around his eyes. The Sentinel pressure was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

Oscar handed him a steaming cup. "Priorities, Norris. Coffee first. Tractor diagnostics later." He kept his tone light, but his gaze flickered almost imperceptibly towards the pantry shelf. The small box felt like a physical presence in the room, radiating silent significance.

The day unfolded with deceptive normalcy, punctuated by Oscar’s heightened awareness. He conducted a tense video conference with Sentinel’s lead counsel, his voice sharp, his arguments flawless, all while mentally tracking Lando’s movements in the adjoining office. He reviewed merger clauses, his mind simultaneously calculating the precise moment to retrieve the ring box unseen. He caught Lando watching him curiously a few times, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"You’re… twitchy," Lando observed during a brief lull, leaning against Oscar’s office doorframe. "More than usual. Sentinel jitters finally getting to the unflappable Oscar Piastri?"

Oscar didn’t look up from his screen. "Focus on your own deliverables, Norris. The Henderson report needs your signature by three." He kept his voice level, dismissive. A deflection. Lando’s quiet intelligence was a constant, delightful challenge. He saw too much.

"Right, right," Lando sighed dramatically, pushing off the doorframe. "Back to the salt mines." He paused. "You sure you’re alright?"

"Perfectly," Oscar stated, finally meeting his gaze. He allowed a fraction of warmth into his eyes, enough to soothe Lando’s concern but not enough to betray the seismic shift brewing within him. "Just ensuring everything is… precisely aligned."

As twilight began to paint the sky in hues of lavender and rose, Oscar knew the moment had arrived. The city lights flickered on below, a sprawling tapestry of gold against the deepening blue. He found Lando on the sprawling rooftop terrace, leaning against the glass balustrade, looking out. The scent of blooming jasmine from the terrace planters hung heavy and sweet in the warm air, mingling with the distant, rhythmic hum of traffic far below. Lando held a tumbler of whiskey, the ice clinking softly.

"Escaping the Henderson report?" Oscar asked, stepping out. He carried nothing visible.

"Contemplating fertiliser-based sabotage," Lando replied, turning with a tired smile. The fading light softened the lines of fatigue on his face. "It’s peaceful up here." He took a sip. "You finished aligning everything?"

"Nearly." Oscar moved to stand beside him, close but not touching. He looked out at the city, the vastness of it, the intricate dance of light and life. Then he turned fully towards Lando. The fading light caught the intensity in his eyes. "There’s one more thing."

Lando turned to face him properly, setting his glass down on the wide ledge. His playful expression faded, replaced by a quiet attentiveness. He sensed the shift in the air, the gravity settling around Oscar like a cloak. "Oscar?"

Oscar didn’t speak immediately. He reached into the pocket of his perfectly tailored trousers – not the jeans from this morning, but his uniform of authority. His fingers closed around the small, hard shape of the velvet box. The simple action felt monumental. He drew it out, holding it loosely in his palm, not yet opening it. His gaze locked onto Lando’s, unwavering.

"Lando," he began, his voice deeper than usual, stripped of its usual clipped efficiency, resonating with a raw sincerity that was rare and potent. "You know I don't deal in uncertainty. I plan, I execute, I control." He paused, the city’s hum a distant backdrop. "But you… you defy every calculation. You are the chaos I crave, the surrender I command, the strength that grounds me." He saw Lando’s breath catch, his eyes widening slightly, fixed on the box in Oscar’s hand. "You push back just enough to make the yielding worthwhile. You are," he stated, the words deliberate, heavy with meaning, "the only variable I welcome. The only one I want bound to me, irrevocably."

He flipped the box open with his thumb. The emerald cut diamond caught the last of the twilight, exploding with cold fire. The tapered baguettes gleamed like captured stars. It lay nestled in the black velvet, breathtaking in its elegant simplicity.

Oscar didn't ask. He stated, his voice a low command softened by an undeniable tremor of vulnerability. "Marry me."

Lando stared at the ring. His hand, resting on the balustrade, trembled slightly. His gaze flickered from the diamond to Oscar’s face, searching the familiar, fiercely controlled features now laid startlingly bare. The playful CEO, the affectionate son, the man who yielded only to Oscar – all those facets shimmered in his wide, stunned eyes. A choked sound escaped him, part gasp, part sob. He didn't speak. He simply reached out, his fingers brushing the cool platinum band, then Oscar’s hand holding the box. His touch was tentative, reverent.

Then, he surged forward. Not to grab the ring, but to wrap his arms tightly around Oscar’s neck, burying his face against Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar felt the tremor running through him, the dampness against his skin where Lando’s cheek pressed. Oscar’s free arm encircled him instantly, pulling him close, anchoring him. The velvet box remained open in Oscar’s other hand, the diamond winking against the darkening sky.

"Yes," Lando whispered, the word muffled against Oscar’s neck, thick with emotion. "God, Oscar, yes." He pulled back just enough to look at Oscar, his eyes shining, a tear tracing a path down his cheek. He laughed, a shaky, breathless sound. "You hid it in the pantry? Behind the Sumatran beans?"

Oscar’s lips curved into the faintest, most genuine smile. He lifted the ring from its velvet cradle. "Where else?" His voice was rough. He took Lando’s left hand, his grip firm, grounding. The platinum band slid smoothly over Lando’s knuckle, settling perfectly at the base of his finger. It looked like it belonged there – a testament to strength, elegance, and a bond forged in fire and quiet understanding.

Lando held his hand up, turning it slowly, watching the diamond catch the burgeoning city lights. His breath hitched again. "It’s… stunning. Like something out of a museum." He looked back at Oscar, his expression awed, vulnerable, utterly open. "You planned this. All day."

Oscar captured his chin gently, forcing Lando’s gaze to meet his own. The control was back, but softened, suffused with a profound possessiveness that was now publicly declared. "Some things," he murmured, his thumb brushing Lando’s lower lip, "are worth meticulous planning." He leaned in, closing the distance. The kiss wasn't demanding, but deep, claiming, sealing the promise made under the twilight sky. The scent of jasmine wrapped around them, the city’s heartbeat a distant echo. The Sentinel merger, Henderson’s fertiliser, Adam’s tractor – all faded into insignificance. There was only the cool metal band on Lando’s finger, the solid warmth of Oscar against him, and the vast, glittering future stretching out before them, irrevocably intertwined. Oscar’s hand slid down to cover Lando’s, his thumb stroking possessively over the platinum band now marking Lando as his, forever.

The platinum band felt cool and solid beneath Oscar’s thumb, a tangible anchor in the swirling aftermath of Lando’s breathless ‘yes’. City lights reflected in the diamond’s sharp facets, mirroring the stunned awe in Lando’s wide eyes. He kept staring at his hand, turning it slowly, the diamond catching the terrace lights like captured starlight. "It’s… heavier than I thought," Lando murmured, his voice thick, a tremor running through him. "Feels real."

"Because it is," Oscar stated, his own voice rougher than usual. The controlled CEO facade felt thin, frayed at the edges by the raw vulnerability of the moment. He hadn’t planned for this feeling – this overwhelming surge of possessiveness mixed with a terrifying tenderness. Seeing Lando, usually so quick with a grin or a quip, utterly speechless, undone by the ring he had chosen… it shifted something deep inside him. He pulled Lando closer, not with command, but with a need for contact that bypassed his usual calculations. Lando came willingly, burying his face against Oscar’s neck again, inhaling shakily. The scent of Oscar’s cologne, expensive wool, and the underlying warmth of his skin was a familiar anchor.

The distant city hum faded into a muffled backdrop. Oscar felt the dampness of Lando’s silent tears against his skin, the slight tremors still vibrating through his smaller frame. He tightened his arm around Lando’s waist, his other hand still covering the ringed one. No words felt adequate. The diamond’s sharp sparkle against Lando’s finger was the only language needed now. It spoke of permanence, of a claim deeper than any boardroom victory.

He leaned down, capturing Lando’s mouth in a kiss that started soft, almost tentative. It wasn’t about dominance or testing limits tonight. It was a slow exploration, a rediscovery. Lando’s lips yielded instantly, opening beneath his with a soft sigh that vibrated against Oscar’s mouth. The taste of whiskey lingered, mingling with the salt of tears and something uniquely Lando. Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s waist up his back, tracing the familiar contours beneath the thin cotton shirt, feeling the warmth radiating through. His thumb found the fading bruises near Lando’s shoulder blade, souvenirs from the pressure-release before the Norris family dinner. He touched them gently, a silent acknowledgment.

Lando shivered, pressing closer, his arms winding tighter around Oscar’s neck. His engagement ring hand rested against Oscar’s chest, the cool platinum a stark contrast to the heat building between them. The kiss deepened, languid and deep, devoid of urgency or power play. It was pure connection, a slow fuse igniting warmth that spread from their joined mouths down through Oscar’s chest, pooling low in his belly. He felt Lando’s heartbeat thudding against his own ribs, rapid and strong. Breaking the kiss, Oscar trailed his lips along Lando’s jaw, down the sensitive column of his throat, feeling the pulse jump beneath his tongue. Lando gasped, tilting his head back, offering more. "Oscar…" His name was a breath, a plea, a surrender of a different kind.

Oscar guided them backwards, away from the balustrade and the sprawling city view, towards the plush outdoor sofa nestled near the fragrant jasmine planters. The cushions sighed softly as they sank down. Twilight had deepened into full night, the terrace lit only by discreet recessed lighting and the ambient glow from below. Oscar eased Lando down onto the cushions, following him, his body covering Lando’s with deliberate slowness. He braced himself on one forearm, gazing down at Lando’s face – the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the dark, dilated pupils reflecting pinpricks of light. The diamond on Lando’s finger caught the low light, winking softly. Oscar lowered his head, kissing Lando again, deeply, savoring the feel of him, the taste, the sheer reality of him saying yes.

His free hand slipped beneath Lando’s shirt, palm skimming warm skin, tracing the dip of his waist, the slight softness over firm muscle. Lando arched into the touch, a low moan escaping him, his hands fisting loosely in Oscar’s sweater. There was no resistance, only eager, trembling acceptance. Oscar pushed the shirt up slowly, exposing Lando’s chest to the cool night air. He bent his head, kissing a path across the smooth skin, lingering over a nipple, sucking gently until it peaked into a hard nub beneath his tongue. Lando cried out softly, his hips lifting off the cushion involuntarily. "Please…" The word was ragged, stripped bare.

Oscar understood. He shifted, helping Lando out of his shirt, then his own sweater followed, discarded onto the terrace tiles. Skin met skin, a shock of heat in the cool air. Oscar explored the familiar landscape of Lando’s body – the solid planes of his chest, the slight curve of his belly, the powerful thighs – but tonight it felt new. Sacred, almost. His touch was reverent, lingering, mapping territory that was now irrevocably his. He kissed every inch he uncovered, tasting salt and skin, feeling the tremors that ran through Lando beneath his lips. His own control felt fluid, not shattered, but willingly relinquished to the tide of feeling pulling him under. He undid Lando’s trousers with steady hands, pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing him. Lando lay bathed in the soft terrace light, breathing heavily, utterly exposed, utterly trusting. The ring gleamed on his hand resting on his own stomach.

Oscar shed his own remaining clothes swiftly, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin instantly replaced by the searing heat of Lando’s body as he covered him again. The full length of them pressed together was electric. Skin slid against skin, friction and heat building. Oscar kissed Lando deeply, swallowing his gasps, his hand sliding down between their bodies, wrapping around Lando’s hard length. Lando bucked against his hand, a choked sob escaping him. "Oscar… need you…"

"Shhh," Oscar murmured against his lips, his own arousal a demanding ache. "I know." He reached for the small bottle kept discreetly in the side table drawer – practicality, even now. He slicked his fingers, his gaze locked on Lando’s face as he touched him, intimately, carefully. There was no sharp command, no testing edge tonight. Only careful preparation, watching Lando’s eyes flutter closed, his mouth fall open on a silent gasp as Oscar’s fingers worked him open with slow, deliberate strokes. The usual push-pull dynamic dissolved into pure sensation, pure need. Lando’s legs fell open wider, his body arching, silently begging for more.

When Oscar finally guided himself to Lando’s entrance, he paused, looking down at him. Lando’s eyes opened, dark pools reflecting the terrace lights and Oscar’s own shadowed face. There was no challenge there, only absolute trust, absolute want. Oscar pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the tight heat enveloping him, stealing his breath. Lando gasped, his head falling back against the cushion, his hands gripping Oscar’s biceps. "God… yes…" It was a ragged whisper.

Oscar sank deep, burying himself completely, pausing as they both adjusted, breathing ragged in unison. The world narrowed to this point of connection, the feel of Lando surrounding him, hot and tight and perfect. He began to move, not with the driving pace he often used, but with deep, slow rolls of his hips. Each thrust was measured, profound, seeking not just friction but fusion. Lando met each movement, lifting his hips, wrapping his legs around Oscar’s waist, pulling him deeper. The engagement ring pressed against Oscar’s back where Lando’s hand clutched him. Their breaths mingled, hot and damp. Whispers replaced commands – Lando’s name breathed against his skin, Oscar’s murmured against his temple. "Feel you…" "So deep…" "Mine…" "Yours… Always yours…"

The tension built slowly, a deep, coiling pressure rather than a frantic race. Oscar kept his pace deliberate, dragging it out, watching the play of ecstasy and surrender on Lando’s face. He kissed him again, deep and slow, swallowing Lando’s moans. His hand slid between them, wrapping around Lando’s hard length again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Lando cried out, the sound muffled against Oscar’s shoulder, his body tightening impossibly around Oscar. The climax hit him like a wave, shuddering through him, pulling Oscar over the edge with him moments later. Oscar buried his face in Lando’s neck, groaning deep in his chest as his own release tore through him, hot and blinding, leaving him trembling.

He collapsed onto Lando, careful not to crush him, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts hammering against each other. The cool night air washed over them. Oscar pressed his forehead against Lando’s, breathing hard, feeling the aftershocks still trembling through Lando beneath him. The scent of jasmine and sex hung heavy in the air. Slowly, reluctantly, Oscar withdrew, rolling onto his side and pulling Lando tightly against him. Lando curled into him instantly, his head finding its familiar place on Oscar’s shoulder, his ringed hand splayed possessively over Oscar’s chest. The diamond felt cool against Oscar’s skin.

Silence settled, thick and comfortable, broken only by their slowing breaths and the distant, rhythmic heartbeat of the city far below. Oscar traced idle patterns on Lando’s bare back, feeling the slight dampness cooling on his skin. The terrace lights cast long shadows around them. Lando sighed, a sound of profound contentment, his fingers tightening slightly where they rested over Oscar’s heart, the platinum band a cool circle against his skin. "Sentinel merger tomorrow," Lando murmured drowsily, his voice thick with spent satisfaction.

Oscar tightened his arm around him, pressing a kiss into his sweat-damp hair. The diamond on Lando’s finger caught a stray beam of light, a silent, brilliant promise gleaming in the darkness. "Later," Oscar murmured, his voice rough but soft. His thumb brushed the ring again, a silent vow echoing the one spoken under the twilight sky. Everything else could wait.

Chapter Text

The first sliver of dawn pierced the vast penthouse windows, painting the silk sheets in molten gold. Oscar stirred, consciousness returning with the familiar weight of Lando pressed against his side. Lando’s head rested on his shoulder, one arm flung possessively across Oscar’s chest, the cold platinum of the engagement ring a stark circle against Oscar’s warm skin. The sight of it, even in the dimness, sent a pulse of fierce satisfaction through him. His. Irrevocably.

He shifted slowly, careful not to disturb Lando’s deep sleep. The city sprawled below, still hushed, bathed in the soft, pearly light before the full onslaught of morning. Oscar propped himself on an elbow, his gaze tracing the line of Lando’s spine beneath the thin sheet. The fading marks he’d left on his shoulder blades the night before – a testament to the intensity on the terrace – were just visible, a map of ownership Oscar loved to reread. He reached out, his fingertips ghosting over the warm skin, tracing the curve of a bruise. Lando sighed in his sleep, a soft, contented sound.

Oscar leaned down. He pressed his lips to the nape of Lando’s neck, where dark hair curled softly. A kiss so light it was barely a breath. Then another, lower, following the elegant dip of his spine. His lips worshipped the knobs of vertebrae, the smooth plane between his shoulder blades, the sensitive hollow at the small of his back. Each kiss was a brand, a silent reaffirmation. His hand followed the path his mouth had taken, sliding possessively over Lando’s hip, feeling the solid muscle beneath the sleep-softened skin. He pushed the sheet down, baring Lando’s back completely to the morning light and his touch.

Lando murmured, a low, indistinct sound. He shifted, not fully awake, but responding instinctively to the familiar sensation. Oscar felt the muscles in Lando’s back tense slightly, then relax into the attention. He kissed the crest of Lando’s hip bone, nipped gently. Lando’s breath hitched.

"Oscar…?" The voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges.

"Shhh," Oscar murmured against his skin, his breath warm. "Just admiring the view." His hand slid around Lando’s hip, fingers splaying across his lower belly, pulling him back flush against Oscar’s own hardening arousal. He felt the tremor that ran through Lando then, a shiver of pure anticipation.

"Admiring or… reacquiring?" Lando mumbled, turning his head slightly on the pillow, a sleepy smirk playing on his lips even as his eyes remained mostly closed. The diamond on his left hand flashed as he flexed his fingers against the sheet.

"Both," Oscar stated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He resumed his trail of kisses, lower now, tracing the swell of Lando’s ass, biting down just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp. "You’re mine, Lando. Every inch." His hand slid lower still, fingers probing the cleft, finding him warm and surprisingly yielding even in sleep’s aftermath. "Especially here." He pressed a fingertip against the tight furl, circling slowly, possessively.

Lando arched his back, pressing his ass back into Oscar’s touch, a low groan rumbling in his chest. "Christ… possessive bastard… even before coffee." But there was no resistance, only that familiar, eager yielding, laced with the spark of challenge Oscar craved. Oscar slid one finger inside, just the tip, feeling the hot clench around him. Lando gasped, his hand fisting in the silk sheet near Oscar’s hip. The engagement ring dug into the fabric.

"Don't recall asking for an opinion, Norris," Oscar murmured, his lips brushing Lando’s skin as he spoke. He added a second finger, stretching him slowly, deliberately. The slide was slicker than expected. Oscar paused, a dark eyebrow quirking. "Someone was thinking ahead?" His voice held a dangerous edge of amusement.

Lando turned his head fully now, meeting Oscar’s gaze over his shoulder. His eyes were wide awake now, dark with desire and a flicker of defiance. The morning light caught the green flecks. "Maybe I anticipated you’d wake up feeling… proprietary." He pushed back against Oscar’s fingers. "Get on with it then, Piastri. Some of us have mergers to derail."

The challenge ignited Oscar. He withdrew his fingers, ignoring Lando’s soft whimper of protest. He grabbed Lando’s hip firmly, flipping him onto his back in one swift motion. Lando landed with a soft oof, blinking up at him, his hair tousled, lips slightly parted. The sheet pooled around his waist, revealing the flushed skin of his chest, his hard cock lying against his belly. The diamond on his finger gleamed against the rumpled silk.

Oscar loomed over him, bracing himself on powerful forearms, caging Lando in. He took in the sight: the sleep-softened defiance, the arousal, the undeniable vulnerability beneath the sharp tongue. The ring. His ring. He dipped his head, capturing Lando’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. It wasn't gentle. It was a demand, an assertion of ownership that Lando met with equal fervor, his fingers tangling in Oscar’s hair, pulling him closer. Oscar could taste sleep and the faint trace of last night's whiskey, mixed with the unique, addictive flavor of Lando.

He broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Lando’s throat, over his collarbones. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, swirling his tongue until Lando cried out, his back arching off the bed. Oscar’s hand slid down Lando’s stomach, bypassing his cock, fingers finding slick heat again. He pushed two fingers back inside easily, crooking them, searching for the spot that made Lando unravel.

"Oscar!" Lando’s voice cracked as Oscar found it, pressing relentlessly. His hips jerked wildly. "Fuck… please…"

"Please what?" Oscar murmured, looking up the line of Lando’s body. His fingers kept up their ruthless rhythm. "Be specific."

"You… inside. Now." Lando gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped the sheet. "Please, Oscar."

The raw need in his voice, the utter surrender wrapped in a demand, was exquisite. Oscar withdrew his fingers. He hooked Lando’s legs over his forearms, pushing his knees towards his chest, spreading him wide open. He positioned himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against Lando’s entrance. He paused, holding Lando’s dark, desperate gaze. The diamond on Lando’s hand flashed as his fingers flexed near his own knee.

"Mine," Oscar stated, low and absolute. Not a question. A fact. He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, powerful stroke.

Lando screamed. A ragged, beautiful sound torn from his throat. His body clamped down on Oscar like a vise, hot and impossibly tight. Oscar groaned, the sensation almost overwhelming. He held himself deep for a moment, letting them both adjust, letting Lando feel the sheer, unyielding fullness. He leaned down, kissing Lando roughly, swallowing his whimpers. "Tell me," he demanded against his lips.

"Yours," Lando choked out, his eyes squeezed shut. "Always yours. God… move…"

Oscar drew back almost completely, then slammed home again. And again. He set a brutal, driving pace, each thrust claiming, possessing, reaffirming the bond sealed with platinum and diamond the night before. The bed rocked beneath them, the silk sheets tangling. Lando met every thrust, lifting his hips, taking him deeper, his cries escalating to wordless pleas. His cock leaked profusely against his stomach, untouched. Oscar watched his face – the slack jaw, the fluttering eyelids, the tears of overwhelming sensation gathering at the corners of his eyes. He was utterly wrecked, beautifully claimed.

Oscar shifted slightly, angling his hips, hitting that spot inside Lando with devastating precision. Lando’s eyes flew open, wide with shock and ecstasy. "There! Oscar, right there! Please!" His pleas were frantic now, his body trembling on the brink.

Oscar focused on that spot, pistoning into him with relentless force. "Come for me," he commanded, his voice guttural, strained with his own building climax. "Now, Lando."

It was the permission, the command, that tipped Lando over. He shattered, back arching impossibly off the bed, a raw, broken cry tearing from his lungs as his cock jerked, spilling hot stripes across his stomach and chest in pulsing waves. The intense clenching around Oscar was too much. His own control snapped. He drove deep, burying himself as deep as possible as his release exploded, flooding Lando’s heat. He roared, a sound of pure, primal possession, collapsing forward slightly, bracing himself over Lando as the waves of pleasure washed through him.

He stayed buried deep for long moments, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to Lando’s sweat-slicked shoulder. Lando lay boneless beneath him, trembling, breath coming in shallow gasps. The smell of sex, salt, and their mingled sweat filled the air. Oscar finally eased out, rolling onto his side and pulling Lando into him. Lando came willingly, curling into Oscar’s chest like a spent animal seeking warmth. His engagement ring hand rested limply on Oscar’s ribs, the diamond sparkling incongruously bright against his flushed skin. Oscar wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, pressing his lips to the top of Lando’s damp head.

Silence settled, thick and syrupy, broken only by their slowing breaths and the distant, growing hum of the waking city. Sunlight streamed fully through the windows now, illuminating the tangled sheets, the evidence of their passion glistening on Lando’s stomach. Oscar traced idle patterns on Lando’s arm, his thumb brushing the platinum band. The Sentinel merger felt incredibly distant, unimportant.

Lando stirred eventually, tilting his head back to look up at Oscar. His eyes were hazy, satisfied, a faint, sated smile playing on his swollen lips. He lifted his ring hand slightly, examining the diamond in the clear morning light. "So," he murmured, his voice still wrecked, but a spark of his usual mischief returning. "This means you get to do that whenever you want now?"

Oscar met his gaze, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He captured Lando’s chin, tilting his head up for a slow, deep kiss that promised everything and demanded everything back. "Among other things, Norris," he murmured against his lips, his thumb stroking the line of Lando’s jaw. "Now get up. We’ve got a merger to finalize." He gave Lando’s ass a sharp, proprietary slap that made him yelp and jump. "Showtime in forty minutes. Don’t make me late."

The sharp slap echoed in the opulent bedroom, startlingly loud against the lingering quiet. Lando yelped, scrambling sideways on the rumpled silk sheets, clutching his stinging cheek. "Oi! Rude!" he protested, though a traitorous grin fought its way onto his flushed face. He rubbed the spot, the cool platinum of his engagement ring pressing against warm skin.

Oscar was already swinging his legs off the bed, the powerful muscles in his back flexing as he stood. Morning light carved his lean silhouette against the vast cityscape beyond the window. "Forty minutes, Norris," he stated, his voice devoid of sleep, all business now. "Shower. Suit. Coffee. In that order." He didn't look back, heading towards the en-suite bathroom with purposeful strides.

Lando flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The scent of sex and sweat still hung heavy in the air, mingling with the expensive linen. His body thrummed with a pleasant ache, a deep-seated satisfaction radiating from his core. He lifted his left hand again, watching the diamond catch the sunlight, fracturing it into tiny rainbows on the crumpled sheet. His ring. A shiver, different from the morning’s intensity, ran through him. He pushed himself up, wincing slightly. "Forty minutes? You planning to break land speed records in the shower too?" he called out, padding barefoot towards the bathroom door.

Steam billowed out as Oscar emerged, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his defined chest and shoulders. He ignored Lando’s quip, tossing him a fresh towel. "Move." His gaze, sharp and assessing, scanned Lando’s sleep-mussed state. "You look like you wrestled a bear. A very satisfied bear."

Lando caught the towel, grinning unabashedly. "Only one beast in this penthouse, mate. And he bites." He ducked into the steam-filled bathroom, the hot spray a welcome shock to his system. He scrubbed quickly, efficiently, the lingering traces of Oscar washed away, replaced by the clean scent of expensive soap. The ring felt heavy, significant, against his wet skin.

Dressed in impeccably tailored charcoal suits – Oscar’s severe, Lando’s cut with a slightly softer edge – they descended to the sleek, minimalist kitchen. The city hummed below, fully awake now. Oscar poured black coffee into two porcelain cups, his movements precise. Lando leaned against the cool marble counter, sipping his own coffee, watching Oscar’s focused profile. The intensity from the bedroom was banked, replaced by the familiar, formidable CEO facade. Yet Lando saw the subtle difference: the way Oscar’s thumb absently rubbed the platinum band on his own finger as he stirred his coffee, a silent acknowledgment.

"The Sentinel board," Oscar began, his voice low and steady, "expects capitulation. They think their leverage is unassailable." He took a slow sip, his grey eyes meeting Lando’s over the rim of the cup. "They’re wrong."

Lando felt a familiar thrill, the quiet determination beneath his playful exterior igniting. He pushed off the counter. "Their leverage is built on sand, Oscar. We dug the holes." He finished his coffee, setting the cup down with a decisive click. "Time to watch it collapse."

The drive to the towering Sentinel headquarters was silent, charged. Oscar drove the sleek, powerful car with controlled aggression, weaving through traffic. Lando watched the city blur past, his mind replaying financial models, negotiation points, the carefully orchestrated pressure points they’d spent months establishing. The diamond on his finger felt like a talisman, a grounding weight.

The Sentinel boardroom was a cavern of polished wood and cold glass, overlooking the financial district. The air crackled with tension, thick with the scent of expensive cologne and barely concealed hostility. Eight stern faces regarded them from across the vast table. Oscar took the head seat without hesitation; Lando sat beside him, radiating a deceptively calm confidence.

"Gentlemen," Oscar began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Let's dispense with the posturing. Your projections are flawed. Your market position is eroding faster than you admit." He slid a thin dossier across the table. "Our offer stands. It’s more than fair. It’s inevitable."

Hours bled away. Arguments flared, voices rose, objections were meticulously dismantled. Oscar was relentless, a scalpel dissecting weakness. Lando played the counterpoint, softening blows with sharp wit, offering elegant solutions disguised as concessions, subtly reminding the board of the catastrophic alternatives. He saw the cracks forming in their resolve, the flicker of doubt in the Chairman’s eyes. Oscar’s hand rested on the table beside his own; Lando felt the slight pressure of Oscar’s thumb brushing against his ring finger, a hidden anchor.

The Chairman sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to deflate the entire room. He looked from Oscar’s implacable stare to Lando’s composed, expectant gaze. He glanced down at the revised term sheet Oscar had presented thirty minutes prior – the only viable lifeline left. "This… restructuring clause," he rasped, tapping the page. "It’s… severe."

"It’s necessary," Oscar stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. "For Sentinel to survive. To thrive. Under new leadership." He leaned forward slightly, the overhead light catching the sharp planes of his face. "Sign it. Or watch it burn."

Silence stretched, taut as a wire. Lando held his breath. He saw the moment the Chairman broke, the resignation settling into the lines around his eyes. The old man picked up the heavy, ornate pen lying before him. He hesitated, his gaze flicking once more to Lando, then to Oscar. A final, almost imperceptible nod.

The pen scratched loudly on the thick paper. Once. Twice. The Chairman signed. He pushed the document towards Oscar. Oscar picked up his own pen, sleek and modern. His signature was swift, decisive. He slid the document to Lando.

Lando signed his name beside Oscar’s. The ink flowed dark and permanent. He felt Oscar’s gaze on him, intense, possessive. He looked up, meeting those storm-grey eyes. A flicker of triumph, fierce and primal, passed between them, hotter than any morning embrace. The diamond on Lando’s hand flashed as he set the pen down.

Oscar stood, the movement commanding the room’s attention. He extended his hand across the table to the defeated Chairman. "Sentinel is done," he stated, his voice resonating with absolute finality.

Chapter Text

The low hum of the penthouse elevator faded, leaving Oscar alone in the cavernous living room. Twilight painted the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows in deep indigo and fiery orange streaks. He stood silhouetted against it, still in his victory suit, tie loosened, the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. The silence after the boardroom roar was profound, almost unnerving. He poured a finger of expensive whiskey into a heavy crystal tumbler, the clink echoing. Sentinel was theirs. Crushed. Absorbed. Yet the fierce triumph that usually roared through his veins felt… muted. Distant. Where the hell was Lando?

He’d vanished after the signing, flashing Oscar a cryptic grin and a quick "Be back, gotta sort something!" before melting into the post-meeting throng. Two hours ago. Oscar checked his Rolex again, the platinum bezel cool against his skin. Irritation prickled, sharp and familiar. Control was his oxygen, and Lando, with his spontaneous detours, was becoming a persistent, pleasurable hypoxia.

The secure elevator pinged. Oscar didn’t turn, sipping his whiskey, the smoky warmth doing little to soothe the edge. He listened to the soft tread of Lando’s dress shoes on the marble floor, closer, closer. He could almost feel the shift in the air, the subtle scent of cool night air clinging to Lando’s suit replacing the sterile boardroom smell.

"Took your time," Oscar stated, his voice low, deliberately flat. He finally turned.

Lando stood a few feet away, bathed in the soft glow of recessed lighting. His suit jacket was slung over one arm, his tie gone, top buttons undone. His usually bright eyes held a strange intensity, a mix of nerves and something fiercely determined. He looked… younger somehow. Vulnerable. Oscar’s irritation flickered, replaced by sharp curiosity.

"Sorry," Lando said, his voice quieter than usual. He shifted his weight, clutching something small and dark in his right hand, shielded by his body. "Got… sidetracked."

Oscar raised an eyebrow, taking another slow sip. "Sidetracked? We just carved up Sentinel, and you go souvenir shopping?" He kept his tone cool, probing, watching Lando’s every micro-expression.

Lando swallowed, his throat working. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance until only the low glass coffee table separated them. The city lights reflected in his wide, earnest eyes. "Not… not souvenirs, Oscar." He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. "This… this merger. Today. It was… huge. Monumental. The way you took that room…" He shook his head, a small, awed smile touching his lips. "You were terrifying. Beautifully terrifying."

Oscar remained still, his gaze locked on Lando’s. The praise was unusual, delivered with a gravity that bypassed Lando’s usual playful flattery. He set his tumbler down on the table with a soft thud.

"It needed doing," Oscar replied, his voice still guarded. "They were weak."

"They were," Lando agreed softly. He looked down at the small, dark velvet box in his hand, his thumb rubbing nervously over its surface. "But that’s not… that’s not why I’m here." He looked up again, meeting Oscar’s intense grey eyes directly. The playful CEO was gone. In his place stood the fiercely intelligent, quietly profound man Oscar had claimed as his own. "That ring you put on my finger…" Lando lifted his left hand, the large diamond catching the twilight, throwing fractured sparks onto the ceiling. "It wasn’t just about owning me. Was it?"

Oscar’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He said nothing. He couldn't. The question cut through layers he rarely acknowledged.

Lando took a shaky breath. "It was a promise. Your promise. To be the shield. The storm. To push me, own me, keep me." He took the final step around the table, standing directly before Oscar, close enough that Oscar could see the faint pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. "You bound me to you. Irrevocably. With platinum and diamond." He lifted the small velvet box. It trembled slightly in his grip. "My turn."

Oscar stared. His mind, usually a whirlwind of strategy and calculation, stuttered. Blank. He watched, utterly still, as Lando flipped the box open with a soft click.

Inside, nestled on midnight velvet, lay a platinum ring. Sleek. Substantial. Masculine. A single, perfect diamond, slightly smaller than the one on Lando’s hand but no less brilliant, was set flush into the band. It wasn't flashy. It was powerful. Undeniable.

Lando’s voice, when it came, was thick with emotion, rough around the edges but steady with conviction. He didn’t look at the ring; he kept his eyes glued to Oscar’s, holding his gaze prisoner. "This… this is my promise, Oscar Piastri." He swallowed hard. "It’s the promise to stand beside you. Not just in the boardroom, taking down giants. But always. To be the ground beneath your feet when you’re pushing too hard, too high. To be the quiet harbour when the storm inside you rages." His eyes shimmered. "It’s the promise to challenge you… just enough. To never let it be easy. To push back, because you need it, because I need it. To remind you that beneath the CEO, the predator, the terrifyingly brilliant bastard…" A tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek, but his voice didn’t waver. "...is the man I saw cry over a stray kitten when we were nineteen. The man whose hands tremble when he thinks no one’s looking after a brutal negotiation. The man I love. Fiercely. Completely. Madly."

He paused, the silence swelling, filled only by the distant city hum and the frantic pounding of Oscar’s own heart against his ribs. Lando took Oscar’s left hand, his touch warm and surprisingly firm. His own hand was trembling slightly. "This ring," he whispered, his voice cracking, "is my promise to see you. All of you. To choose you. Every demanding, controlling, infuriatingly perfect inch of you. Every single day. Forever. If you’ll let me."

He slid the ring onto Oscar’s finger. The platinum was cool, then immediately warmed against Oscar’s skin. The weight was unfamiliar, significant. A perfect counterpoint to the ring he’d placed on Lando.

