“Jon makes me sweat in places I didn’t know I could sweat,” Lando complains, closing the sliding doors to the garden and wiping his towel under his shirt. He just finished his workout, in the heat of summer.
This was prefaced with a full hour of Lando contemplating whether or not he’d be able to do the workout inside and have enough a/c to keep him cold — but not too cold because that’s bad for the muscles — and enough ventilation to get the smell of sweat out of the room quickly. Jon had shaken his head fondly and dragged Lando outside regardless. Max had taken this precious time to prepare some food for them, make his own lunch while he was in the kitchen anyway, and then fall on the couch to scroll through TikTok for several hours until he lost the concept of time and the sliding doors opened again.
Max closes TikTok and opens Instagram, just to have something simple to scroll through. He listens to Lando’s whining about the workouts, they’re part of the routine at this point.
“Seriously, I’m wet everywhere. I smell disgusting. I’m gonna run up the stairs and shower,” Lando freezes for a second, checks his legs and says, “Maybe not run, my legs hurt.”
“You know, there’s people that are into that.” The words are out of Max’s mouth before he realises he said them, but now it’s too late to back down. He keeps his eyes on his phone and hopes that Lando ignores him.
“My legs hurting?” Lando walks around the couch, crossing his arms, a curious eyebrow raised..
Max does a quick scan of his friend — he looks debauched, absolutely ruined, like he’s bound to sweat his brains out had he not stopped. His hair is stuck to his face, small beads of sweat on the tips of his curls. Lando runs a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat from his hand on his shirt, but it doesn’t help. Everything is wet, his shirt and shorts sticking to his skin. Max sends a mental thank-you for the fact that he hasn’t taken his shoes off yet, that’d be a violation of his health.
“No, idiot, I mean the sweating,” Max adds, smiling. He can’t back down now, Lando’s caught him, so he might as well double up, “Some people find it hot.” He shrugs and turns back to his phone. Handled that nicely, Fewtrell, not at all awkward.
Lando, unfortunately for Max, takes this as bait. He fishes Max’s phone from his hands and places it on the coffee table, then drapes himself all over Max, hands on either side of his head. Max inhales — immediately scrunching his nose after — and turns his attention to Lando. Lando’s voice is low and a smirk is not far away from his face, “Are you into sweaty, disgusting and wet me, Max?”
“No,” Max frowns, pushing Lando back a bit, “You’re disgusting.”
“Hmm,” Lando hums, dropping more weight on Max’s hands and getting closer to him, “I’d better watch out then, being so sweaty, you might get a crush on me.”
“Bob, please, get into the shower. I’m gonna call the Domestic Abuse Hotline, this is sickening,” He tries to deadpan, but he’s one twitch away from breaking out into giggles.
Lando shakes his head so all the sweat drops fly onto Max’s head, “Fine,” he concedes and steps away from the couch, “I’m noting down your sweat kink, though. That’s not escaping me.” He points at Max threateningly.
Max rolls his eyes, walking to the sliding doors and obnoxiously taking a breath of fresh air. Lando’s chuckle is heard over the staircase.
◎◉◎◉
It’s late in the morning when Max brings himself to the kitchen to get breakfast. He’d contemplated for twenty minutes whether or not it’d even be worth it to get breakfast, since lunch is so soon, but Lando’s home this week so everything of his schedule is kind of shifted anyways.
Whenever Lando isn’t home, Max has a pretty clear and structured schedule of how he fills an average day. It consists either of cleaning, laundry or grocery shopping, then getting food out — because cooking isn’t fun without Lando — or hanging with friends or family. On some days he’s called for Quadrant duties, which are usually a lot of fun for him, and on other days he streams. He’s taken a liking to his streams and the community that watches him regularly, the people that hop in chat to talk with him about anything and everything. It endears him when people subscribe or gift subs, or when they talk about getting a driver’s license or passing a class. He’s got this little bubble of pixelated names that make him feel less lonely, but they never equate to Lando’s presence.
He’s got a nice bowl of yoghurt ready for himself when he hears the sliding doors open. Bowl in hand, he turns to the door in their living room, leaning against the doorpost as he watches Lando enter.
Lando yells, “It is so hot out here. In England!” He takes his shirt off, balling it up in one of his hands.
Max freezes slightly. He can’t help but do a shameless, almost ritual, check of Lando’s now shirtless chest. He’s gained more muscles over the past few years that he’s been in F1. There’s barely a grain of fat on his tummy, Max can only be mildly jealous if he wasn’t too lazy himself. He’s proud of his friend. His eyes go back to Lando’s eyes and he takes another bite of his yoghurt.
Lando stops before Max, “Oh no, Max, you’re seeing me shirtless, I’m such a temptation now.”
Max frowns for a second, “I live with you, I’ve seen you shirtless plenty of times before.” He takes another bite of his yoghurt, eyes unimpressed, a tiny bit judgemental. The conversation of a few weeks ago hits him, he remembers the reference now. “You do talk a lot about me crushing on you. Do you want me to crush on you?” He waves with his spoon before widening his eyes, upon the realisation, he adds, “Are you crushing on me?”
“Nah mate,” Lando shrugs. Max follows him to the staircase, “Just gotta make sure you don’t jump on me at any chance you get.”
“Who says I want to jump on you? Maybe you just want to jump on me, and that’s why you just need to be shirtless around me. Woo me any way you can, huh?” Max smirks, rolling his shoulders.
Lando doesn’t like how Max is taking control of his bit now, this was a one-sided joke from Lando to Max, and now Max wedges himself in between the lines and finds his home. He feels very cold under the a/c without a hoodie now, but he refuses to let Max win this round, he’s far too competitive for that. He rolls his eyes, running a hand down his chest to show off. He doesn’t miss how Max’s eyes follow the movement, even with his eyebrows knitted. Lando’s voice is borderline sultry, “I’ll be in the shower and I’ll keep the door unlocked, since you don’t have a crush on me, so you won’t have any issues resisting the wonderful temptation that I am.” Lando smiles, obviously pleased.
Max merely scoffs, “I’ll be in the kitchen, making your lunch before you eat your food in the wrong order again. You’ll be able to resist all my charms and the things I do for you — since you don’t have a crush on me, right?”
“Right.”
“Good,” And Max heads into the kitchen. Lando’s only mildly agitated at the fact that he’s taken control. But it’s okay, he’ll find a way to fire back.
⎡ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎤
tell me something I need to know
then take my breath and never let it go
⎣ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎦
Heavy bag slung over his shoulder, Lando counts the items he’s got with him, ensuring he doesn’t forget anything. It’s not a race week, thank god, but that doesn’t mean he’s got time off.
Phone, house key, ID card.
“Will you be out all day, or will you come home around lunch?” Max asks. Max is still in the same sweater he wore crawling out of his bed. He’s a darling, waking up early just to say hi to Lando. They haven’t been chatting much as of late, due to Lando’s busy schedule, so Max is taking even the smallest moments. He’s yawning steadily, so Lando’s sure he’ll go to bed again the moment Lando leaves the house.
“I don’t think I’ll make lunch. Hope I can eat dinner, but I’ll keep you posted,” Lando smiles weakly.
Deodorant, laptop, polo.
Max leans against the doorpost, “Ah, you must be dreading it.”
Lando stops counting his things and spares a glance at Max. He frowns.
“You know, being away from me all day. It’s okay, I’ll be home when you’re done.” Max winks.
Lando huffs a laugh, even this early in the morning his housemate’s ready to flirt. Lando’s too far in his own mind to think of a response back. There’s a small blush on his cheeks he tries to hide by staring into his bag and its contents as if it’s the most interesting thing in his possession. He’s really grateful for Max — the house feels much more like a home than it ever did before, it’s no longer just a house where he lives.
Race shoes, earbuds, car key.
“I’ll text you when I leave, if it takes too long, don’t wait for me for dinner, okay?” Lando swirls his car keys around in his hand, smiling at Max once again before heading out.
“Good luck today,” Max yells, Lando thanks him before shutting the front door and leaving Max alone.
Max takes a breath, replaying what just happened in his head. He flirted, but Lando barely responded. It’s annoying — if they’re really gonna play this game of... chicken, Max will have to step up his game. He was slightly disappointed to see not even the smallest of changes in Lando’s demeanour, not even a reaction to it. Admittedly, Max’s comment was cheesy as hell, but still, normally Lando finds something to respond to anything Max says. He’s gonna have to find ways to get Lando’s attention even more than he already has… something that’ll get Lando to end up crushing on him.
It’s not even about the crush on its own, it’s about starting a game with Lando and wanting to win it. The same way they’re competitive when playing golf (even though Max is better) or when they’re karting (even though Lando is better). This is something where Max has no clue if Lando’s good or not. Sure, Max’d met some of Lando’s girlfriends or flings over time, but he’s never seen Lando, like, in action when it comes to this stuff. Neither has Lando seen him, so if he puts just a bit of thought into this, he can really pull Lando off guard and get him flustered.
That’d be the end goal, really, getting Lando flustered, then pointing it out and watching him stutter as he tries to explain himself.
A flustered and stuttering Lando is absolutely amusing to Max, he loves to see it.
Max is nothing if not competitive. He’s gotta win this.
◎◉◎◉
“Can’t believe we’re so close to hittin’ a year, lads. It’s barely been a few months to me,” Niran flops down on one of the couches, next to Aarav, handing him a bottle and clinging to it with his own.
“Time flies, huh,” Aarav nods, taking a swig.
