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“It’s just like Love Island, ” Lando says, sitting down next to George. There’s a camera propped up in front of him. For TikTok. “First day in the villa.”
George rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Lando, we’re in the Olympic Village.”
“Well, if I can’t find love here in Paris, then I’m officially doomed.”
There’s some truth in that part, at least.
“Team GB kit haul? Say less.” Lando proudly holds up his competition Speedo. TikTok’s going to have so much fun with this one. “We also got some less exciting stuff like this phone, and, oh, look at the condoms!”
“Day two in the villa! My back fucking hurts,” Lando grumbles at his phone as he rolls out of his cardboard bed. “I slept on the soft side too.”
He posts the video and promptly asks his manager to buy a mattress topper and a couple new pillows from IKEA. If this is what sustainability looks like, he wants none of it. There’s no going back to sleep now, so he might as well hunt some food down.
Just thinking about chocolate muffins instantly cheers him up.
Lando doesn’t so much as find love as smack head-first into it on the way to the aquatics complex.
He wouldn’t quite call it love either. It’s more of an accident than anything else.
“Ow.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry-” The words die on Lando’s tongue as he gives the stranger a good look. One word sounded Australian enough, but the green and gold is a definite tell.
The guy, whom Lando’s never seen before—he doesn’t really pay attention to things outside of diving, to be honest—merely grunts and runs a hand through his hair, which immediately flops back over his forehead. If Lando squints, he kind of resembles a koala?
He swims, obviously. There’s no hiding the godawful hairline that swim caps force. And the shoulders. But mostly the hairline.
Still, there’s no reason to be rude about it.
“Hi, sorry,” he mumbles after a moment of staring listlessly at the door. “Did not sleep well last night, at all.”
Well, Lando can definitely sympathize. He opens the door for the other guy, who gives him a little grateful smile. Cute!
“The beds weren’t even that bad in Tokyo,” Lando replies. “I’m Lando.”
“Oh, really? I’ll just have to take your word for it. The beds, I mean. Not your name. I know you’re Lando Norris.” The guy blushes, which dispels some of the remaining sleepiness around the edges. “I’m Oscar, and, uh, you got silver in Tokyo.”
Cheeks pinkening at the acknowledgement, Lando dips his head and tucks the name into the back of his mind to look up later. Oscar Oscar Oscar… Oscar.
“Yeah, I’m hoping to do the same this time. Better, maybe,” he says. He’s also hoping to find love in Olympic Village, but that’s neither here nor there. “The Chinese certainly won’t make it easy, though. And you?”
“Hundred fly and med relay.”
That definitely checks out.
Without a single thought, Lando begins stripping down in the locker room, only becoming a little flustered when Oscar stops and blatantly stares at him.
“Ack. Sorry, mate.”
Oscar’s face goes bright red, and he mutters something unintelligible before taking his own shirt off.
Interesting.
Well, if Lando is not going to find love in the Olympic Village, he will certainly find a way to get dicked down. He has to put those Phryge-themed condoms to good use and all.
And the cardboard beds.
Oh boy.
“We had a free day yesterday,” Lando tells his camera. “I traded a bunch of pins.”
He yaps about each one and how he obtained them, carefully leaving out the part where he nearly jumped Oscar’s bones in the locker room after his little practice session.
Lando did not actually jump his bones, unfortunately. Fortunately, maybe. And he’s very good at jumping too!
Instead, he demanded an exchange for Oscar’s pin and immediately deemed it his favorite because kangaroos are cute. Not at all because the person who looked at him like a deer caught in headlights before dropping the pin in his waiting hands also happens to be cute.
(“You’re actually the first person from another team to talk to me.”
“Can’t imagine why. Nice doing business with ya, Osc.”)
And if Lando shamelessly ogled Oscar’s back as he walked off, the only person to notice would’ve been a very damp, very Speedo-clad Daniel Ricciardo, wearing nothing else but a stupid shit-eating grin on his face.
Which means everyone else knows about his budding crush by default.
“Fuck,” Lando curses out loud. TikTok just recorded five minutes of him staring into space, lost in thought. “Oh, wait, I should cut that bit out, hah.”