Oscar stared down at his hand. The diamond caught the dying light, a hard, bright star against his knuckle. He saw Lando’s matching ring beside it. A pair. A binding. Lando’s words echoed in his head, stripping him bare, seeing past the armour, the control, the carefully constructed persona, right down to the raw, rarely acknowledged core. The man I saw cry…

A shudder ran through him. Deep. Visceral. He lifted his gaze, slowly, meeting Lando’s tear-filled, hopeful eyes. He tried to speak. Nothing came. His throat was impossibly tight, choked with a surge of emotion so profound, so overwhelming, it stole his breath. He felt a terrifying prickle behind his own eyes. A heat. He clenched his jaw, fighting it, the instinct to lock down, to retreat behind the wall. But Lando was looking at him. Seeing him. Knew him.

One traitorous tear escaped. It traced a hot path down his cheek, a silent admission of defeat against the onslaught of feeling. He saw the shock, then the deep, understanding tenderness bloom in Lando’s eyes. Oscar reached out, his hand trembling now too – the hand bearing the new ring – and cupped Lando’s cheek, his thumb brushing away the wetness there. His voice, when it finally emerged, was a raw, shattered whisper, stripped of all authority, all control.

"Lando…" It was all he could manage. A name. A plea. An acknowledgment.

Lando surged forward, wrapping his arms fiercely around Oscar’s neck, burying his face against his shoulder. Oscar held him just as tightly, his face pressed into Lando’s hair, breathing him in, the scent of night air and expensive cologne and just Lando. He felt the dampness against his own collar, the matching ring cool against his skin where Lando’s hand clutched his back. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colour beyond the windows, meaningless now in the face of this quiet, world-shifting surrender. He held on, anchored only by the solid warmth in his arms and the new, irrevocable weight on his finger. His. Forever.

Oscar’s breath hitched again, a ragged sound tearing loose in the vast quiet of the penthouse. He clung to Lando, fingers digging into the soft wool of his suit jacket, face buried in the curve of his neck where the scent of night air and Lando’s skin was strongest. The cool platinum band on his finger felt impossibly heavy, a physical anchor to the tempest of feeling that threatened to swamp him – not just love, but a terrifying, profound relief at being so utterly seen. The diamond pressed against Lando’s back, a hard counterpoint to the tremor running through Oscar’s own frame.

"You see me," Oscar choked out, the words muffled against Lando’s skin. It wasn’t a question. It was raw astonishment, a confirmation of the dizzying vulnerability Lando had just carved open.

"Always have, you daft, beautiful control freak," Lando murmured, his voice thick but warm, his arms tightening. He pressed a kiss to Oscar’s temple, feather-light. "Since the kitten. Since before."

A shuddering inhale. Oscar tried to pull himself together, the CEO reflex kicking in, demanding composure. He straightened slightly, pulling back just enough to look at Lando, though he kept his hands firmly on Lando’s shoulders. His vision swam, the city lights beyond the windows smearing into streaks of gold and white. Another tear escaped, tracing the track of the first down his cheek. He felt it, hot and humiliating, a complete loss of the dominion he wielded so effortlessly elsewhere.

Lando didn’t flinch. His gaze, softened with an affection so deep it was almost painful, held Oscar’s. A small, tearful smile touched his lips. He reached up, gently brushing the wetness away with his thumb, his own matching ring glinting. "There he is," Lando whispered, his voice catching. "The whole Oscar." His thumb lingered, tracing the line of Oscar’s cheekbone.

"Stop it," Oscar rasped, but there was no heat in it, only a desperate plea wrapped in gravel. He turned his face slightly into Lando’s palm, seeking the grounding warmth. The tremor in his hands hadn’t subsided. "This… this isn't…" He couldn’t find the words. Controlled. Contained. Me.

"It's us," Lando finished simply. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Oscar’s. Their breaths mingled, short and unsteady. Lando’s eyes, still shimmering, searched Oscar’s grey ones, seeing past the tear-streaked facade to the raw core beneath. "It’s just us. Sentinel’s gone. The board’s gone. It’s just this." He lifted his ringed hand, placing it over Oscar’s heart where it hammered against his ribs. "And this." He tapped Oscar’s new ring with his own, the soft clink echoing the earlier sound of the whiskey glass. "Solid. Yeah?"

The simplicity of it, the sheer rightness Lando conveyed, finally broke the last dam. A low sob escaped Oscar, harsh and unexpected. His shoulders hunched, the powerful frame momentarily folding inwards. He pressed his forehead harder against Lando’s, his eyes squeezing shut, lashes wet. He couldn’t stop it. The tears came, silent but relentless now, soaking into the collar of Lando’s shirt.

"Shh, Oscar, shh," Lando cooed, his voice a tender murmur against Oscar’s skin. He wrapped his arms fully around him again, pulling him close, rocking him gently. The sound was pure, unadulterated endearment, soft and soothing. "Got you. I’ve got you. Always." He pressed another kiss to Oscar’s hairline, his own tears mingling with Oscar’s as he held the trembling, powerful man who had just surrendered everything. "My demanding, terrifying, perfect fiancé."

Oscar’s breath shuddered against Lando’s neck, the aftershocks of that raw sob still vibrating through his powerful frame. The city lights outside blurred into meaningless streaks of gold and white, dwarfed by the sheer, terrifying intimacy of Lando holding him, truly holding him, while he fell apart. The cool platinum band felt like a lifeline, a tangible promise anchoring him to this moment, to this man who saw everything. He inhaled deeply, the scent of Lando’s skin and wool jacket cutting through the sterile penthouse air, a grounding reality.

"Bloody hell," Oscar rasped, his voice thick and unfamiliar even to himself. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see Lando’s face, still damp with shared tears. He swiped clumsily at his own cheeks with the back of his hand, the new diamond catching the light. "Look at me."

Lando’s smile was soft, luminous despite the tear tracks. "Yeah," he breathed, his thumb gently tracing the damp path on Oscar’s other cheek. "Look at you." His gaze held Oscar’s, unwavering, filled with a fierce tenderness that threatened to unravel Oscar all over again. "Whole. Mine."

A shaky laugh escaped Oscar, rough-edged but genuine. "Yours," he confirmed, the word tasting foreign yet utterly right. He glanced down at their hands, now both bearing the weight of platinum and diamond promises. His ring felt solid, substantial – a counterbalance to the ring he’d placed on Lando, a perfect symmetry forged in vulnerability. "Sentinel feels like a lifetime ago."

"Feels like five minutes ago," Lando countered, a hint of his usual playful exhaustion creeping into his tone. He shifted his weight, leaning more heavily against Oscar. "My feet are killing me in these stupid shoes. And I think I might actually pass out." He nudged Oscar’s shoulder with his forehead. "This place is fancy, Oz, but it’s not home. Not our bed."

The simple statement cut through the lingering emotional haze. Oscar felt the bone-deep weariness settle in his own limbs, the adrenaline crash from the brutal negotiation merging with the profound catharsis of Lando’s gift. The vast, opulent room suddenly felt too big, too impersonal, a stage rather than a sanctuary. He craved the familiar contours of their own space, the silk sheets, the specific scent of their pillows. He needed to feel Lando beside him without the echo of boardroom battles clinging to the air.

Lando lifted his head, studying Oscar’s face. He saw the lingering dampness on Oscar’s lashes, the faint tremor still present in the hand resting on his shoulder. A soft chuckle, warm and affectionate, bubbled up from Lando’s chest. He reached up again, his touch infinitely gentle, and carefully wiped the last traces of tears from Oscar’s cheeks with his thumb. "There," he murmured, his voice a low caress. "All better." Then, without hesitation, he pulled Oscar into a crushing embrace, burying his face against Oscar’s chest, his arms locked tight around his waist. Oscar instinctively wrapped his own arms around Lando, holding him close, feeling the solid warmth, the steady beat of Lando’s heart against his own. The rings pressed together between them, cool metal warming with shared heat.

Lando tilted his head back, meeting Oscar’s storm-grey eyes, now clear despite their redness. His smile was tired, triumphant, and utterly loving. "C'mon, you terrifying titan," he said, his voice soft but firm, cutting through the lingering silence. He gave Oscar a final, reassuring squeeze. "Let's go home."

Chapter Text

The heavy front door of their penthouse clicked shut, sealing out the city’s distant roar. Only the faint hum of the climate control and the soft echo of their footsteps on polished concrete remained. Lando kicked off his designer loafers by the entrance mat, wincing as he flexed his stockinged feet. "Remind me never to wear those again. My toes feel like they've been in a vice all day." He padded towards the open-plan living area, bathed in the cool blue glow of the city skyline filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Oscar followed, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it with uncharacteristic carelessness over the back of a charcoal sofa. The platinum bands on their left hands caught the low light, glinting like tiny captured stars.

Silence settled, thick and fragile. The raw vulnerability of the hotel penthouse – Oscar’s tears, the crushing embrace – hung between them, a delicate, electrified thing. Oscar moved to the sleek kitchen island, poured two glasses of water. His movements were precise, controlled, yet Lando saw the slight tremor in the hand holding the pitcher. The tremor Oscar usually masked, the tremor Lando had named moments after placing the ring on his finger. The man whose hands tremble when he thinks no one’s looking.

Lando took the offered glass, their fingers brushing. He leaned back against the cool stone countertop, watching Oscar. "Still buzzing?" he asked softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Oscar drained half his water, the muscles in his throat working. He set the glass down with deliberate care. "Not buzzing," he said, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windows. "Unmoored." The word felt heavy, alien in his mouth. He finally looked at Lando, his grey eyes intense, stripped bare. "You did that."

Lando smiled, small and tender. "Yeah, well. Payback for making the Sentinel board cry earlier." He pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them. He reached up, tracing the faint dampness that still lingered beneath Oscar’s eyes with his thumb. "You’re alright, Oz. Better than alright."

Oscar caught his wrist, not harshly, but with a quiet urgency. His thumb rubbed the pulse point beneath Lando’s own platinum band. The silence stretched, filled only by their breathing, the faint city hum. Lando waited, sensing the shift, the calculation happening behind those storm-cloud eyes. Oscar’s voice, when it came, was low, stripped of its usual command, roughened by the residue of tears and something else – a terrifying vulnerability.

"Take me to bed, Lando." A statement, not a question. But then, softer, almost hesitant, "And... make me feel it."

Lando frowned, head tilting. "Feel what? The victory? The rings? He squeezed Oscar’s hand where it gripped his wrist.

Oscar shook his head, a minute movement. His gaze held Lando’s, unwavering, demanding understanding. "Feel... you. In charge." He paused, the words seeming to cost him. "For once."

Lando stilled. The meaning slammed into him, clear and shattering. Oscar, the architect of control, the man who dictated pace and position and pleasure with meticulous precision, was asking. Begging, in the only way Oscar Piastri ever begged – with stark, terrifying honesty. He was asking Lando to dismantle the very cornerstone of their intimate dynamic. To take control Oscar never relinquished.

The air crackled. Lando’s playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a focused intensity that mirrored Oscar’s own. He saw the raw trust, the profound surrender in Oscar’s eyes. This wasn’t submission; it was an offering. A gift born from the vulnerability Lando had unlocked. He nodded, once, a silent pact sealed. "Okay."

He didn’t lead Oscar by the hand. He didn’t speak. He simply turned and walked towards their bedroom, the deliberate tread of his socked feet on the concrete floor the only sound. Oscar followed, a silent shadow, the tremble in his hands more pronounced now, visible even in the low light. The bedroom was an extension of Oscar’s control – minimalist, obsessively tidy, expensive fabrics in muted greys, everything precisely placed. The vast bed, made with military corners, dominated the space, bathed in the ambient glow from the living area.

Lando stopped at the foot of the bed. He turned to face Oscar. The playful CEO was gone. In his place stood a man radiating a quiet, focused authority. "Clothes. Off." The command was soft, absolute. No room for negotiation. It wasn't Oscar's demanding bark; it was calm, assured. Lando’s own hands remained at his sides.

Oscar’s breath hitched. A flicker of surprise, then a deeper shiver of something like relief, crossed his face. He obeyed. Jacket already discarded, his fingers moved to the buttons of his pristine white shirt. They fumbled slightly. The usually effortless task seemed suddenly complex. Lando watched, utterly still, making no move to help. The silence was profound, heavy with anticipation. The soft rustle of fabric – shirt sliding off broad shoulders, falling to the floor. Trousers unbuckled, pushed down lean hips, pooled around his ankles. Oscar stepped out of them, clad only in expensive black boxer briefs that hugged the powerful lines of his thighs and the flat plane of his stomach. He stood before Lando, exposed not just physically, but emotionally. The vulnerability was staggering.

Lando’s gaze swept over him – the sculpted chest, the tense shoulders, the slight tremor still present. He saw the new ring gleaming on Oscar’s left hand. His own matched it. "The rest," Lando murmured, his voice still that low, controlled timbre.

Oscar hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a lifetime’s instinct warring with his request. Then, his jaw clenched, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed the briefs down, stepping free. He stood completely naked before Lando, powerful and utterly vulnerable, bathed in the cool light.

Lando closed the distance then. Not rushing. Slowly. Purposefully. He stopped inches away, his clothed form a stark contrast to Oscar’s nakedness. He reached out, not to touch skin, but to gently grasp Oscar’s left wrist. He lifted Oscar’s hand, bringing the ring into the light. He studied it, then met Oscar’s intense, stormy gaze. "Mine," Lando stated, the word simple, absolute. He saw Oscar’s pupils dilate, a sharp intake of breath. Lando released the wrist. His hand drifted up, fingers skimming the tense muscle of Oscar’s forearm, over his bicep, tracing the line of his collarbone. The touch was deliberate, assessing, possessive. Oscar shuddered under the contact, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with cold.

Lando’s hand slid up the column of Oscar’s neck, fingers threading into the dark hair at his nape. He didn't pull, simply held. His other hand came up, mimicking the gesture on the other side. He held Oscar’s head, cradling it, forcing unwavering eye contact.

"You asked," Lando breathed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet filling the silent room. "So feel it." He leaned in, his lips brushing Oscar’s ear. "Feel me." Then, with a sudden, decisive pressure, he guided Oscar downwards. Not pushing, but directing. Firm. Unyielding. "On your knees."

The command landed like a physical blow. Oscar’s knees buckled. He went down, the plush rug softening the descent, but the posture itself was a seismic shift. He knelt before Lando, his powerful frame suddenly smaller, head level with Lando’s waist. He looked up, his grey eyes wide, dark with a turbulent mix of shock, arousal, and profound surrender. His breath came in ragged bursts, fogging the cool air slightly.

Lando looked down at him, his expression unreadable, calm. He unbuttoned his own shirt, slow and deliberate, each pop of a button echoing. He shrugged it off, letting it fall beside Oscar’s discarded clothes. His chest was stockier, softer than Oscar’s chiseled planes, but no less defined. He unbuckled his belt, the metallic rasp loud in the stillness, then pushed his trousers and underwear down together, stepping out of them. He stood before Oscar now, fully naked, the ambient light sculpting his form. He saw Oscar’s gaze drop, linger, then snap back up to his face, burning with intensity.

Lando didn’t speak. He placed a hand firmly on the top of Oscar’s head. Not a caress. An anchor. A claim. He guided Oscar forward with gentle, inexorable pressure. Oscar closed his eyes, a tremor running through him again, but he yielded, leaning in. His lips met Lando’s skin, tentative at first, then with growing certainty, driven by instinct and the overwhelming need to please, to obey in this surrendered space. His hands, usually so commanding, rested limply on his own thighs, fists clenched. He let Lando guide the pace, the depth, the rhythm.

Lando watched, his own breath starting to hitch. Seeing Oscar Piastri, the terrifying titan of their industry, on his knees, submitting with such raw vulnerability, was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t about domination; it was about trust. Profound, terrifying trust. He tangled his fingers deeper in Oscar’s dark hair, directing the movements with subtle shifts of pressure, soft groans escaping him as Oscar learned the rhythm Lando demanded. The heat, the wetness, the sheer intimacy of it washed over Lando. He felt the power surge through him – not cruel, but potent. A gift Oscar had given him. The ring on his hand felt heavy, warm.

"Good," Lando murmured, the praise rough, genuine. Oscar made a low, muffled sound against him, a vibration that went straight to Lando’s core. "So good for me, Oz." He held Oscar’s head still for a moment, savoring the intensity, the utter submission. Then, with a ragged breath, he tugged gently. "Up."

Oscar pulled back immediately, lips slick, eyes glazed and dark. He stayed on his knees, looking up at Lando, waiting. Utterly pliant.

Lando stepped back, his own arousal undeniable. "The bed," he commanded, his voice thick. "On your back."

Oscar moved with a speed that surprised them both, scrambling onto the vast expanse of cool, crisp sheets. He lay down, spreading his legs slightly in unconscious invitation, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. He watched Lando climb over him, his smaller frame now radiating undeniable authority. Lando settled between Oscar’s powerful thighs, knees bracketing his hips. He looked down, taking in the flushed skin, the heaving chest, the desperate need in Oscar’s eyes. The new ring gleamed on Oscar’s hand where it lay clenched on the sheet beside his head.

Lando leaned down, bracing one hand beside Oscar’s head. He captured Oscar’s mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. It wasn't gentle. It was claiming, possessive, a mirror of the control he now wielded. Oscar surged up into it, a desperate, hungry sound escaping him, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed. Lando pressed him down, pinning him with his weight and his will. "Still," he breathed against Oscar’s lips. "You asked for this. Let me give it."

Oscar went utterly still beneath him, muscles locked in trembling restraint. His eyes were wide, locked on Lando’s, filled with a mix of agonized need and absolute surrender. "Lando..." It was a plea, a prayer.

Lando reached between them, his movements sure, efficient. He prepared Oscar with a focus that was almost clinical, yet his touch ignited fire. Oscar gasped, his back arching despite his effort to stay still, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Lando watched the reactions, cataloging them – the fluttering eyelids, the bitten lip, the tremor in the powerful thighs cradling him.

"Look at me," Lando commanded, his voice low and rough. Oscar’s eyes snapped open, meeting his. The storm in them was wild, untamed. Lando held his gaze, unwavering. "Feel me," he repeated, his earlier words taking on physical form. He positioned himself, the blunt pressure undeniable. "All of me."

He pushed forward. Slow. Inexorable. Filling the space Oscar had begged him to take. Oscar cried out, a raw, guttural sound ripped from deep within his chest. His fingers scrabbled on the sheets, then found Lando’s forearms, gripping hard, not to push away, but to anchor himself as the unfamiliar sensation, the profound loss of control, the sheer intimacy of being taken washed over him. Tears welled again, not of sadness, but of overwhelming sensation, of surrender finally complete.

Lando stilled, fully sheathed, feeling the powerful body beneath him quake, the desperate clench, the rapid-fire beat of Oscar's heart against his own chest. He dropped his forehead to Oscar’s, their breaths mingling, hot and ragged. "Mine," Lando whispered again, the word a vow against Oscar’s sweat-dampened skin. "All of you. Just like you asked."

He began to move. Setting the rhythm. Deep, powerful strokes that pushed Oscar further, higher, beyond any edge he’d navigated alone. Oscar surrendered completely, his usual control shattered, replaced by gasps, broken pleas, and the raw, unfiltered sounds of pleasure being wrung from him. He matched Lando’s thrusts, meeting him with a desperate hunger, clinging to him, riding the wave of sensation Lando orchestrated. His world narrowed to the weight above him, the driving force inside him, the intense grey eyes locked on his, holding him captive, keeping him safe even as he was claimed. The rings on their clasped hands pressed together, cool metal against heated skin, a tangible seal on the terrifying, exhilarating surrender. 

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut as the climax tore through him, shattering, profound, leaving him utterly spent, trembling in the aftershocks, anchored only by the man above him who held all the control, and yet, held him with breathtaking tenderness. The world dissolved into a haze of sensation and spent adrenaline, the only constants the solid weight of Lando pressing him into the cool sheets and the frantic drumming of their hearts syncing. He felt boneless, adrift, the meticulously constructed walls of his control reduced to rubble.

Lando remained still, buried deep, his own breathing ragged against Oscar’s sweat-slicked neck. He felt the powerful tremors wracking Oscar’s frame, the frantic flutter of his pulse beneath Lando’s lips. Slowly, carefully, Lando withdrew, the movement drawing a soft, involuntary gasp from Oscar’s parted lips. He shifted his weight, rolling them both gently onto their sides without breaking contact, facing each other on the rumpled expanse of Oscar’s perfectly ordered bed.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered open, grey and storm-washed, blinking slowly as if surfacing from deep water. His gaze found Lando’s, wide and vulnerable, stripped utterly bare. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down his temple into the pillow. His breath hitched, a ragged, broken sound. Lando didn’t speak. He simply gathered Oscar closer, pulling the powerful, trembling form against his own smaller, stockier frame. One arm slid beneath Oscar’s neck, cradling his head; the other wrapped securely around his back, fingers splaying possessively over the damp skin between his shoulder blades.

He pressed his lips to Oscar’s forehead, a feather-light touch. Then another kiss, soft as a sigh, landed on the damp corner of his eye, tasting salt. Another brushed his temple, another the crest of his cheekbone. Each kiss was deliberate, unhurried, a silent anchor dropped into the turbulent sea of Oscar’s unraveled state. Lando murmured wordless sounds against his skin – soft hums, gentle shushes – his breath warm and steadying. He traced the shell of Oscar’s ear with his nose, inhaling the familiar scent of him mixed with exertion and release.

Oscar shuddered, a deep, full-body tremor, and buried his face against Lando’s neck. His hands, which had lain limp, finally moved, clutching at Lando’s back, fingers digging in almost desperately. He inhaled sharply, the scent of Lando’s skin, the lingering trace of his cologne beneath the sweat, grounding him further. "Lando..." His voice was wrecked, raw, barely audible against Lando’s collarbone. It wasn't a plea for anything specific; it was pure acknowledgement, a lifeline thrown.

"Right here, Oz," Lando murmured back, his voice thick with tenderness and the residue of his own exertion. He pressed another kiss into Oscar’s hairline. "Always right here." He tightened his hold fractionally, a secure embrace that offered no escape and demanded nothing. He felt Oscar’s trembling begin to subside, replaced by deep, shuddering breaths that slowly deepened into something calmer. The frantic tension bled out of the powerful muscles pressed against him, leaving behind a heavy, boneless warmth.

They lay tangled in silence for long minutes, the only sounds their slowing breaths and the distant, muted thrum of the city far below the penthouse windows. The cool air from the climate control kissed their heated skin. Lando’s thumb rubbed slow, soothing circles on Oscar’s back, tracing the ridges of muscle beneath the damp skin. Oscar’s grip on him loosened slightly, his hands relaxing from their desperate clutch into a gentler hold. He shifted his head slightly, resting his cheek more comfortably against Lando’s shoulder, his breath ghosting warm over Lando’s skin.

"Never..." Oscar began, his voice still rough but steadier now. He paused, swallowed. "Never let go like that before." He didn't specify if he meant the surrender, the climax, or the raw vulnerability afterward. It encompassed all of it. His left hand, resting on Lando’s hip, flexed slightly, the platinum band catching a stray beam of city light.

Lando pressed another soft kiss to his temple. "Didn't plan to," he replied simply, his tone light but utterly sincere. He nudged Oscar’s chin gently with his own, prompting him to lift his head enough to meet his eyes. Lando’s gaze was soft, affectionate, but held a quiet intensity. "Scared the hell out of me, mate. Seeing you... like that." He brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Oscar’s damp forehead. "Proper terrifying."

A ghost of Oscar’s usual wry expression flickered across his face, fleeting but real. "Good terrifying?" he rasped, his grey eyes searching Lando’s.

"The best kind," Lando affirmed, a genuine smile touching his lips. He traced the line of Oscar’s jaw with his thumb. "Like jumping off a cliff knowing I’d catch you. Only... you caught me instead." He glanced down meaningfully at where their bodies were still intimately connected, then back up, his smile widening into something playful, familiar. "Properly caught."

Oscar huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, the sound rusty but real. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Lando’s. The physical closeness, the shared breath, was its own profound language. "Felt..." He struggled for the word, the CEO momentarily lost for precise vocabulary. "...everything. Too much. Everything." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, the storm in them calmer now, replaced by a deep, weary wonder. "You... you were incredible."

"Learned from the best," Lando quipped softly, bumping Oscar’s nose gently with his own. The playful tone returned, a comforting counterpoint to the lingering intensity. "Took notes every time you bossed me about." He felt Oscar relax further against him, the last vestiges of tension dissolving. "Alright?" Lando asked, his voice dropping back to that tender murmur.

Oscar nodded slowly against him. "Alright," he echoed, his voice firmer now. He lifted his hand, the one bearing the ring, and touched Lando’s cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of Lando’s mouth. The gesture was hesitant, almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual commanding touch. "More than alright." He paused, his gaze drifting to the rings gleaming on their clasped hands resting on Lando’s hip. "That... changed things." It wasn't a question.

Lando covered Oscar’s hand on his cheek with his own, intertwining their fingers. The cool metal bands pressed together. "Yeah," he breathed, meeting Oscar’s eyes steadily. "Opened a door, didn't it?" He saw the flicker of apprehension, quickly masked, in Oscar’s gaze. The CEO, even shattered, was already calculating implications. Lando squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Don't panic. We'll figure the lock. Together." He offered a small, reassuring smile. "Plenty of rooms behind it, I reckon."

Oscar studied him for a long moment, the calculating edge softening into something warmer, more trusting. He leaned in, finally initiating a kiss himself – slow, deep, tasting of salt and surrender and profound gratitude. When he pulled back, a flicker of his old, familiar intensity returned, tempered by the raw vulnerability of the last hour. "Just... don't expect me to kneel at board meetings," he murmured, the dry humor a tentative return to their normal rhythm.

Lando grinned, the lightheartedness fully back now, a buoyant counterweight to the depths they’d just navigated. "Wouldn't dream of it, boss," he teased, snuggling closer, molding his body against Oscar’s warmth. "Save that for home." He pressed one last, soft kiss to Oscar’s lips. "Where you're mine."

Chapter Text

The deep, boneless lethargy felt like sinking into warm sand. Oscar lay entwined with Lando, the city’s distant glow painting shifting patterns on the ceiling, their breathing slowly syncing. The sheer, terrifying openness of the past hour still echoed in the quiet, a physical hum beneath his skin. He felt flayed, raw, yet impossibly anchored by the solid warmth of Lando pressed against him, the rhythmic thud of Lando’s heart a steady drum beneath his ear.

"Shower?" Lando murmured after a long while, his voice rough with sleepiness, fingers tracing idle patterns on Oscar’s damp shoulder blade. The suggestion was practical, cutting through the heavy, intimate fog. Sweat cooled on their skin, the crisp sheets clinging uncomfortably.

Oscar managed a grunt, a sound that vibrated against Lando’s chest. Moving felt monumental. Unthinkable. Every muscle protested, not from exertion, but from the profound release of tension he hadn't known he’d been carrying. His usual razor-sharp focus was shattered, thoughts drifting like ash on a breeze. He felt… untethered. Yet, the familiar scent of Lando – skin, clean sweat, the lingering trace of his cologne – was a lifeline. He nodded fractionally against Lando’s skin.

"Come on, big man," Lando coaxed softly, shifting. He eased out from under Oscar’s weight, the loss of contact momentarily jarring. Oscar resisted the childish urge to cling. Lando sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, and looked down at him. His expression was soft, affectionate, but held that new, disconcerting edge of quiet authority that had emerged in the bedroom. "Up you get." He offered a hand.

Oscar took it, his own grip surprisingly weak. Lando pulled, the movement steady and strong, guiding Oscar to sit on the edge of the bed. The room tilted slightly. Oscar braced his hands on his knees, head bowed, taking slow breaths. The polished concrete floor felt cold under his bare feet. The vulnerability wasn't gone; it had shifted form, leaving him feeling strangely hollow, adrift in his own penthouse.

"Okay?" Lando asked, his hand resting between Oscar’s shoulder blades, warm and grounding.

Oscar nodded again, the motion stiff. "Yeah." The word felt thick, inadequate. He pushed himself up, swaying only slightly. Lando was instantly there, a solid presence at his side, his hand sliding down to grip Oscar’s forearm firmly. Not coddling, but supporting. Guiding.

The walk to the en-suite felt longer than the penthouse’s expanse warranted. The cool air raised goosebumps on Oscar’s bare skin. He focused on the feel of Lando’s hand, the texture of the rug beneath his feet, the distant hum of the building – anchoring points in a world that felt suddenly too vast and undefined.

Lando reached into the spacious, marble-tiled shower enclosure and turned the dials. The sound of water striking tile filled the space, followed by the hiss of steam beginning to rise. He adjusted the temperature, testing the spray with his hand. "Good?" he asked, glancing back.

Oscar just stood, watching the steam curl, feeling detached. The simple act of stepping under water felt like navigating a complex puzzle. He registered Lando’s expectant look. "Yeah," he rasped again.

Lando’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features. He stepped into the shower first, the water instantly darkening his sandy hair, plastering it to his forehead. He turned, holding out his hand again, water sluicing down his arms. "Oz?"

Oscar took the offered hand. The tiles were cool underfoot as he stepped over the threshold. The hot water hit his back like a physical shock, a cascade of needles that momentarily stole his breath. He gasped, tensing. It felt too much, too intense, a sensory barrage against his raw nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut against the spray, bracing one hand against the sleek marble wall.

"Hey." Lando’s voice was close, cutting through the drumming water. Gentle hands turned him, pulling him away from the direct blast so the water hit his shoulder instead. Lando’s palms settled on Oscar’s chest, slick and warm. "Too hot?"

Oscar shook his head, water flying from his hair. He kept his eyes closed. The steam was thick, clinging. He felt unmoored again, the solidity of the wall behind him the only thing preventing him from drifting. The water pounded, relentless. He tried to find words, to articulate the formless anxiety coiling in his chest, the strange lightness in his head, the feeling of being fundamentally elsewhere. Nothing came. Just a shaky inhale.

"Oscar." Lando’s voice was firmer now, cutting through the haze. A hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away water – or was it something else? – near his eye. "Look at me."

The command, gentle but unyielding, pierced the fog. Oscar forced his eyes open. Lando stood before him, water streaming down his face, his smaller frame radiating a palpable strength. His blue eyes were sharp, searching Oscar’s face, seeing far too much. The playful CEO was entirely absent. In his place was the man who had commanded him to his knees, who had held him through the shattering aftermath – a man radiating unwavering focus, entirely attuned to Oscar’s fractured state.

"I'm..." Oscar started, his voice cracking. He swallowed, tried again. "I feel..." He gestured vaguely, helplessly, at his own head, his chest. The words dissolved. Lost. Small. Scared. Not me.

Lando didn't press. He didn't demand explanation. He simply stepped closer, closing the small distance the water and steam had created. His arms slid around Oscar’s waist, pulling him into a tight embrace, skin slick against skin, Oscar’s taller frame folding slightly to accommodate him. Lando buried his face against Oscar’s neck, holding him with a fierceness that belied his size. "I've got you," he murmured, the words vibrating against Oscar’s collarbone, barely audible over the water. "Just breathe, Oz. Breathe with me."

Oscar’s arms hung limply at his sides for a moment, then slowly, tentatively, lifted. They closed around Lando’s back, pulling him impossibly closer, fingers digging into the solid muscle as if clinging to a rock in a raging sea. He dropped his head, resting his forehead heavily against Lando’s brow. The water poured over them, hot and constant, washing away the sweat and the salt, but not the profound vulnerability etched into every line of Oscar’s body. A tremor ran through him, deeper than before, originating from his core.

Lando held him through it, one hand moving to cradle the back of Oscar’s head, fingers tangling in his wet hair, the other a firm anchor across his lower back. He didn't speak platitudes. He just held. Solid. Present. An immovable object against the formless tide of Oscar’s drop. He turned his head slightly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the side of Oscar’s neck, the hinge of his jaw, the damp skin below his ear. Each kiss was a point of contact, a grounding touch in the storm of sensation and emotion.

The tightness in Oscar’s chest began to ease, incrementally, replaced by a deep, shuddering sigh that seemed to come from his bones. The frantic edge of panic softened into a bone-deep weariness, a trembling exhaustion. He leaned more heavily into Lando, letting the smaller man bear his weight, the drumming water a white noise backdrop to the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat slowly calming.

"Better?" Lando asked after a long while, his voice muffled against Oscar’s skin.

Oscar nodded, the movement small against Lando’s head. "Yeah," he breathed, the word less ragged this time. "Just... head's all..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the strange, floaty dissociation.

"Like you're watching from the ceiling?" Lando supplied, pulling back just enough to meet Oscar’s eyes again. His gaze was understanding, free of judgment. "Happens. After." He brushed wet hair off Oscar’s forehead. "Comes back. Slowly. You're doing fine."

The simple acknowledgement, the lack of alarm, was a relief in itself. Oscar managed a weak semblance of a smile, the expression feeling foreign on his face. "Feel daft."

"You look daft," Lando countered lightly, but his eyes were warm. He reached past Oscar, snagging a bottle of expensive shower gel. He squeezed a generous amount onto a loofah, the clean, cedar-scented fragrance momentarily cutting through the steam. "Right. Can't have the fearsome CEO dissolving in the shower. Let's get you clean." His tone was practical, grounding. He started with Oscar’s shoulders, the loofah moving in slow, firm circles over the tense muscles, washing away the physical remnants of their intimacy.

Oscar closed his eyes again, this time leaning into the touch. The firm pressure of Lando’s hands, the rhythmic motion, the scent of the soap – it was all deliberate, anchoring. He felt the fog in his mind begin to recede, replaced by a profound, almost humbling gratitude. Lando wasn't just washing him; he was meticulously building him back up, brick by tactile brick. He worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the water and the soft scratch of the loofah. Then, his hands stilled on Oscar’s chest.

"Shampoo?" Lando asked, looking up, a small, familiar smirk playing on his lips despite the gravity of the moment. "Or shall we just let the board of directors wonder why you look like a drowned rat tomorrow?"

The mundane question, the return of Lando’s characteristic teasing, however gentle, was like sunlight breaking through clouds. Oscar huffed a soft sound, almost a laugh. It felt rusty but real. He opened his eyes, meeting Lando’s gaze. The storm in his own grey eyes had calmed to a deep, weary sea. "Think I'd give them enough to talk about already if they saw me like this," he murmured. He lowered his head slightly in invitation.