Max walks around the coffee table and finds his place next to Lando. He shares a private smile with his best friend before sitting down, spreading his arms over the couch rest. Lando twitches, leans forward just a bit to get out of Max’s reach but not enough to make it obvious he’s shying away. Max smirks — he prepared for that.
“I know I haven’t been there for the full year, but it’s been fun with y’all, I’m glad to be here now.” He pulls Lando closer to himself, giving him no space to move away to now. The rest of the group giggles a bit, then looks away from the two of them to find their own place in nostalgia.
Max looks around the group, he wonders what they’re thinking right now. Are they going to think Lando and he are together? He’s not sure what he thinks of that. Lando and he are always a bit clingy, or, well — comfortable with each other. They’ve known each other since they were young, struggled through puberty together, met and lost friends but always stuck together. They have shared sleepovers when younger, then it suddenly got awkward, and then Lando invited Max into his home and it’s been normal again. The first few days together were some sleepless right, lots of staying up late, watching dumb YouTube videos or playing Call of Duty, their giggles echoing all over the house. They fell in a rhythm quickly after that, even if Max still struggles filling his alone time with something productive and fun.
Lando’s shoulders shift as laughs in response to Ria. Max feels every single bit of his movement all over his body. Lando’s body is warm against his, and Max might feel a bit cosier than he should.
Max catches Niran stealing a glance in their direction, Max holds the gaze as seriously as he can, daring Niran to say anything. Niran looks away after a bit, his face seems inconclusive as if he’s not sure what to think of the whole situation.
He doesn’t seem surprised either, which Max notes away in his mind. Why is this so normal to all of them? Are they always this clingy? Do they all think Lando and he are secretly dating?
“Max, I can’t believe you’re letting Lando get away with this slander on your golfing skills,” Ethan notes, catching Max’s attention and shaking him out of his thoughts.
Max coughs slightly, “Eh, he can have the satisfaction. I’ll beat him on— on the field, the numbers don’t lie.”
“He’s totally making fun of your posture, though,” Ria adds.
Lando looks up at him with a smug smile on his face, eyes glittering deviously. He looks very soft under Max’s arm, a small blush on his cheeks… it almost awakens something possessive within Max to see Lando under his arms like this. Lando slides a bit more into Max, and Max thinks he might rest his head on Max’s lap if they didn’t have anything on the schedule for today. Max tries to hold back his smile as he looks back at the rest of the group. They look at him expectantly, waiting for a comment to throw back.
He has none. He’s too aware that Lando slumped against him to think of something funny.
Their photographer clears his throat, catches everyone’s attention, and gestures outside. It’s time for them to take their picture. Max sighs a very small sigh of relief.
He follows the rest of the group out of the living room but is dragged aside before he can enter the garden. Lando tugged on his sweater and pushed him against a wall. One of his hands is on the side of Max’s face and he hovers over Max almost intimidatingly.
“Max,” His voice is a bit rougher than Max is used to hearing, “You got a crush on me, mate?”
“No,” Max answers, voice unwavering but he’s afraid to speak more.
“You sure? You got all flustered by just wrapping your arm around me.” Lando leans in a bit more, face so close to Max’s — close in a way he’s never been before — and whispers, “This is gonna be so easy.” He winks at Max one last time, not leaving any space for the shorter man to respond.
He’s in the garden before Max even realises he’s gone.
Max swallows audibly. He lost this round. Fuck.
◎◉◎◉
Footsteps catch Lando’s attention. It’s way past midnight and he’s still sitting in the living room, legs folded against his chest and mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t really, like, know why he’s up, he just doesn’t really feel like sleeping. Not yet. He’s not tired, he thinks, but it’s not like he’s bursting with energy either. He looks up to where the footsteps came from and sees his housemate, his best friend, walking around in a hoodie way too big for him (it’s Lando’s), on his way to the kitchen. The hoodie hugs him like a warm blanket around his shoulders, and he looks very comfortable and warm. Lando smiles softly at the picture Max makes before him. He lets himself look — he doesn’t do that enough, pay close attention to Max — at how Max mindlessly manoeuvres through the living room and into the kitchen, grabbing himself a bottle of water. His hair is messy, undone. Maybe he’s slept for a few hours already but woke up, maybe he’s been rolling around in his sheets, unable to find rest. Lando doesn’t know. He just watches how Max runs a hand over his cheeks before taking a sip of the water bottle.
That’s when Max notices him.
Lando doesn’t hide, though he does feel like maybe he shouldn’t be caught at this hour in the living room. Maybe he should be sleeping. His shoulders tense for a second.
Max says, “Oh, hey, you’re still up.” He walks closer to the couch, “Shouldn’t you head to bed soon?”
Lando shakes any and all thoughts he has and parks them for when he lays in his bed. He rises to his feet, “Yeah, I’ll go now.”
Max grabs his arm, squeezing his bicep. His hand doesn’t leave Lando’s arm, “Hey man, are you okay?” His tone is sincere. The way he scans Lando’s face has Lando feeling bare, naked, as if Max has a special sixth sense to all his feelings and bad thoughts. Lando knows Max can’t exactly read his mind, but he might get pretty close to it.
“I’m fine, just.” He takes a breath, “Couldn’t sleep.”
Before Lando knows it, Max has wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist, pulling him close. Lando freezes for half a second, before wrapping his own arms around Max’s shoulders, truly embracing the hug and appreciating the warmth. It makes him feel accepted, warm, not as broken as he thought he was before. Oh, maybe he was sadder than he thought, maybe he refused to go to bed because of the thoughts that plague him when he tries to rest.
Max wriggles his head to rest atop Lando’s shoulder, then says, “I’m here for anything, you know that, right?”
Lando smiles, closing his eyes and taking his time to breathe in Max’s smell. He doesn’t smell like anything in particular, but Lando can catch the faintest whiff of his day-old shampoo and some leftover cologne from the day. Lando really likes Max’s cologne, it’s somehing he only smells when he’s at home, so he always associates it with warmth, freshly made dinner, soft giggles, and inside jokes. He blinks back a tear, sheer gratefulness for his friend and all he does overwhelm him for a second. He mutters, “I do- yeah, I know. It’s just, uh, nice to have a reminder sometimes.”
Max lets go of Lando and smiles at him for a second, the worry he had in his eyes a second ago fading. He’s got trust in his heart that if something were to be wrong with Lando, that Lando’d share it.
Lando takes a deep breath and nods. He heads upstairs, Max following him.
Right before they part, Lando says, “I’d invite you to sleep in my bed with me, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.”
It lifts some of the tension. He watches how Max stops with his hand on the door handle of his bedroom, then his face breaks before he chuckles, “Oh shut up. If anything — you’d want me to cuddle you so you can sleep better.” Max’s smile is big enough for Lando to see his teeth, even in the dark. He wonders if Max has got that dimple too, the one only on his right cheek and not on his left one. Part of his sleepy mind wants to reach out to touch Max’s cheeks and find out if he can feel it.
Max steps away from his bedroom door and walks to Lando’s, “Get in the bed, I’m joining you.” His voice is soft and warm, caring. Lando walks into his bedroom, Max right behind him as if they’ve shared a bed a million times before. Lando takes his sweater and his socks off and crawls under the duvet. Max watches him for just a second before he joins too. It takes him just a few seconds of moving around to get comfortable. Max lays with his back to Lando, legs folded up under him.
Lando looks at the rise and fall of his best friend’s chest, a soothing rhythm he tries to mimic in hope that it gets him to fall asleep too. He’s so focused on the warmth of another body next to him to let any of his negative thoughts plague his mind. He falls asleep rather quickly too.
◎◎
Lando first opens his eyes — his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but he hadn’t fully closed the blinds so a peek of sunshine hits his face. He scrunches his eyes. As his body wakes up and regains its senses, he registers a weight atop his chest. Max’s arm is slung around his waist, his head resting on Lando’s chest, curls tickling his skin. Max is sound asleep, fully relaxed into this embrace that their subconscious put themselves in. One of Lando’s arms is on Max’s back, and he’s too afraid to move it, worrying he might wake the man up.
Lando smiles brightly - Max looks absolutely adorable like this. His heart clenches and he sucks in a breath. Fuck!
Fuck!
He loves this.
He loves Max trusting him so much to fall asleep in the same bed, limbs tangled and sharing snores. He’s pretty sure Max is drooling on his chest and Lando can’t even find it within himself to care, no, he finds it just adorable. Which is annoying! He shouldn’t be wanting this from his friend, it’s not fair!
Max rumbles in his sleep. The arm he’s got around Lando’s waist tenses for a second, pulling them even closer to each other, before he relaxes again. Lando’s instincts are screaming at him to pet those wonderful curls, to scratch Max’s scalp and to feel him relax even more. Or maybe to wake him up. To see him blink awake, smile a soft little private smile only meant for Lando. To smile back, a soft little private smile only meant for Max, and then to draw him closer and press a kiss to his forehead, and maybe to his lips. To complain about his morning breath but not really mind it at all.
Fuck.
Lando’s never been overcome with this desire to kiss Max before. Sure, he has to admit his friend’s handsome, especially now that he’s growing his beard a bit. Max has wonderful bright green/blue eyes, a small but gorgeous smile and nice lips. It’d be so easy to draw him close and press a kiss or two to his lips, whenever he feels like it.
Lando looks up at the ceiling, away from the temptation of Max Fewtrell. Oh, how he played himself with this game, this dumb idea of flirting with each other. He tangled himself into a knot he’ll struggle to get out of. And Max will only flirt with him more, and Lando’ll have to hide all that he’s starting to see and realise and feel from his friend, who flirts just to win a game.