“So, cardboard beds,” Lando says, plopping his tray down in front of Oscar’s in the cafeteria. He doesn’t really feel like hanging out with George, especially because he’s holding a rather serious-looking conversation with Alex, and sitting with them makes Lando feel short.
Not that Oscar isn’t still taller than him, but they’re friends too now, and after three days, the guy is… comfortable to talk to.
“‘Hi, Oscar, how are you, Oscar?’” he replies with a deadpan. “Oh, I’m doing fine, you?”
“My back no longer hurts like a bitch!” Lando crows, ignoring the rest of what Oscar just said. “Our mattress toppers arrived last night.”
Oscar hums. “I’m at the literal Olympics for the first time, and I have never felt so jealous of everyone living in the satellite villages. I saw that they get actual beds. I miss my bed at home…”
“But the community! The romance! I’d get so much FOMO if I wasn’t staying in the villa- I mean, Olympic Village.”
“You mean the sex, mate. There’s only sex in Olympic Village,” Oscar retorts. “I wandered out into the hallway past midnight because my mattress topper hadn't arrived yet, and no fewer than three times, I was told not to share more than victory by the condom wrappers on the floor.” He forces a pained smile and gives Lando a dorky thumbs-up. “I reckon the one good thing about cardboard beds is that they don’t squeak.”
Lando is so going to test that theory with Oscar before these next few weeks are up. Right now, though, he picks at his chicken warily.
“Oh my God, this food is fucking nasty, and I’m British!”
Across from him, Oscar laughs, ducking his head, as he spears a bit of his gross, icky salmon.
“So what’s life like in the villa for you right now?”
George angles the mini microphone back to Lando, who replies, “It’s kinda wild. We eat there, we sleep there… and we walk around.”
“And have you met anyone? Has anyone caught your eye?”
“No, mate. They’re all so tall, and I have to crane my neck, so I’m just focusing on diving. I’ll have to find the love of my life afterwards.”
“You’re focusing on other things.”
“Yeah, like ‘diving,’ I suppose,” Lando says with no small amount of sass. “But there’s always later. You might be the hot new bombshell in my absence.”
Making a face that’s nothing short of meme-worthy, George meets Lando’s eyes, and it’s all he can do to hold in his laughter.
“How are you feeling about the fact that Grindr doesn’t work here?”
Lando shrugs. “It’s not very French of them. You should ask Max Verstappen how he feels.”
“He’s with Charles now,” George says. “I have been seeing you with that Aus-”
“Cut the cameras!”
It’s not easy to locate Oscar in the crowd of Olympians and reporters during the opening ceremony.
Until Lando spots a head of fluffy brown hair tilted to the side and has to stifle a laugh. Trust Oscar to be falling asleep through the sheer energy and excitement while the Olympic flag is being hung upside-down.
It makes Lando feel a bit sleepy too, if he’s being honest.
He wonders if his cardboard bed can hold the two of them as they sleep. Just sleeping.
Lando can’t believe he’s thinking about sharing a cardboard bed with someone wearing a green blazer. What happened to standards?
(Why does Oscar Piastri look good in a green blazer?)
((It’s the shoulders.))
“First day of events,” Lando tells the camera with a slight purse of his lips. “I just learned that some people call me a ‘diving twink,’ and I don’t really know how to feel about that.”
“It’s true,” George chimes in.
“Unprovoked?!”
“The girlies are fighting,” Alex mutters to himself.
“You’re bi—by yourself, at the moment—and you dive.”
Lando can’t even dispute that. He sulks into his bowl, stirring the berries around with his spoon, and silently agrees that perhaps he is as fruity as his breakfast.
Someone sits down next to him, trailed by the distinct smell of chlorine that follows everyone seated at this table.
“Mind if I sit here?”
“Morning, Osc,” Lando mumbles. “Am I a twink?”
Oscar looks a bit dumbfounded. “What?”
“The people in my TikTok comments are calling me a ‘diving twink’.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s a thing.”
“The betrayal,” Lando moans.
“He’s only upset because he’s been clocked as a slutty bottom and still hasn’t gotten any in the Village yet,” George explains. “It’s because everyone’s already so used to seeing you parade around in that tiny Speedo, but Oscar, you could ch-”
Lando dives, he is a diving twink, but he has never dived across a table to shut his friend up by attacking him until this very moment. His poor berries.