Lando’s smirk widened into a proper grin. "Good point." He squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto his palm. "Close your eyes, boss. Don't want the fearsome shampoo saboteur getting you." His fingers, strong and sure, began to massage the lather into Oscar’s scalp, working methodically, soothingly, from the crown down to the nape of his neck. The careful, intimate pressure, the scent of citrus and herbs, the warmth of the water, the solid presence of Lando’s body braced close to his – it was a different kind of surrender. A yielding to care, to being pieced back together by the man who had, just hours before, shattered him open.

Oscar let out a long, slow breath, the last of the tension seeping from his shoulders as Lando’s fingers worked magic. He leaned into the touch, his forehead coming to rest against Lando’s once more, breathing him in, anchored not just by the embrace, but by the quiet, unwavering certainty in Lando’s touch. The steam wrapped around them like a cocoon, the water a curtain separating their fragile, reassembling world from everything else. For now, the only control he needed was the rhythm of their shared breath.

The water finally shut off with a heavy click, plunging the marble enclosure into sudden, dripping silence. Steam hung thick, obscuring the edges of the room. Oscar felt the cool kiss of air on his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat. Lando reached past him, grabbing plush, oversized towels from the heated rack. He wrapped one around Oscar first, rubbing briskly over his back and arms, the friction warming him through the thick terrycloth. Oscar stood passively, the simple act of drying feeling strangely monumental, every movement requiring conscious effort. Lando efficiently secured a towel around his own waist, then guided Oscar out of the shower.

The bedroom felt vast and cool after the humid shower. City lights, muted by sheer curtains, painted shifting patterns on the dark hardwood floor. Oscar’s legs felt unsteady, the kind of deep fatigue that followed intense physical exertion mixed with emotional unmooring. He swayed slightly. Lando’s hand, firm on his elbow, steadied him instantly. "Easy," Lando murmured, his voice low and calm. "Bed’s right there."

Oscar nodded, letting Lando lead him the few steps to the grand four-poster. The silk sheets were cool against his skin as he sat heavily on the edge. Lando knelt before him, carefully drying Oscar’s feet with a corner of the towel, his touch methodical, almost reverent. The intimacy of it, the sheer care in the gesture, tightened something in Oscar’s chest. He watched the top of Lando’s head, the damp, sandy strands catching the dim light. This quiet competence, this unwavering presence – it was a revelation. A side of Lando he’d only glimpsed in boardroom negotiations, never directed solely at him like this.

"Lie down," Lando instructed softly, standing up. He pulled back the heavy duvet. Oscar obeyed, sliding under the cool silk, the sheets whispering against his skin. He sank into the mattress, the exhaustion hitting him like a wave. Every muscle felt liquefied. Lando moved around the room, extinguishing the remaining candles with quick pinches of his fingers, plunging the room into near-darkness illuminated only by the city’s perpetual glow. He slid in beside Oscar, the mattress dipping slightly. The scent of clean skin and the faint cedar from the shower soap filled the small space between them.

For a long moment, they lay in silence. Oscar stared at the shadowed canopy above. The profound release of earlier, that terrifying vulnerability, had receded, leaving behind a hollowed-out ache and a persistent hum of anxiety in its wake. The control he wielded like a weapon in the world, the armour he wore so naturally, felt like scattered shards on the floor. He felt exposed. Weak. The thought coiled, cold and sharp, in his gut.

He rolled onto his side, facing Lando. In the dim light, he could see the outline of Lando’s profile, the curve of his cheekbone. Oscar shifted closer, seeking warmth, seeking anchor. He buried his face against the curve of Lando’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent that grounded him more than any boardroom victory ever could. The skin was warm, slightly damp. The solid thump of Lando’s pulse beneath his lips was a steady drumbeat against the chaotic rhythm of his own thoughts.

The question formed in the quiet, small and brittle, escaping before he could cage it. "Do you think less of me?" Oscar whispered, the words muffled against Lando’s skin. He couldn't bring himself to say more, to articulate the shame tangled with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. Because I submitted. Because I broke. Because you saw me like that.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He shifted slightly, turning his head. Oscar felt the intensity of his gaze in the darkness. A hand came up, not to push him away, but to rest gently on the back of his head, fingers threading into his damp hair, holding him close. The silence stretched, taut and charged.

Then, Lando’s voice, quiet but clear, cut through the dim room. "Do you think less of me," he asked, his tone utterly calm, "when I submit to you?"

The question hung in the air, simple and devastating. It wasn’t deflection. It was a mirror held up. Oscar froze, the breath catching in his throat. Every time Lando had yielded for him, every gasp of pleasure drawn from him, every trembling surrender – had Oscar ever viewed it as weakness? Or had he seen it, felt it, as the profound trust it truly was? The rawest kind of strength.

He didn’t pull away. He pressed closer, his arm sliding over Lando’s waist, holding on. The frantic beat of his heart began to slow, syncing with the pulse under his lips. The tension bled out of him, replaced by a profound, bone-deep understanding that settled warm and heavy in his chest. Lando’s hand gently stroked his hair, a silent reassurance echoing louder than any words. Outside, the city glittered, indifferent. Inside, the quiet held them. The question lingered, its answer unfolding not in speech, but in the shared warmth beneath the silk sheets, in the unspoken promise hanging thick in the air between them. Tomorrow, the armour would need reassembling. But not yet.

Chapter Text

The city’s early light, pale grey and hesitant, filtered through the sheer curtains, striping the silk duvet covering Oscar. He blinked, awareness returning in disjointed pieces. The scent of Lando’s skin, warm and close. The impossibly soft fabric beneath him. The deep, unfamiliar ache of muscles that hadn’t protested like this since his toughest training sessions. And beneath it all, a residual hum, a strange, almost dislocated feeling, like part of him hadn’t fully snapped back into place.

He was curled on his side, facing the expanse of the bed. Lando’s arm was a heavy, comforting weight across his waist, his breath a soft, even rhythm against the back of Oscar’s neck. Safe. Anchored. Yet, the memory of the shower, the terrifying freefall of letting go… it pressed in. The sheer, unguarded vulnerability he’d displayed – the trembling, the near-dissociation, clinging to Lando like a lifeline – felt alien. Shameful, almost. He, Oscar Piastri, who commanded boardrooms and dictated market trends with icy precision, reduced to… that.

He shifted, a minute adjustment, trying to ease the tightness in his chest without disturbing Lando. It was futile. Lando’s arm tightened instantly, pulling him fractionally closer. A soft, sleepy murmur vibrated against his spine. "Mmmph. S’early, Oz. City’s barely awake. Neither should we be."

Oscar swallowed, his throat dry. He stared at the intricate weave of the duvet cover. "Couldn’t sleep anymore," he rasped. The admission felt raw.

Lando nuzzled the nape of his neck, his lips warm. "Head still doing the floaty thing?" His voice was gravelly with sleep but alert, attuned as always.

"Not… exactly." Oscar searched for the words, the precise terminology that usually came so easily. They eluded him. "It’s… quieter. But the feeling… what happened…" He trailed off, frustration knotting his brow. How did you articulate the seismic shift in your own internal landscape?

Lando was silent for a moment, then slowly propped himself up on one elbow. Oscar felt the loss of warmth along his back but didn't turn, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. He sensed Lando looking down at him, studying his profile in the dim light. The weight of that quiet scrutiny was almost as intense as the vulnerability itself.

"You mean," Lando said, his voice low and remarkably clear now, devoid of its usual playful lilt, "that you let go. Completely. And it scared the shit out of you."

Oscar flinched. The bluntness was a scalpel. He closed his eyes. "Yes."

A calloused thumb brushed lightly over his shoulder blade, tracing the ridge of bone beneath the skin. "Is it the letting go part? Or letting go with me?"

That got Oscar to turn. He rolled onto his back, meeting Lando’s gaze. The younger man’s face was soft with sleep, hair tousled, but his blue eyes were sharp, holding a depth of understanding that felt unnerving. "What?"

Lando shrugged one shoulder, the movement shifting the duvet. "You control everything, Oz. Your company, your image, your schedule, your body… hell, you even try to control the bloody weather with that intense glare of yours." A ghost of his familiar smirk touched his lips but quickly faded. "Last night… you didn't. You handed the reins over. To me." He paused, letting the significance hang in the air between them, thick as the morning mist outside the windows. "That’s… big. Monumentally fucking big. For you." He reached out, gently tucking a strand of damp hair behind Oscar’s ear. "So, is the freak-out about submission in general? Or about the fact that it was me holding the reins?"

Oscar stared up at him, the city’s reflection glinting faintly in Lando’s eyes. The question echoed the one Lando had posed in the dark last night. Do you think less of me when I submit to you? The answer had been a visceral no. It was trust. Strength. Seeing it reflected back at him now, aimed at his own actions… it was disorienting.

"It wasn't… planned," Oscar said slowly, the words forming hesitantly. "It wasn't like… like when I push you. It just… happened. Like a dam burst." He looked away, focusing on the sharp line where the curtain met the ceiling. "I’ve never… lost grip like that. Ever. In any context. It felt…" He searched for the descriptor, the one that cut closest to the bone. "Fucking terrifying."

Lando nodded, his expression serious. "Dropping hits hard. Especially the first time. Especially for someone like you. It’s like your entire operating system crashes." He traced the line of Oscar’s collarbone with a feather-light touch. "But you came back. You let me help you come back."

Oscar absorbed this. The technical term – dropping – made it feel less like a personal failing and more like a known phenomenon. A physiological and emotional reaction he could categorize, if not fully control. He looked back at Lando. "And you weren't…" He hesitated, the unspoken question heavy. Repulsed? Disappointed?

Lando’s eyes softened. He leaned down, brushing his lips against Oscar’s forehead, a gesture startlingly tender. "Oscar," he murmured against his skin, his breath warm. "Seeing you like that? Knowing you trusted me enough to be like that?" He pulled back slightly, meeting Oscar’s gaze again, intensity burning in the blue. "It was the hottest, most humbling fucking thing I’ve ever experienced." A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "Also, slightly terrifying. Had to make sure I didn't fuck up the aftercare."

Oscar huffed a weak, almost-laugh. The knot in his chest loosened another fraction. Humbling. Humbling resonated more than weakness. He reached up, his hand finding Lando’s jaw, fingers tracing the familiar line. The reality was settling in, stark and undeniable. The sheer terror of the freefall… but also the profound, bone-deep sense of safety he’d felt in Lando’s arms afterward. The absolute certainty that Lando wouldn’t let him shatter.

"It wouldn’t be like that," Oscar said, the words emerging with a quiet certainty that surprised even him. His thumb brushed over Lando’s lower lip. "With anyone else."

Lando went very still, his gaze searching Oscar’s face. "What wouldn’t?"

"The letting go." Oscar held his gaze, the grey of his own eyes steady now, the confusion clearing like fog burning off under the strengthening dawn light. "The drop. The… submission." He said the word deliberately, testing its weight. It didn't feel like surrender. It felt like a key fitting a lock only one person possessed. "It wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. Not like that. Not with…" He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Lando’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The look that crossed his face wasn’t triumph, but something deeper, richer. Awe, perhaps. Possession, yes, but fiercely protective. He dipped his head, capturing Oscar’s lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, a claiming and a reassurance rolled into one. It tasted of sleep and shared vulnerability and the unspoken understanding that this thing between them, this complex, demanding, terrifyingly deep connection, was utterly unique. Irreplaceable.

When they finally broke apart, breathing a little raggedly, Lando rested his forehead against Oscar’s. "Good," he breathed, the single word loaded with a universe of meaning. "Because I wouldn’t want to see it with anyone else either, you impossible, controlling bastard." He kissed the corner of Oscar’s mouth, a quick, affectionate nip. "Now, how about we attempt functioning? I smell coffee. And possibly the faint aroma of existential crisis fading."

Oscar managed a proper smile this time, small but real. The dislocated feeling was receding, replaced by a weary solidity, a sense of having navigated uncharted territory and survived. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the silk sheets cool against his skin. "Functioning sounds ambitious. Coffee first. Then maybe… functioning."

Lando grinned, rolling out of bed with surprising agility. He stretched, the muscles in his back rippling in the grey light. "Priority order: Coffee. Then maybe eggs. Then," he shot Oscar a glance over his shoulder, that familiar spark of playful challenge back in his eyes, "we can renegotiate the definition of 'functioning'. See how much control you feel like wielding today, CEO."

He padded towards the kitchenette area of the vast suite, barefoot on the cool hardwood. Oscar watched him go, the stocky frame moving with easy confidence. The vulnerability of the night was a physical memory, a lingering ache, but no longer a source of panic. It was a part of the landscape now. His landscape. And Lando was the only cartographer who mattered. He swung his legs out of bed, the city stretching infinitely below, a world waiting to be commanded. But first, coffee. And the quiet, potent promise implicit in Lando’s backward glance. 

The cool hardwood bit into Oscar’s bare feet as he followed the scent of brewing coffee into the suite’s sleek kitchen area. Lando stood at the induction hob, a picture of focused calm, the sizzle of butter meeting eggs a sharp counterpoint to the city’s distant murmur below. Oscar stopped. Watched. The controlled movements, the familiar set of Lando’s shoulders. A lifeline.

He crossed the space silently, drawn by the warmth radiating from Lando’s back. Oscar pressed his entire length against him, forehead resting between Lando’s shoulder blades. He inhaled sharply, grounding himself in the scent of clean skin, fabric softener, and cooking fat. Lando didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head slightly, a silent acknowledgement.

"Will it be weird?" Oscar murmured, the words muffled against Lando’s thin t-shirt. His arms snaked around Lando’s waist, anchoring himself. "Going back to our usual dom/sub dynamic? Now that you know…" He swallowed. "Now that you’ve seen what it’s like? Having control over me like that?"

Lando kept his gaze on the pan, expertly flipping an egg without breaking its yolk. His voice was steady, warm like the stove beneath the pan. "Of course not." He reached back with one hand, finding Oscar’s forearm and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before returning to the cooking. "Why would it?"

Oscar relaxed infinitesimally, the coiled tension in his spine unwinding strand by strand. He pressed his lips against the cotton covering Lando’s spine. "Because it was… big. Messy. Not the controlled scene we usually navigate." He nuzzled deeper, seeking the solid reality beneath the soft fabric. "Seeing me that way… broken open."

Lando slid the eggs onto a waiting plate. He turned smoothly within the circle of Oscar’s arms, forcing Oscar to lift his head. His blue eyes held Oscar’s grey ones, unwavering. "It wasn’t weird. It was real." He cupped Oscar’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "Our dynamic isn’t a script, Oz. It’s us. All of it. The control you wield, the trust you give. Last night just proved you can give it. To me. That’s everything." He leaned in, kissed him softly. "Now, eat."

Lando nudged the plate towards Oscar, steam curling lazily from the perfectly golden eggs. "Eat," he repeated, softer this time, tapping the fork handle. "Before the existential dread makes them cold, or worse, gasp, lukewarm."

Oscar managed a weak chuckle, the sound rusty but genuine. He sank onto a stool at the sleek marble breakfast bar, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from Lando beside him. He picked up the fork, the weight unfamiliar. "Lukewarm eggs. Truly the final frontier of despair," he murmured, pushing the food around. His usual razor focus felt blunted, replaced by a lingering, fragile awareness of his own edges.

"Right up there with decaf after noon," Lando agreed, pouring two mugs of rich, black coffee. The familiar, bitter aroma anchored Oscar slightly. Lando slid one mug across the bar, his fingers brushing Oscar’s knuckles. "Seriously, Oz. Eat. You need fuel. Yesterday was... intense." He leaned his hip against the counter, watching Oscar take a small, tentative bite. "You keep eyeing that fork like it’s plotting hostile takeover."

Oscar chewed slowly, the simple flavour surprisingly grounding. He swallowed. "Feels like it already happened." He stared into his coffee, the dark liquid reflecting the pale morning light filtering through the windows. "That loss of control... it wasn't just in the shower. It lingered. Like static." He took a scalding gulp of coffee, welcoming the sharp bite. "Waking up... I felt untethered."

Lando didn't rush to fill the silence. He just sipped his own coffee, his presence a steady anchor in the vast, quiet room. The city hummed distantly below, a world Oscar usually commanded. Now it felt miles away. "Untethered," Lando echoed finally, setting his mug down with a soft clink. "Or maybe just... lighter?" He met Oscar’s questioning look. "Like you finally put down a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying every second. That kind of exhaustion hits different. Makes everything feel floaty after."

Oscar considered this. Lighter? It hadn't felt light. It felt like freefall. But the crushing weight... the constant pressure to be on, to be perfect, to be in command... that was a weight. A familiar, crushing one. He took another bite of egg, tasting it properly this time. "Maybe," he conceded grudgingly. "Or maybe I just fried my circuitry." He gestured vaguely towards his temple with the fork. "Vulnerability.exe encountered a fatal error."

Lando snorted, a sudden, bright laugh cutting through the quiet intensity. "Vulnerability.exe! Christ, Oz, only you." He reached over, stealing a piece of toast from Oscar’s plate. "System reboot required. Apply coffee and bacon?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding up the toast like a prize.

The sheer absurdity of the tech metaphor, coming from Lando who usually revelled in physicality, startled a real laugh out of Oscar. It felt strange, foreign, but good. Like cracking ice. "Bacon? Is that the official patch?"

"Proven effective in ninety-nine percent of cases involving emotionally constipated CEOs," Lando declared, popping the toast into his mouth. He turned back to the stove, pulling bacon from the fridge. The sizzle that followed was immediate, filling the air with salty, savoury promise. "Side effects may include increased affection and decreased brooding. Consult your designated brat if symptoms persist."

Oscar watched him, the efficient movements, the familiar curve of his back under the thin t-shirt, the way his hair stuck up at the back. The residual static in his mind began to quiet, replaced by the warm, domestic symphony of cooking – the sizzle, the clink of utensils, the rich smells weaving through the expensive cologne still lingering in the air. He felt a strange, profound sense of gratitude, sharp enough to sting his eyes. He looked away, focusing on his coffee. "Designated brat, huh?" he managed, his voice rough.

"Someone’s gotta keep you operational," Lando called over his shoulder, flipping bacon with practised ease. "And occasionally short-circuit you." He glanced back, a quick, warm smile directed Oscar’s way. "For maintenance purposes, obviously."

Oscar huffed another laugh, the tension in his shoulders finally dissolving completely. He finished his eggs, the simple food settling warmly in his stomach. The dislocated feeling was gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and an unexpected, quiet contentment. He watched Lando pile crispy bacon onto a plate, humming slightly off-key to some tune only he could hear. The penthouse, usually a testament to cool modern luxury, felt different. Warmer. Softer. Filled not just with the scent of coffee and bacon, but with something else entirely. Something thick and golden and impossibly tender.

Lando brought the bacon over, setting it down with a flourish. "Behold, the official system patch." He grabbed his coffee mug again, leaning back against the counter beside Oscar’s stool. Their shoulders touched. Not demanding, just present. Solid.

Oscar picked up a piece of bacon. Crisp, salty, perfect. He took a bite, the flavour exploding on his tongue. He looked at Lando, really looked at him – the sleep-tousled hair, the faint smudge of exhaustion under his eyes, the absolute, unwavering certainty in his gaze. The boyish charm that hid a will as strong as steel. His anchor. His lifeline. His impossible, infuriating, essential counterpart.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Oscar’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Patch seems effective," he murmured.

Lando grinned back, lifting his mug in a mock toast. "Told you. Bacon fixes everything." He nudged Oscar’s shoulder again. "Pass the existential dread? Might need a top-up for my own system."

Oscar laughed then, a full, rich sound that echoed unexpectedly in the high-ceilinged space. He nudged Lando back. "Think you used the last of mine." He felt light. Grounded. Utterly spent, yet more whole than he’d felt in years. He reached for another strip of bacon, his fingers brushing Lando’s as they both went for the same piece.

They ate. They bickered playfully over the last slice. They refilled their coffee mugs, the rich aroma mingling with the lingering scent of their shared night and the comforting smell of breakfast. Sunlight strengthened, painting bright rectangles across the polished floor. Lando recounted a ridiculous anecdote about a disastrous board meeting at his company, complete with exaggerated impressions that had Oscar choking on his coffee. Oscar retaliated with a dry, cutting observation about a rival CEO, delivered with perfect deadpan timing that sent Lando into helpless giggles.

Their laughter, easy and unguarded, bounced off the glass walls, filled the plush corners, warmed the cool marble surfaces. It wasn’t the boisterous sound of victory, but the quieter, more profound melody of shared understanding and absolute trust. The penthouse, that monument to power and control, felt utterly transformed. It hummed not with ambition, but with contentment. The air itself seemed to shimmer, thick with the unspoken affirmation passing between them. Every glance, every accidental touch as they cleared the plates, every shared smile over the rim of a coffee cup – it was all a quiet, continuous declaration. The space wasn't just filled with expensive furniture and a view; it was saturated with a profound, unshakeable fondness. A deep, resonant love.

He watched Lando stack the dishwasher, whistling tunelessly, utterly at ease in his space, in their space. Oscar leaned against the counter, the last warmth of the coffee mug seeping into his palms. The city glittered below, vast and demanding. The weight of his responsibilities hadn't vanished. But here, now, in this sun-drenched sanctuary filled with the echoes of their laughter and the silent strength of their connection, it felt manageable. More than manageable. It felt worth it. Lando turned, catching his gaze. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The pure, unadulterated affection in his eyes, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the simple, domestic act of tidying up – it was the only answer Oscar needed. The penthouse held its breath, suspended in the golden light, utterly filled with the quiet, powerful force of their fond, unwavering love.

Chapter Text

The low thrum of conversation and clinking glasses was a familiar soundtrack, but tonight it felt amplified, pressing against Oscar’s carefully constructed calm. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his executive suite, gilding the polished walnut conference table repurposed as a buffet and casting long shadows across the leather sofas where clusters of employees mingled. The air hung thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, catered canapés, and the faint, ever-present ozone tang of the city thirty floors below.

Oscar stood near the window, a tumbler of mineral water held loosely in one hand, surveying the room. He wore a charcoal suit that fit like a second skin, the fabric whispering with every minute shift. His expression was its usual mask of detached observation, but his gaze kept snagging, magnet-like, on a single point across the room.

Lando.

He was holding court near the bar, effortlessly charming a group that included Sarah Chen from Finance and two wide-eyed junior developers. Dressed in a deep navy suit that complemented his stockier frame, he looked every inch the successful CEO. But Oscar saw the subtle tells: the way Lando’s thumb rubbed absently against the crystal of his whiskey glass, the slight tilt of his head that signaled genuine engagement rather than polite listening, the quick, bright flash of his smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was performing, brilliantly, but Oscar knew the energy it cost him.

As if sensing the weight of Oscar’s stare, Lando glanced over. Their eyes met across the crowded room. A flicker of something warm, intimate, passed between them – a silent acknowledgment that cut through the corporate haze. Lando raised his glass infinitesimally, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Still standing, the gesture seemed to say. Despite your best efforts last night.

Oscar’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a reciprocal smile. The memory of Lando’s quiet strength in the penthouse kitchen, the grounding warmth of bacon and shared laughter, was a potent counterpoint to the sterile buzz of the party. He took a deliberate sip of water, the coolness sharpening his focus.

He felt Lando’s approach before he saw him, a shift in the air current, the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne cutting through the other smells. Lando materialized at his elbow, radiating a contained energy.

"Enjoying the view, CEO Piastri?" Lando murmured, his voice pitched low, intimate despite the surroundings. He gestured vaguely towards the glittering skyline. "Or just contemplating the quarterly projections reflected in the glass?"

"The projections are satisfactory," Oscar replied evenly, turning slightly towards him. Their shoulders brushed, a deliberate point of contact in the sea of people. "The view," he added, letting his gaze drift meaningfully back to Lando’s face, "is exceptional."

Lando’s cheeks flushed a faint, pleasing pink. He took a sip of his whiskey. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Oz. Especially after you nearly broke me." The words were light, teasing, but Oscar heard the underlying truth, the echo of shared exertion and profound trust.

"Nearly?" Oscar arched an eyebrow, the controlled gesture belying the possessive warmth unfurling in his chest. "I recall distinct moments of… structural integrity failure."

Lando choked on a laugh, hastily covering it with another sip. "Shut up," he hissed, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "People can hear."

"Let them speculate," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping even lower. He let his knuckles brush against Lando’s wrist where it rested on the windowsill. A silent claim. A reminder. Mine.

They stood like that for a moment, a silent island amidst the chatter, drawing strength from the proximity. Oscar cataloged the subtle signs of Lando’s fatigue beneath the polished veneer – the slight tension around his eyes, the way he leaned fractionally into Oscar’s side. The fierce protectiveness that had surged in him last night, holding Lando as he trembled, flared anew. He wanted to spirit him away, back to the penthouse sanctuary, away from the draining performance.

Before he could voice the thought, Marcus Henderson, Head of Operations, approached, his booming voice preceding him. "Gentlemen! Holding strategic planning by the window? Or just admiring the fruits of our collective labor?" He gestured expansively towards the cityscape.

Oscar smoothly shifted his posture, widening his stance slightly, subtly placing himself between Lando and Marcus’s enthusiastic bulk. "Merely ensuring Norris here hasn’t charmed Engineering into promising impossible deadlines again," Oscar said, his tone dry, professional, but laced with an undercurrent only Lando would catch.

Lando shot him a mock-offended look. "Me? Never. They volunteered the accelerated timeline purely out of admiration for my leadership style." He flashed Marcus his trademark grin. "Isn’t that right, Marcus?"

Marcus chuckled. "Well, Lando does have a way of making overtime sound like a privilege." He launched into an update on the Singapore server migration, his attention primarily on Oscar.

Oscar listened, nodding at the appropriate intervals, asking sharp, pertinent questions. But his awareness remained split. He felt Lando beside him, the warmth of his arm radiating through their suit jackets. He noted the slight sag in Lando’s shoulders as Marcus droned on, the way his fingers tightened minutely around his glass. The playful spark from moments ago was dimming under the weight of sustained social exertion.

As Marcus paused for breath, Oscar intervened smoothly. "Crucial points, Marcus. Send me the full risk assessment by EOD tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse us," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Norris and I need to circulate." He placed a hand, firm and proprietary, on the small of Lando’s back, guiding him away before Marcus could protest.

The touch was brief, professional enough to pass muster, but the intent was clear. Possession. Protection. Enough.

Lando exhaled softly as they moved towards a quieter corner near a towering potted fig tree. "Thanks," he murmured, leaning his shoulder against the cool glass wall beside the plant. "Marcus was heading into a deep dive on redundant cooling systems. I might have actually fallen asleep standing up."

"Wouldn’t be the first time," Oscar remarked, retrieving a fresh mineral water from a passing tray and handing it to Lando, swapping it for the nearly empty whiskey glass. "Hydrate."

Lando took the water, his fingers brushing Oscar’s. "Bossy," he muttered, but drank obediently. He looked up at Oscar, the city lights beginning to wink on behind him, reflecting in his tired blue eyes. "How do you do it? The constant… performance. Doesn’t it drain you?"

Oscar considered the question, watching the play of colored light across Lando’s face. "It’s necessary," he stated simply. "Control is energy. Maintaining it is draining." He paused, his gaze intensifying, stripping away the layers of the party, the suits, the roles. "But knowing where I can relinquish it…" He let the sentence hang, heavy with the unspoken reference to the penthouse, the shower, the terrifying, necessary surrender. "...That’s the counterbalance. The recharge."

Understanding dawned in Lando’s eyes, warm and profound. He straightened slightly, some of the weariness lifting. "Right," he breathed. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "So. Recharge protocol activated? Or do we have more charming to inflict?"

Oscar scanned the room. The party was winding down; clusters were thinning, the laughter growing less frequent. He saw Claire from PR heading their way, a determined look on her face. He made a decision.

"Infliction concluded," Oscar declared, his voice regaining its full, commanding edge. He took Lando’s empty water glass and placed it, along with his own tumbler, on a nearby side table with a decisive click. "Time to extract."

He didn’t wait for Claire to reach them. He turned, his hand finding Lando’s elbow again, this time with unmistakable finality. "Say your goodnights, Norris. Efficiently."

Lando didn’t hesitate. He flashed Claire a brilliant, apologetic smile as they passed. "Claire! Looking fabulous. Must dash, critical… CEO thing. Details tomorrow!" He kept moving, propelled by Oscar’s guiding hand.

They navigated the remaining guests with swift, polite nods, Oscar’s presence parting the crowd like a sleek ship cutting through water. The hum of the party faded behind them as they stepped into the hushed, carpeted corridor leading to the private elevators. The sudden quiet was jarring, intimate.

The elevator doors slid open silently. They stepped in, the plush interior enveloping them. Oscar pressed the penthouse button. Only when the doors sealed, shutting out the last vestiges of the corporate world, did Oscar release Lando’s elbow. He didn’t step away.

Lando leaned back against the mirrored wall, letting his head thunk gently against the cool surface. He closed his eyes for a second, the mask finally dropping completely, revealing the deep fatigue beneath. "God, I’m wiped," he breathed.

Oscar moved then. Not with the controlled precision of the CEO, but with the focused intensity reserved solely for Lando. He stepped into Lando’s space, crowding him gently against the mirror. One hand came up, fingers brushing the faint tension lines beside Lando’s eye. The other settled possessively on his hip.

"No more charming," Oscar murmured, his voice a low vibration in the confined space. His gaze was dark, intense, stripping away the last remnants of the party. "No more performing." His thumb traced Lando’s jawline. "Just me."

Lando’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Oscar’s. Exhaustion warred with a spark of anticipation, of submission. A slow, tired smile spread across his face, devoid of artifice. Pure relief. Pure trust.

"Just you," Lando echoed softly, his voice rough at the edges. He tilted his head back further, baring his throat in a gesture that was both surrender and invitation. "Sounds perfect."

The elevator ascended smoothly, silently. Outside, the city lights streaked upwards, a blur of gold and white. Inside, suspended in their private capsule, Oscar leaned down. His lips brushed Lando’s forehead, a benediction. Then, lower, finding his temple. A promise. The scent of cedarwood and whiskey and pure, unguarded Lando filled Oscar’s senses, drowning out the memory of cologne and canapés. The weight of the day, the performance, the constant vigilance, began to dissolve, replaced by the singular, grounding focus of the man in his arms. The ascent continued, carrying them upwards, away from the world, towards the only control that truly mattered.

The elevator doors sighed open onto the penthouse foyer, spilling them into the profound silence. City light, cold and distant, washed the minimalist space. Oscar’s hand, still resting possessively on Lando’s hip, guided him forward without a word. The quiet amplified their breathing, ragged edges from the party’s performance.

Lando leaned into the touch, his earlier fatigue now a palpable weight. "Remind me why we host these things?" he mumbled, toes curling in his polished oxfords against the cool marble.

"Networking," Oscar stated flatly, his own voice tight. "Brand cohesion." He steered Lando past the chrome and leather living room, straight towards the sanctuary of the bedroom. The thick carpet muffled their steps. "Necessary evils."

The bedroom air held the faint, clean scent of linen and the expensive bergamot cologne Oscar favored. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering grid of the city, a vast circuit board humming far below. Oscar closed the heavy door behind them with a soft, definitive click. The outside world ceased to exist.

He turned to Lando. The carefully constructed CEO facade Oscar presented to the world was gone, stripped away during the ascent. What remained was raw focus, an intensity that pinned Lando in place. He saw the lingering tension in Lando’s shoulders, the slight droop of his eyelids, the way his suit jacket, usually worn with such easy charm, now looked like armor he desperately needed removed.

"Too much," Oscar murmured, not a question. He stepped close, invading Lando’s space not with aggression, but with purpose. His fingers found the knot of Lando’s tie, silk sliding against skin as he loosened it.

Lando exhaled, a shaky release. "Just… noisy. Inside my head." He lifted his chin obediently as Oscar undid the top button of his shirt, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. "All those eyes. All the words."

"Gone now." Oscar’s voice was low, a vibration felt more than heard. He pushed the jacket from Lando’s shoulders, letting it crumple unheeded to the floor. His hands smoothed over the crisp cotton shirt beneath, tracing the solid shape of him. "Only me." His thumb brushed the pulse point at Lando’s neck, feeling the rapid flutter. "Only this."

Lando’s eyes fluttered shut. He swayed slightly, leaning into the touch, into the grounding solidity of Oscar’s presence. "Only you," he echoed, the words barely a breath. The surrender wasn’t passive; it was an active yielding, a conscious choice made in the absolute privacy of their domain. Trust given freely.

Oscar felt the shift, the subtle release of Lando’s control into his hands. The fierce protectiveness, the possessiveness he’d felt watching Lander navigate the party crowd, solidified into a singular drive. To erase the fatigue. To reclaim. To know. His hands slid down, fingers hooking into Lando’s belt loops. He pulled him flush against his own body, a deliberate press of heat and muscle. Lando gasped, a small, sharp intake of air.

"Off," Oscar commanded, his voice rough-edged. He didn’t wait, working the belt buckle with practiced efficiency, the rasp of leather loud in the quiet room. The button of Lando’s trousers followed, the zipper a metallic sigh.

Lando offered no resistance, his own hands coming up to brace loosely against Oscar’s biceps. He watched Oscar’s concentrated expression, the slight furrow between his brows, the absolute focus directed solely at him. "Always so efficient," he whispered, a ghost of his usual teasing lilt returning, coloured by breathlessness.

"Priorities," Oscar countered, pushing trousers and underwear down Lando’s hips in one fluid motion. The fabric pooled around his ankles. Lando stepped out automatically, guided by Oscar’s hands on his waist.

Naked now except for his unbuttoned shirt, Lando stood bathed in the city’s ambient glow. The soft light traced the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his spine, the powerful lines of his thighs. He looked solid, real, breathtakingly his. Oscar’s gaze swept over him, a possessive inventory that ignited warmth under Lando’s skin.

Oscar straightened. His own movements were deliberate, predatory. He didn’t look away from Lando as he reached out, his strong hands encircling Lando’s waist. There was no hesitation, only certainty. He lifted.

Lando’s breath hitched, a surprised little sound escaping as his feet left the floor. Oscar’s strength was effortless, terrifying, exhilarating. He was carried the few steps to the vast bed, the silk duvet cool and smooth beneath his back as Oscar lowered him down. The shirt rucked up around his ribs. Oscar’s shadow fell over him, blocking the city lights, filling his world.

Oscar knelt at the edge of the bed. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held Lando’s. The playful CEO, the charming host, the fierce intellect – all were gone. What remained was pure, unguarded need, and an intensity that stole Lando’s breath. Oscar’s hands, warm and sure, slid up Lando’s inner thighs, pushing them apart just enough. He leaned down.

The first touch of Oscar’s mouth was hot, devastatingly soft against the sensitive head of Lando’s cock. Lando jolted, a strangled gasp ripped from his throat. His back arched off the silk, fingers twisting into the duvet. "Oz—" His voice cracked.