He takes a deep breath. He’s not gonna deal with that now, he’ll see how this plays out. For now, he’ll try and fall asleep again, maybe Max knows how to deal with this better when he wakes than Lando does.
◎◎
Lando wakes for the second time that day — this time to the sound of his alarm. His bed is cold, colder than it had been the entire night. There’s the ghost of warmth, the leftovers of what once was someone’s presence, left in the sheets leaving Lando all alone.
He crawls out of bed reluctantly, knowing he’ll have to leave the space eventually. He’s not as eager to stay if Max isn’t there anyways. He turns off his alarm and finds a sweater to throw over his head. Jon’s coming over later for a workout, so he’ll have to get his breakfast in his body within the next half hour, otherwise it’s not digested enough and will only bother him.
A quick visit to the bathroom to wash his face brings him a glance of his face. He stares at his own reflection for a second or two. He looks… good. Relaxed. Calm.
Max was right, sleeping together really helped him sleep better. Annoying how a remedy to his long term issue has been sleeping a few doors down the hallway in the same house this entire time. Lando puts the thought away, he can’t ask Max to sleep with him all the time, he needs his privacy too.
The man in question is prepping Lando’s (and his own) breakfast in the kitchen. The whole lower floor smells like freshly baked eggs and Lando immediately associates it with something domestic.
“Morning,” Lando greets.
Max smiles when he sees Lando enter the kitchen, “Morning! Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” Lando reaches out to squeeze Max’s bicep, “Thanks. For, y’know— last night, it really means a lot.”
Max is wearing one of Lando’s sweaters, a bright blue one that makes his eyes stand out a bit more.
Huh. Has Lando noticed that this whole time?
“Of course,” Max brushes it off as if he did nothing special, “Hungry yet?”
“Starving, it smells good here.”
“I have mastered some basic eggs ever since I lived here, I’d almost say it’s become my signature dish,” Max explains proudly, sliding the eggs from the pan onto a plate. He hands Lando his plate and takes his own, after turning off the stove.
“Eggs, your signature dish,” Lando deadpans.
“Yeah,” Max says, “Gotta start somewhere.”
“That’s fair,” Lando mutters. He takes a bite, they’re really just plain eggs. But they’re Max’s, and they’re made especially for them. Lando can’t complain.
As they eat, Lando finds himself sparing glance after glance in Max’s direction, to see if maybe something had changed over last night. If a spark was lit within Max the same way it got lit within Lando. If he, too, came to the conclusion that sleeping together like that is nice. Or maybe if he hated it — if he didn’t sleep as well as Lando thought he did. Maybe he’d been stirring all night and Lando just hadn’t noticed.
Really, Lando was just looking for any sort of change.
When he looked at Max again and Max asked, “‘Ve I got something on my face?” And wiped at his mouth, Lando decided nothing had changed at all. He wasn’t gonna find it if he kept looking for it all of a sudden. Max didn’t seem any different than normal.
◎◎
There’s a theory, or an unwritten rule some people live by, that when your crush changes their haircut and you still crush on them, you’re actually in love. This results in a lot of italic-oh moments for many people of all ages. Sometimes you’re not even aware you’re crushing on someone, but then they change their haircut and you’re still just as clingy, just as prone to blush whenever they’re near, and your friends will roll their eyes and silently push you to make a move. Sometimes it’s a clear sign — their hair changed and you no longer find them attractive, so did you even crush on them in the first place?
When Lando shaved his head, it did nothing in particular for Max. He wasn’t openly simping for Lando in the first place — frankly way too busy with racing and then not having a seat, figuring out what to do with his time — when it happened.
The moment that Max will point to as his italic-oh moment, was when he jokingly joined a workout session from Lando’s and Jon’s to see if he could find any blackmail material.
There is a loose idea around the Quadrant members that Niran will follow Lando around for 24 hours, joining him in his diet and workout schedule. Max had seen Lando and Jon workout many times before by looking through the window of their house, but he’d never actually joined the duo. The video idea has him curious, so he hops in his joggers and a shirt and joins the two men in the garden. The weather is splendid for this, not too hot, not too cold, and Max is excited to join.
The workout is entertaining, nothing to write home about, but Lando and he have fun. They bicker about, jabbing each other in their sides, pushing each other to go harder and go the extra mile, and genuine cheerleading when the other does well. It is all a piece of cake to Lando, naturally, doing these workouts regularly, but he seems to enjoy them more than Max remembers from seeing through their window. Jon is only mildly agitated by how Max’s presence counts for Lando’s distraction, so Max sees it as an overall win.
Then Jon gets Lando’s seat out to train his neck in.
Lando takes his position, ties the headband around his head and neck, and nods to Jon to proceed.
Max stands by Jon’s side, arms-crossed, and focuses on what Jon is doing.
Lando’s face does that funny thing where half of his smile went down, a bit lopsided, as Jon slowly pulls on the chord.
Max thinks he looks cute, even like this.
Cute.
Max blinks, scanning if he sees that same Lando with his lopsided smile, knitted eyebrows, and closed eyes.
Yep, just there. And even like this, he looks cute. Cute enough that Max has to put too much thought into how he’d be able to crawl in Lando’s lap without getting tangled in the chord that he stops himself from doing exactly that. He wants to walk over to him, bow down and kiss that weird little lopsided mouth to see if he could kiss back.
Oh.
This is bad.
This sudden and strong urge to kiss his best friend crashes into him like a wave. His nails dig into his palm as he looks at Lando some more. He’s almost pushed over as Jon moves around the chair and Max is in the way. Jon lets go of the chord and Lando unties the strap from his head. He looks at Max as he does it, eyes glittery and smiles big enough to show the gap between his teeth. He probably has a joke on his tongue, something about how weird he looks with this exercise. Max smiles back softly, almost on instinct. He bites his lip, hoping to pause all the emotions he feels for a little bit before he can sort them out and get himself back in check. Crushing on Lando is a bad thing - it can’t end well and he doesn’t want to lose his friend.
It’d also mean losing this dumb game of chicken, and Max has set his sights on winning.
Maybe it was just a fleeting thought, the whole temptation to kiss his best friend.
It’ll pass, he’s sure.
⎡ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎤
and if in the moment you bite your lip
when i get you moaning, you know it's real
can you feel the pressure between your hips?
⎣ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎦
It doesn’t pass.
Frankly, things only get worse from that moment on.
Every time Max sees Lando fidgeting with his hair (which is a lot), smiling and showing that tooth gap (which is a lot) or licking his lips (which is a distracting amount of times), Max can’t help but find him cute. It’s as if he’s recently learned the word and suddenly life gives him scenarios each day in which it’s applicable. Max is often reminded of his own desire to kiss Lando, finding moments where it could be so easy to just reach up and kiss him. His chest is tight with desire. He gets more and more curious every day to find out what Lando’s lips would feel like on his own, what he might taste like, what his skin tastes like.
And the fact that they’re in the middle of this dumb game of chicken doesn’t help.
Or so Max thought.
The thoughts of Lando’s lips keep plaguing his mind. He doesn’t care about winning this game anymore — frankly, he wants out — and just wants to find a way to kiss Lando to fulfil his curiosity. Surely once he’s kissed Lando, he’ll stop wanting it, right? It’s just that — a curiosity. An unanswered question, a task unfulfilled, a puzzle unfinished. He’s not really in love, he just wants to kiss his best friend, what’s wrong with that!
As Max spends time and thought on this game of chicken, he realises that it’s actually perfect to find out what Lando’s lips taste like. He can use the game to get closer to Lando, to feel his skin, and if Lando were to push him away, he can just joke about the game. Everything will be alright.
The fact that he falls asleep wishing he stayed in Lando’s bed instead is hidden in his mind. No one has to know. If he doesn’t touch that box too often, Pandora’s contents won’t spill out either. That's the safest.
Max climbs up the stairs. He’s on his way to his bedroom to get dressed into something more comfortable than his tight jeans and shirt. His legs can barely breathe and he’s dying to get into his joggers. It was an exhausting day of meeting after meeting. Time passed relatively nicely and it made him feel useful, so it wasn’t all that bad. He just needs a little break, some chill clothes and then he’ll get ready to make dinner for himself and his housemate.
He meets Lando on the first floor. Lando's been living in his own bubble all day — as well as Max — and they’ve barely interacted. Life’s busy like that sometimes, and it’s okay, they have their own ways of working around it. Lando smiles at Max when Max reaches the top of the staircase. He’s wearing his Philip Plein robe, tied loosely around his hips.
Max swallows.
Lando smirks at him, then looks away as if his message isn’t intended for Max (it is): “Ah, time for some good ol’ self-care.” He stretches his arms obscenely above his head and Max shakes his head.
Lando’s teasing, lingering around to get a rise out of Max. He’s in game mode and pushing Max to get into that too. They haven’t had much time to be all too flirty the past few days, their conversations have mostly been about groceries, laundry and schedules and nothing beyond that.
Max simply smirks, not hiding how he checks Lando out — even though the robe does nothing nice for his figure, it does have something incredibly sexy about it. Maybe it’s the premise of Lando being naked under it, covered by loose fabric, held together by a lazy knot. One quick flick of his wrist and the whole thing will fall from Lando’s shoulders and reveal him. He looks Lando in his eyes — Max had seen Lando in his robe many times before, but never thought this hungrily of him. He might be able to use this to his advantage, seeing how Lando’s holding a metaphorical door opened to start flirting and see who wins this round.
Max steps closer to Lando and reaches out to feel the fabric of the robe between his fingers, “Hmm, looks good,” He leans in a bit more, “Be sure to relax really well.”