He can’t look Oscar in the eyes for the rest of breakfast.
“Have I just witnessed a murder?” Alex wonders aloud.
Because he’s a good teammate, Lando spends the first couple days of the Olympics in and out of the gym and the aquatics center to watch George swim. And technically Alex, but he’s representing Thailand.
Lando holes himself up in the top corner of the stands, away from the other athletes and the cameras.
“Hi.”
“Shouldn’t you be cheering with your team?”
“They won’t miss me,” Oscar says dismissively. “Here.” He presses a chocolate muffin into Lando’s hand and scoots a little closer to him. “The Olympics should do better about their so-called ‘sustainability’ goals.”
Lando gives him a grateful smile and tears the muffin in two, handing one of the halves back to Oscar, who happily takes a bite out of it. There's chocolate on his nose.
“You’re not swimming until the end of the week, right?”
“Yeah.” Oscar looks a bit nervous when he asks, “Are you going to watch?”
Is that even a question? Lando wants to kiss him on the mouth and ride him into his cheap fucking mattress, so of course, he’s going to watch him swim.
He wants to hold hands with him too, but he doesn’t even know if Oscar swings his direction.
He doesn’t know when his goals changed from sleeping with the guy to holding hands with him either.
“I suppose I can make some time in my very busy schedule,” Lando jokes, earning himself a slight shove. “Ow.”
“I didn’t even push you that hard, mate.”
“But you’re, like, solid. And all… muscle-y.”
It’s pleasing, watching red slowly overtake Oscar’s face.
“If Oscar wins either of his events, I’ll ask him to dinner,” Lando promises as he and George walk side-by-side into Team GB’s building. “No, scratch that. If I win either of my events, I’ll ask, and if he rejects me, I’ll just pretend it was a heat-of-the-moment thing and then retire from diving just so there’s no chance of ever seeing him again.”
“Bit dramatic, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s perfectly reasonable actually.”
George hums. “It’s not like you to plan for rejection before it’s actually happened, mate. As an avid consumer of Love Island, I can see when something’s there, and there’s plenty of that when Oscar looks at you.”
“You’re very kind for feeding my delusions,” Lando replies. “Gym later?”
George gives him a thumbs-up before disappearing into his room.
Lando is so grateful he thought to take a shower at the gym because that means he doesn’t have to wait his turn for one. Instead, he immediately climbs into his bed, doom-scrolls on TikTok, tries not to think too hard about the comments on his latest video that just happened to have a clip of Oscar’s voice answering something he said, and passes out.
Lando chews on his nails as he watches the prelims for the men’s hundred meter butterfly, eyes never once straying from Oscar’s figure slicing through the water.
Oscar is fast, only neck-and-neck with the guy from Team USA, and easily leaving everyone else behind in his wake. If Lando is being completely honest with himself, he needs Oscar biblically. In ways that are absolutely vile to humanity.
The moment Oscar touches the wall second, Lando muffles his excitement in the collar of his Team GB jacket.
“Look how cute,” George coos, and Lando slowly turns to see his friend holding his phone—the one that the Olympics provided every athlete—up, filming his reaction.
“Mate, I am going to kill you.”
“No, you’re not. Besides, the people want updates on how your quest to find love in the villa is going.” He lifts the phone again. “And here we have Lando Norris in his natural habitat. But don’t let his sweet, adorable face fool you. This kitten is fierce.”
Lando mimes retching. “Never say that again.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand your meowing.” George pockets his phone. “Are you going to go down and congratulate Oscar?”
Good question. Lando glances over at the edge of the pool, where Oscar is surrounded by his teammates and a fluffy towel.
Oh God, he’s shirtless.
And dripping wet.
“Um. No. It’s safer over here.”
Lando blushes bright red when Oscar suddenly turns around and looks right at him at the top of the stands, grinning widely like he already won in the finals. He’s never smiled at Lando like that before.
“On this episode of Love Island, we observe our little kitten in love,” George teases, successfully ruining the moment. Lando half-heartedly swats at him, nearly knocking the phone right out of his hands. “Crikey!”