Oscar didn’t stop. He took him deeper, his mouth a searing brand, swallowing Lando down with ruthless expertise. His tongue pressed flat, then swirled. The contrast was shattering: the fierce suction, the impossible softness of his lips, the scrape of teeth held in perfect, tantalizing check. One hand anchored Lando’s hip, fingers digging in possessively, holding him down, holding him in place. The other hand slid further, calloused thumb finding the sensitive skin behind his balls, pressing with just enough pressure to make Lando cry out, a sharp, broken sound that echoed off the glass.

Oscar was relentless. He worked him with single-minded focus, the world beyond the bed evaporating. He knew Lando's body like intricate code, knew the rhythm to build, the precise points of pressure to fracture his control. He hollowed his cheeks, creating a vacuum that pulled a desperate whine from Lando’s chest. He flattened his tongue, dragging it slowly, torturously along the underside, savoring the jump of Lando’s muscles, the helpless thrust of his hips.

Lando was dissolving. The fatigue, the noise of the party, the weight of expectation – burned away in the furnace of sensation. His vision blurred at the edges. He couldn’t think, couldn’t form words, could only feel the devastating heat of Oscar’s mouth, the skilled pressure of his tongue, the anchoring grip on his hip keeping him from flying apart. Whimpers tumbled from his lips, uncontrolled, raw. Pleasure coiled low in his belly, tightening with terrifying speed, a crescendo building beyond his control.

Oscar felt it, the telltale tension thrumming through Lando’s body, the frantic pulse against his tongue. He increased the suction, bobbing his head faster, a fraction harder. His thumb pressed more insistently behind Lando’s balls. He looked up, meeting Lando’s wide, drowning eyes.

That visual connection, the raw intensity in Oscar’s gaze as his mouth worked, was the final catalyst. The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated through Lando like a supernova, white-hot and obliterating. A raw, choked sob tore from his throat, ragged and guttural, as his body bowed off the bed. Tears, hot and unexpected, welled in his eyes, spilling over as he came, shaking violently under Oscar’s relentless mouth and anchoring hands.

The raw, choked sob ripped through Lando, echoing off the glass walls as his body shuddered violently under Oscar’s hold. Pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, flooded his veins, leaving him trembling and utterly spent on the cool silk. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed down his temples, mingling with the sweat at his hairline, a visceral reaction to the sheer, obliterating intensity.

Oscar didn’t flinch at the unexpected tears. He remained perfectly still for a heartbeat, his mouth still gently cradling Lando, feeling the last pulses ebb. Then, with infinite care, he eased back, releasing him. He didn’t speak. His gaze, dark and unreadable in the city-lit gloom, tracked the path of a tear as it slid down Lando’s cheekbone towards his ear.

He shifted slightly, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Reaching up, his thumb, surprisingly soft, brushed the damp trail on Lando's cheek, catching the tear. The touch was whisper-light, a stark counterpoint to the commanding grip that had held him moments before.

His lips followed the path his thumb had traced, pressing a warm, lingering kiss just above Lando’s temple. It wasn't theatrical, not overtly tender in a saccharine way, but deeply intimate. An anchor. A silent "I see you."

"Oz..." Lando breathed, his voice shattered, raw from the sob. He blinked, more tears welling, blurring the sharp lines of the city lights beyond Oscar’s shoulders. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond physical nakedness. The carefully constructed CEO persona, the charming host from the party downstairs, felt like a discarded skin. "Didn’t… didn’t expect that." He managed a weak, shaky gesture towards his own damp face, a flicker of embarrassed confusion in his exhausted eyes.

"Doesn't matter." Oscar’s voice was low, a rough vibration in the quiet room. He stayed close, his body heat a solid presence beside Lando on the bed. His hand remained on Lando’s cheek, thumb tracing the curve just below his eye, catching another escaped tear. "Let it." His gaze held Lando’s, unwavering. "Only here. Only me."

The simple permission, the absolute safety in those words, loosened something tight in Lando’s chest. A small, ragged sigh escaped him, his body sinking deeper into the mattress, the last tremors subsiding. Exhaustion, profound and bone-deep, washed over him, the kind that followed intense emotional release as much as physical exertion. The constant vigilance required downstairs, the performance for Marcus, Claire, everyone, felt like a heavy weight he’d finally, truly shed.

"Just wiped out," Lando murmured, his eyelids feeling impossibly heavy. He turned his face slightly into Oscar’s hand on his cheek, seeking the warmth, the grounding pressure. "That party… sucked the life right out. Felt like an actor doing a terrible, endless play." He gave a tiny, humorless huff. "Pretending I wasn't counting seconds until I could get back here. Get back to you."

Oscar made a low sound of acknowledgment deep in his chest. His hand moved from Lando’s cheek, sliding down to rest firmly, possessively, on the center of his chest, right over his still-racing heart. He could feel the frantic beat gradually beginning to slow under his palm. "Acting’s over," he stated, his tone final. "No more pretending. Not tonight." He looked down at Lando, the city lights glinting in his dark eyes. "Just rest."

Lando closed his eyes, the darkness behind his lids a welcome relief. Oscar’s hand, heavy and warm on his chest, felt like the only real thing in the universe. The scent of his own release, Oscar's cologne, and the clean linen surrounded him. The relentless hum of the city below was a distant thrum now, irrelevant. The silence between them was thick, comfortable, charged not with tension but with a profound, shared exhaustion and the deep intimacy of aftermath.

He felt Oscar shift beside him, the mattress dipping. A moment later, the rustle of fabric – Oscar shedding his own clothes with swift, efficient movements. The weight beside him increased as Oscar stretched out, his body aligning itself alongside Lando’s, skin against warm skin. An arm slid beneath Lando’s shoulders, pulling him close, tucking him securely against Oscar’s side, Lando’s head finding its familiar place on Oscar’s shoulder.

Lando sighed, the sound long and utterly content this time. He burrowed closer, his hand coming up to rest flat on Oscar’s abdomen, feeling the solid muscle beneath, the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Didn't break me," he mumbled, his words already slurring with encroaching sleep, a faint echo of their earlier banter at the party window. "Just… reset me."

Oscar’s arm tightened around him. His lips brushed the top of Lando’s head again, another silent punctuation mark. "Good." The city lights painted shifting patterns on the ceiling, on their bare skin, but within the circle of Oscar’s arms, Lando was already drifting, the world outside the penthouse walls dissolving into meaningless static. The only anchor, the only control that mattered now, was the steady heartbeat against his ear and the solid warmth surrounding him.

Chapter Text

The penthouse hummed with its usual quietude – the low thrum of the city thirty floors below, the whisper of the climate control, the soft tick of the minimalist clock on the far wall. Oscar sat on the deep, charcoal sofa, bathed in the ambient glow of the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. He wore old, soft sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, its sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscle of his forearms. An open laptop balanced precariously on his knees, its screen casting a cool blue light on his focused expression. Reports. Always reports. The quiet intensity he usually wore like armor was relaxed, replaced by a different kind of concentration – analytical, detached.

The soft pad of bare feet on polished concrete broke the silence. Oscar didn’t look up immediately, but a fraction of tension left his shoulders. He knew that step.

Lando appeared in the doorway, haloed by the warmer light spilling from the hall. He was in worn pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower, curling slightly at his temples. He looked soft, rumpled, utterly at odds with the sharp-suited CEO who’d navigated the shark tank of the office party days before. His eyes, however, held a familiar spark of restless energy beneath the surface calm.

He shuffled across the expansive living room, the vast space feeling intimate in the dim light. Without preamble, without a word, he dropped sideways onto the sofa beside Oscar. Not just beside him. Onto him. He twisted, shifting his solid weight, and settled himself firmly into Oscar’s lap, his back resting against Oscar’s chest, his head coming to rest just under Oscar’s chin. He let out a long, slow sigh that seemed to deflate him entirely, his body melting into the lines of Oscar’s taller frame.

Oscar grunted softly at the impact but didn’t protest. His arms, which had been hovering over the keyboard, instinctively wrapped around Lando’s waist. He shifted the laptop smoothly to the cushion beside them, abandoning the report. His chin settled on the top of Lando’s damp head, inhaling the clean scent of soap and his own expensive shampoo. They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing syncing, Oscar’s thumb tracing absent circles on Lando’s t-shirt covered stomach. The city lights painted shifting constellations on the ceiling.

The quiet stretched, comfortable, charged only with the warmth and the familiar scent of each other. Then, Lando shifted minutely. His voice, when it came, was muffled against Oscar’s collarbone, uncharacteristically small. Hesitant.

"Oz?" A pause. The thumb circling stopped. Oscar waited, sensing the shift in the air. Lando took a breath. "Have you…" Another pause, almost painful. "...Ever thought about a kid with me? Like… really thought about it?"

Oscar went completely still. Not tense, but unnervingly motionless. Like a predator freezing mid-hunt. The easy rhythm of their breathing hitched. The hand on Lando’s stomach lay flat, no longer tracing circles. The ambient sounds of the penthouse seemed to amplify in the sudden vacuum – the hum louder, the distant traffic a roar. Lando felt the solid wall of Oscar’s chest become utterly rigid against his back. The warmth was still there, but it was the warmth of stone baked by the sun.

Seconds stretched, elastic and brittle. Lando could hear the frantic thud of his own heart against his ribs. He shouldn’t have asked. It was too big. Too soon. Too… permanent. The playful challenge he usually enjoyed injecting into their dynamic was utterly absent, replaced by a vulnerability that suddenly felt terrifyingly exposed. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for… what? Dismissal? That cool, analytical dissection that could make even solid ideas feel flimsy?

Then, a sound shattered the silence. Low at first, rumbling deep within Oscar’s chest. It built, shaking the stillness, vibrating through Lando’s body where they touched. Not a chuckle. A full, genuine, resonant laugh. It was a startling sound, rich and warm and utterly unexpected in the tense quiet. It wasn't mocking. It held a kind of incredulous, almost giddy relief.

Lando jerked his head back, twisting awkwardly in Oscar’s lap to look up at his face. Confusion warred with a flicker of hurt in his wide eyes. "What? What's so funny?" His voice was thin.

Oscar was still laughing, the sound softening into breathless huffs. He looked down at Lando, his eyes, usually so controlled, were bright, crinkled at the corners with an emotion Lando rarely saw there so openly: pure, unguarded joy mixed with profound disbelief. He brought a hand up, cupping Lando’s cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, wiping away a tear of confusion Lando hadn’t even felt forming.

"Thought about it?" Oscar echoed, his voice thick with the remnants of laughter, rough and warm. He shook his head, the gesture filled with wonder. "Lando. Every day." He leaned down, resting his forehead against Lando’s, his breath warm on Lando’s lips. "Every single bloody day since… probably since the first time you fell asleep on me in that awful shared flat and snored into my armpit." He huffed another soft laugh. "I thought you weren’t ready. Thought you’d think it was too much. Too… final."

Relief crashed over Lando like a wave, so potent it left him momentarily breathless. The knot of anxiety dissolved, replaced by a giddy, disbelieving warmth spreading from his core. He stared into Oscar’s eyes, seeing the truth there, raw and unvarnished. "Every day?" he breathed, the words barely audible.

"Every day," Oscar confirmed, his voice steady now, filled with a new kind of intensity. His gaze held Lando’s, unwavering. "Wondering if they’d have your ridiculous laugh. Or your terrifyingly chaotic approach to filing. If they’d inherit my pathological need for order at 7 AM." He paused, his thumb tracing Lando’s lower lip. "Wondering how small hands would feel in mine. Wondering… what we’d call them."

Tears welled again, but this time they were hot and bright, spilling over without resistance. Lando choked on a laugh that was half-sob, pressing his face into the curve of Oscar’s neck, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of clean cotton and him. "You utter bastard," he mumbled, the words muffled, thick with emotion. "Scared me half to death with the silent routine."

Oscar’s arms tightened around him, holding him close. "Had to reboot," he murmured, a hint of his usual dry tone returning, softened by the moment. "System encountered unexpected, highly desirable input. Required processing time." He pressed a kiss to the top of Lando’s head. "So… you’re serious? Truly?"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at him again. The city lights reflected in his damp eyes, turning them into pools of shimmering gold. He saw the careful hope warring with Oscar’s characteristic caution. The fierce intelligence already calculating logistics, possibilities, risks. But beneath it, burning brighter than the skyline, was the same profound want Lando felt echoing in his own bones.

"Deadly serious," Lando said, his voice gaining strength. He reached up, tracing the sharp line of Oscar’s jaw with shaky fingers. "A little terror who looks like you. Throws tantrums like me. We’d be doomed." A wide, brilliant smile broke across his face, wiping away the last traces of tears. "Let’s do it. Let’s be properly doomed."

A slow, answering smile spread across Oscar’s face. It wasn't just the brief, controlled upturn of lips he used in boardrooms. This was rare. Full. Transforming his usually stern features into something breathtakingly open and warm. It held the echo of his earlier laughter, the fierce protectiveness Lando knew so well, and a dawning, almost terrifying excitement.

"Right," Oscar said, his voice a low rumble vibrating through Lando’s chest. He shifted, pulling Lando more securely against him, tucking the smaller man’s head back under his chin. His arms locked around him, solid and secure. His gaze drifted past Lando, out over the glittering expanse of the city. Not looking at the buildings, the power, the empire they’d built. Looking, it seemed, into a future suddenly redefined. The analytical gears were already turning, Lando could feel it in the focused stillness that had returned – but it was a different kind of calculation now. Softer. Brighter.

"First," Oscar murmured, his lips brushing Lando’s hairline, "we research agencies. Thoroughly. International options. Domestic. Private, public. Success rates. Criteria." His voice was calm, methodical. The CEO assessing a new venture. But the hand stroking Lando’s back was tender. "We build a dossier. Financial planning. Education funds. Space requirements… this penthouse might need… modifications."

Lando listened, a warm, incredulous joy bubbling inside him. He snuggled deeper into Oscar’s hold, the steady beat of his heart a comforting drum against his ear. The city lights blurred outside the glass, unimportant now. He pictured crayon drawings on a fridge that wasn't stainless steel. Tiny trainers kicked off by the door. The terrifying, exhilarating chaos of it all.

"Modifications," Lando echoed, a sleepy smile curving his lips. He closed his eyes, letting Oscar’s voice, outlining their impossible, perfect future, wash over him. The quiet hum of the penthouse was no longer just the sound of the city. It was the sound of a world expanding, quietly, irrevocably, within the circle of Oscar’s arms.

The deep, even rhythm of Lando’s breathing vibrated against Oscar’s chest, a warm counterpoint to the city’s distant thrum. The sheer weight of him, solid and trusting, anchored Oscar to the soft leather of the sofa more effectively than any spreadsheet ever could. Outside, the million tiny lights of the skyline blurred into a shimmering watercolor wash against the glass.

Lando had gone utterly boneless, the restless energy that usually buzzed beneath his skin finally, completely stilled. One arm lay flung loosely across Oscar’s thigh, fingers curled softly. His cheek pressed firmly into the hollow of Oscar’s shoulder, mouth slightly open, those expressive features smoothed into an unguarded peace that was rare in his waking hours. The damp strands of his hair tickled Oscar’s jaw.

Oscar shifted minutely, just enough to settle them both more comfortably, the laptop long forgotten on the cushion beside them. He carefully slid his hand from Lando’s waist, moving it slowly, slowly up his back, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs beneath the thin cotton. His fingers finally came to rest, splayed wide, between Lando’s shoulder blades, a steady point of contact. The other hand rose to gently card through the damp curls at Lando’s temple.

He looked down. The dim, ambient light caught the curve of Lando’s cheekbone, the faint smudge of exhaustion beneath his closed eyes. Even asleep, that stubborn, determined set to his jaw was just visible. Oscar remembered the sudden, terrifying vulnerability in Lando’s voice asking about a child, the way his own world had tilted on its axis with that simple question. Now, this solid warmth in his lap felt like both an answer and a promise.

A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped Lando, his body sinking even deeper into Oscar’s. His lips moved faintly, forming silent words lost to sleep. Oscar traced the line of Lando’s eyebrow with his thumb, the gesture infinitesimally gentle. A warmth spread through Oscar’s chest, unfamiliar in its softness, pushing aside the usual hum of controlled efficiency. It wasn't just affection; it was a profound sense of rightness, a fierce, quiet possessiveness.

He pictured it again, vividly now – the hypothetical chaos Lando had painted. Tiny trainers, bright plastic clutter on the sleek floor, the terrifying, exhilarating noise. His analytical mind, usually dissecting market trends or acquisition strategies, began sketching different blueprints: a room with softer corners, safety locks on cabinets, maybe even a splash of colour somewhere other than grey or charcoal. The thought didn't spark anxiety, only a sharp, anticipatory thrill.

Lando mumbled something unintelligible, nestling impossibly closer as if seeking Oscar’s core warmth. Oscar tightened his arm around him reflexively, pulling him in. His lips quirked upwards, unbidden, at the sheer, trusting weight of him. The smile lingered, transforming Oscar’s usually stern features into something open, tender, almost boyish in its undisguised fondness. It was a look reserved only for moments like this, utterly private.

He let his head fall back against the sofa, eyes drifting shut, though sleep felt distant. The city’s glow painted shifting patterns on the inside of his eyelids. Lando’s steady breath was the metronome of this new, quiet reality. The dossier could wait. The agencies, the plans, the monumental logistics – they would be tackled, with his usual ruthless precision, soon enough. But not yet.

Right now, the only imperative was this: the warm, solid reality of Lando in his arms, the sound of his deep, even breaths, and the quiet thrum of a future taking shape, one slow heartbeat at a time. Oscar’s thumb continued its slow, rhythmic path through Lando’s hair, a silent vow etched in the stillness. The fond smile softened but remained, a quiet light in the dim penthouse, as the city spun on below.

The fond smile softened but remained, a quiet light in the dim penthouse, as the city spun on below. Oscar kept his hand moving slowly through Lando’s damp hair, the repetitive motion grounding him as much as it soothed the sleeping man. Lando’s breathing had deepened further, a soft, rhythmic puff of air warming the skin of Oscar’s neck where Lando’s face was buried. The sheer weight of him, solid and trusting, pressed Oscar deeper into the sofa cushions. It was a comfortable anchor.

Outside, the relentless grid of city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white through the vast windows. Inside, the silence felt profound, thick with the scent of clean linen, Lando’s soap, and the lingering warmth of their shared skin. Oscar’s gaze drifted downwards again, tracing the familiar lines of Lando’s face softened by sleep – the stubborn set of his jaw relaxed, the faint crease between his brows smoothed away. He looked younger like this, stripped of the CEO’s sharp charm and playful defiance. Vulnerable. Utterly his.

The enormity of their earlier conversation settled over Oscar again, quieter now but no less potent. A child. Their child. The terrifying, exhilarating chaos Lando had painted – crayons on stainless steel, tiny shoes kicked off haphazardly – felt suddenly, vividly possible. It wasn't just an abstract 'someday' anymore. It was a path unfolding, demanding his meticulous planning, his fierce protection. His chest tightened with a fierce, possessive warmth that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with belonging.

He remembered Lando’s hesitant voice, muffled against his collarbone: "Have you… Ever thought about a kid with me?" The sheer vulnerability in that moment, the way Lando’s body had braced for rejection… Oscar tightened his arm around Lando’s waist instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer. The fear that had flashed in Lando’s wide eyes when Oscar had gone terrifyingly silent… He’d never meant to cause that. The memory of his own startled, joyful laugh echoed faintly in the quiet room. Every day.

Lando shifted minutely in his sleep, a soft, contented sigh escaping him. His lips brushed Oscar’s neck, a fleeting, unconscious touch that sent a spark through Oscar’s core. He felt the steady thump of Lando’s heartbeat against his own ribs, a slow, reassuring drumbeat. The city’s hum faded further into the background, irrelevant noise against this profound quiet. The future wasn't just sketches and dossiers anymore; it was the warm weight in his lap, the trust implicit in this deep, unguarded sleep.

Oscar leaned down, his lips hovering just above Lando’s temple. The words formed silently first, a truth so deep it vibrated in his bones. He inhaled the scent of Lando’s hair, clean and faintly sweet. The protective shell he wore for the world, the CEO’s calculated precision, dissolved completely in this private darkness. What remained was raw, unvarnished feeling, vast and terrifyingly simple.

His breath stirred the fine hairs at Lando’s temple as he finally whispered, the sound barely louder than a sigh, meant only for the sleeping man, a secret confession to the night: "So damn lucky I get to marry you." The words hung in the air, fragile and immense, sealing the promise of everything that came next.

Chapter Text

The fire in the grand hearth cast restless, dancing shadows across the penthouse bedroom. It painted gold on the planes of Oscar’s bare back as he hovered over Lando, the scent of sandalwood and burning wood thick in the air. Silk sheets whispered beneath them, cool against heated skin. Lando lay sprawled, gloriously bare, still catching his breath, a sheen of sweat catching the firelight on his chest. The usual playful spark in his eyes was banked, replaced by a heavy-lidded, sated contentment. Oscar traced a fingertip along the curve of Lando’s collarbone, the touch light, almost possessive.

"You okay?" Oscar murmured, his voice rough-edged, stripped of its boardroom polish. The dim light softened the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the intensity still simmering in his gaze.

Lando hummed, a low, satisfied sound vibrating in his chest. He turned his head, nuzzling into the pillow. "Mmm. More than. You?" His hand found Oscar’s hip, fingers brushing skin still warm from exertion. "Solid nine point five. Maybe nine point seven."

A flicker of amusement crossed Oscar’s face. "Only nine point seven? Where’d I lose points?"

"Got greedy with the… ah… leverage on that last bit," Lando mumbled, a sleepy grin tugging his lips. "Nearly folded me in half. My spine’s filing a complaint." He stretched languidly, a low groan escaping him, muscles flexing beneath smooth skin.

Oscar watched the movement, the firelight catching the defined lines of Lando’s torso. He shifted, his weight settling more fully over Lando, not crushing, but anchoring. One hand slid deliberately up Lando’s arm, fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist, mirroring the position of moments before. The other hand followed suit, pinning Lando’s other wrist gently but immovably against the silk, high above his head. Lando’s breath hitched, a soft intake of air. His eyes, wide now, locked onto Oscar’s. The playful haze lifted, replaced by a sharp, focused awareness. He didn’t struggle; instead, his body arched subtly beneath Oscar’s, pressing upwards, inviting the pressure, testing the restraint.

Oscar leaned down, his face inches from Lando’s. The heat between them was more than the fire’s. His gaze was molten, fierce, stripping away any pretense. His voice dropped to a low, visceral growl, the sound resonating deep in his chest. "You’re mine, Lando." Each word was deliberate, weighted, a statement far beyond possession. "Always."

Lando’s lips parted. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath Oscar’s. He could feel the unyielding strength in Oscar’s grip, the coiled power in the lean body pressing him down. It wasn’t fear that spiked his pulse; it was a raw, electric thrill. The kind only Oscar could ignite. His hips pushed up again, a silent, demanding answer. His voice, when it came, was breathless, stripped bare. "Yours, Oscar."

Oscar held his gaze, the intensity in his own eyes almost unbearable. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below Lando’s ear. His breath was hot. "And soon," he murmured, the roughness edged with something softer, something profound. "There'll be a little one who’s ours too."

The words hung in the firelit air, charged with the promise of the life they’d agreed to chase. The future, vast and terrifying and exhilarating, condensed into that single phrase amidst the intimacy.

Lando gasped, a sharp sound. His wrists flexed instinctively against Oscar’s hold, not to break free, but seeking connection. He turned his head, catching Oscar’s lips in a bruising, desperate kiss. It was messy, all heat and teeth and shared breath. When they broke apart, Lando’s eyes were blazing, fixed on Oscar’s. "Forever yours," he breathed, the words thick with emotion, a vow echoing Oscar’s earlier whisper. And them."

Oscar’s restraint fractured. A low sound escaped him, part growl, part groan. The hand pinning Lando’s left wrist shifted, sliding down to grip his hip, fingers digging in possessively. The other hand released his right wrist only to cup the back of Lando’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him firmly as Oscar claimed his mouth again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was a reaffirmation, a physical sealing of the pact.

Lando yielded utterly, surrendering to the onslaught, meeting Oscar’s intensity with a fierce need of his own. His freed hands flew to Oscar’s back, fingers scrabbling over the taut muscle, pulling him closer, impossibly closer. The silk sheets twisted beneath them. The fire crackled, its light licking over shifting limbs, the play of muscle and shadow. Heat radiated off them, rivaling the hearth. Oscar’s body moved against Lando’s with a controlled ferocity, each press, each shift designed to obliterate thought, leaving only sensation and the visceral truth of their bond.

Afterwards, they lay tangled, breathing hard. Sweat cooled on their skin. Oscar had rolled partially off, but one arm remained locked possessively around Lando’s waist, pulling him back against his chest, Lando’s head nestled under Oscar’s chin. Lando’s body was loose, utterly spent, trembling faintly with residual aftershocks. 

Oscar’s arm tightened around his waist, a grounding pressure against the boneless sprawl, his lips brushing the damp hair at Lando’s temple. The only sounds were their slowing breaths and the soft, intermittent crackle of the fire, its light now painting deeper golds and blacks onto the walls as the flames sank lower.

Silence stretched, thick and comfortable, filled with the unspoken weight of Oscar’s promise. Lando shifted slightly, turning his head on Oscar’s chest to look up at his profile, sharp against the dim light. He traced the line of Oscar’s jaw with a fingertip, the skin still warm.

"You’re really serious about wanting a kid, huh?" Lando asked, a faint smile on his face. His voice was husky, sleep-softened, but his eyes were alert, searching Oscar’s face in the flickering gloom.

Oscar didn’t look down immediately. He stared at the shadows dancing on the distant ceiling, his expression contemplative, almost stern. The hand resting on Lando’s hip flexed minutely, a silent anchor. "Deadly serious," he finally said, his voice a low rumble against Lando’s ear. "Thought I made that crystal clear." He tilted his head then, meeting Lando’s gaze directly. The intensity was still there, banked but potent. "Weren’t listening?"

Lando snorted softly, a puff of air against Oscar’s skin. "Oh, I heard you." He pushed himself up onto one elbow, the silk sheets cool where they slid away. The movement made him wince slightly, a reminder of Oscar’s earlier enthusiasm. He looked down at Oscar, the firelight catching the amber flecks in his eyes. "Just... it’s huge, Oz. Massive." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the opulent room, the city view hidden behind thick curtains, the weight of their separate empires. "Our lives... they’re chaos. Controlled chaos, but still."

Oscar’s hand slid up Lando’s bare back, fingers pressing possessively into the muscle beside his spine. "Controlled is the operative word," he stated, his tone leaving no room for doubt. His gaze never wavered, holding Lando’s with that unnerving focus. "We control it. We built this," he gestured loosely at the room, the unseen city beyond, "from scratch. Together." His thumb rubbed a small circle on Lando’s skin. "Why wouldn’t we build that? Shape something else? Something... ours." The last word was weighted, deliberate.

Lando watched him, the familiar contours of Oscar’s face softened by shadow but hardened by absolute conviction. He saw the relentless drive that had built a tech empire, the strategic mind that dissected markets, the fierce protectiveness Oscar reserved solely for him. That same intensity, now directed towards the idea of fatherhood. "It’s not a hostile takeover, Oscar," Lando murmured, a half-smile touching his lips. "A kid isn’t a company you acquire and streamline."

Oscar’s lips thinned almost imperceptibly. "I know what it is, Lando." His voice was quiet, dangerous. "It’s the only thing I haven't meticulously planned for." He shifted, rising onto his own elbow so they were face-to-face, nose-to-nose in the firelight. The force of his presence was almost physical. "Because it wasn't possible before you. Wasn’t real." He captured Lando’s chin, his grip firm but not painful. "Now it is. Because of you. With you." His gaze burned. "So yes. I’m serious. I want it. I’ll make it happen."

The raw certainty in Oscar’s voice, the sheer, uncompromising force of his intent, ripped through Lando’s lingering doubts. It wasn't just desire; it was a vow etched in steel. Lando felt a shiver run through him, different from the aftershocks – anticipation, maybe, laced with a thrill that was uniquely Oscar. He leaned in, their foreheads touching.

"Okay," Lando breathed, the word barely audible over the dying fire’s sigh. "Okay." He pressed his lips to Oscar’s, a slow, deep kiss sealing the pact beyond words. "Let’s build it."

Oscar’s response was a low hum against his mouth, an intake of breath that promised action, planning, relentless pursuit. His arms wrapped completely around Lando, pulling him down into the warm hollow of his body, into the certainty of their shared, terrifying, exhilarating future. The embers glowed, casting long, embracing shadows around them.

The embers glowed, casting long, embracing shadows around them. Lando sighed, a deep, bone-weary sound, burrowing deeper into the heat radiating from Oscar’s chest. Silk whispered as Oscar shifted, tightening his arm across Lando’s waist, anchoring him. The frantic energy of before had bled away, leaving a heavy, liquid calm in the dim room. Only the soft crackle of the dying fire and their slowing breaths filled the space.

"Building something," Lando murmured, his voice thick and rough, muffled against Oscar’s skin. He traced the faint indentation of Oscar’s collarbone with a lazy fingertip. "Sounds like hard work." A sleepy chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You gonna manage the nappy changes like you manage the quarterly reports? Flowcharts and everything?"

Oscar’s low rumble of laughter stirred Lando’s hair. "Dossiers, Norris. Comprehensive dossiers." His thumb swept a slow, soothing arc across Lando’s hip bone, just above the faint, promising mark his teeth had left earlier. "Best practices. Efficiency metrics. Sleep optimization protocols." He dipped his head, his lips brushing Lando’s temple. "You’ll be on snack duty and interpretive dance during tantrums."

Lando snorted. "Deal. As long as you handle the midnight vomit protocol. My gag reflex is… sensitive." He tilted his head back, seeking Oscar’s eyes in the gloom. Firelight caught the exhaustion and lingering warmth in his gaze. "Seriously though, Oz… a kid. Hearing you say it, mean it…" He swallowed. "Scared the absolute shit out of me earlier. But… good scared."

"Scared me too," Oscar admitted, the words quiet, raw. Unusually so. He pressed another kiss to Lando’s forehead, lingering. "The silence wasn’t… hesitation." His fingers drifted up Lando’s spine, tracing vertebrae. "It was the sheer force of it hitting me. That yes. Finally. With you." He exhaled, a long, slow breath like releasing pressure. "Felt like… unlocking a door I didn’t know was jammed."

"Jammy git," Lando mumbled, but he snuggled impossibly closer, his hand splaying possessively over Oscar’s heart. He felt the strong, steady thump beneath his palm. "That door better have a bloody nice room behind it. With a big comfy sofa for naps." He yawned widely, jaw cracking. "God, I’m wrecked. You broke me."

"Mission accomplished," Oscar murmured, a thread of dark satisfaction in his tone. His hand slid back down to cup the curve of Lando’s arse, a claiming weight. "Sleep. You’ll need your strength." He paused, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper near Lando’s ear. "For interpreting tantrums."

Lando hummed, already half-gone, his body sinking into the mattress and Oscar’s heat. "Mmm. Your dossier better have diagrams…" His words slurred into silence. His breathing evened out, deep and slow, the frantic pulse Oscar had felt beneath his fingers earlier now a tranquil rhythm. The firelight gilded the curve of his cheekbone, the relaxed line of his mouth.

Oscar watched him, the fierce possessiveness softening into something deeper, more profound. He felt the solid warmth of Lando against him, the absolute trust in the boneless weight. His mind, usually a whirlwind of strategies and projections, felt strangely quiet, anchored by the reality of Lando asleep in his arms and the monumental decision settling between them. Building something. The words resonated differently now. Not just a company, a market share. A family. Theirs.

He rested his cheek against the top of Lando’s head, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and soap and him. Outside, the city was a distant murmur. Here, in the dim sanctuary, the only sound was Lando’s soft breathing and the faint hiss of the embers. Oscar closed his eyes, not fighting sleep, but letting the quiet certainty of it all wash over him. Dossiers, he thought vaguely, the familiar planning instinct flickering. Agencies. Criteria. The mental list began, a comforting hum beneath the surface calm, a blueprint taking shape in the dark.

The mental list began, a comforting hum beneath the surface calm, a blueprint taking shape in the dark. Agencies flagged for review surfaced: 'Horizon Pathways', known for their international network; 'New Roots Domestic', praised for trauma-informed care; a boutique firm in Geneva with astronomical fees and impeccable privacy. Financial projections scrolled internally: trust structures, education funds ballooning over eighteen years, potential impact on their respective company liquidity. Space. The spare room currently held Oscar’s rarely-used Peloton and archival paperwork. It would need… more than modifications. A total gut job. Soundproofing? Lead paint testing in a building this new was unlikely, but necessary. Soil testing for the terrace garden? Ridiculous, yet his mind cataloged it.

Lando shifted against him, a soft, discontented murmur escaping his lips. His leg hooked over Oscar’s thigh, anchoring himself even in sleep. The faint scent of sex and expensive shower gel clung to his damp hair. Oscar’s analytical cascade stuttered. He focused on the weight, the solid warmth pressed along his side, the rhythmic puff of breath against his neck. The sheer, unguarded trust in Lando’s boneless sprawl cut through the spreadsheets in his mind.

"Stop thinking so loud," Lando mumbled, his voice thick and slurred, eyes still firmly shut. His hand, resting on Oscar’s chest, patted him clumsily. "Bedtime, CEO. Brain off." He nuzzled deeper into the hollow of Oscar’s shoulder, seeking the exact contour.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t fully registered easing. "Impossible," he murmured, but the relentless planning softened, receding like a tide. He traced the notch at the base of Lando’s spine with his thumb, feeling the shift of muscle beneath smooth skin. The fire had collapsed into a bed of pulsing embers, casting the room in deep, velvety gloom, painting Lando’s profile in faint, warm highlights. The city’s distant thrum felt muffled, irrelevant. Here, the only metrics that mattered were the steady thud of Lando’s heart against his ribs and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His earlier declaration – You’re mine – echoed in the quiet. It wasn't just possession; it was belonging. A fundamental truth as solid as the man in his arms. The terrifying, exhilarating chaos of a child felt less like a disruption and more like an extension of this anchor point, this bedrock they’d forged. His gaze lingered on Lando’s relaxed face, the familiar curve of his lip, the faint dusting of freckles barely visible now. Ours, he thought, the word resonating differently in the stillness. Not a project plan. A promise.