Lando doesn’t move away from Max, simply smirks back, “Oh I will.” He licks his lips, “I’d let you join me, but I’m not sure if you could handle it.”
The tension rises. With each word Lando says, Max feels himself drawn closer, feels the urge to keep the conversation going. His hand on the robe still fidgets with the fabric, but he lets it fall open a bit more. Lando doesn’t make a move against it.
“You think?” Max takes a step closer and Lando lets himself be guided against the wall. Max loves the power this gives him — he feels like he’s already winning this round, even if it might not be any good for his feelings. His heartbeat is through the roof but he’s too deep in this to stop now and step back. Lando seems to be hanging onto his lips with any word he says, so he presses, “I think you don’t dare to invite me, because you’d just know you can’t resist me being so near.”
Lando clears his throat just a little bit — it's gotten a bit strained from this whole scene. He says, “You’re near right now, aren’t you? I’m handling this just fine.” His voice breaks a bit at the last line.
He’s not fine.
“You’re not.” Max leans closer, curious to see how far Lando’ll let him go. His hands explore the cotton of the robe a bit more, finding the lines around Lando’s neck and opening it just a bit. Skin gets revealed. Max’s hands are as soft as silk as they trace the lines of the robe and push it delicately to the side. His fingers must be cold, he can see the goosebumps forming on Lando’s skin with every new inch of bare skin.
Max wants to kiss him. Max wants to kiss him so badly it’s aching in every part of his body.
He takes a gamble. This game’s fucked up anyway, might as well push it to the limits, see what Lando will give him without pushing him away. If he’s going to find out what Lando’s skin tastes like because of a game, then he’ll take it. Anything to get closer to him, to learn more, even if it’s all fun and games from Lando’s side and crushes his feelings to bits. Max lets his lips drag over the skin of Lando’s neck, the top of his chest, anything he can reach without moving away too much. It’s a revelation to finally be able to feel Lando’s skin on his lips — to taste his scent, the mix of his worn-off cologne with sweat. He tries, oh how he tries, to not get into his head too much, to not think about all of what’s happening. He lets himself drown in what he’s doing, lets his body guide him as his hands keep pushing the fabric to the side, Lando’s chest almost fully bare.
Lando hisses, hips rolling against nothing, leaning in closer to Max as if he’s drawn in like a magnet.
Max can’t take it anymore. This is too much. He wants to do unspeakable things to Lando right now, he wants it so badly. He mutters against Lando’s skin, “Lando, do you have a crush on me?”
Lando’s eyes roll in his head — his mind is screaming yes! Yes, I do! Keep going over and over like a mantra. The feeling of Max’s teasing lips against his skin is insane. His fingers are so close to holding him, touching places Max’s never touched him before and now Lando will feel the ghost of him on his skin wherever he goes. His mind is not gonna let this go whenever he touches himself, runs his hands over his own chest, his neck…
Max doesn’t wait for a response. He opens Lando’s robe even more. His kisses to Lando’s neck get more intense, heated. His beard is scratching Lando’s skin as he moves, and Lando can’t help but imagine the feeling of Max’s beard between his legs. He’s so hungry for Max all of a sudden, this desire rooted deeper than he thought. He wants nothing more than for Max to shove the bathrobe aside, to kiss all of his skin, to explore every crook and nanny of his body with those gentle fingers and soft lips. Lando shivers, he’s gonna get hard if Max keeps this up.
“Do you surrender?” Max asks, voice groggy and hot against Lando’s skin.
Lando’s shaken out of his haze so suddenly, he might get a whiplash — this is, after all, nothing but a game to Max. He’d never really do this, it’s just about winning this game. Anything to make Lando say ‘yes Max, I do have a crush on you’ and then— well, Lando doesn’t know what’ll happen then, but he doubts Max’ll keep on touching him if it all ends there. He’ll probably stop touching him completely — just like Lando's heart will stop beating the way it does when they're like this. He worries Max will stop, and if the only way to get Max to keep touching him like this is by torturing himself, then so be it.
Lando huffs, “I don’t— don’t have a crush on you.”
“Are you sure?” Max looks at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and something darker. He presses his lips to Lando’s collarbone, taking the tight skin in his mouth and sucking a bruise. His hands travel all over Lando’s chest — bolder than before, getting the robe to fall from his shoulders. It hands like a skirt around Lando’s hips, flimsy, because Lando feels the fabric slipping. He’s going to be naked in front of Max if Max keeps going.
Lando can’t stop the moan that comes from his mouth. His cheeks heat up, his tummy raging with desire. His dick twitching with need.
Max continues, “Just admit it, Lando.” He whispers into Lando’s ear, “Then we can enjoy your self-care night together.”
Lando hisses.
Max nibbles his earlobe, the temptation is so much. Lando’s mind is going crazy over the implication that Max’d spend this self-care night with him. The fantasy of them showering together, taking their time, hands exploring each other’s skin shamelessly — it’s all so much.
Maybe he’s joking though, Lando fears, so for the sake of the game he mutters, “I’m not admitting to things I— I don’t agree with.” His breathing is heavy, the loudest noise in their hallway. Everything about his body is contradicting what he’s saying, but he can’t seem to stop, too proud to back down.
Max’s fingers curl under the waistband of Lando’s robe. Just a bit more force and it falls open entirely and Max’ll see just how hard Lando is for him, for the teasing he’s done — the things he said and the things he touched.
Lando swallows audibly, then says, “You are touching me. If anything, you want to get in my pants. Or, robe, whatever.” He tries weakly.
“I’m just surprised you haven’t pushed me away yet. I know how precious your self-care night is,” Max smirks deviously, musing, “And here I am, postponing it all.”
“You can’t win this, Max. No matter how hard you might try and think you can,” Lando hates the next words, but he has no choice, has he? Max leaves him none. “I don’t have a crush on you.”
Max moves back just enough so he can look into Lando’s eyes. They’re so close, exchanging oxygen back and forth, breathing each other in. Max huffs, “You wanna kiss me so badly, it’s written all over your face.”
Lando hates how Max can read his thoughts just like that. He deflects, “Kiss me yourself, coward.”
“Do I have to do everything in this house? C’mon, just cave in.” Max refuses to tell Lando that kissing his lips feels like losing. He’s gone so far already tonight, and Lando is still denying the crush he has. It’d feel like too much.
“Is this a new part of the game?” Lando whispers, “You want me, I want you, whoever kisses the other first loses?” He can’t refute his desire for Max anymore, otherwise, he wouldn’t be half-naked and fully hard in front of him like this. But Max wants him too, it’s clear in every touch of him. Maybe he doesn’t have a crush per se, but the way his eyes darken spoil the base of his thoughts. He’s so obviously horny the same way Lando is.
Max’s eyes glance at Lando’s lips before looking up again. He moves even closer, noses next to each other. It’s just not enough for their lips to touch.
Lando takes a shaky breath, body preparing for the kiss that never comes.
Max steps away, his warmth suddenly gone, giving Lando another whiplash from the anticlimax. “Enjoy your self-care.” He winks. It’s so suggestive. Max’s bedroom door falls shut, and he slips through Lando’s fingers like water.
Lando stands frozen. What the fuck just happened?
He shakes his head, reaching for his robe and throwing it over his shoulders again. He looks so fucking slutty with the robe all the way down, and he did that for Max.
For the first time since Max moved in, Lando locks the bathroom door. His shower is hot, but not hot enough to warm the little bits of his skin where Max had touched him. Nothing will compare to the way those touches had felt, nor will anything ever be able to replace it.
Hand against the tile, the other hand on his dick, he jerks off as silently as possible for all he’s worth. He yearns for Max’s lips, Max’s fingers, anything on him again. He comes so fucking hard that the tiles stain. This is unbelievable, unforgivable. This cannot go on like this — the tension is too high and Lando wants too much.
He’s so fucking fucked.
⎡ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎤
if you just let me invade your space
i’ll take the pleasure, take it with the pain
⎣ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎦
They don’t talk about it over the next few days. Max’s attention is drawn to the fading hickey whenever he manages to see Lando. He catches his housemate running around shirtless in search of That Specific Hoodie more than once. When he first saw Lando with the hickey he’d left, a very possessive twinge stung him in his belly. His mouth watered with the need to make more, but not a single moment had appeared where he could. Maybe he had gone too far after all, even if Lando didn’t push him away.
He’s so confused about the whole thing, honestly. What the fuck did he land himself in.
There hasn’t been a nice night where they could sit together and talk. Either Lando was at the MTC or doing other work stuff, or he was locked up in his sim-room, or Max was streaming… It’s been way too busy to actually have a chat. Even when they went out golfing, it wasn’t as relaxing as it’d been before. It was tense, littered with the constant worry that the other would do something flirty and that they’d push too far, and neither of them being in the mood to play this game.
Really, talking would solve so much, but Max doesn’t want to break this bubble they’re in, afraid Lando will hide away from him like a snail going back into its house.
Tonight is one of the rare nights where they have time, but instead of sitting down and talking about it, Lando’s invited some of Team Quadrant over to have a little party. It’s nothing fancy, nothing special, but it’s just all of them together and not talking about work for a night. Lando arranged some drinks and snacks. Max takes his time shoving the couch to the side and making enough space for everyone to fit. He’s excited if not a bit annoyed that Lando had spontaneously chosen now to do this.
Maybe he can use this to get closer to Lando, to touch him, to remind him that they’re on their way to being Something. That Max is still on board with it all, to a degree. That they’re still playing this game. Something that has gone long beyond being just a game.