“I’m not in love, stupid.”
“No, you just want Oscar to do you raw, preferably missionary style, so you two can stare into each other’s eyes. Don’t worry, I’ll cut that part out.”
Lando puts his chin in his hands, offering a happy thumbs-up in congratulations when Oscar tilts his head at him questioningly.
He’s so fucked.
Oscar medals in both his events, and Lando all but jumps into his arms to squeeze the life out of him the moment he finally manages to catch him alone.
“You did so good, Osc!”
“Mmrf.”
Lando lets himself be set down again, so Oscar can breathe.
“You sure you’re not Aussie? Because that was koala behavior if I’ve ever seen it,” Oscar jokes, and Lando rolls his eyes. He still has yet to let go of Oscar’s neck.
“First George, now you. What’s with you guys comparing me to small animals?”
“George compared you to a small animal?”
“Ah, right. I forgot you’re chronically offline. That’s good for me,” Lando says, by way of explanation.
“Why’s that?”
Abort! Abort!
“Shh, I didn’t say anything. I’m craving something sweet, so indulge me before you go celebrate with your team tonight.”
“Chocolate muffins?”
“Chocolate muffins.”
Lando softly exhales. He’s done this a million times and already in preliminary and semi-finals. He’s already won a medal for springboard too.
With a million thoughts whirling around his head, Lando ascends to the top of the platform and briefly glances down at the water below. He doesn’t have a fear of heights—as a diver, he isn’t allowed to have one—but all of a sudden, it feels daunting to be up here, on the Olympic stage. This isn’t even his first Olympics, but even if this was his third, fourth, or even fifth, he would still feel nervous diving in front of so many people.
Stubbornly, he shoos those thoughts away.
The noises of the aquatic complex fade away into the background as he takes a few steadying breaths, rises up onto his toes, and lifts his arms above his head. Lando doesn’t think about how many flips he has to do in midair, letting muscle memory take over. Each turn flows smoothly into the next, and before he can even register it, his fingertips break the surface cleanly. He practically slides into the water, body straighter than he is and leaving just the tiniest of ripples in his wake.
“One down, five more to go,” Lando tells himself. He showers and accepts a chamois as he waits.
Four more dives are executed in a similar fashion: backward, reverse, inward, twisting. He doesn’t think about them. At this point, the way his body contorts and the flow from the jump to the water have been ingrained in his muscles.
Lando pushes himself up into the starting position for his armstand dive. This is his last one, so he needs to make it count.
He tucks his body in a bit tighter, extends a bit longer.
It’s over in seconds.
A camera is shoved in his face as he stares at the scoreboard, capturing his worried expression for the entire world to see. Lando would find it embarrassing, if he could spare a thought for anything else in between his nervous fidgeting.
He barely even processes another person joining him in the stands and sitting down next to him.
“You’ll be crucified by my team for sitting next to me.”
“The Olympics isn’t Romeo and Juliet, Lando. Your manager kindly told me to sit next to you. Max, I think his name was.”
“Hm.”
“Hey, don’t work yourself up too much,” Oscar says, tentatively reaching out and settling a hand on top of his. “You did great.”
His words rattle around in Lando’s brain. He hears them, but they don’t register.
“I’m-” Lando is abruptly cut off when a massive cheer arises from the crowd present. He glances up at the scoreboard and briefly notes how Oscar's grip on his hand grows tighter. Impossible. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Oscar, I…”
“Yeah.”
Lando, unable to contain himself, throws his arms around Oscar and buries his face in his soft shirt, sobbing uncontrollably, and he couldn’t care less about the commentators cooing over him. Oscar rubs his back soothingly as he continues crying, until, at last, he composes himself enough to wipe his tears away and smile shakily, first at Oscar and then at the camera pointed at him.
After a moment that he tries drawing out as long as possible, he carefully extracts himself from Oscar’s arms, missing his warmth immediately.
During every interview and the entirety of the medal ceremony and then a million pictures with the guy from China and the guy from Japan and the rest of his team, Lando counts down the seconds until he can plaster himself to Oscar again.
“Just one more quest to complete,” George says as he pats his back and hugs him tightly.