The last ember flickered, a final gasp of orange light. Oscar dipped his head, brushing his lips against the crown of Lando’s head. The kiss was feather-light, a benediction in the dark, smelling of sleep and the lingering warmth of the fire. He breathed him in, the sharp edges of the world dissolving into the simple, profound weight of Lando against him. The mental dossier faded entirely. His arms tightened, just slightly, a final, silent claim before his own eyes drifted shut, the deep rhythm of Lando’s breathing finally pulling him under into a heavy, dreamless sleep. The warmth between them was the only blueprint he needed now.

Chapter Text

The penthouse door hissed shut, the expensive lock engaging with a soft, final thunk. Lando stood frozen in the entryway, the vast expanse of sleek, dark flooring stretching before him towards the panoramic city view. His briefcase hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud, forgotten. He didn't move. The cool, conditioned air prickled against his skin, a stark contrast to the simmering heat trapped beneath his skin, radiating from his core. His tie was loosened, hanging askew, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. His usually bright eyes were flat, shadowed, fixed on the glittering cityscape beyond the glass, but seeing nothing.

Silence. Thick, heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the building and the distant, muted thrum of the metropolis far below. Then, a shift in the air. A presence.

Oscar emerged from the hallway leading to the bedrooms, barefoot, wearing only low-slung grey sweatpants. His lean torso was bare, the firelight from the previous night replaced by the cool blue-white glow of the city lights etching the defined planes of his chest and abdomen. He moved silently, a predator assessing prey. His gaze, sharp and unnervingly focused, swept over Lando – the rigid set of his shoulders, the clenched fists at his sides, the unnatural stillness.

"SkyTech?" Oscar's voice was low, calm. A statement, not a question.

Lando flinched, a tiny, involuntary jerk. He didn't turn. "Bastards," he spat, the word brittle, sharp-edged. "Every single fucking concession. Like pulling teeth. Worse." He dragged a hand roughly through his hair, making it stand on end. "Three hours. Three bloody hours of them nickel-and-diming, reneging on points we agreed on last week. Vance..." He trailed off, jaw working, a muscle ticking violently in his temple. "Smug prick."

Oscar didn't reply immediately. He crossed the expanse of polished concrete, stopping just behind Lando. Close enough for Lando to feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the clean, faintly citrus scent of his skin. Oscar’s hand lifted, not to touch, but to hover near the tense line of Lando’s neck. His fingertips brushed the exposed skin above Lando’s collar. Lando shuddered, a full-body tremor that wasn't entirely from anger.

"Turn around," Oscar commanded, his voice still quiet, but layered with an undeniable authority that vibrated in the quiet space.

Lando hesitated. A fraction of a second. A flicker of defiance in his exhausted eyes. Then, slowly, stiffly, he pivoted on his heel to face Oscar. The city lights painted stark highlights and deep shadows on Oscar’s face, making his expression unreadable except for the intense focus burning in his eyes. He looked down at Lando, taking in the tightness around his mouth, the faint sheen of stress-sweat on his forehead, the way his breath hitched slightly.

"Look at me," Oscar said.

Lando’s gaze lifted, meeting Oscar’s. The frustration, the simmering rage, the bone-deep weariness – it was all there, raw and exposed. Oscar saw it. Saw the frayed edges, the overload threatening to spill over.

"Knees," Oscar said. The word was a soft crack in the stillness.

Lando’s breath caught audibly. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something else – relief? anticipation? – cutting through the anger. He didn't move.

"Now, Lando." Oscar’s voice didn't rise. It deepened, thickened with intent. It wasn't a request. It was a line drawn.

A tremor ran through Lando again. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet. Then, slowly, deliberately, he sank down. The cool floor pressed against the fine wool of his trousers as he lowered himself onto his knees before Oscar. He kept his back straight, his head slightly bowed, but his eyes remained fixed upward, locked onto Oscar’s face. The shift was immediate, profound. The CEO posture melted away, replaced by a different kind of stillness. Expectant. Waiting.

Oscar stepped forward, closing the minimal distance. He looked down at Lando, his expression softening minutely, not with pity, but with recognition. He understood the storm inside Lando’s head. He knew exactly what Lando needed to silence it.

His right hand lifted again. Not hovering this time. It settled firmly, deliberately, against the side of Lando’s neck. His thumb pressed against the pulse point hammering beneath Lando’s jawline. His fingers curled around the back, strong and warm. Not crushing. Not yet. Anchoring.

"Breathe," Oscar murmured. His thumb stroked once, slowly, over the frantic flutter beneath Lando’s skin.

Lando sucked in a ragged, shuddering breath.

"Out." Oscar’s command was soft, inexorable.

Lando exhaled, a shaky stream of air escaping his lips. His eyelids fluttered closed for a second.

Oscar’s grip tightened incrementally. Just enough pressure to be undeniable. To focus. His other hand came up, cupping Lando’s jaw, forcing his head back slightly, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat fully to Oscar’s gaze and touch. Lando’s breath hitched again, a small, needy sound escaping him.

"Good," Oscar breathed, the word a low rumble. His eyes burned into Lando’s. "Let it go."

His fingers tightened further. Steadily. Relentlessly. The pressure built, firm and controlled, compressing the arteries, restricting the airflow. Not pain. Not yet. But the undeniable presence of Oscar’s strength, his control, wrapping around Lando’s most vital point.

Lando gasped, a sharp intake that caught halfway. His hands, which had been resting limply on his thighs, clenched into fists. His eyes flew wide open, locking onto Oscar’s with a sudden, desperate intensity. Panic flickered – primal, instinctive – but beneath it, deeper, was a profound, aching surrender. He didn't struggle. He pushed his throat subtly into the pressure.

"Yes," Oscar murmured, leaning down slightly, his face inches from Lando’s. His gaze was fierce, possessive, utterly consuming. "That's it. Give it to me. All of it."

He increased the pressure. A fraction more. Lando’s gasp turned into a choked whimper. His vision blurred at the edges. The glittering city lights beyond Oscar’s shoulder smeared into streaks of white and gold. The hum of the building faded. The thrum of the city vanished. There was only the pressure. The heat of Oscar’s hand. The unwavering intensity of his eyes. The scent of him – clean skin, faint sweat, Oscar.

The boardroom vanished. Vance's smug face dissolved. The frustrating clauses, the wasted hours, the simmering rage – it all fragmented, washed away by the overwhelming sensory flood of Oscar. Lando’s fists unclenched. His shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in release. A tremor ran through him, different this time – not stress, but the first shuddering wave of letting go. His eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut. His breath came in shallow, ragged hitches against the constriction.

Oscar watched, his own breath controlled, steady. He saw the tension bleed out of Lando’s face, replaced by a slackening, a dazed softness. He saw the frantic pulse beneath his thumb begin to slow, hammering against his grip with less urgency. He felt the minute tremors running through Lando’s frame, the subtle yielding of muscle beneath his hand. He knew the exact moment Lando tipped over the edge.

The resistance vanished entirely. Lando’s body went utterly lax, held upright only by Oscar’s grip on his neck and jaw. His head lolled back further in Oscar’s hand, his mouth falling slightly open. A soft, broken sigh escaped him, devoid of tension, almost peaceful. His eyelids remained closed, long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. The frantic energy that had crackled around him when he walked in was gone, replaced by a profound stillness. Subspace. That floaty, detached place where thought ceased, and only sensation remained. Where Oscar’s control was the only reality.

Oscar held him there, suspended in that breathless, weightless state. He maintained the pressure, a constant, grounding force. His thumb continued its slow, rhythmic stroke against Lando’s pulse, now a steadier, deeper beat. He watched the flicker of Lando’s eyelids, the utter surrender in every line of his body. The fierce possessiveness in Oscar’s gaze softened, warmed by something deeper – satisfaction, profound care, the quiet awe of holding Lando completely in this vulnerable, trusting state.

Slowly, with infinite care, Oscar began to ease the pressure. Millimeter by millimeter. He watched Lando’s face, the flutter of returning awareness as oxygen flowed more freely. Lando drew in a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising sharply. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that were dazed, unfocused, pupils wide and dark. He blinked slowly, like someone waking from a deep sleep, his gaze struggling to find Oscar’s face above him.

Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s neck, but remained cupping his jaw gently. His thumb brushed softly over Lando’s cheekbone. "Back?" he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rasp.

Lando blinked again. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment. He swallowed, wincing slightly at the tenderness in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was a wrecked whisper, thick and slurred. "...Oz?"

"Yeah," Oscar breathed. He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to Lando’s forehead. "I've got you." He slid his hands under Lando’s arms, effortlessly lifting him from his knees. Lando was boneless, pliant, leaning heavily against Oscar’s chest, his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar wrapped one arm securely around his waist, supporting his weight, the other hand cradling the back of his head. "Bed," Oscar stated softly, already guiding Lando’s stumbling steps towards the hallway.

Lando mumbled something incoherent against Oscar’s skin, his fingers weakly clutching the waistband of Oscar’s sweats. The frantic CEO was gone. In his place was a man utterly spent, floating on the lingering haze of surrender, trusting Oscar completely to guide him, hold him, carry the weight he’d just relinquished. Oscar carried him easily, the city lights casting long, silent shadows behind them as they moved away from the view, towards the sanctuary of darkness and warmth. The silence now wasn't oppressive; it was soft, protective, filled only with Lando’s slowing breaths and the quiet certainty of Oscar’s care.

Oscar navigated the dim hallway easily, Lando’s weight a familiar, welcome burden against his chest. The cool air of the bedroom washed over them as Oscar pushed the door open wider with his shoulder.

He lowered Lando onto the edge of the vast bed, the silk sheets cool beneath Lando’s rumpled trousers. Lando swayed slightly, eyes still glazed, fingers weakly gripping Oscar’s forearm like a lifeline. Oscar knelt smoothly before him, hands moving with practiced efficiency.

"Arms up," Oscar murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Lando’s haze.

Lando complied sluggishly, lifting his arms like lead weights. Oscar peeled the expensive suit jacket off, letting it crumple unceremoniously onto the floor. The tie followed, a silken snake discarded. Oscar’s fingers worked the buttons of Lando’s shirt, each pop a tiny punctuation in the quiet room. The city lights filtered through the sheer curtains, painting shifting patterns on Lando’s bare chest and Oscar’s intent face.

"SkyTech can choke," Lando mumbled, the words thick and slurred, a faint echo of his earlier fury surfacing briefly from the depths.

Oscar’s lips twitched, almost a smile. "Already handled that part," he replied dryly, easing the shirt off Lando’s shoulders. He tossed it onto the growing pile. His hands slid down Lando’s arms, firm and grounding. "Shoes."

Lando fumbled with his polished oxfords, fingers clumsy. Oscar brushed his hands aside. "Let me." He unlaced each shoe, pulling them off, followed by Lando’s socks. The cool air kissed Lando’s bare feet. Oscar’s hands moved to Lando’s belt buckle, the metallic click loud in the stillness.

Lando watched Oscar’s hands, the focused movements, the sheer competence. A sigh escaped him, deeper this time, releasing another layer of tension held deep within his muscles. The controlled pressure on his neck, the absolute surrender it demanded – it had scoured him clean, leaving him hollowed out and pliant. Safe. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar paused, one hand resting on Lando’s hip, the other still on the belt.

"Oz?" Lando breathed against his skin, the sound barely audible.

"Yeah?" Oscar’s voice was soft, close to his ear.

"Still floating." Lando’s admission was a whisper, tinged with a dazed wonder. "Feels... quiet."

Oscar resumed undoing the belt, sliding it free. "Good," he affirmed, the single word imbued with deep satisfaction. He worked Lando’s trousers and underwear down his hips and thighs in one smooth motion. Lando lifted his hips just enough to help, a small, trusting movement. Oscar guided him back fully onto the bed, pulling the covers aside. The cool silk slid against Lando’s skin as Oscar maneuvered him under the duvet.

Oscar stood, looking down at Lando nestled amidst the pillows. The harsh lines of stress were gone, replaced by a soft vulnerability, eyelids heavy but still watching Oscar. The frantic CEO who’d slammed the door was utterly absent. In his place lay the man Oscar knew intimately – open, trusting, beautifully undone. Oscar shed his own sweatpants swiftly, the city light catching the defined lines of his body before he slid into the bed beside Lando.

He gathered Lando close, pulling him back against his chest, skin meeting skin. Lando melted into the contact, a low hum vibrating in his throat. Oscar wrapped one arm securely around Lando’s waist, anchoring him. His other hand slid up, fingers threading gently through Lando’s tousled hair, fingertips grazing his scalp. Lando sighed, a sound of pure contentment, nestling deeper.

Oscar pressed his lips to the sensitive spot behind Lando’s ear, feeling the slight tremor that ran through him. He inhaled the scent of Lando’s skin, the faint trace of expensive cologne mingling with sweat and something uniquely him. The silence stretched, comfortable, charged with the aftermath of intensity and the profound intimacy of simple presence. Oscar’s hand in Lando’s hair stilled. He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear.

"You took it perfectly," Oscar whispered, his voice a velvet rasp, intimate and fierce. "So good for me. Mine."

Oscar’s grip on Lando’s hip tightened, a silent punctuation to the possessive word hanging in the cool, shadowed air. Lando, adrift in the quiet aftermath, felt the pressure like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the solid warmth of Oscar’s chest against his back. His own breath hitched, a soft, involuntary sound escaping parted lips. The city’s distant pulse seemed to sync with the slower, steadier thud of Oscar’s heart against his spine. Skin slid against skin, silk sheets cool beneath, Oscar’s heat a furnace seeping into his muscles, melting the last stubborn knots of the day. He felt boneless, weightless, tethered only by Oscar’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist and the possessive hand claiming his hip.

The city’s glow painted shifting patterns on the ceiling, a silent counterpoint to the stillness settling over the bed. Oscar’s arm around his waist was a steel band, possessive and grounding, the heat of his palm a brand on Lando’s hip bone. Lando felt untethered, adrift in the profound quiet Oscar had carved out inside him, the frantic chaos of the SkyTech meeting a distant, muffled echo. Every muscle, every nerve, hummed with a deep, liquid relaxation. The sharp ache in his throat where Oscar’s grip had pressed was a welcome anchor, a tangible reminder of the control that had silenced the storm. He pressed back infinitesimally against Oscar’s chest, seeking more of that solid warmth, that unyielding presence.

Oscar’s fingertips traced idle patterns on Lando’s bare stomach, a slow dance over the dip of his navel, the faint ripple of muscle beneath soft skin. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of Lando’s neck. "Better?" The word was a vibration against Lando’s spine, soft but resonant in the intimate dark.

Lando hummed, a low, contented sound that was more vibration than voice. Words felt distant, unnecessary. He turned his head slightly, his temple finding the familiar curve of Oscar’s shoulder. The scent of Oscar’s skin – clean sweat, expensive soap, something uniquely him – filled his senses, deeper and more intoxicating than any cologne. It was the scent of safety, of surrender accepted. He felt Oscar’s lips brush the sensitive skin just below his ear, a feather-light touch that sent another wave of warmth cascading through him. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, weighted with the delicious exhaustion of release.

"Vance looked like he swallowed a lemon," Lando mumbled, the words thick and slow, surprising even himself. A ghost of the day’s frustration flickered, then dissolved instantly in the encompassing peace Oscar provided. "When I finally walked out. Wish you’d seen it." It wasn’t anger anymore; it was just a detail, colouring the edges of his fading consciousness.

Oscar’s chuckle was a low rumble Lando felt against his back. "Bet he did." His hand slid up from Lando’s hip, over his ribs, coming to rest flat against his chest, right over his heart. The steady thud-thud-thud resonated under Oscar’s palm. "Told you to let me handle the renegotiation." The words held no reproach, only a quiet certainty, a satisfaction in knowing he’d been right. His thumb began a slow, rhythmic sweep across Lando’s pectoral muscle. "You carry too much."

"Mm-hmm." Agreement was easy here, in this cocoon of darkness and Oscar. The rhythmic sweep of Oscar’s thumb was hypnotic, syncing with the slowing beat beneath. The cool silk against his back, the furnace heat of Oscar against his spine, the weight of the duvet – it all blended into a single, encompassing sensation of being held, contained, utterly safe. His breathing deepened, each inhale a little slower, each exhale a little longer. The city lights blurred into indistinct smudges of gold and silver beyond his closing eyelids. The last stubborn tendrils of thought, of being Lando Norris, CEO, frayed and dissolved. All that remained was the anchor of Oscar’s body, the possessive weight of his hand, the deep, resonant quiet inside his own skull. It was a different kind of floating now, softer, pulling him downward into warmth and darkness. Just before the final edge of consciousness slipped away, a sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips. It shaped itself into three soft, unmistakable words breathed against Oscar’s skin: "Love you, Oz." The whisper hung for a fraction of a second in the still air, pure and unguarded, the final surrender before oblivion.

His body went utterly slack, the subtle tension of wakefulness melting away. Oscar remained perfectly still, listening to the soft, even rhythm of Lando’s breathing deepen into sleep. His hand didn’t move from Lando’s chest, feeling the steady, trusting pulse beneath his palm. The fierce possessiveness in his gaze softened, warmed by a profound tenderness as he watched the peaceful lines of Lando’s face in the dim light. 

Chapter Text

Sunlight, thick and honeyed, streamed through the gaps in the heavy curtains, painting molten stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. It found Oscar’s eyelids first, a persistent warmth that finally pulled him from the deep, dreamless well of sleep. He blinked, the world resolving slowly: the familiar high ceiling, the blurred silhouette of a modern light fixture, the dust motes dancing in the golden beams. Then, awareness sharpened. He wasn’t alone.

Lando was propped up on one elbow beside him, head resting on his hand. He wasn’t looking at the city view, or the light, but directly at Oscar. His expression was soft, unguarded, the city CEO facade utterly absent. The sunlight gilded his messy bed-head, caught the amber flecks in his hazel eyes, and traced the relaxed curve of his lips. His other hand rested lightly on Oscar’s bare chest, fingertips idly tracing the contours of muscle defined by relentless training.

"Morning, Oz," Lando whispered. His voice was sleep-rough, warm as the light bathing them, carrying an intimacy that filled the quiet room. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, skating over Oscar’s collarbone, then drifting upwards to trace the sharp, clean line of his jaw. The touch was feather-light, reverent almost.

Oscar didn’t speak immediately. He absorbed the moment: the warmth of Lando’s palm against his skin, the quiet intensity of his gaze, the way the light haloed him. Last night’s raw vulnerability had melted into this profound stillness. He reached up, his own hand engulfing Lando’s where it rested against his jaw, stilling the tracing fingers. He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against Lando’s temple. The skin was soft, warm, carrying the faint, clean scent of sleep and Lando.

"Morning," Oscar murmured against his skin, the word vibrating softly. He pulled gently, drawing Lando closer. Lando yielded instantly, shifting, his head finding the hollow of Oscar’s shoulder, his body curving against Oscar’s side. Oscar’s arm slid around him, hand splaying possessively across the smooth skin of Lando’s back beneath the sheets. He could feel the steady, calm thump of Lando’s heart against his ribs. So different from the frantic hammering beneath his palm hours before.

They lay like that for a while, wrapped in silence and sunlight. The city below was waking up – a distant, muted symphony of horns, sirens, the low drone of traffic – but it felt worlds away, held at bay by the glass and the intimacy cocooning them. Oscar’s thumb moved in slow, unconscious circles on Lando’s back. He felt Lando sigh, a contented exhale that ruffled the hair on his chest.

"Still quiet?" Oscar asked softly, his gaze fixed on the shifting patterns of light on the ceiling. He knew the answer. The frantic energy, the coiled-tight stress that had radiated from Lando when he’d slammed the penthouse door last night was gone, replaced by this profound, liquid calm.

"Mmm," Lando hummed, nuzzling slightly against Oscar’s shoulder. His voice, still thick with sleep, was a low rumble Oscar felt more than heard. "Yeah. Really quiet." He tilted his head back, just enough to meet Oscar’s eyes. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "Feels… cleaned out. Like someone pressure-washed my brain."

Oscar’s lips quirked at the analogy. He brushed a strand of hair off Lando’s forehead. "Good." That single word held volumes: approval, satisfaction, the quiet pride of a task perfectly executed. He saw the faint, almost imperceptible marks his fingers had left high on Lando’s throat in the clear morning light. Tiny, fading bruises, like shadowed petals. His thumb drifted towards them, not touching, just hovering. "Sore?"

Lando followed his gaze, a flicker of something deep and knowing passing through his eyes. He shook his head minutely. "Just… present. A reminder." He caught Oscar’s hovering hand and brought it deliberately to his throat, pressing Oscar’s palm gently against the marks. His eyes locked onto Oscar’s, holding them. "A good reminder."

Oscar’s breath hitched slightly. The trust in that gesture, the deliberate offering of vulnerability, never failed to ignite a fierce, possessive warmth deep within him. His fingers curled lightly, not applying pressure, just cradling. He felt the steady pulse beneath his palm, a counterpoint to the possessive beat in his own chest. "Mine," he murmured, the word slipping out, low and rough, echoing the claim he’d made in the dark hours before.

A faint blush tinged Lando’s cheeks, visible even in the golden light. He didn’t look away. "Yours," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He held Oscar’s gaze for another charged moment, then leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just below Oscar’s jaw, right over the pulse point. It was tender, yet carried a spark of the playful defiance Oscar adored.

The kiss sent a pleasant shockwave through Oscar. He tightened his arm around Lando, pulling him impossibly closer. "Cheeky," he rumbled, but there was no reprimand, only deep affection. He dipped his head, capturing Lando’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was a claiming, but also a reassurance, a deep drink of the peace they’d found together. Lando melted into it, his hand sliding up to tangle in Oscar’s hair.

The kiss deepened, slow and luxurious, tasting of sleep and shared warmth. Oscar savored the softness of Lando’s lips, the little sigh that escaped him, the way his body arched subtly into the contact. The tension thrumming under Oscar’s own skin – the constant drive, the relentless focus – began to unwind, replaced by a different, more grounding kind of intensity.

Eventually, they broke apart, breathing softly. Lando rested his forehead against Oscar’s, his eyes half-lidded, a dazed, happy smile playing on his lips. "Best morning ever," he declared softly, his thumb stroking the edge of Oscar’s ear.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. "Better than the SkyTech aftermath, at least." He traced the line of Lando’s eyebrow with his fingertip.

Lando groaned theatrically, dropping his head back onto Oscar’s shoulder. "Ugh, don't. Don't even say their name. Ruining the vibe." He poked Oscar’s ribs. "Vance’s face when I walked out though… priceless. Wish you’d seen it. Looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon for three hours straight."

"He probably had," Oscar said dryly. "Serves him right for wasting your time. And mine." His hand drifted down Lando’s back again, fingers exploring the dip of his spine. "Still smarting?"

Lando wriggled slightly under the touch, a shiver running through him. "Nah. Burnt out. You handled that." He tilted his head, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "Though… I did promise the design team I’d look over the new interface mock-ups today. Before lunch." He said it casually, but the glint was pure challenge. Testing the waters. Seeing if the CEO armour was back on.

Oscar’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second. He looked down at Lando, taking in the playful curve of his mouth, the spark in his eyes. The subtext was clear: Are we done here? Is it time to be ‘on’ again? He tightened his arm, pinning Lando more firmly against him. "Did you now?" His voice was low, deceptively calm. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear. "Cancel it."

Lando shivered again, his breath catching. "Oz… the deadline…"

"Cancel. It." Oscar repeated, the command soft but absolute. He nipped lightly at Lando’s earlobe. "Your brain is officially offline for maintenance. My orders." He pulled back just enough to meet Lando’s gaze again. The playful defiance was still there, but it was softening into something warmer, more yielding. "Bed. Coffee. Then maybe we discuss your insubordination." He let the threat hang, laced with promise.

A slow, delighted smile spread across Lando’s face. He relaxed fully against Oscar, his earlier tension a distant memory. "Insubordination, huh?" He traced a lazy pattern on Oscar’s chest. "Promises, promises."

Oscar caught his wandering hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He held Lando’s gaze, his own eyes darkening with intent, the quiet possessiveness simmering just below the surface. "Oh, I promise," he murmured, the words a low vow vibrating against Lando’s skin. The sunlight painted them both in gold, and for now, the city, the deadlines, the world beyond the sheets, simply ceased to exist.

The sunlight painted them both in gold, and for now, the city, the deadlines, the world beyond the sheets, simply ceased to exist. Oscar’s thumb brushed the fading marks on Lando’s throat again, the possessive rumble still echoing in the quiet air. Lando shivered, a full-body ripple of pure anticipation that Oscar felt against his own skin. "Promise, huh?" Lando whispered, his breath warm on Oscar’s collarbone.

He tilted his head, catching Oscar’s lips in a slow, searching kiss. It was softer than before, less claiming, more invitation. Oscar responded instantly, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding from Lando’s throat down the curve of his spine, fingers dipping beneath the silk sheet pooled low on Lando’s hips. The smooth skin there was warm, inviting. Lando arched into the touch, a low hum vibrating against Oscar’s mouth.

"Thought you needed coffee first," Lando murmured when they parted, a teasing glint back in his sleep-soft eyes. He traced the line of Oscar’s bottom lip with his thumb.

"Changed my mind," Oscar stated simply, his voice rough. He rolled onto his side, facing Lando fully, pushing the sheet completely aside. The morning light bathed Lando’s stockier frame, illuminating the dusting of freckles across his shoulders, the defined muscle beneath the softer layer Oscar loved. "Priorities." His gaze was intense, focused solely on the man beside him.

Lando laughed, a genuine, light sound that filled the room. "Priorities. Right." He reached out, tangling his fingers in Oscar’s tousled dark hair. "Gonna enforce that ‘offline for maintenance’ order personally, CEO Piastri?" He tugged playfully, a challenge dancing in his eyes.

Instead of answering, Oscar surged forward, capturing Lando’s mouth again, silencing the teasing with a kiss that was all heat and possession. His hands mapped familiar territory: the solid curve of Lando’s bicep, the dip of his waist, the swell of his thigh. Lando melted instantly, his own hands roaming Oscar’s back, fingers pressing into the hard muscle beneath smooth skin. The scent of sleep and warm skin filled the space between them, intimate and heady.

Oscar shifted, his body covering Lando’s, pressing him gently into the yielding mattress. The silk sheets slid cool and slippery beneath them. Lando wrapped his legs around Oscar’s waist, pulling him closer with surprising strength. "Oz," he breathed, arching his neck, offering himself. The vulnerability, the trust in that gesture, punched through Oscar’s control, leaving only raw, tender desire.

He kissed down Lando’s jaw, his throat, lingering over the fading marks. He felt the pulse jump beneath his lips. "Mine," he breathed again, the word a vow against Lando’s skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the crease of Lando’s thigh, eliciting a sharp gasp that dissolved into a breathy chuckle.

"Tickles," Lando giggled, squirming slightly. The unexpected sound, so carefree and light, broke the intense atmosphere for a heartbeat. Oscar stilled, lifting his head to look at him.

Lando’s eyes were bright with amusement, a wide, unguarded smile splitting his face. "Sorry," he giggled again, the sound infectious. "Just… your stubble. And the sheets. Feels weird. Good weird." He wriggled deliberately, making the silk whisper. "Tingly."

A slow smile spread across Oscar’s face, a rare, uncomplicated expression of pure amusement. He lowered his head again, deliberately scraping his jaw lightly across the sensitive skin of Lando’s inner thigh. Lando yelped, kicking out reflexively, a burst of loud, unrestrained laughter escaping him. "Oscar! Stop it, you menace!" He tried to twist away, still laughing.

Oscar caught his hips, holding him still, but his own shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. "Thought you liked being tickled," he rumbled, the vibration making Lando squirm harder. He nuzzled the spot he’d just scraped, gentler this time, blowing a soft breath that made Lando convulse with giggles again.

"Not fair!" Lando gasped between laughs, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He shoved weakly at Oscar’s shoulders. "Using… my… weaknesses!" He dissolved into another fit of breathless laughter, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. The sheer, uncomplicated joy of it was disarming.

Oscar relented, shifting his weight. He settled beside Lando again, pulling him close as Lando tried to catch his breath, his body still shaking with residual giggles. Oscar kissed his temple, then his forehead, his own chest vibrating with quiet laughter. "You’re ridiculous," he murmured, the affection thick in his voice.

Lando grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, face flushed with mirth and arousal. "You started it," he accused, poking Oscar’s chest. His finger traced a lazy circle over a nipple. "With your… priority reassessment." He leaned up, capturing Oscar’s lips in a kiss that was sweet, lingering, and still flavoured with laughter. "Best way to wake up," he murmured against Oscar’s mouth.

Oscar hummed in agreement, his hand sliding down Lando’s side, over his hip, fingers tracing patterns that now promised pleasure, not tickles. "Much better than coffee," he agreed, his voice low and warm. He felt Lando shiver in anticipation, the giggles fading into a soft sigh.

Oscar’s tracing fingers slid lower, finding the heat between Lando’s legs, the hard proof of his arousal. Lando’s breath hitched, sharp and needy, his hips lifting instinctively off the silk. "Oz," he breathed, the name a plea swallowed by the sunlit air.

Oscar answered with a slow, deliberate stroke, his gaze locked on Lando’s face. He watched the play of pleasure and surrender, the way Lando’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened again, dark and wanting. "Tell me," Oscar murmured, his voice a low command vibrating through the charged stillness. He increased the pressure just slightly, a fraction more friction. "Tell me what you need."

Lando arched, a low groan tearing from his throat. "You," he gasped, fingers digging into Oscar’s bicep. "Just… you. Like this." His voice was ragged, stripped bare. "Always you." He pushed up into Oscar’s hand, seeking more. "Please."

The raw honesty, the unguarded need, never failed to ignite Oscar’s core. He leaned down, capturing Lando’s mouth in a searing kiss. It was deep, possessive, a counterpoint to the slow rhythm of his hand. He tasted the remnants of laughter, the salt of exertion, the pure Lando essence that anchored him. Their bodies moved together, a perfect, urgent synergy against the cool slide of silk.

Oscar shifted his weight, pulling his hand away just long enough to spit roughly into his palm, the crude sound shockingly loud in the sunlit quiet. He reached down, taking his own hard length in that slick grasp.

"Look at me," Oscar commanded, his voice rough gravel. Lando’s eyes flew open, hazy with desire but focused instantly on Oscar’s face. Oscar positioned himself, the head of his cock nestling hot and heavy against the base of Lando’s, both lengths aligned. His slick hand wrapped around them both, fusing their heat into one tight, pulsing column. He squeezed, a deliberate, testing pressure that forced a sharp cry from Lando’s lips. "Feel that?"

Lando could only nod frantically, a choked whimper escaping him. The sudden, intense friction, the overwhelming sensation of Oscar’s thicker cock pressed hard against his own, the possessive grip – it short-circuited thought. His hips jerked helplessly. "Oz... fuck..." He gasped, eyes wide and fixed on where Oscar’s large hand engulfed them both, knuckles white with tension, skin glistening.

Oscar began to move. A slow, brutal drag of his fist up, the ridge of his own crown catching exquisitely against Lando’s shaft, then down, a firm glide that squeezed them together. The friction was intense, almost too much, slick and searing. Lando cried out again, a broken sound, head thrashing back against the pillow. His fingers scrabbled at Oscar’s back, seeking purchase. "More," he begged, breathless, desperate. "Harder, please..."

Oscar obliged. His rhythm became punishing, relentless. Short, sharp jerks that jolted through both of them. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the hushed room, a crude counterpoint to the distant city hum. He watched Lando unravel, watched the pleasure crest into near-pain, watched the fading marks on his throat flush dark red with the strain. "Mine," Oscar growled, the word vibrating with each powerful stroke, each possessive squeeze of his hand. He felt the tension coiling impossibly tight in his own gut, mirrored in the frantic trembling of Lando’s body beneath him.

Lando’s entire world narrowed to that crushing grip, the burning friction, the overwhelming pressure of Oscar’s cock grinding against his. Oscar’s face above him, intense, focused, demanding – it was everything. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel that relentless, building pressure threatening to shatter him. His vision flickered, sparks dancing at the edges. His mouth opened in a silent scream, then a ragged, choked sob ripped free. "Oscar! I can't...!" His body bowed, every muscle locking rigid.

The plea, raw and desperate, snapped the final thread. Oscar’s rhythm hitched, stuttered. He slammed his fist down one final, brutal time, grinding them together impossibly tight. Lando shattered first, a high, keening cry tearing from his throat as his release pulsed hot and thick, painting Oscar’s fist and his own stomach in erratic stripes of white. The convulsive clench of Lando’s body around his trapped cock, the sudden wet heat flooding his grip, drove Oscar over the edge an instant later. He threw his head back with a guttural roar, his own climax erupting violently, adding to the slick mess between them, his hips jerking erratically against Lando’s hip bone.

They collapsed. A tangle of shuddering limbs, sticky skin, and harsh, ragged breaths that filled the sudden, profound silence. Lando lay boneless, trembling, eyes closed, a tear tracking through the sweat on his temple. The sunlight felt impossibly bright. Oscar slumped beside him, his breathing still deep and uneven, his hand resting heavily on Lando’s stomach, sticky fingers splayed. The air hung thick with the pungent scent of sex and exertion, the silk sheets damp beneath them.

Chapter Text

The silence was thick, syrupy. Only their ragged breaths cut through it, slowing gradually. Lando lay utterly spent, his chest still shuddering with aftershocks. The air hung heavy with the raw tang of sex, mingling with the scent of expensive sheets and warm skin. Sunlight glared off the slick mess cooling on their stomachs. Oscar’s hand remained splayed possessively on Lando’s abdomen, sticky fingers drawing idle, invisible patterns.

Lando finally cracked an eye open, blinking against the intrusive gold light. He turned his head slowly on the damp pillowcase, finding Oscar already watching him. Oscar’s expression was unreadable in the aftermath, that intense focus softened but still present, like a predator momentarily sated. A sliver of self-consciousness wormed its way in. "Well," Lando rasped, his voice wrecked. "That’s... one way to wake up." He attempted a weak smile.

Oscar’s gaze flickered downward, taking in the evidence of their shared climax drying on Lando’s skin, then back to his face. A ghost of satisfaction touched his lips. "Efficient," he murmured, his own voice rough-edged. He shifted, wincing slightly as the drying mess pulled at his skin. "Sticky."

"Yeah," Lando agreed, wrinkling his nose. He poked at the mess on his own stomach. "Very." He looked pointedly at Oscar. "Your fault. Priority reassessment, remember?"

Oscar huffed, a sound almost like a laugh. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, the movement fluid despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. "Shower," he stated. It wasn't a suggestion. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the powerful muscles of his back flexing as he stood. He offered a hand, not looking back.

Lando stared at the offered hand for a moment, then took it, letting Oscar pull him upright. The world tilted slightly. He swayed, and Oscar’s arm shot out, steadying him effortlessly at the waist. "Whoa there." Oscar’s voice held a trace of amusement. "Legs still offline?"