Max is in a big twist with himself — on one hand, he’s just aching to touch Lando and be carefree, and on the other, he wants to keep a distance to save himself from getting hurt, in case this all is just a game to Lando.
He decides to let his drunk mind choose, grabbing drink after drink with Ria and Niran. He’ll let himself loose and see what his body and mind chooses. If he ends up away from Lando all night, good — maybe he’s not crushing as hard as he thought.
If he ends up making out with Lando instead, also good, he’ll blame it on his inebriated state.
There’s really no downside to getting drunk, so it seems.
He slumped on the couch and, despite everything, Lando had found his place steady next to Max. Their thighs are touching and both of them feel the heat everywhere. Max has a soft blush on his cheeks that Lando wants to taste, see if it’s as warm as he looks.
Max is wearing Lando’s sweater and his Rhude McLaren jacket. It makes Lando feel protective and possessive as if Max is his in a way that he isn’t. Not yet.
Lando is wearing Max’s joggers, something Max is only mildly annoyed by. He’s started wearing those joggers a few weeks ago and Max has firmly refrained from touching himself in those ever since he found out. The fact that he has done it before drives him wild, a memory plaguing his mind every time he sees the fabric hugging Lando’s hips like they were made for him.
There’s a conversation going on around the table that Max only catches bits and pieces of. Something about the new update on the F1 game. Aarav is sharing his insight with his career mode things. Max can’t be arsed to listen. He is slumped back on the couch, fallen down quite a bit. Lando’s leaning forward, away from him. Max reaches out, one finger tracing a soft line over Lando’s spine, up to down. Lando’s head turns to him, eyebrows knitted in confusion but eyes shining with curiosity.
Max smiles softly, finger tracing up and down over the same line.
Lando smiles back, “Hey,” he whispers, sensing that Max is a tad tired from hours of chatting and drinking.
“C’mere,” Max whispers back, hand now grabbing Lando’s side to pull him close. Lando rests his head on Max’s chest, Max’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie.
Ria spares a glance in their direction, smiles when she meets Max’s eyes, then looks back at the table. Max smiles to himself. This is nice. He’s so warm all over, comfortable, loved. He wishes to never leave this space — he wishes for Lando to never leave this space. They can fall asleep like this and stay here for all eternity.
◎◎
Max is wandering around in the kitchen. He’s looking for the bottle opener, but can’t find it in the drawer it’s usually in. He fears Lando's gotten it out of the dishwasher and placed it back somewhere it never is. He’s tried three drawers already but decides to give up. Maybe it’d be better to grab some water instead of another beer, otherwise his hangover is going to be killing him tomorrow.
He looks up when he hears footsteps, deciding to ditch the beer entirely and reconvene with the rest.
It’s Lando.
Max leans against the counter, opening his bottle of water and taking a swig. He follows Lando with his eyes, watches how he stops in front of Max with a smile on his face. Max puts his bottle on the counter and waits for the quip to come.
“Awh, Maxy, you’re sooo clingy to me tonight,” Lando sing-songs, “Are you falling for me? You just couldn’t go a second without touching me. Are you worried Steve might make a move?” Lando is smiling brightly, joyfully dancing around Max as if he’s made the greatest breakthrough yet.
“I’m sorry,” Max counters, smile just as big, “But you’re seeking me out in private. The others might think you wanna make a move on me.” He confidently crosses his arms, a smirk set on his face.
Lando sways closer, hands on either side of Max’s hips and he looks Max in his eyes, “Do they now?” He leans closer, one of his hands cupping Max’s hip, the other daring to cup Max’s face and pull him closer. Max moves along willingly, forever putty in Lando’s hold. Max’s eyes flick to Lando’s lips before staying on his eyes. Lando continues, “What if they saw us like this?”
No one would be surprised, Max thinks. Instead, he says, “Do you want to be seen like this? Kinda seems like you have a crush on me, mate.” His hands stay on the kitchen counter, away from Lando (as much as possible). His knuckles are white with restraint.
Lando just smiles, his thumb running over Max’s lower lip. He whispers, “How drunk are you?”
Max blinks once, twice, “Sobering up, shifting to water now. Don’t want to die tomorrow.”
“That’s fair,” Lando smiles. His thumb is ever so persistent on Max’s bottom lip. It takes every ounce of self-control to not suck on Lando’s thumb right now, for Max. But even slightly drunk, he manages.
There’s commotion outside the kitchen, Ria’s voice loud and high pitched and coming closer. Lando looks at the door for a second, then turns back to Max. He whispers, “Sleep in my bed tonight?”
Max presses a kiss to Lando’s thumb, “I will.”
Lando blushes, eyes focused on Max’s lips on his thumb. He swallows, then seems to get himself together. He grabs Max’s water bottle, “Kinda gay to be honest.”
Max smirks, “That implies there’d be romantic tension between us.”
Lando rolls his eyes fondly, leaving the kitchen. Max can hear a sweet, “Oh, hey Ria.” before Ria herself enters the kitchen.
Max grabs a new bottle of water and smiles at her, “You enjoying it? The party?”
Ria smiles, a bit knowingly, “I am, it’s always fun to hang with you all.” She raises a scrutinising eyebrow, “Are you having fun?”
Her tone insinuates Max isn’t, so Max says, “Yeah I am, it’s always nice to get drunk at your own place so you don’t have to worry about getting home or something happening.” Max takes a swig of the water, aiming to look casual and not at all on edge from whatever Lando just did to him.
“I get that, yeah, just gotta deal with the cleanup.” Ria smiles, obviously not pressing any further.
Max nods, “We’ll leave that for tomorrow-Lando and tomorrow-Max, though.”
Ria laughs with him as they walk out of the room. Max feels Lando’s eyes like laser beams on him as he joins the group and sits back down.
Right next to Lando.
◎◎
Lando follows Max up the stairs. Their visitors had left, most strapped safely on the backseat of a cab and others brought home by their sober friends. The Quadrant group chat started filling itself gradually with more ‘Home safe!’ messages. Lando left his phone in the kitchen, not sparing a glance at it after he decided to go to sleep. The last one to leave has messaged them he’s home, so Lando doesn’t have to worry about any of his friends’ safety.
Max walks to his own bedroom and Lando’s words get stuck in his throat — had he forgotten Lando had invited him to sleep in the same bed? Was he too drunk when Lando asked, and does he not want to sleep together? Would he really be afraid to cross a line, even though he’s sobered up as much as possible? Lando stands frozen near his door as he watches Max move about in his own bedroom. He’s about to swallow his disappointment when he sees Max reenter the hall, shirtless, pillow in hand.
“Hey,” Lando says, with a smile on his face. He licks his lips and tries to hide his short fright and intense joy from seeing his crush ready to stay with him.
“Hi,” Max smiles back, “Your pillow is uncomfortable, I figured I’d sleep better if I brought my own.”
Lando swallows a comment about Max ending up sleeping on his chest. He hopes that was comfortable, Max didn’t seem like he hated it, but then again, Max was vast asleep back then. Lando nods and heads to his bedroom, Max right behind him. Max takes the pillow from Lando’s bed and throws it in the middle. Lando takes off his own hoodie and lays on his chest on the bed, after crawling under the covers. He watches in the dim light of their bedroom how Max makes his own bed, crawls under it too and shares a small smile before laying on his side. He kicks the pillow in between them away, but it won’t budge. For a second, Lando worries the pillow will form as some sort of wall between them. He’s got a no-homo comment on his tongue, something about self-restraint and this dumb game of Chicken.
Instead, Max moves up, grabs the pillow, and throws it on the ground.
“Hey!” Lando murmurs, “That one’s just clean.”
“Shame,” Max smiles, his teeth brightened by the small sliver of moonlight coming through Lando’s window. He rolls his shoulders and hides under the covers, only his eyes peeking out. He mutters, “Night man.”
“Night Max, thanks for tonight.” Lando feels like he takes Max for granted a bit too much sometimes. He trains himself to thank Max more often, even for the smaller things, just being with him has made his life a bit nicer. His house never felt like a home, not the way it does now. Whenever he says he wants to go home, he means Max. Max is his home, every stone of his house, a roof atop his head, the kitchen and the bathroom, their stream room and the tv. He’s Lando’s entertainment, Lando’s safe haven, Lando’s home.
“T’was fun, but I’m tired now.” Max mutters, voice thick with sleep. Lando smiles, he won’t chat anymore, maybe it’d be better for himself to catch some sleep too. They’ll talk during breakfast (if they wake up in time).
◎◎
Lando’s arms are strong on his shoulders when he pushes Max onto the couch, “Sit still, be pretty,” is the command Max has to work with.
Max’s hard — achingly hard, ever since they laid together so comfortably on the couch he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Lando’s hands on him. He wants Lando to touch him everywhere, to get those big hands all over Max’s soft skin, his lips kissing every nook and cranny of his body, his teeth biting marks — would he feel the tooth gap in his skin?
Lando handles him with force, pulls his legs toward him and places a kiss on his tummy. He whispers, “You gotta be quiet.” Max groans about the people that are around, that can walk into them any second now.
Lando gets to work. He pulls Max’s joggers from him, all the way off and throws them into the void of their room. When Lando grabs his dick, Max feels how wet he is already, how much he’s leaking for his best friend, and how desperate he is for release.
One of Lando’s hands holds his thigh, massaging the skin but just on this side of rough, of how he likes to be treated. It’s wonderful how Lando just knows all the secret buttons to Max’s pleasure. His mouth is a delicious warmth around Max’s clothed dick, and Max stops himself from fucking into Lando’s mouth immediately. He feels Lando smile around his dick before removing his boxers.