Right.
Lando did make a promise to himself.
The aquatics center is nearly empty when he finds Oscar waiting for him in the locker room. His medal, the one with a piece of the Eiffel Tower, has already been carefully tucked away in its box.
“The smell of chlorine enters a room five minutes before you do,” Oscar says dryly, but his eyes are shining.
Lando stops in his tracks. “I won.”
He feels like crying all over again.
“You won, mate. Congratulations.”
Well, here goes nothing.
“Will you-”
“Can I-”
Lando swallows. “You go first.”
“When’s your flight?” Oscar asks, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Early tomorrow morning.” Lando refuses to get his hopes up. He refuses to read too much into the determination in Oscar’s soft eyes. “Why?”
“Uh, no reason. Just… congrats again. Um, yeah.”
Lando’s heart sinks.
“Oh. Thanks.”
His smile feels more like a grimace now, especially since he knows his disappointment was audible in his half-hearted response. Unsure what else he can possibly do, Lando quickly turns away before Oscar can see his disappointment too and makes his escape.
He can never stop embarrassing himself, it seems.
“Fuck, shit,” he hears Oscar mutter, just barely within earshot. “Wait, Lando.”
Hearing footsteps behind him, Lando breaks into a run. The doors to the complex nearly hit Oscar in the face. Oh God.
No, no. Bad idea. His lungs instantly protest.
He slows down into a very fast walk instead, but Oscar has longer legs, and why did he even think that running away from him was ever a good idea? He makes it approximately halfway across the Village when familiar fingers circle his wrist, instantly halting him.
“Christ,” Oscar says, bending over to catch his breath. He holds up a hand, and Lando goes limp, knowing that struggling is futile. “Push me away if you don’t feel the same, but I’m not going to wait four years for another chance.”
Lando doesn’t get the chance to process what Oscar means by that before he’s tugged into his arms, startling him. He stares at him, wide-eyed, for mere fractions of a second, his breath catching in his throat the moment Oscar leans in and kisses him, and, oh, this has to be the most romantic thing he’s ever experienced. Lando swears butterflies explode in his stomach once he finally unfreezes and returns the kiss.
“Blimey, Lando, you should’ve waited to jump the guy until I could take a video of you two finally kissing!”
They instantly spring apart.
Dazed, Lando can only utter, “Huh?”
George puts his hands on his hips and gestures between the two of them. “I see you finally grew a pair and asked him out.”
“You asked me out?”
“Well, I was going to,” Lando whines, curling his fingers into the front of Oscar’s shirt and resisting the urge to bury his face in his chest too. “I wanted to.”
“You wanted to ask me out?” Oscar echoes, and he sounds so, so soft and full of wonder, like he can’t believe Lando wants to date the fuck out of him. “Oh, wow.”
Fuck. Who allowed him to be so adorable?
“I just spent the last, uh, at least ten minutes kissing you, so of course, I want to date you, you jerk! If anything, I wasn’t sure you wanted that. Um.”
Oscar presses his lips to Lando’s, murmuring a quiet apology and a delightful promise to get him a chocolate muffin.
“Folks, I think we should leave them be. Did we just witness their first official fight?”
Phone still held aloft, George slowly backs away into the building housing their team, but Lando doesn’t even notice, too busy making out with his new boyfriend.
“We’re going to have to do long distance,” Lando says, gasping when Oscar’s teeth graze his nipple. “Fuck, do that again.” He moans, arching up into Oscar’s touch. “No, wait. Stop. I can’t think when you do that with your mouth.”
“You’re so pretty,” Oscar mumbles, and he ducks his head again to press a kiss to Lando’s hip. “I’m going to be training in the UK next year. Attending uni there too.”
“Oh,” Lando sighs softly. “Keep at it, then.”
Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice, eagerly sucking hickey after hickey in the vee of Lando’s hips and finally pulling his briefs down, managing to roll one of those horrid condoms onto him before taking the head of Lando’s cock into his mouth. Lando wants to scream as loudly as humanly possible, but he settles for shoving a pillow over his face, sparing a thought for George, who’s definitely trying to sleep next door.