"Shut up," Lando mumbled, leaning into the support, grateful for it. The cool air of the penthouse hit his damp skin, raising goosebumps. He looked down at himself. "God, we’re a state."

Oscar didn’t comment, simply guided him towards the en-suite, his hand warm and firm on Lando’s lower back. The bathroom was a temple of sleek marble and chrome, dominated by a vast walk-in shower stall with multiple jets. Oscar reached in, turning the dials. A hiss, then a roar as water cascaded down. Steam began to billow almost instantly.

He stepped in first, the water sluicing over his dark hair, down his sculpted back. He turned, extending a hand again. "Come on."

Lando hesitated for only a second, then stepped under the torrent. The water was blissfully hot, almost scalding, a shock to his system after the cool air and the emotional rollercoaster. He gasped, tilting his face up, letting it pound down on him. It stung his sensitive skin, washing away the stickiness, the sweat, the lingering intensity of moments before. He closed his eyes.

Strong hands landed on his shoulders, turning him. Oscar stood directly in front of him, water streaming over both of them, plastering his dark hair to his forehead. His expression was unreadable behind the curtain of water. He picked up a bar of expensive sandalwood soap, working it into a lather in his palms. Without a word, he began washing Lando. His touch was firm, methodical, cleansing. Down Lando’s arms, over his chest, across his stomach – lingering just a fraction longer where the evidence of their coupling had been. It was possessive, intimate, yet utterly practical. A claiming and a cleaning in one.

Lando stood still, letting Oscar wash him, the heat of the water and Oscar’s hands a dual assault on his senses. It felt grounding, this simple act of care wrapped in control. Oscar’s thumbs swept over the fading bruises high on his throat, a silent acknowledgment. Lando shivered, but not from cold.

"Turn," Oscar commanded softly over the roar of the water.

Lando obeyed, presenting his back. Oscar’s soapy hands smoothed over his shoulders, down the slope of his spine, over the swell of his backside, down his stocky thighs. The touch wasn't sexual, but it held a deep, resonant intimacy that vibrated through Lando. He braced his hands against the cool marble wall, head bowed, surrendering to the sensation. Oscar rinsed him thoroughly, the water running clear.

Oscar nudged him gently. "My turn." He handed Lando the soap.

Lando took it, the smooth bar cool in his wet hands. He turned to face Oscar again. Washing Oscar felt different. It required reaching up. He lathered the soap, his hands moving over Oscar’s broad shoulders, the defined ridges of his chest and abdomen, the powerful arms. He felt the strength beneath his fingers, the leashed power. He washed Oscar’s back, tracing the muscles that flexed under his touch. There was an unspoken reverence in it. Oscar stood perfectly still, eyes closed, head slightly tilted back into the spray, allowing Lando this service. His only movement was a slight hitch in his breath when Lando’s fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot near his hip.

They rinsed in silence, the steam thick around them, the city below completely forgotten beyond the frosted glass. Oscar turned off the water. The sudden silence was loud. He pushed open the heavy glass door, grabbing two large, plush towels from the heated rack. He tossed one to Lando and began drying himself with brisk, efficient movements.

Lando wrapped the towel around his waist, rubbing his hair roughly. He caught sight of them in the vast, fogged mirror – Oscar, already looking more composed, the water beading on his defined torso, towel slung low; himself, hair sticking up at odd angles, skin flushed, looking thoroughly ravaged. He grinned crookedly.

Oscar noticed the grin. He stepped closer, using the edge of his towel to wipe a clear streak down the fogged mirror. He met Lando’s reflected gaze. "Better?" he asked, his voice returning to its usual, lower register, the gravel smoothed out.

"Much," Lando confirmed, leaning his hip against the counter. "Less... biohazard-y."

Oscar’s lips twitched. He picked up his toothbrush, squeezing toothpaste onto it. Lando followed suit, grabbing his own electric brush. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the double sinks, brushing their teeth in companionable silence, the rhythmic buzzing the only sound. Lando watched Oscar in the mirror – the focused set of his jaw, the efficient movements. The CEO armour was settling back into place, piece by piece. But the softness lingered in his eyes when he caught Lando watching.

Spit. Rinse. Oscar wiped his mouth. "Coffee," he announced, turning towards the bedroom. "Then the world."

Lando trailed after him, toweling his hair again. The bedroom still held the residual warmth and scent of their earlier intensity, but the open windows were pulling in fresh, cooler air. Sunlight drenched the rumpled silk sheets, highlighting the indentations where their bodies had been. Oscar was already pulling on dark, tailored trousers, the fabric sliding smoothly over his damp skin. He moved with that innate, unconscious grace.

Lando rummaged in his drawer for boxers and comfortable chinos. He pulled them on, then grabbed a soft, worn band t-shirt. He caught Oscar’s sidelong glance. "What? It’s clean."

"It’s threadbare," Oscar observed, buttoning a crisp white shirt with precise movements. He didn’t look up.

"It’s comfortable," Lando countered, pulling it over his head. "Unlike whatever torture device you’re about to put around your neck."

Oscar selected a navy tie from the rack. "Discipline has its comforts." He looped it around his collar with practiced ease.

Lando padded barefoot into the vast, open-plan living area. Floor-to-ceiling windows presented the sprawling city waking up in earnest. The faint, sophisticated hum of Oscar's curated jazz playlist replaced the roar of the shower. He headed straight for the state-of-the-art espresso machine dominating the kitchen island, a sleek monolith of brushed steel.

Oscar followed, shrugging into his suit jacket, the fabric settling perfectly on his shoulders. He leaned back against the counter, watching Lando wrestle with the machine. Lando knew how Oscar liked his coffee – double shot, scalding hot, no nonsense. He fumbled slightly with the portafilter, grounds spilling onto the counter. "Damn it."

Oscar didn't move to help. He just watched, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He enjoyed Lando's slight clumsiness in the domestic sphere, a stark contrast to his boardroom sharpness.

Finally, steam hissed. Rich, dark espresso dripped into two small cups. Lando slid one towards Oscar. "Your liquid focus, sir."

Oscar picked it up, taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Lando’s. "Adequate." He took another sip. "Yours?"

Lando poured milk into his, stirring lazily. "Needs sugar. Lots of it." He dumped in two heaping spoonsful, stirring again. He took a long drink, sighing as the warmth and caffeine hit. "Okay. Now I’m awake." He leaned his elbows on the cool marble, mirroring Oscar’s posture, facing the city view.

The caffeine began to sharpen the edges of the world, pulling him back towards the day’s demands. Lando drained the last of his overly sweet coffee, the porcelain mug clinking softly against the marble counter. Oscar finished his espresso in one swift movement, already checking his watch. "Car's downstairs in five," he stated, setting his cup down with finality. "Move."

Lando rinsed the cups quickly under the tap, leaving them in the sink. He grabbed his phone and wallet from the charger dock. Oscar was already at the penthouse door, holding Lando’s jacket. He helped Lando shrug into it, his fingers lingering briefly on the collar, straightening it unnecessarily. "Keys?" Oscar asked, hand out.

"In my pocket," Lando mumbled, patting his chinos. "Left side."

Oscar’s hand dipped into Lando’s pocket, his knuckles brushing deliberately against Lando’s hip bone as he retrieved the key fob. "Good." He pocketed them himself.

The elevator ride down was silent, the air thick with the lingering scent of sandalwood from the shower and the electric hum of descent. Oscar stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the descending floor numbers reflected in the polished doors. Lando leaned against the railing, watching the cityscape rise outside the glass shaft. The immense view always felt like plunging back into reality. He glanced at Oscar’s profile, the CEO mask firmly in place now, sharp and unyielding.

The sleek black luxury sedan was idling curbside, the driver stepping out to open the rear door. Oscar waved him off with a curt nod. "I'll drive." He rounded the hood to the driver's side. Lando climbed into the passenger seat, the buttery leather cool against his skin despite the morning sun warming the glass.

Oscar slid in beside him, the car’s interior suddenly filled with his presence – expensive cologne, clean starch, controlled energy. He adjusted the seat and mirrors with sharp, precise movements, the engine purring to life with a deep thrum. He pulled smoothly into the flow of mid-morning traffic, his gaze scanning the road with intense focus.

Then, without a word or glance, his right hand left the steering wheel. It landed heavily on Lando’s left thigh, high up, just below the crease of his hip, fingers splayed wide. The grip was firm, anchoring, possessive. Heat radiated through the fabric of Lando’s chinos, a stark contrast to the cool leather seat.

Lando froze for a heartbeat, then let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The unexpected pressure was a jolt, a leftover echo of the morning’s intensity grounding him in the present. He shifted slightly, settling more fully into the seat, the warmth of Oscar’s palm seeping into his muscle. He didn't look over, keeping his gaze fixed on the blur of buildings outside his window, but a small, unconscious smile touched his lips. It was Oscar’s silent claim, a private anchor in the public river of the city.

Oscar drove with practiced ease, navigating the dense traffic, his attention seemingly entirely on the road. His thumb moved, just a fraction, rubbing a slow, rhythmic circle against the thick muscle of Lando’s inner thigh through the fabric. The steering wheel felt smooth, cool under his left hand. The city noise – honking, sirens, distant construction – was muted inside the insulated cabin, replaced by the low thrum of the engine and Oscar’s steady breathing.

Lando leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a moment. The pressure, the warmth, the familiar scent of Oscar beside him, the low bass of the engine vibrating through the frame – it created a strange, contained bubble of calm amidst the urban chaos. The fading ache from this morning felt like a secret pulse beneath Oscar’s touch. He let his right hand drift, coming to rest lightly over Oscar’s knuckles where they gripped his thigh, not moving them, just covering them. A quiet acknowledgement. Acceptance.

Oscar’s thumb stilled its circling for a beat. Then it resumed, the pressure increasing almost imperceptibly. His grip tightened fractionally. A silent language spoken through touch alone. He took a corner smoothly, the g-force pressing Lando gently into the seat, into the unyielding hold on his leg. Neither spoke. The silence wasn't empty; it was thick with unspoken things – reminders of shared skin, the lingering scent of soap on damp skin, the promise of the office chaos awaiting them, and the anchor point of that large, warm hand claiming its territory.

The car glided into the underground garage of the sleek glass tower that housed both their companies on different floors. Oscar found his reserved spot near the private elevator bank. He shifted into park, the engine cutting out with a soft sigh. The sudden quiet amplified the sound of their breathing. Oscar kept his hand firmly planted on Lando’s thigh, his gaze fixed straight ahead for a long moment. The dim garage lighting etched sharp lines on his face. The transition point. The bubble was about to pop.

He finally turned his head, his eyes meeting Lando’s. The intensity was back, sharpened for business. "Ready?" Oscar asked, his voice low and steady. His hand remained exactly where it was, a physical tether to the sanctuary they’d just left, even as the demands of the day loomed in the echoing concrete space around them.

His hand remained exactly where it was, a physical tether to the sanctuary they’d just left, even as the demands of the day loomed in the echoing concrete space around them. Oscar’s gaze held Lando’s, sharp and assessing. "Ready?" The word hung, loaded. Lando nodded, a quick jerk of his chin. "Always." Oscar’s hand finally lifted, leaving a phantom warmth on Lando’s thigh. He pushed open his door, the cool garage air rushing in.

They stepped out simultaneously. The driver materialized silently, taking Oscar’s keys. Oscar didn’t acknowledge him, already striding towards the private elevator bank, his polished shoes clicking decisively on the concrete. Lando fell into step beside him, matching Oscar’s pace instinctively. The elevator doors slid open instantly, recognizing Oscar’s key fob proximity.

Oscar pressed the button for the top floor – his domain. The elevator ascended smoothly, silently. He didn’t look at Lando.  The elevator chimed softly, doors opening onto Oscar’s sleek, minimalist executive floor. Sterile air. Low hum of tech. Oscar stepped out without a backward glance. 

The doors slid shut. Lando exhaled, leaning back against the cool wall. He pressed the button for his own floor, two below. The descent felt longer. His floor buzzed differently – brighter lighting, bursts of laughter drifting from open-plan areas, the faint smell of burnt popcorn battling expensive coffee. He walked past clusters of his design team huddled around screens, waving off greetings with a distracted smile. "Mock-ups ready for me, Chloe?" he called out, spotting his lead designer.

"In your inbox, Lando!" Chloe yelled back, not looking up from her screen. "Prepare for sensory overload!"

His office was smaller, messier than Oscar’s. Whiteboards covered in chaotic sketches, prototypes littering surfaces, a half-eaten protein bar abandoned beside his keyboard. He dropped into his chair, the familiar squeak grounding him. The SkyTech merger docs Oscar demanded were indeed drafted, flagged urgent. He opened them, scanning the dense legalese. Oscar’s ruthless edits would come later. His inbox screamed – client queries, budget approvals, a ping from R&D about a prototype overheating again. He clicked open the design mock-ups Chloe mentioned. Vibrant, innovative interfaces flashed across his screen. He grinned despite himself. "Sensory overload indeed. Love it."

The day dissolved into a blur of pixels and pressure. Video calls with Tokyo, a tense standoff with Finance over the overheating prototype budget ("Fix it, then bill it," Lando ordered, rubbing his temples), a surprisingly productive brainstorming session fueled by terrible coffee and sour gummy worms. He forgot lunch. His phone buzzed incessantly – mostly work, one text from Oscar at 12:07pm: Docs? Lando fired back: Sent. Try not to enjoy eviscerating it too much. No reply. Typical Oz.

Across two floors and a world of corporate style, Oscar’s day was a symphony of controlled aggression. Meetings were swift, surgical. He dissected financial projections, exposed logical flaws in marketing strategies with icy precision, his voice never rising above a calm, devastating monotone. The SkyTech docs landed in his inbox. He opened them, scanned Lando’s draft with a critical eye. It was good. Sharp. Annoyingly competent. He began typing, his edits concise, brutal, transforming clauses with surgical strikes. His jaw tightened minutely as he worked, the only outward sign of the relentless focus thrumming beneath the surface. He ignored the dull ache settling between his shoulder blades.

By late afternoon, Lando’s eyes burned. The vibrant mock-ups now felt garish under fluorescent lights. He leaned back, stretching, hearing his spine crackle. The fading bruises on his throat felt tight. He glanced at the time. Almost six. The office outside his glass wall was thinning out. He saved his work, the click of the mouse loud in the sudden quiet. He felt drained, the caffeine buzz long gone, replaced by a hollow fatigue. He rubbed his eyes, gritty with screen strain.

The door to his office clicked open softly. Lando didn’t turn, assuming it was Chloe with another fire to put out. Heavy footsteps crossed the carpet, stopping directly behind his chair. A familiar scent cut through the stale office air – sandalwood soap, expensive wool, the faint, clean ozone scent of Oscar. Lando froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Hands settled on his shoulders. Large, warm, heavy. They weren't tentative. They pressed down firmly, thumbs finding the knotted tension at the base of Lando’s neck. A low groan escaped Lando’s lips before he could stop it. The pressure was exquisite, deep, kneading into muscles locked tight from hours hunched over screens. Oscar’s touch was different now. Softer than the morning’s demanding grip in the car, gentler than the possessive claiming in the shower. This was pure relief. Grounding.

Lando slumped back into the touch, his head lolling forward. Oscar’s thumbs worked in slow, deliberate circles, radiating warmth that seeped deep into the strained muscle. The silence stretched, thick and comfortable, punctuated only by Lando’s soft sighs and the rhythmic press of Oscar’s hands. The city lights began to wink on beyond the window, painting streaks of gold and red across the darkening skyline. 

Chapter Text

The deep kneading pressure vanished abruptly, leaving Lando’s shoulders feeling strangely light, almost floaty, as the warmth seeped deeper into his muscles. He blinked, refocusing on the screen where a half-finished email glared accusingly. Oscar’s presence, solid and silent behind him, remained a grounding force in the emptying office.

"Shower," Oscar stated, his voice a low rumble close to Lando’s ear. It wasn't a request. "Then dinner. Reservations at eight."

Lando tilted his head back, meeting Oscar’s gaze upside down. The sharp CEO mask was still there, but the edges seemed softer, blurred by the dimming office light and the lingering warmth of his touch. "Thought you had that Asia call?" Lando asked, stifling a yawn that cracked his jaw.

"Rescheduled." Oscar’s hand landed briefly on the crown of Lando’s head, a swift, possessive pat. "Up. Move."

The drive to the penthouse was quiet, the city lights bleeding streaks of colour across the windscreen. Oscar drove one-handed, the other resting high on Lando’s thigh, fingers occasionally flexing against the worn denim. The possessive anchor point, familiar and settling. Lando leaned his head against the cool glass, watching the world blur past, the ache in his neck a dull counterpoint to the warmth radiating from Oscar’s grip.

Back in the penthouse, the shower was swift and functional, a world away from the languid, steamy intimacy of the morning. Oscar scrubbed efficiently, already mentally ticking boxes. Lando, under the cascade, felt the last knots from the day loosening, replaced by a low thrum of anticipation. Dinner out. With Oscar. Just them. It happened less often than it should.

Oscar emerged first, wrapping a towel around his waist, heading straight for the walk-in closet. Lando followed, toweling his hair. He bypassed his usual comfort zone of band tees and hoodies, drawn to the section Oscar had subtly curated for him – smarter pieces that still felt like him, just… elevated. He pulled out a deep emerald green shirt in soft cotton, slightly fitted. "This okay?" he asked, holding it up.

Oscar, buttoning a crisp black dress shirt with precise movements, glanced over. His gaze swept Lando, lingering for a beat on the shirt. "Yes." He turned back to selecting a tie – charcoal grey, minimalist. "Wear the dark jeans. Not the ripped ones."

Lando grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it." He snagged the recommended jeans. Oscar’s quiet approval, rarely voiced, always landed like a tangible thing.

The restaurant was a cocoon of low light and murmured conversations tucked behind velvet curtains. Crystal glasses caught the flicker of candles set in heavy silver holders, casting dancing reflections on crisp white linen. The air tasted rich – Bordeaux, roasting herbs, expensive perfume. A discreet hostess led them to a secluded booth in a shadowed corner, upholstered in deep burgundy leather. Oscar slid in first, his back to the wall, commanding the view of the room. Lando settled beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed, the leather cool through his shirt.

A sommelier materialized. Oscar ordered a specific vintage of Burgundy without glancing at the list, his voice low and assured. Lando scanned the menu, momentarily overwhelmed by the French descriptions. 

The tension of the day, the relentless pressure of screens and decisions, began to truly dissolve in the warm, fragrant gloom. The wine arrived, poured with silent ceremony. Oscar lifted his glass, the deep red liquid catching the light like a dark jewel.

"To surviving the SkyTech draft," Lando offered, clinking his glass against Oscar’s. "May your red pen run out of ink."

Oscar’s lips curved, a genuine flash of amusement softening the controlled lines of his face. "Unlikely. But your first pass was less painful than anticipated." He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Lando’s. "Competent."

"High praise, Oz," Lando laughed, the sound warm and easy in their private corner. He took a sip of the wine. It was smooth, complex, tasting of dark cherries and earth. "Damn, that’s good." He stretched his legs under the table, his worn sneaker bumping Oscar’s polished oxford. Oscar didn’t move his foot away.

They talked. Not about work, not really. Oscar recounted a tersely amusing encounter with a stubborn investor, his delivery dry, making Lando snort into his wine. Lando described the overheating prototype drama and Chloe’s increasingly wild mock-ups, his hands sketching shapes in the air, his voice animated. "She wants to project user metrics onto actual clouds, Oz. Actual. Clouds."

"Impractical," Oscar stated, refilling Lando’s glass without asking. "But conceptually… visually striking."

"See? I knew you’d get it!" Lando nudged him with his elbow. "It’s bonkers, but in the best way."

Food arrived – the steak for Lando, a perfect, seared slab perched atop vibrant greens, and a rare venison dish for Oscar, dark and glistening. They ate, the clink of silverware a soft counterpoint to their easy conversation. Lando moaned appreciatively at the first bite of steak. "Okay, this is incredible." He scooped up a forkful, holding it out towards Oscar. "Try?"

Oscar paused, fork halfway to his own mouth. He looked at the offered bite, then at Lando’s expectant face. A beat passed. Then he leaned forward slightly, closing his lips over the fork. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze holding Lando’s. "It is good," he conceded, swallowing. The intimacy of the gesture, the direct eye contact in the candlelight, sent a warm flush creeping up Lando’s neck.

Halfway through the venison, Oscar set his fork down. He picked up his napkin, dabbed his mouth with precise economy, then let his hand drop below the level of the tablecloth. Lando felt the movement beside him, the shift in the air. He kept eating his steak, focusing on the delicate flavour.

Then Oscar’s hand found his.

It wasn’t tentative. It was a direct, warm slide, palm against the back of Lando’s hand where it rested on his own thigh under the table. Oscar’s fingers closed, not tightly, but firmly, possessively, interlacing with Lando’s. His thumb swept once, slowly, across Lando’s knuckles.

Lando’s fork stilled. He stared at his plate for a second, a slow, deep warmth blossoming in his chest, spreading outwards, loosening something tight he hadn’t realized was still knotted. He turned his hand slightly, palm meeting Oscar’s, his own fingers curling to grip back. His thumb mirrored Oscar’s movement, a slow stroke over the smooth skin, feeling the ridge of a knuckle, the faint callus from Oscar’s relentless grip on weights and steering wheels.

No one could see. The heavy tablecloth draped low, the booth’s high sides shielding them. It was their secret, a warm anchor point in the hushed sophistication of the room. Lando felt the subtle squeeze of Oscar’s fingers, a silent pressure that said mine, here, with me. He squeezed back, a silent yes.

He picked up his fork again with his other hand, the connection under the table a constant, grounding hum. The conversation resumed, easier now, flowing around the shared secret. Lando described a ridiculous dog video Chloe had shown him, Oscar countered with a dry observation about a competitor’s disastrous product launch. They laughed softly, their shoulders brushing, their hands clasped firmly out of sight.

Coffee arrived – potent espresso for Oscar, a fragrant cappuccino for Lando. They lingered, the restaurant emptying further, the staff moving with hushed efficiency. Oscar signed the check with a swift flourish, the discreet leather folder vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

He stood, smoothing his jacket. "Ready?"

Lando nodded, sliding out of the booth. His hand felt strangely cool when Oscar released it. They walked through the now-quiet restaurant, past the bar where a lone couple murmured over nightcaps. The cool night air hit them as they stepped onto the pavement, a sharp contrast to the warm intimacy they’d just left.

Oscar hailed a cab with a lifted finger. As it pulled up, he opened the door for Lando. Before Lando could duck in, Oscar’s hand landed on the small of his back, warm and familiar, guiding him into the back seat. Oscar followed, the cab smelling faintly of pine air freshener and old leather.

He gave the penthouse address. As the cab pulled into the stream of late-night traffic, Oscar didn’t reach for Lando’s hand immediately. He looked out the window, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. Then, slowly, deliberately, his hand moved again. Not to Lando’s thigh this time. It found Lando’s hand where it rested on the seat between them. Fingers interlaced anew, warm and sure.

Lando leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. The city hummed outside, a distant pulse. Inside the cab, cocooned in the dim light and the scent of Oscar’s cologne, there was only the steady pressure of Oscar’s hand in his, the quiet certainty of it. The echo of laughter shared over wine, the memory of the secret clasp under the tablecloth, the solid weight anchoring him now. He turned his hand, palm up, letting Oscar’s fingers settle more fully against his. A silent offering. Accepted. Held.

The cab’s tires thumped rhythmically over bridge joints, the city lights bleeding into smears of gold and white outside the tinted window. Oscar’s thumb traced slow, idle circles on the back of Lando’s hand, the only movement in the quiet cocoon. Lando watched the familiar skyline glide past, the penthouse tower growing steadily closer, a dark monolith against the night sky.

He felt the shift as Oscar turned his head. The weight of his gaze was a physical thing, warm and focused. Lando met it, the city lights catching the dark intensity in Oscar’s eyes. No words. Just that look. The one that pinned him, stripped the world away. Lando’s breath hitched, a tiny, audible catch he couldn’t suppress.

Oscar’s fingers tightened fractionally. "Almost home," he murmured, the low rumble resonating in the confined space. It wasn’t just an address. It was a destination. A promise.

The cab pulled into the private underground bay, the sudden silence after the engine cut feeling loud. Oscar paid swiftly, fluidly exiting and holding the door. The cool, concrete-scented air washed over them as they crossed to the private elevator. Oscar pressed the call button, then turned, crowding Lando gently against the brushed steel wall.

His hand slid from Lando’s to cradle his jaw, fingers pressing firmly into the hinge. Tilting Lando’s face up. "You," Oscar said, his voice rough velvet, "were… distracting." His thumb brushed Lando’s lower lip.

"Me?" Lando managed, his voice thick. His pulse hammered where Oscar’s fingers met his skin. "Just ate steak."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. "You. Laughing. That shirt." His thumb swept Lando’s lip again, a deliberate, slow pass. "Your hand." He released Lando’s jaw only to capture his wrist, tugging him firmly into the elevator. The doors sealed them in stark, mirrored silence. Oscar pressed the penthouse button. Then he pushed Lando back against the cool mirror, stepping into him, one hand braced beside Lando’s head, the other sliding possessively around his waist.

"Oz," Lando breathed, the air stolen from his lungs.

"Quiet," Oscar murmured, his lips brushing Lando’s temple. He didn’t kiss him. Not yet. Just held him pinned, the hard line of his body pressing Lando into the cool surface. Lando could feel the heat radiating off him, the controlled strength, the faint scent of Burgundy and leather and him cutting through the elevator’s sterile air. His own hands found Oscar’s sides, fingers curling into the fine wool of his suit jacket, holding on as much as holding back. Oscar’s breath was warm against his ear, rhythmic and deep.

The elevator ascended, smooth and silent. Lando closed his eyes, focusing on the pressure points: the arm braced beside him, the hand splayed low on his back, the heat of Oscar’s chest against his. The penthouse chime sounded, impossibly loud. Oscar pulled back just enough to let the doors open, his grip on Lando’s wrist unyielding as he guided him out into the darkened hallway.

They moved through the vast living space without turning on the main lights. The city’s glow filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of deep blue and silver. Oscar didn’t pause, steering Lando straight towards the bedroom doorway. The scent of expensive cologne and clean linen replaced the restaurant’s lingering richness.

Inside the shadowed bedroom, Oscar finally stopped. He turned Lando to face him. The ambient light caught the sharp planes of his face, the intent in his eyes. His fingers went to the top button of Lando’s emerald shirt, movements deliberate, unhurried. The tiny pop of each button giving way sounded loud in the quiet.

Lando stood still, letting him work. He reached up, mirroring the action on Oscar’s black shirt, fumbling slightly with the smooth onyx studs. Oscar’s hands paused as Lando’s fingers brushed his skin. He watched Lando’s face, his expression unreadable in the dimness, only the intensity of his gaze betraying the focus beneath the calm exterior. It was a careful dance, shedding the day’s layers. Fabric whispered against skin. Oscar’s shirt joined Lando’s on the floor. Then his belt buckle clinked softly as Lando worked it free.

Oscar stepped back only to toe off his polished shoes. He pushed his suit trousers down, stepping out of them, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Lando’s dark jeans. He tugged them down, slow and firm, making Lando step out of each leg. Standing close again, just boxers separating them now, Oscar ran his hands slowly up Lando’s sides, over the curve of his ribs, the solid muscle of his chest, mapping the familiar terrain in the half-light. His touch was thorough, deliberate. Worshipful. Lando shivered, a full-body tremor that started deep in his core.

"Cold?" Oscar murmured, his palms sliding back down to rest heavily on Lando’s hips, pulling him flush.

"No," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "Just you."

A low hum vibrated in Oscar’s chest. He guided Lando backwards until his calves hit the edge of the enormous bed. A gentle push. Lando sat, the cool duvet yielding beneath him. Oscar stood over him for a heartbeat, a dark silhouette against the window’s cityscape glow. Then he knelt, one knee on the bed between Lando’s legs, his hands finding Lando’s waist again.

He leaned in. Slow. Deliberate. His lips finally met Lando’s. Not demanding. Seeking. A soft press, a warm glide. A deep, unhurried exploration. Lando sighed into it, a sound of pure relief and surrender, his hands coming up to cup Oscar’s face, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Time dissolved. There was only this: the heat of skin on skin, the slide of lips, the slow dance of tongues, the faint salt taste, the shared breath. Oscar’s hands roamed Lando’s back, unhurried, learning the familiar landscape anew. Down the strong slope of his shoulders, the indent of his spine, the swell above his waistband. Every touch deliberate, reverent.

He pushed Lando back onto the cool sheets, following him down, settling his weight carefully atop him. The solid warmth, the perfect fit, made Lando arch instinctively. Oscar caught the movement, one hand sliding beneath the small of Lando’s back, pressing him closer. The kiss deepened, impossibly slow and deep. Oscar’s hips moved against Lando’s in a languid, rolling rhythm, friction building through the thin barrier of their boxers. A groan rumbled low in Oscar’s throat, pressed into Lando’s mouth. Lando answered with a gasp, fingers knotting in Oscar’s hair.

Oscar shifted, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips along Lando’s jaw, down the column of his throat. He took his time, nuzzling the sensitive spot below Lando’s ear, sucking lightly. Lando’s head dropped back, baring more, a low whine escaping him. Oscar’s hand slid between them, slipping beneath the elastic waistband of Lando’s boxers. The touch was electric, direct, warm skin on skin. Lando jerked, a sharp intake of breath. Oscar’s fingers wrapped around him, firm but not demanding. A slow stroke, exploratory, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beating against his palm.

"Oh god, Oscar," Lando breathed, hips lifting involuntarily into the touch, seeking more, needing more of that perfect friction.

"Shhh," Oscar soothed against his throat, his thumb sweeping a slow, maddening circle. The stroke resumed, unhurried, a deep, dragging pull. Oscar watched Lando’s face in the dimness, seeing every reaction flicker across his features – the flutter of eyelids, the parting of lips, the sharp intake of breath. He kept the pace agonizingly, wonderfully slow, building sensation layer by molten layer. His other hand roamed Lando’s chest, thumb grazing a nipple, making Lando arch again with a choked gasp. The dual assault was overwhelming. Sensation pooled low in Lando’s belly, hot and thick. Oscar seemed to sense it, the exact moment the coil wound too tight. His hand stilled. He pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Lando’s collarbone. "Not yet."

He shifted, his own boxers pushed down and kicked away. Skin met skin fully, Oscar’s heat settling into the cradle of Lando’s hips. The hard length of him pressed against Lando’s thigh. Oscar reached over, fumbling blindly in the nightstand drawer, the rasp of wood loud for a second. The tear of foil. He slicked himself, the sound wet in the quiet. Then his hand was back on Lando’s hip, guiding him.

Lando lifted instinctively, wrapping his legs around Oscar’s waist. Oscar braced himself above him, one forearm planted beside Lando’s head. His eyes locked onto Lando’s, deep and fathomless in the near-darkness. He pressed forward. Slow. Impossibly slow. An inexorable, deep slide that stole Lando’s breath. A stretch, a burn, then a deep, perfect fullness that made his vision blur. He gasped Oscar’s name, a ragged sound.

"Feel it," Oscar murmured, his voice thick, strained. He held himself there, buried deep, unmoving. Just feeling the clutch, the heat. His forehead dropped to rest against Lando’s, their breaths mingling, ragged and shared. "Feel me." Lando could only nod, his eyes squeezed shut against the intensity, every nerve ending screaming awareness of where they were joined. Oscar began to move. Not thrusting. Rocking. Deep, rolling motions that connected them at their cores. Slow. So devastatingly slow. Each movement a deep, grinding pressure that sent tremors through Lando’s entire body.

He clung to Oscar’s shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle, lost in the rhythm, the heat, the overwhelming sense of connection. Oscar’s lips found his again, a messy, open kiss, sharing breathless gasps. The world shrunk to the circle of Oscar’s arms, the cradle of his body, the slow, deep rhythm that felt like coming home. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold beyond the windows, the only witness to their slow, consuming fire.

Chapter Text

The city lights painted shifting patterns across the ceiling, a silent counterpoint to the heavy, shared breaths filling the quiet bedroom. Oscar held himself deep, impossibly deep, the slow, grinding roll of his hips an anchor point in Lando’s universe. Each movement was a deliberate press, a claiming that resonated in Lando’s bones, a deep pulse that echoed the frantic beat of his own heart against Oscar’s sweat-slicked chest.

"Oscar..." Lando gasped, the name torn from him, half-plea, half-worship. His fingers scrabbled against the powerful muscles of Oscar’s back, searching purchase on skin that felt like sun-warmed stone. He was pinned, held fast not just by Oscar’s weight but by the sheer, overwhelming focus of him. Those dark eyes, inches away, watched Lando’s every flinch, every choked-off cry, with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. Oscar’s control was absolute, a terrifying, exhilarating thing. He dictated the pace – agonizingly, perfectly slow – and Lando was adrift in it, helpless and wanting.

"Feel that?" Oscar murmured, his voice rough velvet, a vibration Lando felt where their chests met. He shifted minutely, angling deeper, and Lando cried out, back arching off the rumpled velvet duvet. "Every inch. Every second." Oscar’s thumb brushed Lando’s lower lip, a stark contrast to the relentless pressure below. "You take it so well."

Lando could only whimper, pushing up into the friction, the slow drag threatening to unravel him completely. He was wound impossibly tight, a coil ready to snap, yet Oscar held him suspended on that excruciating edge. It was control wielded as intimacy, a demanding tenderness that left Lando breathless. He loved it. Hated it. Needed it. Needed him.

"Please," Lando choked out, the word barely audible. "Oz... need..."

"Need what?" Oscar breathed against his mouth. He didn't speed up. He pressed down, a deep, sustained grind that made Lando see bursts of light behind his eyelids.

"You," Lando managed, his voice cracking. "More. Now." He bucked wildly, a desperate attempt to break the unbearable tension, to force the release dancing just out of reach.

Oscar caught his hips, effortlessly stilling the frantic movement. His palm was a brand against Lando’s skin. "Patience," he commanded, low and firm. He dipped his head, catching Lando’s earlobe between his teeth, nipping gently before soothing it with his tongue. "I decide when." The hand on Lando’s hip slid around, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of his ass, holding him open, pressing him impossibly closer. Oscar began to move again, the pace infinitesimally quicker now, the deep pulls gaining a fraction more urgency. "Your hands," Oscar ordered, his breath hot in Lando’s ear. "On the headboard."