“Look at you,” Lando praises, “So gorgeous and all for me.” He closes his mouth around Max’s length, sucking him off without hesitation. Max is so close already, so close…
Then Lando wraps his hand around Max’s throat, pushing down just enough to make him lightheaded but not for him to lose breath. Max’s head is thrown back, and this time he can’t help himself when he thrusts his hips into Lando’s mouth.
He moans, “Lando…”
◎◎
Lando wakes up in the morning, the small shine of moonlight now replaced by the sun. It’s colouring his bedroom in a soft yellow hue, and he can’t recall the last time he had a full night’s sleep without interruptions.
“Lando...” The man in question hears the whisper in his ear. His senses slowly regain feeling and bit by bit he takes in everything that happens under the covers. Max has one leg slung in between theirs, his hips press against Lando’s, and Lando can feel how incredibly hard Max is. Max’s arms are wrapped tightly around Lando’s waist, and Lando’s own arms are around Max’s shoulders.
They’re like — the definition of entangled limbs right now.
Max’s eyes are still screwed shut, eyebrows knitting and dancing over his forehead, a bead of sweat reflects the sunlight. He looks messy, and Lando wants to kiss him so bad.
“Please, Bob—” Max keeps moaning bitten of comments, sounds that get sent straight to Lando’s dick and Max really has to stop grabbing his waist so tightly because it takes every bit of self-control for Lando to—
Max rolls his hips against Lando’s, and Lando can’t help his own, “Max…” from coming out.
Max opens his eyes, glassy and gorgeous green. Not even the smallest part of him seems mortified about finding out he’s been rubbing his hard dick against his best friend’s hips in his sleep. He whispers, “Please.”
Lando’s only a man.
A weak man for Max Fewtrell.
Lando turns to his side and rubs his dick against Max’s, hands in his hair and pulling him close. They moan together — it feels so good just rubbing their clothed dicks together, finally revelling the possibility to do this. They’ve been wanting this for weeks, months, maybe subconsciously even for years.
Max’s hands wrap tighter around Lando’s back, nails digging in the skin. It’s as if he’s afraid Lando will change his mind, will put a stop to this, will leave him cold the second he’s away too far. He doesn’t want this to end, neither does Lando, but they’re just a bit too afraid to share that out loud.
Max groans — Lando feels himself getting addicted just to how loud his usually silent and calm friend is in bed — and Lando has had enough. They need to do this properly. He mutters, “Fuck it,” and rolls the two of them over. He straddles Max’s hips shamelessly, reaching over to his nightstand to grab his bottle of lube. His legs slot over Max’s hips seamlessly, like puzzle pieces falling together, and it means more to him than it should.
Max’s hands find Lando’s hips, holding him in place, balanced. His exploratory fingers find their way under Lando’s waistband, an invitation. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “Can I?”
Lando’s heart clenches, this man is going to be the death of him. Max’s hair is a mess on his pillow, his eyes are glassy yet dark with want. He bites his lip a bit nervously, worried any bad word can break them out of this haze. He’s so precious — Lando’s overcome with love. This is too much. He has to do something about those feelings later, but first, he whispers, “Yeah, yeah you can.” He’s unafraid to hide his desperation.
Max hurries to remove Lando’s boxers from him, a soft glitter of awe on his eyes as he looks at Lando’s dick. His hands skim over Lando’s skin like it’s a treasure he’s gotten his hands on for the first time in his life. Lando might be wrong, but he thought he could see Max gulp.
Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to see Max’s lips wrapped around his dick, and the image is going to haunt him forever.
Max shimmies out of his own boxers too and immediately throws his head back when their dicks slide against each other.
Lando smirks at the display — his friend looks so gorgeous like this, and all for him. He’s warmed up the lube in his hand in the meantime, so it’s a welcome touch when he covers both Max and his own dick with his hand.
Max arches at the touch, offering his chest up for Lando. Lando runs a hand over his chest, touching all of the skin. He tweaks a nipple and Max moans his name like a prayer. Lando’s hand is still slowly getting used to the touch, the fact that he’s holding two dicks at once. He explores Max’s length with the tips of his fingers, feeling every vein and curve, memorising them.
It’s wonderful to see Max like this, but Lando wants to get closer, wants to feel his warmth all around him, exactly how he woke up. He whispers, “Trust me?”
“Yeah, always.” Max’s answer is confident. It plays a little string of Lando’s heart and makes his whole chest sing.
Lando nods. He rolls the two of them over, back on their sides. He’s facing Max and they’re centimetres away from each other, breathing the same air. Their legs are tangled again — Lando’s leg is in between Max’s — their hips slot together. This is so much better, so much more intimate, and so fucking good. Lando doesn’t miss how Max’s calf immediately wraps around Lando’s legs, keeping him closer.
Max reaches out, wrapping his arms around Lando’s neck. His fingers find their way into Lando’s curls, tugging just a bit so he can reach Lando’s neck. He shamelessly sucks hickey’s into the skin, as if the connection from his mouth to Lando’s skin is his lifeline, as if that’s what’s keeping him from falling apart. Lando’s hand has found a nice rhythm around their dicks, something to keep them on edge without coming instantly.
Lando flicks his wrist, Max instantly bites down on his neck.
“Ahhh—” Lando groans in surprise.
Max is shaken out of his blind haze for a bit, suddenly realising he’s been sucking hickeys into his best friend’s skin for quite some time. The room’s too dark for him to see just how ruined Lando’s neck is, but he bets it’s quite a mess. His skin is shiny with spit and sweat. Max licks it, tasting the mix of salt and his own spit, a gorgeous combination to get from Lando’s skin.
Lando doesn’t pull him away, though, so Max figures he’s all good. Maybe he likes getting marked up, a physical reminder of what happened between the two of them. Maybe he’s been wanting to get new hickeys from Max ever since he sucked into Lando’s skin the first time. Briefly, Max wonders if Lando’d touched the hickey he left every time he was alone, maybe he even touched himself to the idea of Max’s lips on his skin. Max groans out loud, how he wishes he could ask him.
“Max,” Lando mutters, repeating his name again and again, as if it’s a reminder to himself who he’s doing this with, that his mind is right here, in this bedroom with no one else but his best friend Max Fewtrell. Lando’s getting closer to the edge — Max’s mouth has done wonders on his neck and he couldn’t help but imagine him elsewhere on his skin. Lando swallows, taking his hand off both their dicks and wrapping around Max’s alone, putting all of his attention to Max’s pleasure.
His other hand squeezes Max’s arse tighter, and Max giggles into his ear. It’s gorgeous, precious, and Lando can’t get enough of the feeling of Max’s skin in his hands. He jerks Max off slowly, swirls his explorative fingers all around his length, figuring out what makes him quiver and moan in his hold. Some touches make him respond better than anything else, and Lando saves all of these twitches in a very special part of his brain — things he cannot forget under any circumstance, no matter if it might never happen again.
His fingers go down to fondle with Max’s balls, then up to squeeze his dick again. Max keens and whispers and cries, whines and moans filling their bedroom.
Lando whispers, “Show me, show me, Max. come for me.” His voice is urgent, desperate.
It takes only a few more jerks before Max comes. He groans against Lando’s skin, biting down where his shoulder meets his neck. Lando copies Max’s groan, though slightly from pain. But it’s okay — it’s Max, Max’s teeth, Max’s mouth, and Lando’ll happily carry the feeling of Max’s teeth in his neck for the next few days. Every time he’ll move his shoulder, he’ll feel it, he’ll relish it.
Max, once regained from coming his brains out, mutters against Lando’s skin, “Please Lando…” He moves back, enough to look his best friend in the eyes, to see how his eyebrows are knitted and eyes are dark, “Come for me.”
Lando jerks himself off between them but doesn’t need much. He’s lost sense of where the lube ends and Max’s come starts, just jerks himself off how he likes. He comes all over Max’s chest and his own — he presses an open-mouthed kiss to Max’s neck. His lips and tongue wet Max’s skin as much as he comes and comes. He sucks down just to leave one hickey of his own, to have evidence this was mutual.
Their mixture of come makes an interesting picture that’s going to haunt both of their wet dreams for the rest of their lives.
Lando’s hand shamelessly travels to Max’s arse, joining his other hand to cup him fully and squeeze the flesh. Max giggles fondly, rolling atop Lando to give him better access. Lando absentmindedly massages the skin, something to keep his hands busy as this event runs through his mind again.
They catch their breath for a little while, getting down from their high in the afterglow and back to their bodies, to their senses.
Max leans up, looking Lando in his eyes, he whispers, “Kiss me, Lando.”
Lando leans in closer as if he’s meaning to. But then he freezes — he can’t. He wants to, so badly. This stupid game runs through his mind again. All of this must just be a joke to Max, something only temporary, something to win. If Lando kisses Max, he’ll lose the game, and with it, he’ll lose Max. Or at least, this side of Max. The flirty Max he’d gotten so shamelessly addicted to.
“We’re disgusting,” He mutters instead, and moves back, “I’m gonna shower.”
Max tries to hide how he swallows, rolling off of Lando’s chest, feeling their come and lube slide on his chest. He nods, defeated, “Yeah, we are disgusting.” He adds a chuckle, but it’s fake.
Lando moves out from under the covers and heads to the bathroom.
Max stays for a bit, the morning running through his mind again. Where did it go so fucking wrong?
He doesn’t know. He just wishes he could solve this.
He doesn’t see Lando for the rest of the day.
◎◉◎◉
This is a problem. This is an issue. This is bad.