It’s so good he can barely think, even better than holding hands across the table on their impromptu date in a random café in the city, better than making out in the elevator after Oscar feigned being a gentleman and dropping him off, better than being hoisted up against the door as they scrambled to take each other’s clothes off.
They should be used to seeing each other without many clothes, but it’s different. And it’s crazy that Lando is so into him.
Oscar’s hands are on his butt, kneading the cheeks and keeping him from bucking his hips up.
“Wait,” Lando demands, propping himself up on his elbows and nearly fainting at the obscene sight of his legs spread and his dick disappearing between Oscar’s lips. “I want to come with you inside me.”
Oscar’s answering hum has him absolutely gripping the sheets, and when he pulls off, Lando has half the mind to beg him to keep going.
“I’m clean,” he offers, moaning breathily at the feeling of Oscar knuckles-deep in him and curling his fingers into his prostate. His blessed flexibility is keeping him bent in half, propping his ankles up on Oscar’s shoulders, so he can keep kissing him as he’s slowly being fingered open.
He’s grateful that he spends half his life in a tuck, which means this is light work.
“Me too,” Oscar replies against Lando’s lips. “Fuck, okay.”
“Okay.”
It’s sweet how careful he is when he slowly pushes into Lando, and, for the first time in his life, Lando savors the stretch, getting used to every ridge and bump of Oscar’s cock as it fills him up, molding him around it.
Oscar moans, low and quiet in Lando’s ear, and buries his face in the crook of his neck, his exhales skating across the surface of Lando’s skin to pool in the dip of his collarbones as he bottoms out.
“God, you’re so tight.”
“You- nngh- you like it.”
Lando’s proven correct when Oscar sets a punishing pace, and he digs his fingers into those delicious back muscles to cling to him as the bed rocks, the flimsy cardboard no match for two athletes fucking on top of it. He barely hears himself beg Oscar to go faster, harder, so overwhelmed by the cock thrusting into him that he doesn’t notice the bed snapping under him until it’s too late.
The spongy head of Oscar’s cock slams into his prostate, making him cry out in pleasure as he comes untouched, spurting ropes of cum between them.
“This is-” Oscar grunts, “-not ideal.”
He continues fucking Lando in his wrecked bed, while Lando fights against the oversensitivity rapidly settling in with each thrust. Oscar tries pulling out, but Lando clenches around him, tightening his limbs around his body and babbling nonsense about how he wants to be plugged full with his cum. At this rate, he’s going to come a second time, put to sleep by Oscar’s cock railing into his abused prostate in his destroyed cardboard bed.
Lando shivers when Oscar wraps a hand around him, jerking him in time with his thrusts, wringing him dry as Oscar tenses, and his cum floods his hole.
When Lando finally stops feeling all floaty, he whacks Oscar’s shoulder. “You broke my bed!”
Oscar mumbles something incoherent, rubbing his hands up and down Lando’s waist, which is… admittedly really nice. Lando melts.
“It’s the last night anyway,” he concedes to himself. “I don’t think we’ll be doing much sleeping anyway.”
Oscar mumbles something again.
“No, I don’t want to leave either.”
A brilliant idea suddenly strikes Lando, and he pushes Oscar off of him momentarily, earning himself an adorably confused noise, to dig around for his phone.
“Aha!”
“Huh?”
Lando squints at the bright screen, opening TikTok to film a video. He puts on a chipper voice to hide how fucked out he is.
“Last video in the series! Did I find love in Olympic Village? I don’t know, but-” He squeals when he’s pushed out of frame. “Oscar, give that back!”
“Yes, he did find love,” Oscar grumbles, rubbing the sleepiness away. “As for the more important matter at hand, we have solid proof that the cardboard beds aren’t very reliable. Don’t ask me how I know. Do better next time, Olympic Committee.”
He turns the video off and drags Lando back against him in their sorry excuse for a bed, promptly falling asleep again.
“Wow,” Lando says to the wall, awed. “That was so hot- wait, what do you mean I already found love? Oscar?!”
Oscar snores in response, and Lando’s imagination is probably making things up again, but it feels like he hugs him tighter.
Lando already can’t wait for the next Olympics.
Hopefully they’ll have chocolate muffins and comfortable, durable beds.