Lando obeyed instantly, fumbling for the cool, carved wood of the ornate four-poster. His grip tightened, knuckles white, as Oscar’s thrusts gained purpose. The slow burn ignited into a consuming fire. Each deep stroke hit a point that sent electric jolts through Lando’s spine, coiling the tension tighter, tighter. He could feel Oscar trembling with the effort of his own restraint, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The scent of their sweat, Oscar’s expensive cologne now mingled with salt and sex, filled Lando’s senses, thick and intoxicating.

"Look at me," Oscar demanded, his voice strained.

Lando forced his eyes open, meeting the dark fire in Oscar’s gaze. The intensity there, the raw, possessive need barely leashed, was almost too much. Seeing it, knowing he was the sole focus of that consuming force, shattered something inside Lando. His climax roared up without warning, a tidal wave breaking over him, tearing a ragged, wordless cry from his throat. He convulsed, back bowing, every muscle locking as pure, blinding ecstasy ripped through him, washing away thought, sound, everything except the feel of Oscar buried deep inside him, the anchor point in the storm.

Oscar’s control snapped. A harsh groan tore from him as he felt Lando clench and pulse around him. His thrusts became urgent, powerful, driving into the pulsing heat, chasing his own release. He buried his face in the crook of Lando’s neck, teeth scraping skin, his breath coming in ragged gasps against Lando’s damp skin. His hips snapped forward one last, hard time, and he held, shuddering, a low, guttural sound vibrating against Lando’s throat as he found his own peak deep within him.

For endless moments, the only sounds were their harsh, mingling breaths and the distant, muffled hum of the city far below. Oscar’s weight settled fully onto Lando, heavy, warm, grounding. His arms slid beneath Lando, locking him in a crushing embrace. Lando, still trembling through the aftershocks, wrapped his own arms around Oscar’s broad shoulders, holding on, anchoring himself in the solid reality of him. The world slowly seeped back in: the cool air on sweat-damp skin, the faint scent of leather from Oscar’s discarded jacket somewhere on the floor, the soft texture of the velvet duvet beneath them.

Oscar shifted slightly, just enough to nuzzle into Lando’s neck. He pressed a kiss, soft and lingering, against the pulse point there. "Alright?" His voice was a deep rumble against Lando’s skin.

Lando swallowed, his throat dry. "Yeah," he managed, his voice rough. He ran a hand through Oscar’s damp hair, the short strands soft against his fingers. "Better than the venison."

A huff of warm air against his neck – Oscar’s version of a laugh. He lifted his head. In the dim city-light, his face was relaxed, the sharp edges softened, eyes dark pools of sated warmth. He traced the line of Lando’s jaw with a fingertip. "That steak," he murmured, his thumb brushing Lando’s kiss-swollen lower lip, "was merely an appetiser."

Lando grinned, the familiar, playful spark returning. "Just ensuring you got your protein, Oz. CEO diet and all that."

Oscar’s eyes narrowed playfully. He shifted his hips, a deliberate, intimate pressure that made Lando gasp softly. "I think," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that did things to Lando’s insides, "I consumed quite adequately." He rolled them, smoothly, landing Lando half on top of him, tangled in the sheets. Oscar’s arm came around him, holding him close against his side. Lando settled his head on Oscar’s chest, listening to the strong, steady thud of his heart gradually slowing. The warmth of him, the familiar scent, the solid feel of muscle beneath his cheek – it was sanctuary.

They lay in comfortable silence, the aftermath settling around them like dust. Lando traced idle patterns on Oscar’s chest, skating over defined muscle and the faint ridge of a scar high on his ribs from a long-ago cycling accident. Oscar’s hand rested heavily on Lando’s hip, thumb making slow, unconscious circles on the skin.

Lando yawned, the intense energy draining away, leaving a deep, bone-melting lethargy. "I should probably check my email," he mumbled against Oscar’s skin, making no move to get up. "SkyTech might’ve sent revisions..."

Oscar’s hand tightened slightly on his hip. "Tomorrow," he stated, the CEO voice firmly back in place, softened only by the arm holding Lando captive. He reached over to the nightstand, his movements lazy but precise, and silenced both their phones with a single tap. The screens went dark. "Sleep."

Lando smiled into the darkness, nestling closer. The relentless drive of the day, the restaurant’s hushed tension, the lingering ache from Oscar’s earlier massage – it all dissolved in the warm, secure cocoon of Oscar’s body and his command. Outside, the city pulsed with its own relentless energy, a world of deals and demands. In here, there was just this: skin on skin, the rhythm of Oscar’s breathing, and the absolute certainty of belonging exactly where he was. His eyes drifted shut, the complex flavours of expensive wine and slow-burning desire replaced by the simple, blood-warm scent of home. Oscar’s heartbeat was the only metronome he needed now, lulling him towards a deep, utterly claimed sleep.

~

Consciousness slammed back into Lando like a breaker hitting rocks. One moment, the warm, heavy oblivion of sleep. The next, a deep, insistent pressure, a blunt, stretching fullness that stole his breath. He gasped, eyes flying open to the bleary grey light filtering through the penthouse windows. The velvet duvet was tangled around his waist. Oscar’s solid weight pinned his hips firmly to the mattress.

“Oz—?” The name was a choked rasp, thick with sleep and sudden, shocking sensation. Oscar’s arms were braced on either side of him, muscles taut cords under skin that felt fever-hot against Lando’s back. The rhythm was already established, deep, deliberate thrusts that pushed Lando further into the yielding mattress with each powerful drive. No preamble. No gentle awakening. Just possession, immediate and undeniable.

“Morning, darling,” Oscar murmured, his voice rough with sleep and arousal, a low vibration Lando felt down to his core. Oscar’s teeth scraped the sensitive skin of Lando’s shoulder, not quite biting. “Thought you might need a jumpstart.” He shifted his angle minutely, and the pressure found a new, devastating point inside Lando, dragging a ragged moan from his throat. Lando’s body, still half-asleep and pliant, arched of its own accord, seeking more of that precise friction. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the sheets.

“Fuck, Oscar…” Lando panted, his head falling back against Oscar’s shoulder. The contrast was dizzying – the lingering fog of sleep shredded by the searing intensity of Oscar taking him. He felt hyper-aware: the coarse texture of the sheet beneath his cheek, the sharp scent of their mingled sweat already rising in the cool air, the incredible heat where they were joined. Oscar’s control was absolute, the pace steady and deep, a relentless tide pulling Lando under. He felt utterly claimed, pinned not just physically but by the sheer, focused intent radiating from the man behind him.

“Look at you,” Oscar breathed, his hand sliding around Lando’s hip, calloused fingers splaying possessively over the flat plane of his stomach. His thumb pressed down, a point of counter-pressure that made Lando gasp again. “Taking it so deep. Still half-asleep and already so fucking perfect.” The praise, delivered in that low, gravelly tone, sent a different kind of heat flooding through Lando, warring with the intense physical sensation. He pushed back instinctively, meeting Oscar’s thrust, craving the deeper penetration, the sharp edge of overwhelm that Oscar expertly wielded.

A low groan escaped Oscar, vibrating through Lando’s spine. “That’s it. Just let go.” His hand on Lando’s stomach slid lower, fingers curling around the base of Lando’s cock, already hard and leaking against his belly. The dual sensation – the deep, stretching fullness inside and the tight, demanding grip outside – pulled a strangled cry from Lando. His hips jerked, caught between Oscar’s thrusts and his grip, suspended on a knife-edge of sensation. The city outside was just a blur of grey light and indistinct shapes; his entire world narrowed to the feel of Oscar moving within him, the sound of their ragged breaths, the scent of sex saturating the air.

“Please…” Lando whimpered, unsure what he was begging for – release, more, less, just something to break the unbearable tension coiling tighter with each deliberate stroke. His fingers finally found purchase, gripping Oscar’s powerful forearm where it braced beside him, anchoring himself against the onslaught.

Oscar’s thrusts gained a fraction of speed, a hint of urgency beneath the iron control. His breath was hot and fast against Lando’s neck. “What do you need?” he demanded, his voice tight. His grip on Lando tightened, thumb pressing insistently just below the head. “Tell me.” He punctuated the command with a particularly deep, grinding thrust that made Lando see stars.

“You,” Lando gasped, the word ripped from him. “Just… fuck… Oz, please…” He pushed back harder, meeting Oscar’s strength with a desperate urgency of his own. The coiled spring inside him was winding impossibly tight, trembling on the brink.

Oscar’s free hand tangled roughly in Lando’s hair, pulling his head back, arching his throat. “Come for me,” he growled, the command vibrating against Lando’s skin. “Now.” He drove into him with relentless, powerful strokes, his hand working Lando’s cock in perfect, punishing sync.

The command, the overwhelming pressure, the sheer, focused intensity of Oscar shattering his last vestiges of resistance – it detonated him. Lando cried out, a raw, broken sound as his body convulsed. Pleasure, sharp and almost painful in its intensity, tore through him in violent waves, obliterating thought. He pulsed hotly over Oscar’s fingers, his body clamping down hard around Oscar’s relentless length inside him, milking him, pulling him deeper into the vortex.

Oscar’s rhythm faltered, a harsh groan tearing from his chest. He buried himself to the hilt, holding deep as Lando spasmed around him. His own control fractured completely. His hips snapped forward in short, frantic jerks, his grip on Lando’s hair tightening almost painfully as he drove into the pulsing heat, chasing his own release. A guttural sound, half-growl, half-moan, ripped from his throat as he found it, shuddering against Lando’s back, spilling deep inside him with a final, powerful thrust. He held himself there, pressed impossibly deep, panting raggedly against the sweat-damp skin of Lando’s shoulder, his body trembling with the aftershocks. His fingers slowly uncurled from Lando’s hair, smoothing the strands almost apologetically.

For long moments, the only sounds were their harsh, intermingled breathing and the distant, muffled hum of the city far below. Oscar’s weight settled heavily onto Lando, a warm, grounding anchor. His arms slid around Lando’s waist, pulling him back flush against his chest. Lando, boneless and trembling, reached back blindly, his fingers finding Oscar’s hip, clinging. The air felt cool on their sweat-slicked skin, carrying the heavy scent of sex and Oscar’s faded cologne. The velvet duvet was bunched uncomfortably beneath them.

Oscar pressed a clumsy, lingering kiss just below Lando’s ear. His voice was a wrecked whisper. “Alright?”

Lando swallowed, his throat raw. He managed a faint nod, the movement stirring against Oscar’s chest. “Yeah.” He shifted slightly, wincing at the deep, pleasant ache radiating from his core. “Subtle wake-up call.”

A low, breathless chuckle rumbled against Lando’s back. Oscar nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Efficient.” He traced the faint pink mark his teeth had left on Lando’s shoulder. “Coffee?”

Lando groaned, the idea of moving feeling impossible. “Later.” He burrowed back against Oscar’s warmth, seeking the solidity, the familiar scent of him mixed with salt and sex. It felt primal, this utter depletion, this closeness. Oscar’s arm tightened around him, a silent agreement. The silence stretched, comfortable now, filled only with the slowing rhythm of their breaths. Lando’s eyes drifted shut again, exhaustion pulling him back towards sleep despite the adrenaline still singing faintly in his veins. The deep ache was a grounding echo of Oscar’s possession. Outside, the city was fully awake, demanding and relentless. Inside, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and Oscar’s arms, Lando let the quiet claim him once more, the phantom sensation of being filled still pulsing low in his belly. Oscar’s heartbeat, steady and strong against his back, was the only rhythm that mattered.

The steady thump against Lando’s back began to slow, Oscar’s breathing deepening into the soft rhythm of near-sleep. Lando shifted, the cool air raising goosebumps on his sweat-damp skin as he disentangled himself slightly from Oscar’s heavy arm. The luxurious velvet duvet felt clingy and damp. "Coffee," Lando mumbled, the word thick. "Need coffee. Or death."

Oscar grunted, a low rumble in his chest, but his arm tightened instinctively, holding Lando in place. "Death sounds easier. Stay." His voice was sleep-roughened, the usual sharp edges blurred. He nuzzled the back of Lando’s neck where the skin was still sensitized, a phantom echo of teeth scraping.

"That wake-up call," he began, his voice lower than usual, almost hesitant. "Was it..." He paused, searching for the right word, his gaze dropping for a second to where his hand rested on Lando’s thigh. "...too much?"

Lando stared at him. The sheer unexpectedness of it – Oscar Piastri, the man who commanded boardrooms and his own desires with unwavering certainty, asking that – momentarily stole his breath. He saw the genuine worry in the tense line of Oscar’s jaw, the slight vulnerability hidden beneath the controlled surface. It was a glimpse of the quiet anchor beneath the relentless tide.

Without a word, Lando leaned forward. He cupped Oscar’s jaw, rough stubble scratching his palm. He silenced the uncertainty not with words, but with his mouth. The kiss started soft, a deliberate counterpoint to the morning’s intensity, a reassurance. 

Lando tasted the lingering sleep on Oscar’s lips, the faint salt from his sweat, felt the roughness of stubble against his own skin. He poured everything he couldn’t articulate into the press of his mouth: the bone-deep satisfaction, the grounding warmth, the fierce gratitude for this anchor in the storm of their lives.

He pulled back just enough, his forehead resting against Oscar’s. The city light, grey and diffuse, washed over the sharp planes of Oscar’s face, catching the faint trace of vulnerability still lingering in the tension around his eyes. Lando ran his thumb along Oscar’s jawline, the rasp familiar and grounding. "It was perfect." Lando said.

Oscar blinked. A flicker of surprise, stark in the quiet room, crossed his features before being swiftly masked. He rarely sought reassurance; demanding was his default. Hearing it offered, so simply, seemed to momentarily unravel him. His throat worked. "Perfect?" The word sounded raw, alien on his tongue in this context. His hand, still resting on Lando’s thigh, tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah," Lando murmured, pressing another fleeting kiss to the corner of Oscar’s mouth. "Woke up right." He traced the ridge of muscle where Oscar’s shoulder met his neck, the skin still fever-warm. "Exactly what I needed. Even if I did threaten death-by-caffeine five minutes ago."

A low sound, almost a sigh, escaped Oscar. The tension bled from his shoulders as he pulled Lando closer, tucking him firmly against his chest. He buried his face in Lando’s messy hair, inhaling deeply. "Death by caffeine is inefficient," he mumbled, the words muffled, the edges of the CEO persona softening into something private, just for them. "Bad optics for the board." He kissed the top of Lando’s head, a gesture so tender it made Lando’s chest ache. "Glad it was... right."

They lay tangled in the damp sheets, the silence comfortable now, filled only with their breathing and the distant city hum. Lando traced idle patterns on Oscar’s chest, feeling the solid reality of him, the beating heart beneath the controlled exterior. The phantom ache from their joining was a grounding echo, a pleasant reminder of the power Oscar wielded and the trust Lando granted. Oscar’s hand stroked slowly up and down Lando’s spine, a possessive, calming rhythm.

Eventually, Oscar shifted. "Right." The crispness was returning, but tempered. "Coffee. Actually required now." He disentangled himself with surprising gentleness, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The lean muscles of his back flexed as he stood, stark against the grey morning light flooding the expansive room. He stretched, a ripple of power beneath skin still damp. "Shower first. You reek."

Lando snorted, flopping onto his back and stretching luxuriously, feeling the satisfying pull in his muscles. "Pot, kettle, Oz. You smell like… victory. And sweat. Mostly sweat." He watched Oscar pad towards the en suite, appreciating the view – the controlled strength, the faint marks Lando’s own nails had left across his shoulders yesterday evening. "Don’t use all the hot water, tycoon. Some of us need to be vaguely functional."

Oscar paused in the doorway, looking back. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips, the familiar glint returning to his eyes, sharp and heated. "Functional is relative, Norris. And hot water," he added, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that promised both challenge and reward, "is a resource I control. Come negotiate your share." He disappeared into the steam already beginning to billow from the shower.

Lando grinned, the challenge sparking through his lingering lethargy. He pushed himself up, the cool air hitting his skin, the city’s demands already a tangible pressure at the edge of his awareness. But the warmth of Oscar’s body lingered on the sheets, the echo of his possessiveness a tangible anchor. Perfect. He swung his legs out, ready to negotiate.

Chapter Text

The polished mahogany table stretched like a frozen lake under the harsh glare of recessed lighting. Charts glowed on the screen at the head of the room, dense with numbers that meant quarterly targets, market penetration, the kind of dry fuel that powered the machine around the table. Oscar sat at the apex, posture impeccable in a charcoal suit that cost more than some people's cars. His voice was a controlled instrument, precise, dissecting the head of marketing's presentation with surgical detachment. "Your projection for Q3 adoption in the EMEA region, Susan. The conversion funnel seems optimistic given the competitor activity outlined on slide fourteen."

Susan shifted, a bead of sweat tracing her temple despite the arctic blast of the air conditioning. "We factored in the aggressive campaigns, Oscar. The revised targeting parameters show a significant lift in qualified leads..."

Lando, seated the chair down on Oscar's right, forced his own expression into one of attentive neutrality. The leather chair felt stiff, unforgiving. His tablet displayed the same slides, but the figures blurred. All he could feel was the phantom echo of Oscar’s weight pinning him to the mattress that morning, the sharp, possessive ache deep in his core, the demanding rhythm still vibrating in his muscles. Control the resource. Oscar’s low command in the steam-filled bathroom doorway echoed, laced with that dark promise. He’d negotiated his 'share' of the hot water fiercely, pushing back just enough to make Oscar’s eyes flash with that thrilling mix of challenge and heat before yielding. Now, the contrast was jarring. Sterile. Suffocating.

His leg jiggled restlessly under the table, a nervous tic he usually suppressed. The dull throb of his bruised hip where Oscar’s fingers had dug in during that relentless morning claiming flared. He needed... something. An anchor. A spark to cut through the drone of fiscal responsibility. Without conscious thought, his hand drifted beneath the table’s edge. His fingers, seeking warmth, sought friction, brushed the fine wool of Oscar’s trouser leg. A feather-light touch, just above the knee.

Oscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause his dissection of Susan’s funnel metrics. But beneath the table, his hand moved like a striking hawk. It clamped down over Lando’s wandering fingers, crushing them against the hard muscle of his own thigh. The grip was instantaneous, brutal. Hard enough to grind bone against sinew, hard enough to trap the gasp rising in Lando’s throat.

Lando froze. Pain, sharp and shocking, radiated up his wrist. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, at a bar graph showing projected user growth. His knuckles, trapped under Oscar’s iron grip, turned white around the pen he still held above the table. He could feel the heat of Oscar’s palm through the fabric, the terrifying, absolute stillness of the man beside him. Oscar’s focus remained entirely on the presentation, his profile carved from marble.

Then, Oscar leaned in, ever so slightly. His head tilted towards Lando’s as if considering a point on the screen. The scent of his expensive, sandalwood-tinged cologne – usually a comfort – now felt like a brand. His lips brushed the shell of Lando’s ear, the movement hidden by the angle. The whisper that followed was a low, dark vibration, felt more than heard, a current of pure, dangerous intent that crackled down Lando’s spine.

"One more move, Norris," Oscar murmured, his voice devoid of the corporate precision, thick with something far more primal. "One. More. Fucking. Move under this table." The pressure on Lando’s fingers intensified fractionally, a silent punctuation. "And I won't wait for the office door to lock. I will bend you over this polished fucking mahogany and remind you exactly who decides when you get touched."

Lando’s breath hitched, a tiny, strangled sound he barely suppressed. Heat flooded his face, a mortifying blush he hoped the harsh lighting didn’t expose. Below the table, trapped and throbbing, his hand felt simultaneously crushed and electrified. The promise wasn't just a threat; it was a vivid, visceral image – the cold, hard wood against his bare skin, Oscar’s relentless power on display inches from their oblivious colleagues. Shame warred with a terrifying, liquid spike of arousal that pooled low in his belly. He was pinned, not just physically, but by the sheer, focused intensity radiating from Oscar, the absolute certainty in that low, dark voice. He stayed utterly still, every muscle locked. The pen in his visible hand trembled.

Oscar released his grip just as abruptly as he’d seized it, his hand returning smoothly to the tabletop, resting near his untouched glass of water. He didn't look at Lando. His attention snapped back to the presentation screen as if nothing had happened. "Susan, the retention metric for the acquired user base. Slide eighteen. Your analysis lacks granularity on churn drivers. We need cohort breakdowns by acquisition channel by EOD."

Susan paled, scrambling for her tablet. "Of course, Mr. Piastri. We’ll get that segmented data right over."

Lando slowly, carefully, withdrew his aching hand. He flexed his fingers beneath the table, the joints protesting. The ghost of Oscar’s crushing grip remained, a brand burning into his skin. He kept his gaze fixed on his own tablet screen, the figures still swimming. The buzz of the meeting faded to a dull roar in his ears, replaced by the frantic hammering of his own heart and the dark, resonant echo of Oscar’s words.

Bent over this polished fucking mahogany.

The image wouldn't leave. It seared itself onto the back of his eyelids: the cold, smooth wood against his palms, the weight and heat of Oscar behind him, the utter loss of control in front of the very people who saw only the impeccable CEO. The sheer audacity of the threat, the ruthless way Oscar wielded their private dynamic even here, in this sterile temple of corporate power, was terrifying. Exhilarating. It stripped away all pretense. He felt flayed open, raw, every nerve ending screaming.

He risked a glance sideways. Oscar was making a precise note on his tablet, his expression one of cool, analytical focus. The sharp line of his jaw was relaxed. Only someone who knew him intimately, who’d felt the tremor of his restraint in the shower that morning, who’d heard the guttural rawness in his voice moments ago, would sense the banked fire beneath the icy surface. The tailored suit, the polished shoes, the perfectly knotted tie – they were armor, but Lando could see the predator beneath. He could still feel the phantom pressure on his fingers, the ghost of teeth on his shoulder from the dawn, the deep, lingering ache inside him.

The meeting droned on. Quarterly reports, risk assessments, budget allocations. Words washed over Lando, meaningless noise. He tracked the conversation enough to nod at the right moments, his CEO facade miraculously intact. Inside, he was a live wire, crackling with the aftershocks of Oscar’s possession and his threat. Every shift of Oscar’s body beside him, the rustle of his suit jacket, the faint scent of his cologne – they were amplified, each sensation a reminder of the tension coiling tighter and tighter in the space between them. The polished table gleamed coldly, a silent accomplice to the promise hanging heavy in the air-conditioned chill. He waited. Trapped. Terrified. Aroused beyond reason. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent, while inside the glass and steel cage, Lando held his breath, counting the agonizing minutes until the meeting ended and Oscar decided how the promise would be kept.

The polished mahogany table reflected the harsh recessed lights like a dark mirror, each gleam a tiny spotlight on Lando’s coiled tension. Oscar finally closed his tablet with a decisive snap, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. "Right. Susan, get me those cohorts. David, reassess the Capex projections. We reconvene Thursday." His voice, back to CEO precision, brooked no argument. Chairs scraped back immediately, murmured agreements filling the space as expensive suits rose.

Lando stood on autopilot, his own movements stiff, joints still protesting Oscar’s brutal grip beneath the table. He focused on gathering his tablet and pen, avoiding eye contact as the others filed out. Susan shot him a tight, sympathetic smile, mistaking his silence for shared boardroom fatigue. Mark clapped Oscar briefly on the shoulder, oblivious. "Brutal quarter ahead, eh, Oscar?" Oscar acknowledged him with a curt nod, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the departing backs. "Always is, Mark. Drive the numbers." The door sighed shut behind the last executive, muffling the sounds of the outer office.

Silence descended, thick and electric. Lando heard the faint rasp of Oscar’s tailored suit sleeve as he reached out. The metallic snick of the lock engaging echoed through the vast room. Lando froze mid-step, halfway to the door he knew he wouldn't reach. He didn’t turn. He felt the shift in the air pressure, the heat of a larger presence closing the distance behind him. A familiar scent, sandalwood and something uniquely Oscar, enveloped him, far more potent now than it had been across the conference table.

Cool fingertips brushed the nape of Lando’s neck, just below his hairline. It wasn't gentle. Possessive. "So." Oscar’s voice was low, a rumble felt through Lando’s spine. It landed differently without an audience. Rawer. "You like playing with fire under the boardroom table, darling?" His breath ghosted over Lando’s ear. Lando swallowed hard, his knuckles white around the tablet he clutched. "Wasn't playing," he managed, voice tight. He forced a shaky defiance. "Just stretching my leg." The phantom ache from Oscar’s morning claiming flared anew in his hip. He remembered pushing back in the shower, the thrill before the surrender.

Oscar’s low chuckle vibrated against his back. "Stretching." The word dripped skepticism. One large hand settled firmly on Lando’s shoulder, halting any thought of movement. "You remember what I promised you?" His other hand slid around Lando’s waist, pulling him flush against Oscar’s lean, powerful frame. The contrast between the perfectly tailored suit and the intent radiating from the man within it was dizzying. Lando felt the hard lines of muscle, the controlled strength. "The polished mahogany?" Lando whispered, the image of cold wood against his skin searing his mind again. "Bit public, even for you."

"Mm." Oscar’s lips brushed the sensitive skin behind Lando’s ear. His hand on Lando’s waist drifted lower, fingertips grazing the bruise hidden by Lando’s trousers. "But the desk in my office… that’s very private." He applied subtle pressure, turning Lando slowly, deliberately, in the circle of his arms. Oscar’s eyes, usually sharp with calculation, burned with something darker, hotter. The cool CEO veneer was gone, stripped away by the locked door. "Think you can walk that far, Lando? Or should I carry you?" He tilted Lando’s chin up with one finger, forcing eye contact. "After your little… stretch."

The challenge was clear, laced with anticipation. Lando’s breath hitched, the air catching in his throat. The pulse point beneath Oscar’s thumb hammered wildly against the constraint. He searched Oscar’s face, seeing only ruthless intent and the promise of everything he craved and feared. His own quiet determination surfaced, a spark in the storm. "Lead the way, Piastri," he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in his limbs. "Show me."

The silence after Oscar’s command hung thick, charged with ozone and intent. Lando turned, the movement stiff, his legs already betraying him with a faint tremor beneath the fine wool of his trousers. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He felt Oscar’s presence like a physical pressure at his back, a contained storm waiting to break. The walk across the hushed, plushly carpeted outer office felt endless. Each step echoed the frantic rhythm of his heart. The sleek chrome and glass doors of Oscar’s private sanctuary loomed ahead, reflecting the muted cityscape beyond.

Lando pushed the heavy door open, the cool air inside washing over his heated skin. He stepped into the cavernous space, dominated by the massive, minimalist desk – dark wood, clean lines, an altar to control. His legs shook more noticeably now, the adrenaline crash mixing with the terrifying anticipation Oscar had meticulously stoked. He heard the soft thud of the door closing behind him. The definitive snick of the lock engaging was louder than any shout.

Then Oscar was on him. No preamble. Hands seized Lando’s hips, spinning him roughly. His back slammed against the solid oak door, the impact jarring his teeth. Oscar’s body pressed flush against him, a wall of lean muscle and expensive fabric, pinning him utterly. Before Lando could gasp, Oscar’s mouth crashed down onto his. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Deep, hungry, demanding surrender. Oscar’s tongue invaded, tasting, possessing. Lando moaned into it, trapped, his hands instinctively gripping Oscar’s biceps through the suit jacket, feeling the coiled power beneath. The scent of sandalwood cologne, sweat, and pure Oscar flooded his senses, obliterating the sterile office air. The kiss was a silent roar, echoing the dark promise of polished mahogany, sealing Lando’s fate against the locked door.

Chapter Text

The polished mahogany door pressed cold and unyielding against Lando’s spine. Oscar’s hand was a vise in his hair, yanking his head back sharply, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. The sting was immediate, bright, chasing away the dregs of the boardroom drone still echoing in his ears. Oscar’s breath, hot and heavy with intent, fanned over the skin beneath Lando’s jaw.

"You’re going to be quiet for me, Lando, aren't you?" Oscar’s voice was a low, dangerous purr, barely above a whisper, yet it vibrated through Lando’s entire frame. It wasn’t a question. It was a command wrapped in velvet menace. The kind that made Lando’s breath hitch, his body instinctively tensing, then yielding.

Oscar’s other hand was already busy, efficient. Fingers worked the button of Lando’s trousers with mechanical precision, the soft snick unnervingly loud in the charged silence of the locked office. The zipper hissed down. Cold air ghosted over Lando’s overheated skin beneath the fabric. Anticipation, thick and cloying as the expensive cologne clinging to Oscar’s collar, threatened to choke him.

Lando tried to swallow, his throat clicking dryly. He managed a jerky nod, his gaze locked helplessly on Oscar’s. The intense focus there, usually reserved for dissecting market reports, was now entirely fixed on him, burning with a predatory heat. He saw the echo of the morning in those eyes – the ruthless grip under the boardroom table, the dark promise hissed against his ear. Bent over this polished fucking mahogany. It hadn’t been the table, but the door was close enough. The thought sent a fresh wave of terrified arousal crashing through him. "Y-yes," he breathed, the word barely audible, scraped raw.

"Good boy," Oscar murmured, the praise a rough caress that somehow tightened the knot in Lando’s gut. He pushed Lando’s trousers and briefs down over his hips in one swift motion, the fabric catching awkwardly around his ankles. Lando gasped, the sudden exposure making him flinch, but Oscar’s grip in his hair kept him pinned, immobile against the door. Oscar’s gaze swept down his body, lingering, possessive. "Couldn't wait, could you?" Oscar mused, his voice dropping even lower. One large, warm hand slid around Lando’s hip, fingers digging possessively into the curve of his ass, pressing him harder against the door. "Needed pushing?"

The bruise from this morning flared under Oscar’s touch. Lando remembered pushing back in the shower, the defiance, the sharp thrill of the challenge before the inevitable surrender. He pushed back again now, just a fraction, a tiny spark of that quiet determination igniting. "Maybe I just wanted you to work for it," he managed, his voice tight but holding a sliver of defiance.

Oscar’s low laugh was pure danger. It vibrated against Lando’s throat where Oscar’s lips now traced the frantic pulse. "Work for it?" His free hand slid around Lando’s waist, fingers splaying possessively across his lower belly, pulling him infinitesimally away from the door only to slam his hips back against it, hard. The impact knocked the breath from Lando’s lungs. "You forget who sets the pace, darling." Oscar’s teeth grazed the tendon in Lando’s neck, a sharp, possessive sting that drew another choked gasp. "You forget who owns this." His hand slid lower, fingers finding him already hard, aching, pulsing with need. Oscar’s touch was devastatingly direct, a masterful stroke that had Lando’s knees buckling. Only Oscar’s iron grip kept him upright.

Lando cried out, a ragged sound he instantly tried to strangle, biting down hard on his lower lip. The taste of copper bloomed in his mouth. Oscar’s murmur was hot against his ear. "Quieter, Lando. Walls are thick, but I want you silent." His fingers tightened fractionally, a warning. "Unless you want Davis from Accounting to know exactly how his CEO sounds when he’s desperate?"

The humiliation was sharp, visceral. Lando shook his head wildly, tangling his own fingers in the expensive fabric of Oscar’s suit jacket. He buried his face against Oscar’s shoulder, muffling the next helpless sound that threatened to escape as Oscar’s hand moved again, ruthless and knowing. The friction was exquisite torture. He was being played like a finely tuned instrument, every touch calculated to unravel him.

"Desk," Oscar commanded, his voice thick with need barely restrained. He released Lando’s hair only to hook an arm around his waist, half-dragging, half-carrying him the few stumbling steps across the plush carpet towards the massive mahogany monolith. The surface was cool and slick under Lando’s palms as Oscar bent him forward, pressing him down. His dress shirt rucked up, the chill of the polished wood a shocking contrast against his overheated stomach.

Oscar’s weight settled behind him, pressing him firmly into the desk, leaning close, his breath hot on the nape of Lando’s neck. Lando felt the hard length of him pressed against his ass, the promise undeniable, terrifying. Oscar’s hand smoothed possessively down Lando’s spine, a mockery of tenderness before he gripped a hipbone hard enough to bruise. "Remember the promise, Lando?" Oscar breathed, his voice rough silk. "Polished mahogany. Mine." One finger pressed insistently, intimately, drawing a ragged, muffled whimper from Lando where his face was pressed against his own arm on the desk. 

 The cool mahogany absorbed the tremor running through him, a stark contrast to the feverish heat pooling low in his belly. Oscar leaned heavier, his body a solid, immovable weight pinning Lando down, the fine wool of his suit jacket rough against Lando’s exposed back.

"Still think I need to work for it?" Oscar’s voice was a low rumble against Lando’s ear, laced with dark amusement. His finger withdrew slightly, a cruel tease, leaving Lando gasping into the polished wood grain. The sudden absence was worse than the pressure, a hollow ache blooming where touch had been.

Lando pushed back instinctively, a futile surge against Oscar’s iron hold. "Bastard," he choked out, the word muffled, lacking any real bite. It earned him a sharp nip on the shoulder through the thin cotton of his shirt. The sharp sting made him jerk.

"Language, darling," Oscar murmured, his breath hot on Lando’s skin. His free hand slid possessively down Lando’s flank, calloused fingertips tracing the faint outline of the morning’s bruise hidden beneath fabric. The memory of that grip under the boardroom table flared bright and sharp. "You know the rules." His touch drifted lower, deliberately slow, skimming the curve of Lando’s hipbone before dipping teasingly inward, stopping just short.

Lando’s breath hitched, trapped somewhere between a plea and a curse. He pressed his forehead harder against his arm, the cool wood offering no relief from the desperate need coiling tighter inside him. Every nerve ending screamed for contact, for the friction Oscar was withholding. He felt exposed, vulnerable, pinned like a specimen under Oscar’s predatory gaze. The defiance sparked earlier flickered weakly, drowned out by sheer, overwhelming want.

Oscar’s lips brushed the sensitive skin behind Lando’s ear. "You want it?" His voice dropped to a velvet whisper, thick with promise and threat. His hand remained maddeningly still, a hair's breadth away from where Lando burned. The anticipation was agony, a physical ache radiating through him. Lando squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tremors threatening to shake him apart. Silence stretched, taut and suffocating, broken only by their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond the glass.

Oscar shifted his weight, pressing Lando impossibly flatter against the unforgiving desk. His lips traced the shell of Lando’s ear. "Then ask properly." The command hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Lando’s knuckles whitened where they gripped the desk edge. He swallowed hard, the taste of copper from his bitten lip sharp on his tongue. Pride warred violently with the raw, pulsing need consuming him. He felt Oscar’s stillness, the absolute control radiating from him, waiting.

A shudder ripped through Lando, tearing the resistance from his core. His voice, when it finally came, was a broken whisper, raw and stripped bare. "Please, Oscar." The words scraped his throat. "Please."