Lando should have never asked Max to stay with him in the bed. Should have never touched him, when Max begged. He should’ve shaken his head, put some distance between the two of them and taken his leave. But he couldn’t. He’s only a man. A man with a crush on his best friend slash housemate and he wants nothing more than for Max to want him. To want to have sex with him. To want to kiss him.
Not to win a fucking game.
His shower was a disaster. Every bit of water that slid over his skin had him thinking of Max’s touch. He angrily rubbed the come and lube off of his hands and chest, deciding to deal with his sheets later tonight (or he’ll just sleep on the couch). Every reminder was removed from his pining brain and aching heart.
Everything but those goddamned hickeys.
His chest looks like he’s been mauled by several bloodthirsty vampires. Especially the teeth marks on his neck are insane — they run deep. Lando knows he has several important work meetings over the course of the next week, a whole race weekend to prepare for, and hickeys don’t fade as quickly.
This is how he’d found himself in the beauty aisle of a store, asking an employee which foundation would go best with his skin. She didn’t seem to recognise him, he was grateful.
He left the store with several beauty products, and absolutely no clue how to work with them.
A google search only frustrates him — he doesn’t even know what half the items he’s bought are called. What the hell is a setting spray? Or concealer? Lando gives up on the search engine and thinks of his friends who can help him out. He knows many girls who use make-up, but only one he knows he can trust to keep his secret.
Lando dials Ria.
He’s grateful she picks up, he asks, “Can you do me a favour, no questions asked?”
“What’s wrong?” Ria sounds worried. Lando can hear how she shifts in her seat.
“It’s nothing big, just — I don’t, I—” Lando stammers. I’m really not in the mood to explain this.
“It’s okay— if it’s nothing bad or disgusting…”
“No! I promise it’s pretty small.”
“You’ll owe me one,” Ria chuckles fondly, “What’s up?”
Lando takes a deep breath and then quickly blurts out, “How do I cover up bruises with… foundation? I went to the store and got advice on some products for my skin but… I’m a bit clueless about it all. How do you apply this?”
“Erm, I can try and explain this over the phone but it’s better if I show you? Can you come over?” Ria shifts around left and right, as if she’s already preparing some of her tools to help Lando.
“I, uh, don’t have much time.”
Ria sounds fond when she says, “I promise I won’t ask questions. The rest is out, you can sneak in and out and no one will know.”
“Thanks, Ria.” Lando swirls his car keys in his hand and drives to her. Relieved. Determined. Hopeful.
Ria sits him down on her bed and rattles about with her makeup tools. She’s got an impressive collection of all sorts of things Lando doesn’t understand. He merely watches in awe as she opens drawer after drawer grabbing this and that and no, not that one, ah! That one.
Triumphantly, she turns to Lando, “Where are the bruises?”
She looks like a surgeon about to get to work, tools in one hand and the things Lando bought in the other. She misses the latex gloves or the white suit, but the vibe’s there.
Lando scratches behind his ear. This is the tough part. He’s said bruises and not hickeys because he’d be afraid of her judgement. Now he’s come so far, so he must show her. He untangles his hoodie’s strings and takes off the hood, then just takes off his hoodie entirely, showing his neck to Ria. He knows how bad it is — how dark his skin is where it shouldn’t be. The hickeys are still pretty fresh and it doesn’t help his case at all.
Ria just stares at him for a full second, her eyes burn on his already hot skin. He lets her stare, afraid that anything he’ll say or do will get her to move away. She promised she wouldn’t ask anything, and Lando now realises how much of a treasure chest he opened before her eyes with only the instruction to not touch. The temptation must be big.
Her eyes widen a bit, and Lando thinks she’s connected the dots. Everything from the party of last night, to how she walked in on the two of them in the kitchen. Really, Lando can’t have realistically gone out and found a girl to absolutely wreck his skin in that short time. There’s only one person who could’ve done this. Lando’s painfully aware of how obvious it is. Ria keeps it to herself, though, even if she knows what’s up. Lando’s grateful.
She nods, grabs a mirror to hand to Lando and one of her weirdly-shaped sponges and sits down next to him on the bed. “Alright,” She says, voice barely hiding her shock, “Here’s how to cover them up.”
Lando pays close attention and sees how she gets to work. She drops some of the foundation on her own hand, then rolls the bright blue blender sponge through the liquid and applies it to Lando’s skin. He sees through the mirror how the hickeys fade from his skin bit by bit. They’ll always be there, and if you look close enough you can see that he’s hiding something. It just doesn’t look as bad as when he first looked at himself in the mirror. He’s no longer a walking ad for a domestic abuse hotline, thank god.
He feels confident with her explanation that he can do this himself for the next few days. Just enough to not get his colleagues worried about him.
He asks, “Does it, like, fade away if I sweat a lot?”
“It’s not ideal to wear lots of makeup when you’re gonna work out, no,” Ria mutters, dabbing the sponge on his skin some more, “But the setting spray does wonders. It’s not magic, so it will always fade a little bit, but it stays nicely.” She moves back, appreciating her work. Then she grabs the setting spray and sprays it on Lando’s neck.
“Thanks, Ria,” Lando smiles, looking at himself in the mirror. He’s no longer looking at the hickeys, just fixing his hair as he can. A habit, really, whenever he’s near a reflective surface.
“Next time ask him, er— her to, you know, not leave hickeys.”
Lando chuckles, a small blush creeping up on his cheeks, “We were a bit too far gone.” The comment is about more than the sex itself. They’re a bit too far gone in this whole game, so deep it’s tough to back out.
Ria smiles fondly, understanding, “Communication is key, though.”
And that, too, is about more than the sex itself.
◎◉◎◉
Even though the whole situation is messy, and being around Lando has him feeling more conflicted than comfortable, Max can’t help but miss him when he’s gone. He’s started to dread race weekends. It means Lando’s out of the house for a long time. It means timezones and missed phone calls on either side. It means hearing his own footsteps echo over the hallway as he searches for his purpose. He’s got his streams, which he really enjoys. He’s got Quadrant stuff to work on, which is nice but has become a constant reminder of Lando’s absence. He’s got other stuff he’s working on too, but not a moment passes without wondering about Lando. Partly because he loves the sport — he keeps tabs on free practice and qualifying results and never misses a race — and partly because he loves Lando, no matter how much it hurts.
He’s scrolling through Twitter as he sees video after video of Lando and Carlos chatting with each other. It was already annoying enough that they were paired up together for the Thursday press conference, but they literally seem inseparable.
Max knows Lando’s gone out of his way to cover up the hickeys with make-up and he tries and fails to not let it get to him. It breaks only a tiny piece of him, but it’s alright. He’ll manage. It was just a hookup for Lando, clearly.
When Lando comes home, Max still carries some of his annoyance. It’s like an itch he can’t stress, a muscle he pulled that just won’t relax, a hoodie that isn’t comfortable no matter how much he tries to get it right.
Lando asks, “D’you wanna go golfin’?”
It’s nine in the evening and Max is tired from doing nothing all day. He spares one look outside and sees how dark it is. “Golf? At this hour?”
“We can just hit some balls and see how far we come, don’t have to go on the field,” Lando shrugs a bit helplessly. He’s been getting on Max’s nerves the entire time since he’s been home. Max doesn’t know why but everything about Lando suddenly bothers him. He doesn’t want to be annoyed — he’s more than grateful that Lando’s home again — which makes him even grumpier in return. It’s a vicious cycle.
“Nah, mate, maybe tomorrow.” Max walks past Lando and heads to the couch, phone in hand.
“You’re no fun,” Lando sighs.
If Max didn’t have his off-day, he could reason that Lando’s right. He’s been annoying and quiet and grumpy all day. He is no fun.
But he’s too bothered to listen to his own voice of reason. He simply mutters, “Ugh, go ask Carlos then, he’s always fun for you, isn’t he?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He winces immediately. He’s just being unfair right now.
Lando moves in front of Max, frowning, “I don’t want Carlos.”
“Oh really?” Max decides to dig his hole even deeper, all of his annoyances and stress finally spilling out, “You seek him out all the fucking time on the paddock.”
“Yeah, because he’s my friend, Max.” Lando steps closer, eyebrow raised.
Max scoffs, crossing his arms, “Sure, but you just have to hide my hickeys from him. What, are you worried he might think you’re taken?” He snaps.
It’s the first time either of them mentioned anything about what happened. They both freeze.
It’s unfair of Max, really. Of course, Lando has to hide the hickeys Max left, he looked like he’d gotten the life choked out of him but barely survived. For any PR-related events, or just anywhere where the cameras film and capture Lando’s every move, he’d have to cover it up. It stung, it stings still thinking about it, but Max knows Lando has no choice. Even if they were out and open about being together — if they would be in the first place — Lando’d still have to hide it.
Lando doesn’t respond to it. He simply moves closer and closer. His voice is soft, almost a whisper, when he asks, “Are you jealous?”
If that ain’t hitting the nail right on its head, Max doesn’t know what is.
He grinds his teeth, “I’m not jealous.” Shrugging, he adds, “What would I be jealous about?”
Lando steps even closer, effectively taking the upper hand in Max’s tantrum. He leans in, “Hmm, maybe that Carlos would be better at flirting with me than you? That I would cave in with him, but not with you?” He smirks and Max wants to slap it from his face.
Instead, he shakes his head, “That would imply I’d have a crush on you in the first place.” His heart beats so fucking fast — Lando is so close.
“Or worse,” Lando says in a low voice. He whispers against the shell of Max’s ear, “That you’d fall for me.”
Max shakes his head, taking a step back, “Nah, mate. I couldn’t fall for you.” He heads into the kitchen — the tension has risen too high and his mere mortal body can’t handle it. He feels like he couldn’t breathe, so he grabs a bottle of water, away from Lando, and takes a swig.
Frankly, Max wishes he could fall for Lando. It’s not about him, or about Lando, but it’s about the world around them. It’s about them living together and sharing everything, about Lando being away so much, about the casual homophobic comments, the image, the insecurities. The worry if they’ll even work together, and what if it won’t work out? He’s risking too much, risking losing his best friend for a feeling he’s feeling now. And that’s all assuming Lando’s even into him in the first place.
By the time he’s gathered his thoughts enough to head back into the living room, he can hear the echo of Lando’s bedroom door shutting close.
Lando stays hidden in his room for the rest of the night. Max never wanted to be close to him as much as he does now.
◎◎
Lando’s bedroom door shuts closed just when Max opens his. The sound of it echoes over their hallway, a painful reminder of the everlasting distance between them. Max spends his morning eating his breakfast in a painfully silent kitchen. He scrolls through the internet on his computer in a painfully silent living room. Even the new release of a set of Jordans can’t cheer him up — he can’t even find it within himself to want them.
He misses Lando by a hair when he comes out of his shower in the afternoon. Lando must’ve grabbed his lunch when Max was away. Max sighs. The fact that Lando has to plan when he gets his food just to avoid Max stings.
A look at the fridge tells him he’d better get out of the house. Shopping list in hand, he drives away from their house and heads to the store. Maybe he’ll find some peace of mind there.
The mundane task of looking for items they need — they ran out of pepper a few days ago, the milk’s in the sale, he’d always wanted to try those jackfruits — is calming. The bright light of the supermarket and the fresh smell of veggies makes him feel grounded. He wasn’t aware he felt this locked-in in his own home, but it all was just too much. It’s like he hadn’t been able to breathe for the past few weeks, and now finally, his lungs fill themselves with air. He rolls his shoulders, checking all the items in his basket.
When he leaves the store he feels better, better than he has felt in the past few weeks. He’s been in his head too much, too focused on his feelings and thoughts, and now he can finally focus on his senses and movements. The feeling of metal in his hands, or the low quality plastic bags slicing in his skin as they try to keep all the heavy items together.
He places the bags in the trunk of his car and moves to sit in the driver’s seat. He waits for a heartbeat or two, not too long because he has fridge- and freezer stuff that cannot defrost under any circumstance. On a whim, he decides to call Tom. Maybe talking to someone about this whole situation might help him out. If not, it can at least be relieving to get it off of his chest.
He spills every last bit of his heart’s contents as he drives home, telling Tom everything that’s been bothering him. This stupid game, how innocent it started, how he’s feeling now, what Lando’s doing (and doing to him). He saves Tom some of the details, also for Tom’s safety.
He’s nearly home when Tom asks, “Have you fallen for him?”
Max can’t find a response. He takes a very deep breath and remains silent.
Tom makes it sound so easy when he says, “What’s so hard about telling him? So what, you lose a game, you’ll get a boyfriend out of it.”
It clicks. Like Tom explained to him the logic of two and two equaling four and he finally sees the bigger picture of it all, finally notices why it works like that. And even if the numbers are still scary as fuck, he feels confident to try.
He chuckles, “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re right.” Max hopes it’s really that simple, but as he hangs up, he feels more determined to find out than ever before.
He’s left the trunk and the bags remaining open. With two of the bags in his hand, he opens the front door. He heads into the kitchen to drop the bags on the counter.
This is where he finds Lando, where he sees him for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. He looks like a disaster. Black hoodie a size too big, messy and unwashed, hood over his head and strings tightly knit together. He’s wearing a set of joggers Max hasn’t seen before, but he reckons they’re very old. He’s got a bit of circles under his eyes, not enough to suggest he’s been awake the entire time, but he surely hasn’t slept nicely.
Lando freezes like a deer in headlights.
Max takes one last deep breath before asking, “Can you help me get the other bags from the car?”
Lando’s eyes switch left and right, contemplating whether or not to help. He seems too polite to be angry, so he reluctantly nods and helps Max out. He keeps shying away from Max’s touch — as if Max is radiating some contagious energy that he needs to stay away from. As if Max is a hazard to his health.
Max takes it, he’s closer to Lando than he had been in a day. He doesn’t want to break him again, so he embraces the silence and adjusts. If Lando feels a little scared of him right now, he can understand that. Lando must really be hurt.
Lando is busy placing all the fruits and veggies that belong in the fridge into said fridge. Max closes the front door behind them and steps into their kitchen. He watches Lando work for a second, wondering where everything went so desperately wrong that they can’t even talk to each other anymore.
When the bags are empty, Lando turns around, rubbing his hands and moving to head out of the kitchen.
Max thinks, now or never, and stands in front of him, “We need to talk.”
It stops Lando in his tracks, but his eyebrows knit again and his shoulders tense, “We don’t, I’m gonna go up, I’ve got stuff to do.” His voice is curt and Max takes every word like a slice to his skin. He’ll bleed out right in front of Lando if that’s what’ll get him to listen.
“That can wait.” Max takes a breath, voice going softer, “Bob, this has gotten out of hand.”
“I agree. Good talk.” Lando moves again, but Max takes no shit.
Max brackets Lando against the counter, hands on either side of his hips. He knows Lando’s strong enough to push him away, but he’s caught off guard. Max takes his shot, “You’re hurt, please, Lando, I never meant to hurt you. This game got out of hand, and I’m putting a stop to it.”
Lando crosses his arms, shifting his feet. He won’t meet Max’s eyes, just keeps looking a centimetre or two above him. He mutters, “I get it, I get it. I’m not desirable, you can’t fall in love with me. It’s okay,” He shrugs a little helplessly, “Let me just sulk for a day and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Max shakes his head, that’s not what’s happening at all! Lando’s felt rejected the entire day when in reality, he’s nothing if not loved so overwhelmingly much, it almost consumes Max whole. Max says, “No, Lando, that’s not it.”
He peels the metaphorical bandaid off on go, better now than never, “I lied, okay? If anything, this dumb game has made me realise that I am in love with you. I am just way too worried it’d ruin our friendship, that we can’t live together because I’m head over heels for you and you’re not in love with me. I’m worried it’d make things awkward as fuck, that I’d have to move out, or leave Quadrant — leave you — and if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s to leave you.”
He feels a lump in his throat and tears forming at the corners of his eyes, just from saying all this. His mouth is dry and he tries to swallow but it’s tough — he just wants his best friend to know he’s loved, he’s desirable. He hates seeing a sad Lando, hates it more than being sad himself.
When he dares to look at Lando’s face again, he sees Lando’s glassy eyes.
“You’re a muppet,” Lando says. Then he pulls Max close, hugging him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.
Max relishes the hug, the warmth of Lando’s body, the proximity he’s been longing for the entire day. He inhales Lando’s scent near his neck and nuzzles his face in the comfortable space.
Lando leans back and cups Max’s cheek, “You’re my muppet.”
It explains everything, for some weird goddamn reason. Max smiles shyly.
Lando leans in and kisses him, full force and confidence. Everything that has leaked out of him the last day comes running back into his senses, into his veins. Seeing Max peel himself apart before his eyes and then wait for Lando to put him back together, to be the glue to his shards and make him whole… The sheer trust and love radiating from it got Lando's heart to clench and his worries to wash away from him.
Max smiles into the kiss before pressing Lando against the counter, kissing him with all the love in his heart, all the passion in his bones and all the desire in his veins. Finally, finally, he’s got Lando’s lips on his own. He feels like he could die happily at this moment, nothing to shatter the high he’s on. He breathes in Lando’s love and exhales his stress through his nose. Everything is going to be okay, he knows.
Lando mutters against Max’s lips, “You confessed first, and I kissed you. So, like, we both win, don’t we?”
Max giggles, unbelievably fond, “We made the rules, Lan. but sure, I’ll give you a winner’s treatment, if it makes you feel better.” He kisses Lando again, not getting enough of it.
Lando smiles, “Good, I could use it.” His hands roam down Max’s body and he cups Max’s arse, making the shorter man yelp. He falls closer to Lando’s body, his nose pressed against Lando’s neck.
“Have you been sleeping in this sweater? It smells like sweat.”
“Shut up!” Lando chuckles, “I didn’t wanna go and change, I was too lazy.” Lando busies himself with kissing Max’s jawline, hiding his blushing face.
Max shakes his head, “I see nothing of that laziness now.” He moves back, stepping away from Lando’s hold and heading out of the kitchen, “C’mon, undress, I wanna kiss all of you.”
“Romantic!” Lando’s smile is so bright, it’s bound to hurt his cheeks if he keeps it up. He takes off his hoodie and throws it in the void of the living room, immediately finding a way to touch Max again as he pushes him onto the couch, hovering atop him.
◎◎
As their moans slowly fade from echoing all over the living room, and new hickeys have found their way onto both Max and Lando’s skin, they lie together, pliant and content, in each other’s hold.
Max can’t help but reach out to lick the skin from Lando’s forehead, the saltiness welcome on his lips. He loves Lando’s scent, no matter how sweaty. Always has, whether it was by wearing Lando’s hoodies or waking up next to him. He mutters, a tad shy, “The sweaty thing does it for me, by the way.”
Lando’s eyes glitter as he smiles, “I knew it!”
Max kisses his smugness away before it gets to his head.
⎡ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎤
love me, love me, love me, love me
harder, harder, harder
(boy, you gotta love me, love me, baby)
⎣ ◎ ◎ ◎ ⎦