Oscar chuckled, a low, dangerous sound vibrating against Lando’s spine. His hand moved infinitesimally closer, a ghost of contact that made Lando cry out softly. "Louder." The demand was soft, implacable. "Convince me."

Lando squeezed his eyes tighter, humiliation warring with desperation. He pushed his hips back minutely, seeking any contact. "Please," he gasped, louder now, the plea echoing slightly in the vast office. "Touch me. Please." He felt Oscar’s breath hitch almost imperceptibly against his neck.

Oscar’s answering breath was a low, satisfied hum vibrating against Lando’s neck. The hand at Lando’s hip, the one that had been teasingly still, finally moved. Not to where Lando desperately wanted, but to grip his waistband again. He felt the rough drag of expensive wool against his skin as Oscar pulled Lando's trousers and briefs completely down his legs, the fine cotton catching briefly at his knees before pooling around his ankles. The cool office air washed over his exposed skin, making him shiver violently.

"Good boy," Oscar murmured again, the praise rough but genuine. His hands slid firmly down the backs of Lando’s trembling thighs, the pressure insistent. Lando, pinned chest-down on the cold mahogany, felt Oscar’s imposing presence shift behind him. The weight lifted slightly, then he heard the soft rustle of fabric, the muted thud of knees hitting the plush carpet. Oscar sank down. The reality of it hit Lando like a physical blow – Oscar Piastri, ruthless CEO, on his knees behind him.

Lando froze, breath catching in his throat. The vulnerability was absolute. His knuckles were bone-white where they gripped the desk edge, the polished wood smooth and unyielding beneath his sweating palms. He felt utterly exposed, the city lights beyond the vast windows feeling like a thousand watching eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing. Oscar didn’t hesitate. Lando felt the warm, humid puff of breath first, ghosting over his exposed skin, making every nerve ending scream. Then, the flat, insistent press of Oscar’s tongue, broad and deliberate, right against his hole. A shocked, ragged sound tore from Lando’s throat, instantly muffled as he buried his face harder into his own forearm.

"Fuck," Lando gasped, the word muffled and thick. The sensation was shocking, electric, a direct line of pure sensation that bypassed thought. Oscar didn’t relent. His tongue pressed firmly, circling slowly, deliberately. It wasn't gentle; it was claiming, exploratory, a relentless exploration that sent jolts of pure, unadulterated pleasure radiating outwards. Heat pooled low in Lando’s belly, coiling tight, unfamiliar and overwhelming. He pushed back instinctively, seeking more pressure, more friction, his hips moving of their own accord.

Oscar responded with a low growl Lando felt more than heard. One strong hand clamped onto Lando’s hip, holding him steady, pinning him in place while the other hand slid forward, calloused fingertips digging into the sensitive skin of Lando’s inner thigh. Oscar’s tongue became more focused, the tip pressing harder, probing insistently. The slow circles became demanding strokes, wet and hot and impossibly intimate. Lando’s muscles clenched, then shuddered uncontrollably. A low, desperate moan escaped him, escaping his attempts to contain it. "Oscar..." It was barely a whisper, a plea tangled with disbelief.

Oscar paused, the sudden absence of that intense pressure making Lando gasp. "Quiet," Oscar commanded, his voice thick and rough, muffled against Lando’s skin. "Or do you need a reminder?" Before Lando could respond, Oscar’s tongue returned, relentless. He laved broad strokes, then focused the tip again, pushing in with more insistence, deeper. The sensation shifted from overwhelming to consuming. It was too much and not enough, a torturous rhythm that stoked the fire raging inside him. Lando’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, his fingers scrabbling uselessly on the slick desktop.

Sweat slicked Lando’s back beneath his rumpled shirt. He was trembling all over now, his legs threatening to give way, held up only by Oscar’s iron grip on his hip. The slow, deliberate worship of Oscar’s tongue was unraveling him completely. The sharp, calculating CEO was gone; in his place was pure, focused sensuality aimed solely at Lando’s submission. The power dynamic thrummed, electric and undeniable. "Please," Lando whimpered, the sound raw and broken, muffled against his arm. It wasn't specific. It was everything.

Oscar intensified his efforts. His tongue moved faster, more urgently, the flat of it pressing hard, then the tip delving deep. He used his lips too, sucking gently at the tight ring of muscle, sending fresh shockwaves through Lando’s system. The slow build became impossible to sustain. The coil in Lando’s groin tightened unbearably, heat flooding his limbs. He felt himself pushing back harder, shamelessly demanding.

"More..." The word was a ragged gasp, ripped from him. "Oscar, please... need more..." The polite veneer of the boardroom CEO was utterly obliterated. He was just raw need, trembling on the edge, driven beyond thought by Oscar’s skilled mouth. His voice cracked. "Please, I can't... god, more..." He was begging now, truly begging, the sound desperate and ragged in the vast, silent office, the hum of the city a distant counterpoint to his choked pleas. Oscar kept working, the steady, maddening rhythm unbroken, driving Lando relentlessly towards the desperate edge he craved.

The relentless pressure of Oscar's mouth, the maddeningly precise rhythm, drove Lando towards a precipice he couldn't avoid. His knuckles were stark white against the dark wood, every muscle coiled tight as a spring. Pleasure crackled along his nerves, a live wire about to snap, obliterating thought, control, everything.

He was right there. Dragging in a ragged breath, he braced for the shattering release, body arched, trembling violently.

Oscar pulled back. Abruptly. Completely.

The devastating heat, the friction, the everything vanished. Air, cool and jarring, replaced it. Lando gasped, a raw, wounded sound scraping his throat. His hips jerked forward instinctively, seeking contact that wasn't there. "No! Oscar, please—" The desperate plea tore out, high and thin, echoing his shock.

Oscar stood. His shadow fell over Lando, pinning him as effectively as his hands had moments before. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes, dark and utterly focused, raked over Lando’s prone form – trembling, exposed, achingly hard. The predatory satisfaction in Oscar’s gaze was sharper than any touch.

"Listen carefully," Oscar commanded, his voice low, utterly controlled, a stark contrast to Lando’s ragged gasps. He leaned down slightly, bracing one hand on the desk beside Lando’s head. The scent of Lando’s own arousal and Oscar’s expensive cologne mingled thickly in the air. "You have a choice, darling."

Lando blinked, struggling to process through the haze of denied climax. His body screamed for completion, muscles clenching desperately against the void. He managed a shaky, questioning whimper.

Oscar’s finger traced the curve of Lando’s spine, down to the small of his back, a feather-light touch that made Lando shudder violently. "Option one," Oscar murmured, his breath warm against Lando’s ear. "You finish right now. Like this." His other hand slid around, fingers brushing the underside of Lando’s straining cock, a fleeting, torturous promise. "Just my hand. Quick. Messy. Over in seconds."

The offer was agony. Immediate relief. Lando whimpered again, pushing his hips back towards that teasing touch. It felt like salvation.

Oscar snatched his hand away. "Or," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "Option two." He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear. "You be my good boy. You hold it." His hand returned, not to stroke, but to splay possessively across Lando’s lower back, pressing him firmly down against the cool wood. "You hold it until I’m inside you. Until I decide you come." The pressure of his hand increased, emphasizing his point. "My desk, Lando. Just like I promised this morning."

The memory of Oscar’s dark whisper under the boardroom table slammed back – bent over my desk. The choice was brutal. Immediate, solitary relief against the excruciating wait for something deeper, more consuming, entirely under Oscar’s command. The bruise on Lando’s thigh from Oscar’s grip throbbed in time with his frantic pulse. Pride warred with the desperate need clawing at his insides, the coil wound impossibly tight. His breath hitched, a ragged sob caught in his throat. Oscar waited, utterly still, the weight of his expectation pressing down as heavily as his hand. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid pleas and the pounding of Lando’s heart against the mahogany.

Chapter Text

The word scraped out, raw. "Wait." Lando forced it past the desperate clench of his throat, the syllable trembling. He pressed his forehead hard against the cool, unyielding mahogany, the grain imprinting itself on his skin. Every muscle screamed, knotted with denied release, a physical agony vibrating through him. "I'll wait. Be good."

A low hum vibrated behind him. Oscar’s hand, splayed possessively across his lower back, flexed. The sound wasn’t just approval; it was satisfaction, dark and deep. "Smart choice." The words ghosted over Lando’s sweat-damp neck. "Hold it. Don't move."

Oscar straightened. The sudden absence of his weight, his heat, was almost as jarring as the loss of his mouth moments before. Lando felt exposed, trembling on the precipice, the cool air of the vast office a shocking counterpoint to the inferno raging inside him. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, the sharp snick of a cap opening. The sound alone sent a fresh jolt through his system. Preparation. He knew what came next. The anticipation was its own exquisite torture, sharpening the edge of his need to a razor point.

He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of the polished wood beneath his palms, the distant, muted honk of traffic twenty floors down. Anything to anchor himself against the desperate pull towards climax. His body felt alien, strung tight, every nerve ending hyper-aware. The bruise Oscar’s grip had left on his hip earlier throbbed in time with his frantic pulse. Hold it. Be good.

Oscar’s touch returned. Not the demanding pressure Lando craved. Cool, slick fingers. They pressed against him, probing with deliberate, clinical precision. Lando gasped, his hips jerking minutely before he forced himself still, muscles locking. "Oscar—" The name was a strained plea.

"Shhh," Oscar murmured, his voice dangerously soft, close to Lando's ear again. His fingers pressed in, one knuckle deep, stretching. It burned, a familiar stretch that quickly dissolved into a deeper ache. "Tight," Oscar observed, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly. He worked slowly, methodically, a second finger joining the first, scissoring gently. "So fucking tight for me. Still holding on?" His thumb brushed the slick base of Lando’s cock, a feather-light graze that ripped a choked sound from Lando’s throat.

"Y-yes," Lando gasped, his voice cracking. He pressed his face harder into his arm. The dual sensations were overwhelming: the deep, stretching intrusion and the maddening denial of direct touch where he needed it most. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He could feel the tension coiling impossibly tighter, a spring compressed beyond its limit. "Please... Oscar... can't..."

"You can," Oscar countered, his voice low and certain. He curled his fingers, pressing deep. Lando cried out, a ragged sound muffled against his skin. Stars exploded behind his eyelids. "You will. Because I said so." The fingers withdrew. The slick sound was obscenely loud.

Lando heard the soft shuffle of Oscar adjusting his stance behind him. The rustle of fabric. A low sigh, tight with barely leashed desire. Then, the blunt, undeniable pressure replaced the fingers. Hot. Insistent. Demanding entry. Lando braced, pushing back instinctively, meeting the pressure. The initial stretch was intense, stealing his breath, a deep, claiming burn that radiated through his core. Oscar pressed in slowly, relentlessly, inch by excruciating inch, filling him, stretching him open.

Lando’s fingers scrabbled on the slick desktop. A low, guttural moan escaped him, torn from deep within his chest. It felt like being split apart and remade. Owned. The sheer fullness was overwhelming, obliterating thought. Oscar paused, fully seated, his hips flush against Lando’s ass. His breath came in harsh gusts against Lando’s back. He gripped Lando’s hips, his fingers digging in with bruising intensity. "Mine," he ground out, the single word thick with possession. "Tell me."

Lando was beyond words. He was sensation. Heat. Pressure. The unbearable tension low in his belly where release screamed to be set free, trapped only by Oscar's command. He nodded frantically, his cheek scraping against his own forearm on the desk. "Yours," he managed, the word a shattered whisper. "Always yours." The submission was absolute, wrenched from him by the sheer physical dominance.

A low growl of pure satisfaction rumbled from Oscar. He pulled back slowly, almost entirely, the drag agonizingly intimate, then slammed back in. Hard. The force drove the breath from Lando’s lungs, slamming his chest against the desk. He saw stars again. Oscar didn't pause. He set a punishing rhythm, deep, powerful thrusts that rocked Lando forward with each impact. The mahogany desk, a symbol of Oscar's corporate control, became an instrument of his pleasure, its unyielding surface holding Lando captive.

Each thrust jolted through Lando, hitting that spot deep inside with brutal precision. Pleasure, sharp and almost painful in its intensity, lanced through him, mingling with the desperate, coiled need for release. He couldn't contain the sounds now – ragged gasps, punched-out moans, each one muffled too late against his arm. Oscar’s grip on his hips was iron, controlling the angle, the depth, the pace. Unrelenting.

"God, Lando," Oscar rasped, his voice strained, losing some of its usual polished control. "Feel you... so perfect... taking it." He leaned forward, covering Lando’s back, his chest pressing against Lando’s shoulder blades, trapping him further. His lips found the sweat-slicked skin of Lando’s neck, teeth grazing. "My good boy. Holding it for me." His thrusts grew harder, faster, the slick slap of skin against skin echoing in the cavernous room. The city lights blurred outside the windows, streaks of gold and white against the deepening twilight.

Lando was fracturing. The coil was a white-hot wire, vibrating, ready to snap. The relentless friction inside him, the pressure against his prostate with every deep drive, the sheer overwhelming presence of Oscar controlling him, using him – it was too much. He was balanced on a knife-edge, every nerve screaming. "Oscar!" His cry was high, desperate, breaking on the name. "Please... now... please let me—"

Oscar’s hand snaked around his hip. Calloused fingers wrapped around Lando’s achingly hard cock, slick with pre-come. He gave one firm, perfect stroke, timed exactly with a brutal thrust deep inside. It was the spark. The detonation. Pleasure ripped through Lando, blinding and absolute. His body arched violently, back bowing off the desk despite Oscar's weight, a raw, choked shout tearing from his throat. His vision whited out as he came, pulsing over Oscar’s fist and the cold mahogany below in thick, shuddering ropes. The release was seismic, leaving him trembling, gasping, completely undone.

Oscar let out a guttural groan, his rhythm faltering for only a second at the intense clench around him. He drove into Lando’s spasming body twice more, hard, deep, then buried himself to the hilt, his own release slamming into him. He shuddered against Lando’s back, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps against Lando’s neck. He stayed there for a long moment, pressed deep, hips grinding minutely, as the aftershocks tore through them both.

Silence descended, heavy and thick, broken only by their labored breathing and the distant city hum. The late afternoon light had bled into the deeper blues of dusk, painting long, distorted shadows across the polished floor. Oscar slowly pulled out, the sensation making Lando whimper softly. He gently released his grip on Lando’s hip and softened cock. For a long moment, Lando couldn't move. He felt boneless, utterly spent, his forehead still pressed to the cool wood, the scent of sex and sweat and Oscar’s cologne thick in the air. He felt Oscar move behind him, heard the soft rustle as he adjusted his clothing.

Then, a warm hand settled gently on the small of Lando’s back, a stark contrast to the bruising grip from moments before. Oscar leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Lando’s ear, his voice a low, rough murmur laced with something dangerously close to tenderness. "Took it so well, darling. My perfect boy." His thumb stroked a slow circle on the damp skin. "This desk is mine. And so," he whispered, the possessiveness absolute, "are you." He pressed a soft kiss just below Lando’s ear. "Now hold still. I’ll clean you up."

Oscar moved away briefly. Lando heard the soft click of a drawer opening, the rustle of tissues. The cool air felt stark against his overheated skin. He shivered, muscles trembling with aftershock and exhaustion. He kept his forehead pressed to the desk, breathing in the scent of wood polish and their mingled sweat.

Cool, damp cloth touched the small of his back. Lando flinched minutely. "Easy," Oscar murmured, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. He wiped meticulously, the soft fabric moving over Lando’s skin with deliberate care. He cleaned the sweat from Lando’s spine, the curve of his ass, the backs of his thighs where Oscar’s grip had left faint marks. The efficient, almost clinical action was a stark counterpoint to the raw intensity moments before.

Then, Oscar tossed the used tissue aside. His touch changed. Warmth replaced the cool dampness. His palm smoothed over the clean skin of Lando’s lower back. A soft kiss landed just above the dimples at the base of his spine. Lando sighed, a shaky exhale of pure relief. The tension bled out of him further.

Another kiss, higher this time, between his shoulder blades. Oscar’s lips were soft, lingering. His hand rested possessively on Lando’s hip, thumb stroking the bruised skin he’d gripped so hard. "Mine," Oscar breathed against his skin, the word a quiet rumble. He pressed another kiss, then another, tracing a slow path upwards along Lando’s spine. Each touch was deliberate, claiming, yet tender.

Lando felt boneless, utterly spent. He leaned back slightly into the warmth of Oscar’s body now hovering close behind him. The kisses continued, soft and unhurried, mapping the landscape of his back. Oscar’s breath warmed the skin between kisses. It felt like absolution, a silent language of possession and care woven together. Lando closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him – the lingering ache, the profound exhaustion, the unexpected comfort of Oscar’s focused attention.

Oscar reached his shoulders, pressing a final, lingering kiss to the nape of Lando’s neck. His hands slid around Lando’s waist, pulling him gently upright against his chest. Lando sagged back, his head lolling against Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar held him there, solid and warm, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, the other hand coming up to brush damp strands of hair from Lando’s forehead. The city lights outside painted shifting patterns on the floor, the only movement in the quiet room.

"Alright?" Oscar murmured, his lips brushing Lando’s temple. His voice was rough but softened around the edges.

Lando nodded weakly, unable to form words yet. He turned his head slightly, nuzzling into the fabric of Oscar’s shirt. He smelled like sweat, expensive cologne, and them. Safe. Owned. Utterly wrecked.

Oscar’s arms tightened briefly, anchoring him, then shifted. One slid under Lando’s knees, the other secured his back. Before Lando could protest the movement, Oscar lifted him cleanly off his feet. Lando let out a surprised gasp, instinctively looping his arms around Oscar’s neck, the sudden shift making the room tilt slightly. Oscar carried him effortlessly across the expanse of polished wood flooring.

The city’s twilight glow painted shifting patterns on the floor as they moved towards the deep, charcoal sofa nestled in the corner. Oscar lowered Lando gently, not onto the cushions, but directly onto his own lap as he sat down. The plush leather was cool through the thin fabric of Lando’s undone trousers, a stark contrast to the radiating heat where their bodies connected.

Oscar’s arms wrapped around Lando’s waist, pulling him close, molding Lando’s smaller, stockier frame against his lean one. Lando sank into the embrace, his head finding the familiar hollow of Oscar’s shoulder. He felt utterly spent, muscles like water, every nerve ending humming a low, exhausted thrum. The frantic energy, the desperate tension from the desk, had bled away, leaving a profound, bone-deep lethargy.

A sigh escaped Lando, long and shaky, ruffling the damp collar of Oscar’s still partially unbuttoned shirt. He felt Oscar’s chest rise and fall steadily beneath his cheek. The silence stretched, comfortable, heavy with the lingering scent of sweat, sex, and Oscar’s expensive sandalwood cologne. Distant traffic sounds were a muted counterpoint to their breathing.

Then, Oscar’s lips brushed the sensitive skin just below Lando’s ear. Not demanding, not biting. Soft. Lando shivered, a full-body tremor unrelated to cold. Oscar’s mouth trailed slowly, deliberately, down the column of Lando’s neck, each kiss a gentle brand. His hands rubbed slow circles on Lando’s back, over the ridges of his spine, the muscles still taut but relaxing under the soothing touch.

"Christ," Oscar murmured, his voice a low rasp, rough with spent passion but softened by something else. Admiration? "Look at you." His lips pressed another kiss against Lando’s pulse point. "Took every single thing I gave you, darling." His fingers traced the faint, crescent-shaped marks his own grip had left on Lando’s hip earlier. "Didn’t fight it. Didn’t break."

Lando nuzzled closer, a wordless hum vibrating in his throat. Praise, especially like this – quiet, intimate, saturated with possessive satisfaction – always unravelled him more completely than any command. It seeped into the hollow spaces left by the intensity, filling them with a dangerous warmth.

"Perfect boy," Oscar breathed, the words a warm caress against Lando’s skin. His lips continued their soft exploration, mapping the curve of Lando’s shoulder, the base of his throat. "Held it all back until I let you go. Exactly right." One large hand slid up to cradle the back of Lando’s head, fingers tangling gently in his sweat-damp hair. "So good for me. Mine." The possessiveness in the word was absolute, woven into the tenderness.

Lando melted further, his body becoming a loose, heavy weight against Oscar’s. The city lights outside the vast windows blurred into streaks of gold and white. The deep ache between his legs, the tenderness elsewhere, even the lingering tremors – they were secondary to the encompassing warmth of Oscar’s hold and the low murmur of his voice. Exhaustion pulled at him, a heavy tide. He felt treasured. Owned. Utterly wrecked, yet profoundly safe right here, anchored on Oscar’s lap. Oscar’s thumb stroked his cheekbone, a silent command to stay present, to feel this.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors hissed open, spilling them into the fluorescent buzz of the supermarket. The air hit them – a chill from the open freezers mingling with the earthy scent of vegetables and the cloying sweetness from the bakery section. Oscar, immaculate in a charcoal grey suit that seemed out of place amidst the cereal boxes and discount signs, adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze immediately finding Lando.

Lando was already vibrating with energy, a basket hooked over his arm. "Right," he declared, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Strawberries first. Non-negotiable." His eyes, bright and mischievous, dared Oscar to argue. The playful defiance was there, just beneath the surface, a stark contrast to the focused intensity Oscar had commanded in his office just hours before.

Oscar merely raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. The memory of Lando, trembling with restraint on the polished office desk, flashed through his mind. Seeing him now, buzzing with boyish enthusiasm over fruit, sent a warm, possessive curl through Oscar’s chest. "Lead on, menace," he murmured, falling into step beside him, his stride measured against Lando’s quicker pace. His hand found the small of Lando’s back, a subtle anchor point.

The produce section was a riot of colour. Lando beelined for the strawberries, his brow furrowing as he examined the plastic punnets with the intensity of a commodities trader assessing futures. "These look decent... bit pale on that side though. This one? Or... ooh, these!" He held up a container bursting with deep red berries.

"Are you planning on eating them or performing a structural analysis?" Oscar asked dryly, leaning a hip against the display of shiny Granny Smiths. He watched the way Lando’s tongue peeked out in concentration, the way his slightly stockier frame shifted with restless energy.

"Quality control, Oscar," Lando retorted, not looking up. "Unlike some people who buy that monstrosity." He nodded pointedly towards a wilting, half-dead potted plant languishing on a clearance rack nearby. Oscar’s office, despite its sleek design, was notorious for its graveyard of neglected foliage. "Seriously, it’s begging for mercy."

Oscar chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated in the space between them. "Perhaps I need a personal horticulturalist." His gaze lingered on Lando. "Someone with a knack for nurturing things."

Lando finally selected a punnet, placing it carefully in his basket. He met Oscar’s eyes, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the implication. "Strawberries secured. Next... crisps? The really unhealthy, ridiculously flavoured ones?"

"Your arteries, your choice," Oscar conceded, pushing off the apple display. He kept pace as Lando navigated the aisles with the focus of a CEO strategizing a takeover, albeit one targeting snack foods. Oscar’s presence was a quiet counterpoint; he scanned shelves methodically, adding coffee beans (dark roast, specific grind), mineral water, and a single, perfect avocado. His selections were precise, efficient.

They paused by the dairy fridge. The hum intensified, washing them in cold air. Lando shivered slightly, instinctively leaning back into Oscar’s warmth. Oscar’s arm slid naturally around his waist, pulling him closer. Lando tipped his head back against Oscar’s shoulder, looking up. "Forgot milk," he murmured.

"Already in the basket," Oscar said, his breath stirring the hair at Lando’s temple. His thumb rubbed a small circle against Lando’s side through his soft t-shirt. "You were too busy plotting the downfall of the snack aisle."

"Priorities," Lando grinned, turning in the circle of Oscar’s arm. The fluorescent light caught the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. For a moment, standing there amidst the yoghurts and cheese, the city CEOs vanished. It was just them: Oscar, tall and controlled, radiating a quiet possessiveness; Lando, nestled against him, radiating contentment and a spark of challenge. Lando reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the sharp line of Oscar’s jaw. "You know," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the fridge’s drone, "this is nice. Just... this."

Oscar’s gaze softened, the demanding CEO replaced by something infinitely more intimate. He dipped his head, his lips brushing Lando’s forehead in a gesture that was both tender and inherently claiming. "It is," he agreed, his voice equally low, rough with an emotion rarely displayed beyond the walls of his penthouse or his office sanctuary. The simple domesticity, the mundane act of grocery shopping, felt like a stolen, precious secret. A counterpoint to the high-stakes world they usually inhabited. He watched the way Lando’s lashes fluttered closed at the touch, the trusting press of his body.

Lando stayed there for a heartbeat longer, then pulled back, his smile bright again, though his eyes held a deeper warmth. "Right! Snacks. And maybe... ice cream?"

"One vice at a time, strawberry thief," Oscar chided gently, releasing him but letting his hand slide down to capture Lando’s. Their fingers intertwined naturally. Lando’s hand was smaller, warmer, fitting perfectly within Oscar’s larger grasp. The contrast – the powerful CEO holding hands like a teenager in the supermarket aisle – wasn't lost on Oscar. He found he liked it immensely.

They moved on, Lando chattering about a new flavour of crisps he’d seen advertised, Oscar interjecting with dry commentary, their joined hands swinging lightly between them. Lando grabbed his crisps (a luridly coloured bag promising 'Extreme Cheese & Onion Explosion'), then managed to sneak a tub of cookie dough ice cream into the basket while Oscar pretended not to notice, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

The checkout line was short. Oscar efficiently unloaded the basket while Lando fidgeted beside him, humming off-key. The cashier, a young woman with tired eyes, scanned their items with mechanical efficiency. Oscar paid with a sleek black card, his other hand still loosely holding Lando’s.

As they stepped back out into the fading afternoon light, the automatic doors sighing shut behind them, plastic bags rustling in Oscar’s grip, Lando stretched, popping his shoulders. "Mission accomplished!" He grinned, snagging the bag containing the strawberries and ice cream. "Home?"

Oscar looked down at him, the city skyline rising behind them. The controlled intensity was back in his eyes, but softened. Tempered by the simple joy of the ordinary moment they’d just shared. He leaned in, his lips brushing Lando’s ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a visible shiver down Lando’s spine despite the mild air. "Home."

~

The penthouse elevator ascended silently, its polished steel walls reflecting their blurred figures. Oscar held both grocery bags easily, his suit jacket draped over one arm, while Lando leaned against him, humming that same off-key tune from the checkout, his shoulder pressing into Oscar’s bicep. The city lights blinked far below, distant constellations through the thick glass.

"Extreme Cheese & Onion Explosion," Oscar murmured, the plastic bag rustling as he shifted his grip. "Sounds like a chemical warfare experiment." He glanced down at Lando, whose grin was unrepentant.

"Exactly! Adventure in a bag," Lando countered, bumping Oscar’s hip lightly as the elevator chimed. "Bet you secretly want some." The doors slid open onto the cool, minimalist expanse of Oscar’s entrance hall. Polished concrete floors echoed their footsteps, contrasting sharply with the supermarket’s fluorescent chaos. The scent of ozone and expensive cleaning products hung in the air.

Oscar dropped the bags onto the sleek, cold marble of the kitchen island. "Doubtful." He shrugged off his waistcoat, tossing it onto a stool, the crisp white shirt beneath clinging to the lean muscle of his shoulders and back. Lando immediately started unpacking, pulling out the strawberries and ice cream tub first, placing them carefully on the counter like prized artifacts. His movements were quick, efficient, yet lacked the boardroom intensity – replaced by a focused domesticity.

"Priorities," Lando declared again, echoing his supermarket statement. He ripped open the crisps bag, the pungent artificial cheese smell instantly filling the cool kitchen air. He popped one loudly into his mouth, crunching with exaggerated relish. "See? Delicious destruction." He offered the bag to Oscar, eyes sparkling with challenge.

Oscar leaned back against the island, arms crossed. He watched Lando move – the slight flex of his forearm as he reached for the coffee beans, the way his t-shirt stretched across his stockier frame. The memory of Lando trembling beneath him, biting back a plea, flickered hot beneath Oscar’s calm surface. "Your definition of delicious needs recalibration," he stated, but his voice lacked its usual edge. It was softer, warmed by the shared, mundane intimacy.

Lando just grinned, crumbs dusting his chin. He nudged the avocado towards Oscar. "Your turn, plant executioner. Try not to murder this one before Tuesday." He bumped Oscar’s hip again, deliberately this time, lingering. "Put it somewhere sunny. Maybe talk to it nicely."

Oscar snorted, a genuine, low sound of amusement. He picked up the avocado, its cool, pebbled skin smooth under his fingertips. "It’ll receive adequate hydration and indirect light," he conceded, placing it deliberately on the windowsill overlooking the glittering skyline. The dying plant Oscar had bought weeks ago sat nearby, a stark, wilted reminder. Lando giggled, a bright, unrestrained sound that bounced off the hard surfaces.

He moved closer, sliding his arms around Oscar’s waist from behind, pressing his cheek against Oscar’s shoulder blade. The crisp cotton of Oscar’s shirt was warm from his skin. "See? Progress," Lando mumbled, his voice muffled. He inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of Oscar’s cologne mingling with the faint, clean sweat from their walk. "Told you you needed a horticulturalist."

Oscar didn’t move, letting Lando’s warmth seep into him. He covered Lando’s hands where they rested on his stomach with his own. The silence stretched, comfortable, filled only by the distant hum of the city and Lando’s steady breathing against his back. It was a stark, precious counterpoint to the calculated pressure of the office, the demanding silence of his own thoughts. Here, with Lando clinging to him amidst unpacked groceries, the world felt simpler, softer.

Lando shifted, pressing a soft kiss between Oscar’s shoulder blades through the thin fabric. "Missed this," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Just… us. Groceries. Your terrible plant choices." His fingers traced idle patterns on Oscar’s stomach.

Oscar turned slowly within the circle of Lando’s arms. He looked down into Lando’s upturned face, the boyish charm softened by affection, the fierce intelligence gleaming in his hazel eyes. The fluorescent supermarket lights were gone, replaced by the softer glow of recessed kitchen lighting and the city beyond. He cupped Lando’s jaw, his thumb brushing away a stray crisp crumb. "Me too," he admitted, the words rough, unfamiliar in their simplicity. The admission felt like shedding armor.

Lando’s smile widened, pure sunshine breaking through. He stretched up, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to Oscar’s lips. "Good." He pulled back slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes again. "Now, about that ice cream… before it melts?" He gestured towards the tub on the counter.

The challenge in Lando’s eyes was unmistakable, a direct echo of his supermarket defiance over crisps. "Afraid it'll ruin your pristine palate?" he teased, already prying the lid off the ice cream tub. The sweet, rich scent of cookie dough bloomed in the kitchen, mingling with the lingering ghost of artificial cheese.

Oscar watched him scoop out two generous portions into mismatched bowls Lando had pulled from a cupboard – one sleek black ceramic, one chipped, bright blue ceramic he’d brought over months ago. "My palate appreciates quality," Oscar countered, though the slight curve of his lips betrayed him. He snagged a spoon. "Unlike whatever chemical compound you subjected yourself to earlier." He flicked a glance at the discarded crisp packet.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Piastri," Lando retorted, licking a smear of ice cream from his thumb with deliberate slowness. He nudged the blue bowl towards Oscar. "Try living a little. Start with dessert." The flicker of remembered heat from the office, the lingering ache of denied release, simmered just beneath Lando’s playful tone. He pushed it down, focusing on the cool sweetness in his mouth, the familiar comfort of Oscar’s presence.

Oscar took the bowl, his fingers brushing Lando’s. The contact sent a familiar jolt through them both, a silent acknowledgment of the currents running under the domestic surface. "Living dangerously involves more than questionable snack choices," he murmured, holding Lando’s gaze for a beat too long. The intensity was there, banked but potent. Then, he turned towards the vast living area. "Movie?"

"Obviously." Lando grabbed both bowls, balancing them precariously. He padded after Oscar, barefoot on the cool concrete, towards the sprawling charcoal sofa facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glittered below, a sprawling tapestry of light against the deepening indigo sky. It felt a world away from the sterile supermarket fluorescence. "Your pick this time. No documentaries about the migratory patterns of Arctic terns."

Oscar huffed a near-silent laugh, settling onto the sofa. He stretched his arm along the back, an unspoken invitation. "Your loss. They’re fascinating. Strategic." He picked up the remote.

"Strategic ice cream consumption first," Lando declared, sinking down beside him. He didn't hesitate, immediately tucking himself into the curve of Oscar’s body, his shorter, stockier frame fitting perfectly against Oscar’s leaner one. He passed Oscar his black bowl. The cold porcelain felt shockingly real against Oscar’s palm. Lando pulled a soft, grey throw blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it haphazardly over their legs. "There. Fort Knox for sugar comas."

Oscar navigated the streaming service, his free hand finding its way to Lando’s shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He bypassed news feeds and financial analysis screens, landing on an action movie Lando had mentioned wanting to see weeks ago – full of improbable stunts and quippy dialogue. He hit play. The opening sequence exploded across the screen, bass rumbling through the room. "Acceptable?"

Lando hummed, already shoveling ice cream into his mouth, eyes fixed on the screen. "Explosions. Car chases. Minimal bird migration. Perfect." He leaned heavier against Oscar, his head finding its familiar spot on Oscar’s chest. The steady thump of Oscar’s heartbeat beneath his ear was a grounding counter-rhythm to the movie’s chaos. He offered Oscar a spoonful of his own ice cream, a chunk of cookie dough balanced precariously. "Fuel for critical viewing."

Oscar accepted the bite, the cold sweetness sharp on his tongue. He ate slowly, watching the screen without really seeing it. His focus narrowed to the warm weight against his side, the faint scent of Lando’s shampoo cutting through the cookie dough, the rhythmic scrape of Lando’s spoon against his bowl. The demanding CEO, the strategist, the controller, was momentarily suspended. Here, on this sofa, bathed in the flickering light of mindless entertainment, holding a bowl of melting ice cream with Lando curled into him, there was only this startling, uncomplicated contentment. Lando’s cold feet snuck under the blanket, pressing briefly against Oscar’s calf, making him flinch.

"Oi!" Oscar grumbled, shifting slightly.

"Radiator’s broken," Lando mumbled, already engrossed in a high-speed chase sequence, spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. He didn’t move his feet. "Our penthouse, your problem." He scooped another huge bite.

Oscar sighed, a sound devoid of any real annoyance. He pulled the blanket tighter around them both, his arm tightening around Lando’s shoulders. The city lights blurred outside the glass. The ice cream was already softening, pooling in the bottom of their bowls. Lando’s warmth, his solid presence, the shared, silly movie – it was a different kind of control, a willing surrender to this quiet, sticky-sweet intimacy. He rested his cheek against the top of Lando’s head.